The Kicking the Bucket List

by Cathy Hopkins

  ‘We don’t have to smell them, do we?’ asked Fleur.

  ‘No Fleur, we don’t – nor eat them.’

  So Mr Serious does have a sense of humour, I thought.

  ‘Can you use these techniques for sex?’ asked Fleur. I could tell that she was determined to wrong-foot him.

  ‘I would say they would enhance sex greatly, wouldn’t you?’ Andrew replied and raised an eyebrow at her.

  ‘Are you going to demonstrate?’ Fleur persisted. I had to laugh. Fleur had been the same when at school – always the one asking awkward questions just for the fun of it.

  ‘Not today,’ said Andrew, ‘but if you’d like to come to one of my workshops on sex and mindfulness, you’d be most welcome.’

  ‘Is that a date?’ asked Fleur.

  ‘Fleur, leave the man alone,’ said Rose. ‘He’s just doing his job.’

  ‘I don’t mind,’ said Andrew. ‘It’s not the first time I’ve been asked.’

  Fleur looked peeved that her question wasn’t original.

  ‘Whatever the activity,’ Andrew continued, ‘focus on your breath to bring you into the present moment. Be aware of the rise and fall of the diaphragm, and those simple tools will slow you down, make you more aware. So much of our lives, sex included, people often act out on autopilot. When you practise being mindful, you become more alert to where you are, what you’re doing, how it feels and – in relation to sex, Fleur, that can only be a good thing.’

  Fleur studied him. ‘I agree. Too many men rush it.’

  ‘I believe one should enjoy the journey as well as the destination.’

  Fleur gave him a slow smile. ‘Do you now?’

  Andrew smiled back at her. ‘I do.’

  We spent the rest of the session sampling different tastes and smells – the sweetness of honey, the bitter taste of dark chocolate, a selection of herbs Andrew had brought along. It was enjoyable and it did make me feel in the present moment.

  At midday, Andrew took us out into the hotel grounds.

  ‘I want you to walk mindfully,’ said Andrew. ‘Not to get the exercise over and get back inside. No. I want you to be aware of all your surroundings. Look at the trees, the textures – really look at them: the roughness of the bark, the smooth feel of the leaves. Look at the colours, the shades of green. Really notice them. Feel the sun on your skin. Feel the ground beneath you, the hardness of the path, the softness of the grass.’

  ‘This bit is dead boring,’ Fleur whispered after five minutes.

  Andrew heard her. ‘Be aware of your boredom, Fleur. Don’t repress it. Feel it.’

  ‘Seriously?’

  His eyes twinkled with amusement as he looked back at her. ‘Seriously. Feel your boredom, embrace it.’

  We walked on. I was enjoying this part too. Focusing on my breath and really trying to be in the moment. Rose was quiet throughout, but when she finished, she said, ‘This makes sense. Be here now. It’s not new.’

  ‘True, the idea is not new,’ said Andrew, ‘but every situation is new, especially if you take the time to experience it.’

  ‘Smarmy git,’ Fleur whispered again.

  ‘Heard that, Fleur,’ said Andrew.

  Fleur’s eyes twinkled this time, and I got the feeling that some major flirting was going on under my nose.

  We walked mindfully, returned to the hotel and drank tea mindfully, sat in our chairs mindfully, breathed mindfully, felt every sensation possible in the location we were in – sounds, tastes, sights, smells, feelings – mindfully.

  At the end of our session, I felt as if someone had put the brakes on me. I felt slowed down. It felt good, peaceful. My cares and worries lay in the future, in the past.

  Just before Andrew left, Fleur asked him for his card.

  ‘Feel free to get in touch, and you’re welcome to attend any of my workshops,’ he said as he handed his contact details over.

  ‘Are you driving back to London now?’ asked Fleur.

  ‘No. Getting the train,’ said Andrew. ‘My car’s having its MOT today.’

  ‘I’ll give you a lift,’ said Fleur. ‘Let me just grab my stuff.’

  *

  I caught Fleur in reception as she was checking out. ‘Are you going to take up mindfulness then?’

  ‘Maybe, but after the exercises yesterday of putting out your order into the universe, I think I might have just manifested my perfect man.’

