‘Hello Dad,’ he said warmly. ‘Come and meet Jason, the star of the show.’ Ben gently guided our father towards the artist who was standing sheepishly next to his work.
‘Ah,’ Dad exclaimed as if he had just made a major discovery. ‘So this is the fellow everyone’s talking about.’
Jason blushed as Dad made an obvious display of taking in the collection of work in front of him.
‘Very impressive too,’ he said, although Ben could tell that Dad’s mind would have already turned to acquiring his first drink. A lover of culture he wasn’t. When asked, he would take great delight in devilishly announcing to whoever would listen that, ‘Golf and wine are my only interests these days, along with women, who are sadly no longer interested in me.’
The old man’s eyes roamed the room until he’d spotted his target – the waitress. He shuffled in her direction until he caught her eye, then offered a warm smile to the teenage girl who carried a tray full of champagne. ‘Wouldn’t say no to a glass of fizz,’ he grinned and she dutifully provided him with a drink. Ben couldn’t help but smirk as Dad thanked the girl with the same line he had used in such situations for as long we could remember: ‘Much obliged, my dear. Much obliged.’
As the waitress turned to offer drinks to the assembled few, Ben gladly accepted a glass of Dutch courage.
Several other guests were now arriving and Ben could see Lizzie seeking him out to begin his meet and greet.
The first two guests he introduced himself to turned out to be the centre’s biggest donors – a transport tycoon and his wife. Ben thanked them kindly for their support before Lizzie whisked him away to meet a couple of local politicians who he could tell were itching to be associated with this triumph over adversity story.
One, whose portliness matched his pomposity, even suggested: ‘If you would like a little back-up for your media interviews, I’d be glad to help out.’
‘I’ll keep that in mind,’ Ben replied diplomatically.
He toured the room for the next half an hour, meeting an impressive selection of art enthusiasts and supporters of the centre. Then the moment he had dreaded arrived as he spotted a TV cameraman setting up in the corner of the recreation room. Lizzie was ushering the guests away from the camera to continue their conversations, so that they could begin the interview. He noticed another girl standing on her own with a microphone and pack that suggested she was a radio reporter. Then there were two young guys with Dictaphones who he took to be press reporters and a photographer who had already started taking shots of Jason’s work. Just when he thought that was it, he noticed another camera crew in the hallway. What had Lizzie said to get all this press interest? When she said it was ‘silly season’ in news terms, she wasn’t kidding.
Lizzie turned her attention to the waiting reporters.
‘Okay, we’ll do the broadcast interviews first as they’ve got tighter deadlines,’ she told them.
Ben flinched at the thought of his face being beamed across the country as he struggled to find words. He imagined what the viewers would make of him stammering and stumbling, before the reporter then turned to Jason with his tendency to mumble under pressure. It didn’t bode well.
He turned to see a young, blonde TV reporter delivering her piece to camera, setting the scene of – to cut a long story short – the boy from an estate who could draw.
Staring earnestly into the camera as she began her pre-recorded piece, she explained:
‘Twenty-year-old Jason Weir left school four years ago without a single qualification but with one big dream. Just three months ago he came here to the Melville Centre in Edinburgh hoping someone could help him develop his artistic talent further. He brought with him a selection of some of the sketches and drawings you can see behind me now.
‘The director of the centre, Ben Melville, was so impressed with what he saw that he arranged a meeting with the renowned gallery owner Emily DiRollo, who immediately commissioned two pieces for sale. Today, as the young artist puts his work on public display for the first time, the rest of the world gets to see just what all the fuss is about.’
She stopped there and asked to interview Jason first before Emily. There was no mention of Ben – to his great relief – but just as he contemplated going to find another glass of champagne, one of the newspaper reporters stepped forward.
‘Ben, can I ask you a few questions?’
‘Fire away,’ said Ben. Trying, as usual, to appear calm.
