The Second Love of My Life

by Victoria Walters

  ‘And Robert? Can I ask about him? When he came in to tell me about your art, I thought he was your boyfriend, but then I got a sense it was more complicated than that, and I haven’t seen him since. But you mentioned to me that he helped to inspire one of the pieces.’

  ‘I don’t really know what he is right now. He encouraged me to paint again, and he’s part of the reason that my art has become more personal, I suppose,’ I reply slowly. I don’t know how much I want to share about what happened with Robert.

  ‘Relationships are complicated beasts,’ she says, sensing my hesitation. ‘I think that’s why people are going to relate to your paintings: you show, especially with the heart piece, the light and shade that colours our lives.’

  I nod. ‘I think that’s why my work has become more personal; there were so many feelings that I needed to sort through.’

  Heather jots some notes down then leans back against the sofa and sighs. ‘I wish I had an outlet like that. It’s been a long time since I’ve been close with anyone. I’m not sure that I’m good with relationships, full stop, really. Sometimes I think about my last boyfriend and wonder if things could have turned out differently.’

  ‘What happened, if you don’t mind me asking?’ I’m intrigued, as Heather seems so together that it comes as a surprise that she’s not as successful in her personal life as she is in her professional one.

  She takes a sip of coffee. The soft acoustic music playing in the background is the only sound for a couple of minutes until she speaks again. ‘We’d been together for four years and lived together. I wanted us to get married but there was always an excuse why it wasn’t the right time. I worked for a gallery in London but had always dreamt of opening my own place. Someone I knew contacted me to say this gallery was up for sale. It seemed perfect – I could finally have my own place and it wouldn’t cost nearly as much as a place in London would, plus it had a good reputation with art collectors looking for local works and I felt like I could build on that and just make it my own, really.’ She sighs. ‘But Gary didn’t want to leave his life in London, even for me. I realised he didn’t love me enough to put my dreams first for once. So I left him and chased my dream. I haven’t regretted it, either. We just weren’t meant to be.’

  ‘That’s so inspiring. I think it’s great you went after your dream like that.’

  ‘It’s not easy to follow your heart, is it?’

  I look down at my mug of coffee. ‘No, it really isn’t.’

  ‘Your husband, can I ask, were you happy?’

  I smile. ‘Very. We were childhood sweethearts and I was devastated after the accident. I didn’t know how to be without him. It’s been a long, hard road to build a life on my own. I felt so uninspired without him. Robert was the first man since . . .’ I trail off, the pain of it all still so raw.

  ‘I’m sorry, Rose. To lose the love of your life like that . . . Do you think it’s over for good with Robert? It’s pretty special to meet someone who can inspire you after the loss you had. I haven’t found anyone to inspire me, I suppose.’

  I look at her in surprise. I haven’t thought about it like that. All I could think about was how guilty I felt about getting close to Robert when he was so tangled up in why I lost the love of my life. But I know that Heather is right about how hard it is in life to find someone you connect with, who can love you no matter what and be by your side through all the good and bad stuff and who can inspire you to be the best version of yourself. Sitting across from Heather, my exhibition imminent, I know that Robert inspired me to be the best artist I could be and he doesn’t even know it. I just wish I could have inspired him in turn. The thought of him living here, working for his father, being stuck in that family and being unhappy, makes my heart ache for him despite his lies.

  ‘It will all work out, you know, I do believe that,’ Heather adds, giving my hand a pat.

  I send out a little piece of hope into the universe that she is right. I get the sense that this woman in front of me isn’t often wrong.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Heather sends me the e-invite she’s created for the exhibition to make sure I’m happy with it and asks for my guest list. I have it all ready to go, except for one name that I keep adding and deleting from the list.

  Robert Green.

  I don’t know what I will say to him if he comes, but I feel as if none of this would be happening without him. I can’t believe it’s possible to be this confused about one person.

