Making Peace

by Fiona McCallum

  ‘Oh, that’s good,’ Sam said after taking a long slug from her mug.

  ‘Yes, it is.’

  ‘It’s deadline day, isn’t it?’

  ‘It is. So, what have you decided?’ Hannah said.

  ‘Hold that thought. I need to show you something. Close your eyes. Back in a sec.’

  ‘Okay.’

  Sam left the room then came back and sat down at the table.

  ‘All right. Open. What do you think?’

  Hannah looked at the object sitting in front of her and blinked. She bit her lip as she looked up at Sam across from her. Her friend had an expectant, fearful expression etched in her face.

  ‘It’s …’ Sam started.

  ‘Yes. I can see.’ It’s Tristan and me and the cats. ‘Oh, Sammy, it’s amazing.’ She blinked back the welling tears so she could see clearly. There in front of her was a sculpture of two people sitting at a desk or table, only the two people were sort of one – moulded together and only separated by the pale blue wash over the one that was placed slightly to the side and behind. Tristan’s favourite colour – Bermuda blue. How did Sam know that? It wasn’t something they’d ever discussed. And the balloon behind Tristan’s head – she’d never told Sam about the discussion she’d had with her mother-in-law at the funeral parlour that day either. On the flat surface in front of the figures was a representation of a cat curled up with two kittens.

  ‘It can be a sculpture or a paperweight – though it might be a bit big for your desk.’

  ‘Oh, Sammy, it’s perfect.’

  ‘So, you like it? It’s okay?’

  ‘Samantha, are you kidding me?’ Tears spilled down Hannah’s cheeks and dropped onto the piece. ‘Oh, shit,’ she said, dragging out a tissue from her sleeve.

  ‘It’s okay, it’s glazed ceramic. It can be washed,’ Sam said gently. ‘I didn’t want to upset you, Hann.’

  Hannah wiped the tears away and then picked up the object and turned it around to study it closer. God, Sam’s amazing. This must have taken her weeks.

  ‘Do you think it’s good enough for the exhibition?’ Sam asked tentatively.

  ‘Of course it’s good enough! But it’s not for sale. I’m buying it.’

  ‘No you’re not – I’m giving it to you.’

  ‘Why balloons, Sam, when you hate them?’ Hannah said, pointing to the perfectly round balloon a little above Tristan’s head.

  ‘I know. It just felt right. I don’t even believe in god or heaven and all that rubbish, as you know, but it felt right for him to be holding a balloon. You can’t argue with the creative juices. I’m just a conduit,’ she added, with a shrug.

  Hannah was stalling. How did she tell Sam one piece wouldn’t cut it, no matter how brilliant – especially if that one piece wasn’t even for sale?

  ‘So, do you think you’ve found your thing?’ Hannah ventured.

  ‘Maybe. For now.’

  ‘This must have taken you ages. Are you working on something else?’ Hannah’s head was whirling. They could use this piece for the brochure and invitations, and that would buy Sam some time – perhaps as much as four weeks. How many more pieces could she do in that time? And did she want to? Maybe this was a one-off. But would using this piece for marketing purposes while it would not be for sale be considered false advertising, dishonest even?

  ‘You mean, have I got my shit together enough to go ahead with the exhibition, don’t you?’ Sam asked.

  ‘Well, it is deadline day. I need to give Roger his answer. So …?’

  ‘Come with me. I need to know what you think.’

  As she followed Sam, Hannah started to worry about the prospect of having to be more objective about her friend’s art. She was used to just being kind and supportive, not that she’d ever been dishonest. She hadn’t needed to be. But now she would have to be more calculating. What if Sam had done something she didn’t like, or didn’t see as saleable? Oh, who was she kidding – what would she know about what was saleable or not? That was Roger Huntley’s job.

  ‘Now, I want you to be totally honest – I need you to be,’ Sam said as she opened the door to her garage studio. ‘Because, this is serious. No more mucking around dabbling.’