Ben could hear Jason muttering away in the background while both Lizzie and the TV reporter were animatedly trying to placate him about something.
Ben turned back to the reporter who was already half-way through his first question.
‘What made you realise Jason’s drawings were special?’
‘It doesn’t take an expert to see that he has an incredible talent. It just leapt out at me as soon as he showed me his drawings.’
The reporter continued with his list of carefully thought-out questions, which Ben tried as hard as possible to give him sensible answers to, but half-way through another rambling reply he noticed Lizzie frantically waving at him.
‘I’m so sorry. You’ll need to excuse me,’ Ben said, moving quickly across to the corner of the room where Jason had retreated to as the angry-looking TV reporter stood in front of him with her hands on her hips.
‘What’s the problem?’ Ben asked Lizzie.
‘Jason’s refusing to do any TV interviews or press pictures.’
‘Has he said why?’
‘He just says he can’t bear being on camera,’ Lizzie said, her cheeks flushed with stress. ‘Please can you talk to him?’
‘Well, I can try.’
Ben tapped the TV reporter on the shoulder and asked to speak to Jason alone.
‘Why don’t you want to do the interviews?’
‘I’ll just look an idiot. You should have told me I’d be on TV.’
‘I’m sorry, Jason. I thought we’d mentioned it. We must have just got caught up with all the planning. I really thought you knew.’
‘No, and I’m not doing it.’
Ben looked away for a moment while he tried to figure out a good reason why Jason should change his mind. He realised he’d messed up by not warning him, but he couldn’t imagine why he wouldn’t want to take the chance to promote his work.
Just as he was about to have one last try at talking Jason round, Ben spotted a dishevelled-looking man standing awkwardly in the doorway. Gary Weir. He’d come to see his son. Ben noticed too that he’d even tried to assemble together something that looked like a suit – only the trouser legs were too short and the jacket too tight. But his ridiculous attire only served to endear Jason’s father to Ben as he considered what a fish out of water he must feel like.
‘Oh no, this isn’t good,’ Jason said as he saw his father approaching.
‘Give him the benefit of the doubt,’ said Ben. ‘Looks like he’s here to support you, not cause trouble. Wait here a minute and I’ll talk to him.’
Ben moved quickly to intercept Gary before he got in earshot of Jason.
‘Thanks for coming,’ he said, offering his hand which Gary eyeballed suspiciously first before shaking.
‘The missus telt me to come,’ he said, by way of explanation. ‘She’s on her way from the bingo.’
‘Well, I’m very glad you did because I’ve got a bit of situation I’m hoping you’ll help me with.’
Ben realised there was every chance Gary would turn down his request for help, but he thought it was worth a shot.
‘We’ve got press reporters here who want to speak to Jason but he’s not happy to talk to them. If he gets a reputation as someone who won’t communicate with the press, he can kiss the chance of any good publicity goodbye,’ Ben told Gary. ‘He’ll have to learn to speak to them, so he’s as well to start now.’
Gary looked over at his son for a moment as he weighed the situation up.
‘Jason,’ he called quietly, gest
uring with his head for him to come over.
His son turned around and Ben noticed the two TV cameramen and the news photographer swing into action as they captured the young artist rush over to greet his father.
‘Dad, I didn’t think you’d come,’ Jason said.
Gary ran his eyes over the pictures on the wall.
‘You did all these son?’ His gaze resting on the portrait of his own face.
‘Aye.’ Jason looked almost ashamed.
‘He’s an ugly bastard.’ Gary nodded towards his own portrait, laughing.
The ice broken, Jason finally relaxed for the first time that evening.
‘Does this mean I can sleep in my own bed tonight?’ he asked, cheekily.
‘If ye hurry up and get me a drink. I’m gasping here,’ Gary snapped back. ‘Now what’s this they’re telling me about you no doin’ interviews?’
‘You know I can’t do them, Dad.’
‘Son, ye cannae hide forever. This is yer chance. Get on and take it for God’s sake.’