  I give Heather all my names save his and decide to ask Emma’s opinion as we walk into Hampton to hit Julie’s boutique and find something to wear for the exhibition. I have no idea what I should wear, and Emma, my usual style adviser, is just as lost as I am – neither of us has even been to one before. It’s a cold, grey day and I wrap my red scarf tightly around my neck. I can’t put off wearing my winter coat any longer. ‘It depends whether you want to see him or not.’

  ‘It’s not just that. I feel as if he kick-started everything, and I should acknowledge that. I don’t know how I’ll feel about seeing him, though.’

  ‘Well, there will be lots of people there, so you wouldn’t have to talk about anything to do with the two of you.’

  ‘Maybe he won’t want to come,’ I say, wondering if that would upset me.

  She snorts. ‘You know how much he loves your art. Add to that seeing you again and, well, the combination will be irresistible for him.’ She sees my face and slips her arm through mine. ‘It’s okay to want to see him. That’s all I’m saying. I think you should send him an invite. Let him decide.’ I nod, deciding that she’s right. ‘Are you excited about it? The exhibition?’

  ‘Yes, but I’m nervous about talking to all these art people that Heather says will be there. What if I don’t fit into their world?’

  ‘You’re an artist, so of course you will,’ Emma says. ‘It’s your world too. Don’t have a panic attack; it’s going to be great. We’ll all be there to support you,’ she tells me firmly. ‘And we will stomp on anyone who is snippy with you, which they won’t be because everyone will rave about your work and you. Got it?’

  ‘I haven’t needed a pep talk from you in a while.’

  ‘I was worried you didn’t need me anymore.’ She gives me a smile and I see my Emma coming back to me. ‘You’ve got this, hon, I promise.’

  I kick a pile of fallen leaves with my boots. ‘It’s starting to feel far too real.’ I start torturing myself with nightmarish scenarios like the paintings falling off the wall or me passing out in the middle of the room and needing to be carried out on a stretcher. Ugh! I need to stamp out my imagination, and fast. My phone rings then and I answer it dully. ‘Hello?’

  ‘Rose, it’s Mick. About your show. Now, what time should I set off in the minibus?’

  My eyes widen. ‘Minibus?’

  ‘Well, so many of the town want to come, I thought I might as well use the Inn bus to ship everyone over and back.’

  ‘How many?’ I stutter, clutching the phone in a death-like grip.

  ‘About twenty so far.’

  Oh, God. ‘Um, be there for eight o’clock,’ I say, wondering if anyone will notice if I don’t turn up.

  ‘Lovely, looking forward to it,’ he says, hanging up.

  ‘Seriously, Em, I can’t do this. There’s going to be a minibus.’

  ‘Well, I know they’re not the sexiest vehicles, but—’

  I give her my most withering look. ‘Mick’s taking a busload of people to the gallery. The whole bloody town will be there.’

  ‘Oh, right. Yeah, he did mention that. They just want to support you.’ She pats my hand. ‘At least you don’t have to worry about no one showing up. That would be far worse.’

  ‘Not right now, it wouldn’t.’ I had an email from Dan last night, cheerfully telling me that he and every
one from the retreat would be there as well. Maybe Emma’s right and at least I’ll have a lot of support, which is great. I just wish I could calm my nerves down a little. I don’t want everyone I know to witness some kind of meltdown from me.

  When we reach Hampton, it’s almost empty but so pretty with all the trees along the pavement in full autumn colours. We head straight for Julie’s shop and she is waiting by the door to pounce on us.

  ‘Girls, it’s been too long,’ she cries disapprovingly. Julie is just three years older than us but always calls us girls and acts like she’s our big sister. The shop has been in her family forever, but since she took it over she’s transformed it into a trendier boutique, which caused some grumbles from the older residents of Hampton but doubled their turnover.

  ‘I’ve been racking my brains since you called. I’ve pulled these out for you.’ She drags us into the back where there are two metal rails full of clothes. ‘I even Googled it and the consensus for an art exhibition is smart casual.’

  ‘Ugh, everything is smart casual nowadays,’ Emma moans, as if she used to live in a time where everyone wore bonnets and gowns.

