by Hannah Doyle
I shake my head.
‘Violin?’
‘How about I put you out of your misery? Today we’re volunteering.’
Alice folds her arms. ‘Here in your studio? Does that mean I’m volunteering to help you work for the day? I know you’re busy Zach, but you can mix your own paint up.’
‘So quick to judge.’ I step closer to her, kissing her on the forehead. ‘Back when we went to your allotment for our G date, you told me all about volunteering with a gardening group when you were at uni. You explained how it had helped you to deal with your mum and how rewarding it was to see other people benefit from your efforts.’
Alice nods.
‘That really stuck with me,’ I carry on. ‘I remember thinking how brilliant you were for taking your own tough times and channelling them into something so positive. Recently I’ve been wondering about some volunteering opportunities for myself, only I didn’t really know where to start. Then last weekend in London, I met a young artist who’s working at Octavia’s gallery and panicking that she’ll never get to where she wants to be … turning her passion into a career. It made me think of me and you and how lucky we are to be doing what we love, but how much we’ve both fought to get here …’
‘God yeah, I remember being in my early twenties and having zero clue if the flower shop would work, if I’d ever make money again, if I’d have to give up on my goals and do something different.’
‘Exactly! That time of your life can be really daunting and it’s not just an early twenties thing. Life constantly throws challenges at us. Look at Raff. To me, he has it all – the family, the house – but he’s still looking at people like us who don’t have the same kind of responsibilities like kids and, uh, stuff …’
‘And he’s envious?’
‘Sort of. I think there’s a grass is greener thing going on for most people.’
‘I totally agree.’
‘So today I’m running my first art therapy workshop. We’re going to set up the studio so that people can come along and get creative in any way they’d like, giving them the chance to get some headspace and do something that hopefully takes them away from their concerns for a couple of hours.’
Alice gives me a side-on look.
‘Seriously? I love that idea, Zach. I take it I’m the headline artist in residence for the day?’ she teases.
‘Oh, sure,’ I say, pretending to hide the fliers I made last weekend which have my name at the top. ‘These read: “ART SPACE, come get creative and get away from it all with renowned artist Alice O’Neill. She may even help you make a papier-mâché ‘moon’”.’
Alice laughs. ‘Right, well I’d better get ready for my starring role.’
Twenty-six people have come to the workshop and I have to say I’m pretty chuffed with the turnout, given how quickly I pulled it together. I’ve been leaving fliers at cafés, colleges, old people’s homes and charities and now my studio is full of people looking nervously around, wondering what to expect.
‘Hello, everyone, and welcome,’ I say, standing up on a chair to get everyone’s attention. ‘It’s brilliant to see so many people here today. The main aim is for you to relax and enjoy yourselves, take your mind off any worries and just have fun. There are loads of materials over in the corner, please help yourself and get creative in any way you want. I’m on hand if you’d like any tips or advice but also, you can ignore me too! Today is a no pressure day. This is Alice who’s helping out as well, and we’re both happy to chat.’
Alice waves and I walk everyone around the studio, pointing out where they can help themselves to drinks and snacks and grabbing them all a chair. Soon enough the room is filled with the buzz of concentration from some and happy chatter from others, as Alice and I work our way around everyone, listening to stories or proffering biscuits.
I get chatting to Dexter, a teenager whose parents are desperate for him to follow in the family business while he wants to go to uni and study art. Then Tricia, who has brought her elderly father Eric. He has dementia and she’s hoping a day of drawing will bring him one of life’s simple joys. And a solicitor called Jacqueline who ‘just needs a fucking break’, she says.
‘Dexter says he wants to draw you naked,’ Alice says later, her paint smock splattered with colour.
‘Oh …’ I stumble. ‘Um …’
‘Don’t worry,’ she laughs. ‘I’ve told him it’s not that sort of art class. It’s made me think, though. Maybe there’s something we can really do with this.’
‘You want me to set up a life drawing class next? Because I’m not sure that’s quite my thing.’
‘I meant this workshop. Just look around you, Zach.’