The TV reporter had moved to stand right behind Jason again, refusing to let her target out of her sight. Jason edged towards Gary, standing so close that only his father could hear.
‘What made you change your mind about this, Dad?’
‘If this is what’s gonnae keep ye on the straight and narrow then I’m no gonnae stand in yer way son. Now get on and speak tae that bloody lassie behind ye before she pisses hersel’ will ye?’
Jason sighed and turned slowly to look at the reporter: ‘What is it you want to ask me then?’
Ben smiled with a mixture of relief and pride as he watched Jason give the TV interview. He looked nervous and uncomfortable as he carefully tried to answer each question, but he did it and that was all that mattered.
‘Can you say a few words to our guests now, Ben?’ Lizzie was asking.
Ben had hoped she’d forgotten his promise to address the guests, but he supposed he’d better get on with it, grateful he’d at least swigged a glass of champagne back taking the edge off his nerves. Still, the nausea, there every time he felt out of his comfort zone, was making itself known. ‘Will you tell everyone to gather round?’ Ben took a deep breath and exhaled sharply. ‘No problem,’ Lizzie replied, ever efficient.
Once all the guests were assembled in front of him and obediently followed Lizzie’s request that they give their attention to Ben for a few moments, he began his speech.
‘Firstly, I’d like to thank all of you for coming tonight. There are more people here than we ever imagined and we’re so grateful.’ Ben was surprising even himself at how confident he sounded in spite of his nerves. Considering he was being filmed by several guests and the reporters on their phones, along with the two TV crews, he knew he couldn’t mess it up.
‘Thank you too, to those of you who have so faithfully supported the Melville Centre over the years. We sadly miss its founder, my brother Harry, but we intend to continue its work and keep on helping the young people in this community.’
He stopped to acknowledge the unexpected round of applause for his last comment before continuing.
‘As you have all seen tonight, Jason Weir is an exceptionally talented young man. He came to this centre with a dream and we had a duty to help him fulfil it – to help Jason become a professional artist. Today marks the start of that future. Jason is an example to us all that it shouldn’t matter where you come from, it’s what you do that should take you places. Now I hope that any kid in this community who has a goal or ambition and doesn’t know how to go about achieving it, will come to our door and ask for help.’
He paused again to acknowledge another round of applause, relief creeping in that he was nearing the end of the script he’d learned by heart.
‘Just before we let you go this evening, I’d like to say a final thanks to Emily DiRollo for her support of Jason and his talent, and for her help in getting him started on what we hope will be a long and successful career.’
Emily smiled graciously as the guests again applauded. Then, when the crowd began to disperse, she made her way towards Ben.
‘Great speech. You’re such a dark horse,’ she said, appearing genuinely impressed. ‘Now, will you show me your work?’ she demanded with mock impatience.
‘I don’t want to disappoint you,’ Ben replied, unsure of what she was expecting to see.
‘Just show me,’ she smiled.
Sarah and Lizzie were leading the clean-up operation in the office and with so much noise and activity around them, it was easy for Ben and Emily to feel invisible in the corner.
Ben reached into the cabinet and pulled out a handful of the drawings and paintings he had brought with him. He’d stuffed most of his artwork in a box when he finished school and hadn’t opened it since – until this morning, when he had dug it out of his storage cupboard and selected a few of what he felt were his better pieces.
‘Here,’ he said, handing them over to her.
Emily perched on the side of a table, her back turned away from the rest of the room as she slowly picked her way through the collection in her hands. Her expression, as always when she studied pieces of art, gave nothing away. As Ben watched her, he thought she looked as though she could have been reading a newspaper; until just a flicker of a smile made its way across her face. Ben cast his eyes to the floor, not wishing to be caught looking at her.
‘These are lovely,’ she whispered, partly to herself.
‘Thank you,’ said Ben, unsure of what to say next.