  ‘Well, don’t worry, my smart casual will top all the other smart casuals,’ Julie says confidently. She holds up a black dress. ‘Rose, try this one on.’

  ‘That looks more black tie than smart casual,’ I complain, but they protest so loudly I snatch it and go into the fitting room begrudgingly. I guess I can’t just wear jeans really, but right now I wish I could.

  I take off my clothes, ruining my hair in the process, and slip on the knee-length black dress. The sleeves are long but made of lace and there’s a pretty scoop neckline. It actually makes it seem like I have some curves and when I look in the mirror I can’t help but smile. It’s chic but also a bit different, just right for an artist doing smart casual. Maybe Julie is actually a smart casual genius. I pull back the curtain and step out into the shop.

  ‘Rose, you look amazing,’ Emma cries in delight, looking me up and down like she’s never seen me before.

  ‘Gorgeous,’ Julie agrees. She hands me a pair of suede ankle boots with a chunky heel. ‘These will edge it up.’

  ‘Is it really okay?’ I ask, not used to feeling kind of glam. I look at myself in the dress and shoes and a sliver of nerves evaporate. If all else fails, at least I will look great.

  ‘It’s perfect,’ Emma says, looking at me. ‘And your hair should be messy. Also black eyeliner – lots of it.’

  ‘You, try this,’ Julie says, sweeping her gaze from me to Emma, who grins at me but dutifully takes the clothes from her and changes. I get changed back, not wanting to somehow ruin the dress.

  ‘What do you think?’ Emma asks, stepping out in a pencil skirt and polka dot top.

  ‘Too waitressy,’ Julie declares and throws something else at her. ‘Try this.’

  When Emma comes back out she’s wearing a red blouse with the skirt and looks great. ‘I have a lipstick to match this,’ she says excitedly.

  ‘It’s perfect, you two will be the centre of attention,’ Julie says decisively, thrusting a pair of red shoes at Emma. Emma lets out a yelp of excitement and I chuckle. I’ve never met anyone so thrilled by shoes. It’s great to see her excited. I’m so glad we came.

  ‘I’m coming with Marie,’ Julie says of the bookshop owner, taking my dress and shoes over to the till and wrapping them in tissue paper. I bite my nail.

  ‘Rose is scared about everyone being there,’ Emma says in a mock whisper as though I can’t hear her.

  ‘Don’t be silly, it will be a great night. All your friends will be there, so there’s nothing to worry about, right?’

  It all sounds so straightforward coming out of her mouth but I can’t shake the churning in the pit of my stomach. I force a smile and hand over my credit card, crossing my fingers that I can blag my way through this. I focus on the fact that this is about my work and not about me, and that helps a little. Although if everyone hates my work then I’m in trouble.

  ‘Get out of your head,’ Emma orders. She knows me far too well. ‘Come on, we need a drink.’

  She hooks her arm through mine again after we kiss Julie goodbye and we carry our bags out and walk to the village pub opposite. It’s a tiny place with a genuine thatched roof, and at this early hour, we are the only customers. We take a seat near the open fire with two beers.

  ‘Maybe I can turn up drunk?’ I suggest, taking a long sip of the warming amber liquid.

  ‘Maybe not the best plan. So, I’ve been thinking . . .’ she says, looking down at her drink. ‘I think I want to try again.’

  ‘Oh, Em, that’s really great.’

  ‘I’m really scared but this is something I – well, we – really want, and I feel strong enough now.’

  I touch her hand. ‘You are strong, Em, I’m so proud of you.’

  She smiles. ‘Your painting helped – John and I can make it through anything together, and even if it doesn’t work out, we’ll be okay.’

  ‘Of course you will. I’ve got everything crossed for you.’ I raise my glass and she clinks it. I really want this to happen for them both. I see the fear in her eyes but it’s matched with determination, and I resolve to let her strength inspire me with my exhibition. This is something I thought I would only dream about happening. And I’m scared but I want my dream to come true, just as Emma does.