  Hannah stood at the large bench draped in a white sheet, which was raised here and there by objects hidden underneath. Sam carefully gathered the fabric and lifted it off, rolling it into a ball as she went, which she clutched tightly to her while she awaited Hannah’s response.

  Hannah’s mouth dropped open. She made her way slowly right along the bench. ‘Oh my god, Sammy. You’re a bloody genius!’

  ‘Do you think these pieces will work as an exhibition?’

  ‘Of course they’ll work. What’s here – eight pieces?’ she counted.

  ‘Nine including yours. And I’ve got ideas for about four more, if you think it’s a goer.’

  ‘We’re not selling mine.’

  ‘We can still exhibit it, though, can’t we? Galleries do that all the time – have a not-for for-sale sticker on it, or Roger can just put a red dot on it straight up.’

  ‘Oh. Yes, I suppose so.’ Though Hannah didn’t want to let it out of her sight for a moment.

  She stood staring at the pieces trying to work out what they each meant.

  ‘It’s the ripple effect,’ Sam said. ‘That’s what I think the theme should be. See, that’s Rob in Singapore. Your parents on their bench at the retirement village. Henry and his lawn-mowing. I don’t even know what he looks like. It’s not too morbid, is it?’

  ‘No, they’re lovely sculptures in their own right. Are you going to do a little story for each one?’

  ‘I haven’t decided.’

  ‘You do realise you’re as good as ensuring they all sell. How can I not buy every one of them – they all mean so much to me.’

  ‘Well, I won’t let you. And, you said yourself they could pass as just interesting sculptures. See, you know that as Charlie the dog and you on the park bench, but it could be anyone.’

  ‘Hmm.’

  ‘You don’t mind that I’ve used you and your experience as inspiration, do you?’ Sam asked, misinterpreting Hannah’s silence. She was being drawn back to her trip to New York as she stared at one piece.

  ‘This one is a little more random,’ Sam said, pointing to the sculpture Hannah was looking at – an unusually large ladybug sitting on a leaf. ‘Though, there are nine spots,’ she added as Hannah counted.

  ‘Well done, you,’ Hannah said, draping her arm around Sam and pulling her close. Thank you for coming through, Hannah thought while she tried not to let out a loud sigh of relief.

  ‘Thank you for inspiring me and for giving me the push I needed.’

  ‘It was a pretty bloody big shove from what I’m seeing here,’ Hannah said.

  ‘Which I clearly needed. It feels so good to be going hard at it again – and have a real purpose. Though, I feel for those poor, neglected little boys. You know, I’m not sure I should have had kids.’

  ‘That’s just your exhaustion talking. You love them to bits and wouldn’t part with them for the world.’

  ‘I know, but I can’t help wondering if perhaps you can’t really have both – be a good mother and a successful artist.’

  ‘Come on, you’ve just shown me this amazing work. And the twins adore you.’

  ‘Yes, but is that right? Is that enough? I’m a bloody train wreck, Hann.’

  ‘You know damn well you’d do anything for them. Anything.’

  ‘Of course. Without a second thought.’

  ‘That’s what being a great mum is. You can absolutely be a great artist at the same time. You already are.’

  ‘But I saw online that …’

  ‘Since when have you ever taken any notice of something you read online?’

  ‘Erm, since I’ve started to think seriously about my art as a career.’

  ‘Well, don’t. You need to leave the business side of things to me and focus on the creation side
. And getting the kids fed, dressed and off to school and back again.’

  ‘I forgot to bath them last night.’

  ‘So? I read somewhere we all wash too much – it’s bad for us. Anyway, they won’t start to stink until they hit puberty. You’ve got a few years up your sleeve yet.’

  ‘Oh, Hannah, you’re too funny.’

  ‘Darling, just be your wonderful self and you and the boys will be fine. Now, back to serious matters. What do you say about tidying yourself up and coming with me to meet Roger and show him your work?’