He looked down again at the pile of papers in her hand. Among them, a mixture of watercolour paintings in which he’d always picked an abstract object out amidst the landscape: a single boat making its way out of the harbour at Newhaven; a bird standing over its nest looking at two broken eggs inside; a child running from a play park. Alongside them were several sketches he had done of family and friends. But Emily had paused longest on a sketch that Ben drew of me on the beach when we were teenagers. We were walking the dog together under Dad’s orders.
I remembered the day well. I’d been regaling him with tales of my antics the night before at a rugby do while throwing the ball for the dog, Ben sitting on the sand quietly sketching me as I talked. The beach was the one place we liked to go together, the lapping waters calming the growing tensions between us.
Funnily enough, I had never seen the final drawing until now.
Ben wondered if the solitary tear making its way down Emily’s cheek was for the art or the subject.
‘You must paint again, Ben,’ Emily said slowly as if to accentuate the importance of what she was saying.
‘These bring back a lot of memories,’ he said. ‘Good and bad.’
‘You threw away a tremendous gift and it’s time to reclaim it. I could sell these landscapes over and over again. I’m talking as an art lover and a businesswoman here.’
Ben studied Emily’s earnest face, so serene he thought. He wanted to reach out and stroke her shiny brown hair that lay so perfectly straight, just resting on her shoulders. Not a thing out of place.
‘Tell you what. I’ll pick up the paintbrush again, if you let me take you out to dinner to thank you for everything you’ve done tonight,’ he grinned.
Emily returned his smile, shyly folding her hair back behind her ears.
‘There’s no need to thank me, but dinner would be wonderful,’ she said, her cheeks flushing.
Suddenly, Ben was aware of someone tugging on his left sleeve and turned to find Sarah standing behind him.
‘I’m just heading off now, Ben. Could I have a quick word?’
‘Yes, of course,’ he said to Sarah before turning back to Emily. ‘Meet you at the front door in five minutes.’
‘No problem,’ Emily replied.
Ben followed Sarah into the corridor where she stopped just outside the toilet door.
‘Everything alright?’ Ben asked, concerned Sarah may be feeling unwell.
‘Everything’s fine. I j
ust wanted to check you thought tonight went okay?’
‘Oh, yes. I’m delighted. And thank you for all your help.’
‘You’re welcome,’ Sarah smiled. ‘Did Emily enjoy herself?’
‘Yes, I think so.’
‘You two seem to be getting on very well.’
Ben cleared his throat. ‘Yes, she’s a nice lady.’
‘Did I hear you say you’re going to dinner with her now?’
‘Yes.’ He scratched the back of his head nervously. ‘Would you like to come too?’
‘No, I’m very tired. And three’s a crowd,’ she said sharply.
Sarah wrapped her throw tightly around her and headed out into the cool evening. The haar from the sea, so common at the shore in Edinburgh in summer, had worked its way inland taking the temperature plunging down with it. As she walked to her car alone she folded her arms across her chest in an effort to block out the chill and the thought she could be losing Ben. Worse still, it would be to a woman who now seemed to have laid claim to the only two men she’d ever loved.
CHAPTER ten
LIFE AT THE CENTRE QUICKLY RETURNED to normal again after our difficult house guest had left. Within a few months I had pretty much forgotten about the whole messy ordeal with Luke, although if I was ever walking near his estate I would quicken my pace for fear of running into him – or him running into me. I wasn’t really afraid of him on a physical level – I was much bigger in height and frame – but I was aware he was volatile and unpredictable and that made me very uneasy. I also hated what he represented: failure. Mine and his.
He was only sixteen years old and already his life had been engulfed by drugs – that wasn’t necessarily his fault, I knew, but there was something around the hopelessness of his situation that left me cold. I only backed winners. I tried to feel sympathy for him, but in reality his weakness just made me angry. So I hoped we’d never meet again and then I could go on believing that I was a good man who could help any young person who wanted it; whatever their ambition.
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