  ‘Andrew? Good for you.’

  I felt happy for her as I watched her walk out to join him in the car park. From the short time I’d spent with him, he seemed like a man who might be able to handle her. I also realized I’d lost another opportunity to tell Fleur about Daniel. Perhaps I could still get some time with Rose, I thought as I turned to see her coming down the stairs.

  She breezed past. ‘I’m off too. See you next time.’

  Next time, I thought. I’ll tell them both next time.

  27

  Dee

  Friday 15 July, evening

  The roses and wild geraniums were out, the sun was shining, my exhibition was ready to go. I was happy with it. I’d worked hard over the months, as if possessed, and I’d completed forty works since the New Year, though I was only going to display twenty. Some had taken weeks to complete, like the one of a peacock inspired by my ex, John, which I’d done in oils in Picasso style, in slashes of bright greens and blues, the head and wings distorted; others, charcoal and pastel ones, I’d done in a day, though working late into the night. I’d also put into practice what I’d learnt on the ‘be positive’ weekend. I’d visualized a good outcome. I’d written out affirmations over and over again. I, Dee McDonald, am a successful artist. I, Dee McDonald, am a successful artist. I, Dee McDonald, am a successful artist.

  ‘Test the water with these,’ said Anna as she helped me with last-minute preparations in the gallery area upstairs in the village hall where my work had been hung. ‘You can always swap some later.’

  Wine had been delivered, my friend Marie had come to stay and had been busy baking breads and preparing dips, and I was dressed and ready in the outfit that I’d bought in Harrods back in February.

  ‘You feeling nervous?’ Anna asked.

  ‘A bit, but looking forward to it too.’

  ‘Well, you look great. I’m sure it’s going to be a success.’

  ‘Thanks and … please don’t make a slip and mention Daniel to Fleur when she gets here,’ I said to Anna and Marie.

  Fleur had announced that she was going to come down for the opening. ‘Wouldn’t miss it,’ she’d said when I’d told her about it. We’d spoken a few times on the phone since June, even Skyped once, and it was good to be getting on with her again. As well as my sister, she was a connection and reminder of Mum, and I was grateful for that. I’d told Rose about the exhibition too, but as always she was busy busy, but she had asked me to take photos of the evening and send them.

  My heart had sunk at first when I’d heard that Fleur wanted to come to the exhibition, because Daniel had promised that he’d be there and I couldn’t think how I would explain that to Fleur. At the same time I felt sad that they couldn’t both be there on such a big occasion. It had been years since I’d had an exhibition, and the last one had been a resounding failure, partly due to gale-force winds keeping people away, but also partly because my paintings were safe and unoriginal. This time, I felt more confident that what I had to display showed more of what I was capable of.

  Anna zipped her lips. ‘I won’t say a word, though I do think you’ve got to tell her and Rose soon.’

  ‘I will, but I need to pick my moment. As I told you, I did try when we met up in June. I’ve got enough to think about this evening, though, and Daniel still thinks I should wait.’

  ‘For what?’

  ‘Until we’ve finished Mum’s kicking the bucket list. We’ve only got one more weekend to go.’

  Anna shrugged. She didn’t like lies any more than I did. ‘OK. But … Dee, are you sure about this
man? I know I’ve only met him once and he seemed nice and fond of you, but is he making you happy?’

  I sighed. ‘When we’re together, I’d say yes, most definitely, but lately, I do wonder where is it going? At first, it felt wonderful, the anticipation of seeing him, even the secrecy, but as the months have gone on, I do think I’d like him to share my life. As you know, I want our relationship to be public. I want to be able to introduce him as my partner to everyone, not just Fleur and Rose.’

  ‘But you don’t think he’s one for commitment?’

  ‘Rose and Fleur both think not, but thankfully they’ve both got off my case about him. I will tell them about Daniel the next weekend we are together in August, most definitely. I’m not going to let anything stand in the way. Also, it will be our last time together so, after that, Daniel can’t object. We will have completed Mum’s list, so the fact that we have a relationship can’t, as he put it, cause any undercurrents.’