  If your dreams don’t scare you, they aren’t big enough.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Heather surprises me with a phone call a couple of days before the exhibition. ‘I have an offer for you,’ she says, not bothering with pleasantries. ‘As expected, I’ve already had enquiries about purchasing your three paintings available for sale. As a result the guide prices we talked about need to be far higher. I know how much Without winter, there would be no spring means to you, though, and I wondered how you’d feel about me purchasing it for the gallery? That way it will stay in the area and people will be able to view it.’

  ‘You want to buy it?’

  ‘It’s the centrepiece of the collection and I feel it’s perfect for the gallery. What do you think?’

  The painting feels as if it’s part of me and the idea of it going to a stranger has been making me feel a little uneasy, but to know that Heather would look after it, and people would be able to see it, means I’d be able to part with it but still have it close by. I know I need to let it go. I painted what I felt I needed to and now it’s for others to enjoy, hopefully. ‘I’d love it to go to you,’ I tell her.

  The offer feels too high to me, but then Heather advises me to accept two offers on the other pieces that are as high, so I have to concede this must be what my work is currently worth. I feel as if I’m being accepted by a world that I thought would never open its doors to me since I wasn’t good enough. I’m not sure if I’ll ever feel good enough exactly, but I feel as if I’m doing what I’m meant to be doing.

  When the night of the exhibition arrives, I pull on my new dress and stand in front of my full-length mirror trying to recognise the woman staring back at me. It’s not just the fact I’m dressed up, which has always been a rare occurrence, but I no longer look tired, weary, too thin, sad – I look . . . well. My hair is shiny and hangs with bounce past my shoulders, my skin is glowing even with minimal make-up, the dark circles under my eyes have disappeared and the weight I lost has returned. So, added with this dress, my figure looks as good as it ever will.

  I look down at my hand empty of rings. It still feels strange not to have them there. Sometimes I go to touch them and then remember that they are gone. I look at them hanging around my neck. I love that I never have to stop wearing them.

  Then I realise what the biggest difference is with my reflection. My smile. I’m smiling and I can’t stop. My reflection beams back at me. I’ve missed smiling. I lift the rings f
rom my chest and kiss them. I hope you’re with me tonight, Lucas. I need you. I always will. ‘Go get ’em, babe,’ I imagine him saying and I silently promise him that I will.

  The doorbell rings and I turn from the mirror to open the front door. Emma stands on the doorstep looking lovely and John waves to me from the car. He’s actually wearing a suit.

  ‘Rose, wow,’ Emma says, whistling in appreciation.

  I laugh, annoyed as ever that I can’t whistle. ‘Let’s get our gorgeous butts to this thing.’

  ‘Yes, boss.’ She leads the way to the car and I glance back at the cottage, the fairy lights glowing against the dark sky, and excitement finally takes over my nerves. I’m ready for this.

  I climb into the back and John pulls away. I laugh when I realise they’re listening to Take That – the early years. Emma and I were obsessed with them at school.

  ‘You can’t be nervous listening to them,’ Emma explains loudly over the music and then starts singing along.

  The car ride goes really quickly with us singing and laughing at our old love for the boys and then suddenly we’ve arrived in Plymouth and John is parking near the gallery. I take a few deep breaths before I get out of the car. My heart is pounding in my chest and my hands are clammy and slipping on my clutch bag. But I feel more confident than I have in weeks. This is my night. There might even be a little swagger to my walk.

  Or it could just be that I’m in heels.

  We walk up to the open door together. I’m so glad I didn’t have to turn up on my own. I look around, my mouth dropping open in wonder. The gallery is lit with a dreamy orange glow and soft music streams out from the speakers. The room is almost full of people talking and laughing.

  A sign in the gallery window says ‘Rose Walker – Pieces Of My Heart’ in big, bold red letters against a white background accompanied by the small painted heart I drew for Heather when I popped in, which matches the now healed tattoo on my wrist. The three of us stop to stare at it. Somehow seeing it in black and white, well, red and white, makes it all real. Goosebumps prick my arms under my jacket. I can’t believe I really did this.