I follow her gaze around the room, watching people from all different walks of life getting stuck into creating something. Eric’s face is lit up in animation as he shares a joke with Jacqueline, Tricia looking on with a huge smile on her face. A guy called Bryn who’s in the middle of a break-up is drawing a picture of his dream holiday and says he plans to travel there on his own, his first solo trip in six years.
‘Everyone is getting something different out of this. Just look how happy they are. Maybe we could contact an art therapist, or a charity, or something like that? You could make it more structured and really make a difference here, Zach.’
‘That’s a great idea.’
‘It’s like when I’m gardening, I’m always reminded that there’s joy to be found even in challenging times.’
‘When Fran and Sienna were born they were premature and needed to spend a few weeks in intensive care. That was so hard for Raff and Ellie. I remember visiting them in hospital and thinking about all the other children who were spending time there, how frightening it must be for them to be away from home in somewhere so clinical. Maybe I could contact some hospitals, too, and donate artwork to the children’s wards?’
Alice beams at me. ‘I think that’s a lovely idea.’
Later, as we’re saying goodbye to the last of today’s attendees, Tricia rushes over and clasps both of my hands in hers.
‘Dad loved that so much. Thank you. Seeing him engage in something that doesn’t frighten him, or remind him that he’s not totally with it these days, has been wonderful.’
Alice nudges me as we pack up. ‘That was really sweet. I feel all warm and glowy inside.’
‘Yeah, me too. I wasn’t sure how I’d feel, opening up my studio to so many people. Glowy is definitely the right word for it. Shall we celebrate with some food in town?’
‘You had me at celebrate.’
Together we wind our way through Sheffield’s city centre, settling on burritos and carrying them into the Peace Gardens. We find an empty bench by the water fountain in front of the town hall and sit in easy silence as we eat, me demolishing a pulled pork burrito while Alice scoffs a beef brisket version in record time.
I think of all the stories I’ve heard today, all the people on the cusp of change, and I know that I’m in the same boat. Watching the water splash close to our feet as we eat, I realise that I’m content with Alice. All my life I’ve been searching for what Raff has and yet ever since I’ve met Alice, I’ve found there’s so much more to life than those things. I know she doesn’t want marriage or kids. Or at least, not yet. And the truth is, I still do. But right now, the most important thing in my life is having Alice by my side. Maybe my future doesn’t look so certain after all, but as long as Alice is in it, I don’t think I mind that.
Wine Tasting
Alice
TGIF I think to myself as I shut up the flower shop and dash home to get ready for date night. It’s been another busy week with long days in the shop as well as working on The Hitch with Nat each night. The hope, the excitement and the nerves of setting up a new business jangle constantly in my mind, jostling for space. I’m used to being busy but even I’ve questioned whether I’ve gone too far this time and bitten off more than I can chew. To summarise, I am ready for a wine or three, not to m
ention some time with Zach. I’m more grateful than ever that I have his support when I’m super busy, and for the fact that he manages to keep me level when I’m trying to juggle a thousand things.
I arrive at the bar to find him stood outside in a light-weight jumper tonight. My whole body feels like it’s breathing a sigh of relief at the sight of him, like a beacon, and I bound over.
‘I’m guessing it’s W for wine tasting,’ he smiles, pointing towards a sign by the entrance. It reads ‘WINE TASTING, 7 p.m.’.
‘Well done you,’ I grin, realising how good it feels to see him again. Our volunteering was very sweet and noble etcetera but I’m secretly pleased to have him all to myself today for purely selfish purposes. I rest my head against his chest and breath in his citrus scent. Once inside we’re shown to our table and Zach listens intently as our wine expert leads us through the instructions for tonight’s tasting like the adorable geek that he is.
As we work our way through ‘the world of wines’ our glasses are filled with a small measure of each and we sniff, sip and discuss each one.
‘I like them all,’ I giggle after the third mini tipple. Our sommelier Andre is heading back over to our table and I’m learning that he really approves of creative ways to describe the smells and tastes.