  ‘Good,’ said Anna, ‘because at our age, we’re too old not to know where we stand in love. But for now, tonight is going to be your night. Let’s put any thoughts of Daniel out of both of our minds and enjoy your success.’

  I grinned. ‘Yes, because I, Dee McDonald, am a successful artist.’

  Anna gestured to the room filled with my work. ‘Indeed you are.’

  *

  The gallery opened at six and the hall filled up quickly with holidaymakers and villagers. Kingsand was usually a quiet place, with not a lot happening in the evening, so an art exhibition and chance for a gathering would be the highlight of the month. After half an hour, there were red dots on three of the paintings – one of them, a winter landscape in pastel with a red-breasted robin as the only splash of colour against the snow, sold to Michael Harris, though I couldn’t see him in the hall. I felt touched that he’d bought one of my paintings after all the trouble I’d caused him.

  Fleur wafted in half an hour after the opening and drew the usual stares from people. She was dressed in a white dress with gold sandals and looked, as she always did, as though she’d stepped from the pages of a glossy magazine.

  ‘Dee, these are fabulous,’ she said after she’d had a good look around. ‘I definitely want to buy a few for the flat.’ She pointed at my painting of the eagle. Even though it had already sold (to Daniel), I’d still wanted to show it because I thought it was my best work. ‘I love that one. Has it definitely sold?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘To someone here?’

  ‘No. A private buyer.’

  ‘From the village?’

  ‘No. Er, from London. They were down here in the area.’

  ‘They? A couple?’

  ‘No. A man.’

  ‘Man? A friend?’

  ‘Sort of.’

  ‘Because how else would he see your work if this is the first showing of it?’ I was squirming inside. Why couldn’t I tell her that Daniel had bought it? This is exactly why I have to come clean about him soon. I can’t bear situations like this. Luckily Fleur didn’t pursue the matter. ‘Anyway, it’s fabulous, like the bird is ripping out of the canvas; it’s almost violent. I’d have loved the original. Will you do prints?’

  ‘I will.’

  ‘Maybe I could have one of those, though it won’t be the same as owning the original.’

  ‘I’ll do another for you,’ I said, though I doubted I could revisit the state of mind I was in back in January when I’d painted it.

  Fleur wandered over to the food table, and Michael Harris appeared through the doors and approached me. Despite our strange relationship over my house, I was glad he’d come to see my work.

  ‘Well done Dee,’ he said. ‘I’m very impressed.’

  ‘Thanks. And I see you’ve bought one for yourself.’

  ‘I have. I’d maybe like to buy more for my new place. Ian tells me there are some that aren’t on display.’

  ‘That’s right, there are. So did you put an offer in on the Vicarage?’

  ‘I did, it’s all going through, so I’ll need things to furnish it, art to make it home. Maybe I could see the other paintings sometime?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Great. I’d love that.’ He indicated the full room. ‘A good turn-out.’

  ‘Not a lot happens in the evenings down this way, so it gives people a chance to get out.’

  ‘And your partner? Is he not here?’

  How does he know I have a partner? I wondered, then realized Ian must have told him. I quickly glanced around to see where Fleur was, to make sure she couldn’t hear, and saw that she was at a nearby table, helping herself to a glass of wine. She didn’t appear to be listening.

  ‘Partner?’ I asked.

  ‘Oh. Sorry. None of my business.’

  ‘No. It’s OK, but I haven’t got a partner, not exactly.’ Or have I? I don’t know, I thought.

  ‘Oh, I thought … Sorry, my mistake.’

  We were interrupted by a young woman who wanted to ask about a charcoal drawing of starlings. It was the one inspired by my meditation when I felt my head was full of birds; it was black and menacing. As I answered the woman’s question, Michael moved on. When she’d gone, Fleur shot over.

  ‘So dish the dirt. Who’s the man you were talking to a moment ago?’

  ‘That’s my landlady’s son.’

  She glanced over at him. ‘Ah. The famous Mr Harris.’

  I nodded.

  ‘And who was he asking about? I heard him ask about a partner? Did he mean the man from London who bought the painting I wanted? Have you been holding out on me, Dee Mcdonald?’