‘This one smells like a warm summer’s breeze,’ I say confidently.
‘Very good,’ Andre nods in his clipped South African accent.
I flash Zach a look and he smiles back, looking impressed. I don’t think he’s twigged that I’m winging it. He jots down warm summer breeze on the notepad we’ve been given and I feel another rush of affection towards him. As we move through the continents, Zach and I settle into the kind of easy chat that, I’m learning, comes with a long-for-me relationship. I’m breaking into new territory with Zach and the months we’ve spent together are really clocking up.
‘Notes of wildebeest.’
‘Sorry, what?’ Zach looks confused.
‘This Argentinian Malbec. I’m getting strong wildebeest vibes.’
‘Speaking of wildebeest, my nieces turn six soon and I have no idea what to get them.’
‘You can’t compare your nieces to wildebeest!’
‘They are wild.’
‘I love that about them. Kids can be kind of boring these days but Fran and Sienna are full of energy. Such little personalities already.’
‘Like someone else I know.’
‘So now you’re calling me a wildebeest?’ I laugh, pretending to look affronted.
‘Isn’t wildebeest a plural? What’s one wildebeest called?’
We both wrestle with this for a bit.
Andre clears his throat next to us. ‘Wildebeest is both the singular and plural noun,’ he says, before moving on to another group.
Zach leans across the table. ‘So, if you had to pick, which of your exes could be a murderer?’
‘What?’ I splutter, flecks of Malbec decorating the white tablecloth. Oops.
‘I was reading a feature in one of those real life magazines …’
‘Let me stop you there,’ I titter. ‘How did you find yourself reading a real life magazine?’ Zach’s eyes crinkle as he jots down notes of wildebeest followed by a question mark. I think he’s growing suspicious of my wine musings.
‘I was at the hairdressers the other day and there was a bit of a queue and one thing led to another,’ he explains.
I laugh. ‘Makes sense. Do continue.’
‘I read an article about a woman whose ex-boyfriend had gone on to kill someone. He’s in prison now and she was saying how she had never suspected he could be capable of that while they were together. Isn’t that weird?’
‘Christ, yes. Imagine.’
‘So I’m wondering which of your exes could fall into the I-can’t-believe-he’s-a-murderer category.’
‘And to think that just moments ago we were discussing glitter pens for six-year-olds,’ I chuckle. My mind scrolls back through previous flings like a rolodex. ‘Hmm. I never got to know any of them that well but I did go out with a guy who insisted on having his pasta sauce served in a separate bowl at dinner …’
‘As an Italian, I can confirm that is truly murderous behaviour.’
‘And then there was Pete, who measured his biceps every day to check for progress. Something to do with gains?’
‘I already don’t like him.’
‘Yeah but, you know, none of them lasted. I dumped one guy when I found out his most-used emoji wasn’t the crying-with-laughter one.’
Zach laughs. ‘Wow. I’ve always known I’m incredibly lucky to get beyond date three with you and now you’ve proved it.’
‘Date W. That’s twenty-three dates! An absolute PB for me,’ I say, incredulous, as Andre arrives with a splash of German Riesling.
‘This Riesling brings tropical notes on the nose,’ he informs us.
Zach has a sniff. ‘Absolutely,’ he nods, flashing me a look that tells me he’s cottoned on to my game. ‘I’m getting mango and pineapple. Watermelon and coconut. Sun cream and a ninety-nine with a flake.’
Andre looks less pleased with Zach’s final two observations and moves over to a couple of middle-aged men who seem to be taking the tasting far more seriously.
‘Do you get ninety-nines with a flake in the tropics?’ I giggle.
‘I let the seaside theme go too far,’ Zach laughs.
‘I’d love an ice cream,’ I admit, stomach rumbling on cue. I’m feeling quite tipsy now.
‘Didn’t you eat before we got here?’
‘Nope,’ I chuckle.
The good news is I’m definitely not drunk. Nope. I’m as sober as a judge, if, for example, said judge was coming to the end of a booze cruise around the Mediterranean Sea. It’s that lovely kind of drunk, though. The one where you feel all soppy and so filled up with love it’s like someone’s attached you to a helium canister.
Helium. Like the birthday balloons when Zach took me to Avignon. God that was sweet, wasn’t it? Veeeeerrrrrrryyyyyyy romantic.
Discreetly, I disguise a hiccup with another sip of … what is this?
‘It’s an English sparkling wine.’
I jump. Andre is standing right next to me and I hadn’t noticed.
‘Perhaps now is a good time to remind everyone here that the spit buckets on your table are there for a purpose,’ he says loudly.
I stick my hand in the air.
‘Yes?’ Andre says.
‘What if you’ve liked all the wines and haven’t spat any out?’
He coughs. ‘It’s not about whether you like the wines or not. It’s about sampling them all and spitting them all back out again.’ Oh. ‘Did anyone else fail to pay attention during my introduction to the session?’
A few hands shoot up. Andre looks very displeased. ‘We’ll be needing more jugs of water, then,’ he tuts, striding off to the bar.
‘I do feel quite tipsy,’ I whisper to one of the two Zachs sat opposite me. Who’s the other guy? A stunt double, I deduce eventually.
‘Shall we get you some food?’
‘Could we just try this sparkling wine first? I do like bubbles.’
‘Okay, but then we have to get you something to eat.’
I bob my head up and down in agreement.
‘You are lovely,’ I say.
‘Oh?’ Zach grins.
‘Looking after me. So thoughtful. A really good guy. Like a great boyfriend.’
‘Well, I’m definitely your boyfriend and it’s very sweet of you to say the rest.’
‘You are my boyfriend,’ I nod. The notion that I’m about to dive off a cliff and into a pool of emotions hits me and I start giggling because my feet are already dangling off the edge. There’s no going back now.
‘I like that fact,’ I announce.
‘That’s good news.’
‘Yes,’ I agree, leaning in conspiratorially. ‘I like that you’re my boyfriend and a whole lot more about you, too. I know we’re diff
erent in many ways, but people are complex aren’t they?’ I click my fingers in the air, searching through a fog of wine to find the words for my poignant and heart-felt speech. ‘We’re not chalk and cheese, actually.’
‘I didn’t say that we were,’ he replies, amused.
‘We’re more chalk-ish and cheese-ish.’ Yes, that’s it. This is going very well. I’m feeling so profound today so I should definitely put my eloquent streak to good use and tell Zach how I’m feeling. ‘I like that you’re not as full on as me. I like that you can be shy but also strong. I like that you are kind and caring. I like that you listen without judgement and that you don’t mind when I relentlessly tease you and that I can be my whole self around you and actually now that I think about it I like that I’ve become more of a whole self since we met. That’s not all down to you obviously because I’ve done a bloody good job of seeing myself in a new light this summer. I’ve been able to open up about my mum and I’ve helped Natalie through her break-up and I’ve set up another bloody business like an absolute champion too. So what I’m saying is, I’m great. And so are you.’
Another hiccup. Not so well disguised.
‘I’ve figured something out. We’ve all got flaws, haven’t we? For a while I thought your past was a reason for me not to trust you, and then I realised that I should stop looking for reasons. Why actively seek something out when there’s been nothing to worry me in our relationship? Besides, I can’t just pick and choose the best bits of life – the easiest, simplest bits – because if I did that with you I’d have missed out on all of these amazing experiences we’ve had together. And maybe your best bits are because of what you’ve been through?’
‘Which bits are you talking about?’
‘You know! You’re lovely and thoughtful and sometimes shy and your heart is always on your sleeve. You wouldn’t be who you are now if you hadn’t been through the tough times. Same for me. Ever since Mum died I’ve been trying to move on from my grief. I’d built up barriers to stop myself from feeling that sad, ever again. And now look at us! My barriers are down and I’m actually very happy and I don’t think you ever do move on from grief, anyway. You move forward with it. I am happy moving forward with you because I really like you a lot.