  ‘No! Not at all,’ I blustered. ‘Michael probably saw me with Ian or someone. Ian is Anna’s boyfriend. He’s over there, the bald guy stuffing hummus and pita bread into his face.’ I pointed to the other side of the room and Fleur turned to look. Inside, I felt sick. I was digging myself deeper in the lie. If and when I did finally tell Fleur and Rose about Daniel, Fleur would remember this time and ask why I hadn’t come out with it. I cursed Michael Harris and I cursed Daniel. Why couldn’t he be here? And why couldn’t we be like a normal couple? Supporting each other at important times? All out in the open? I wished he could have been here to see my paintings, to see the public response, but no, I’d got wrapped up in protecting our secret. It felt underhand and wrong and had to stop. Soon. Very soon. But not yet. Not yet. Not today.

  Anna appeared by my side. ‘Don’t look now but look who’s just arrived.’

  I turned and my heart sank. Oh no, not him, not now, I thought as I saw my ex, John, at the far end of the gallery. He was dressed in a cream linen suit and Panama hat. He was always a pretentious schmuck. Fleur had seen him too. ‘Isn’t that John?’ she asked.

  ‘It is. Probably here to give his professional critique.’ I noticed he was looking at the painting of the peacock which he had inspired. I had enjoyed working on it, distorting it until it looked like a kind of bright-feathered monster.

  John turned, caught my eye, bowed in greeting, then beckoned me over with a curl of his index finger.

  ‘Look at him! He’s summoning you,’ said Fleur. ‘Don’t go.’

  I nodded politely at him then turned away. ‘I’m not going to. The days went I went running to him are long over.’

  ‘Want me to go and spill wine over him?’ Anna asked.

  Fleur laughed. ‘I always liked you, Anna. Let’s both do it.’

  I shook my head. ‘No, no. They say the best revenge is to live well. I’m doing that.’

  ‘Good for you Dee,’ said Fleur, and looked at me with admiration.

  John appeared at my side a few moments later. ‘So, young Dee,’ he said. I bristled. I hated when he used to call me that.

  ‘Fifty now, hardly young,’ I said.

  ‘Well, you’re looking splendid, if I may say.’

  I searched my mind for an excuse to move away but he pointed at the wall of my work. ‘A new direction for you. Birds. Hmm …’

  I knew him wel
l. Hint that he was about to say something and get you to draw it out of him. It was one of his methods of control.

  ‘So John, what do you think?’ Fleur asked.

  John considered her question. ‘A progression … of sorts. Yes, I see something, the seeds of …’

  ‘Progression? Seeds of? You know what, John, you always did talk bollocks when it came to art,’ said Fleur. ‘There are no seeds here, just a full-blown talent in flower. What are you even doing here?’

  John’s expression soured. ‘I read about the exhibition in the local paper. I like to see what other local artists are doing, and I couldn’t miss seeing what my little Dee has been getting up to.’

  Little Dee? His little Dee? How did I ever survive so long with this man? It was so clear now, everything he said had been belittling, though delivered with a smile; comments to keep me in my place, insecure, unsure. I must have been out of my mind.

  ‘Well, she’s doing just fine as you can see by the red dots, so I suggest you either buy something or bugger off,’ said Fleur.

  ‘Well. There’s no need to be rude!’ said John. He turned and walked away.

  ‘Never liked him,’ said Fleur, loud enough for him to hear. ‘Or his paintings.’

  *

  The rest of the evening was a resounding success. I sold four paintings and five drawings.

  Once the last of the people had gone, Fleur and I went to the pub and got a table with Anna, Ian and Marie, who were already there ensconced in the corner. I prayed that Anna had warned Ian not to say anything about Daniel. I can’t go on like this, I thought. Daniel and I had been seen in the pub when he came to visit. I knew that tongues would have been wagging. I glanced around to see who was in and felt my stomach tense. Anyone could have seen me with him. At this rate, I’d have to go around asking everyone in the pub to keep quiet. Lying is definitely not for me, I thought. It always leads to complications.

  ‘He likes you,’ said Fleur, when we saw Michael Harris come in and go over to the bar.

  ‘Why do you say that?’

  ‘He was watching you in the gallery. Never took his eyes off you.’