  ‘Oh, Hannah …’

  ‘You have to meet him sometime. And, no, not for the first time on opening night. Go on, you’ve got time for a shower.’

  ‘You’re saying the dishevelled, crazy artist look isn’t the right way to go?’

  ‘Not when you smell like you haven’t showered in a week.’

  ‘See, that’s what I love about you – your honesty.’

  ‘Off you go,’ Hannah said, turning Sam by the shoulders and giving her a gentle shove.

  Hannah stayed where she was, staring at the sculptures while shaking her head slowly with admiration.

  Chapter Nineteen

  ‘Stay,’ she told Holly, Squeak and Lucky when she heard the doorbell ring. She’d just come back from shopping and the cats were tripping her up in the hallway, sniffing at the bags of groceries.

  ‘Hello, Auntie Beth. Come in out of the heat. Oh, they’re gorgeous,’ she said, looking at the bouquet of flowers her friend handed her.

  ‘They’re for you. They were left earlier and I rescued them before the sun hit the porch.’

  ‘Oh. How lovely. Thank you. They would have withered in minutes today. Hmm, there doesn’t seem to be a card,’ Hannah said, peering amongst the blooms.

  ‘No, I couldn’t see one, either. Not that I was snooping.’

  ‘They’re probably a farewell gift from the office, though they did give Craig and me a lovely drinks send-off,’ Hannah said as she carried the box of flowers through to the kitchen and put it carefully on the bench. ‘How are your cats settling in?’ Hannah asked as she got them each a glass of iced water while Beth pulled out a stool at the bench.

  ‘Oh, they’re precious. I can’t tell you what a new lease on life they’ve given me.’

  ‘That’s wonderful to hear.’

  ‘Speaking of which – you seem extra chipper today.’

  ‘Oh, Auntie Beth, I’ve had just the best day. I went to see Sam and you should see what she’s done for the exhibition. She blew even me away.’

  ‘So, it’s going ahead, then?’

  ‘Yes. I took her with me to meet with Roger Huntley, the gallery owner, and he was thrilled with her work too. So, it’s full steam ahead. The opening is April eight.’

  ‘Goodie. I can’t wait.’

  ‘We want as many people at the opening as possible so I’ll need the names and addresses for all your friends who might be interested.

  ‘Oh, they’ll be thrilled to be invited to the opening of an art exhibition.’

  ‘I’m determined it’s going to be a huge success, and I want a crowd there. Thank goodness I’m only working part-time now.’

  ‘Tell me, have you heard from your dashing vet?’

  ‘No, but hang on, the flowers could be from him. I wish there was a card. You can’t exactly ring someone and ask if he happened to have sent you flowers, can you? Come on, there must be a card here somewhere,’ she said as she lifted the container of flowers out of its decorative box and peered inside. ‘Ah-huh,’ she said, holding up a long envelope.

  ‘I’ll go so you can read that in peace,’ Beth said, easing herself off her stool.

  ‘No, don’t. As long as you don’t mind me being rude and reading it while you’re sitting here.’

  ‘Hannah, dear, as if I would mind. Go ahead.’

  ‘Okay. Here goes.’ Hannah opened the envelope and took out a folded sheet of paper and raised her eyebrows at Beth. She was suddenly nervous. But what could he possibly say that was worth being nervous about? She quickly scanned the first few lines before starting from the beginning and reading aloud:

  Dearest Hannah,

  I have it on good authority – my sister – that I am an idiot and have behaved abysmally. Please accept these flowers as a token of my apology and for being a clueless fool with regards my treatment of you on our first and second dates – if you can call them that. I am so sorry for taking you for granted, for being so unromantic and for being so distracted by my work. Please don’t take it as an indication of my lack of interest in you romantically, because that is certainly not the case. Instead, and while I don’t wish to make excuses, please accept, as I have, that I am very out of practice in the dating department. Please will you have dinner with me on Friday night – dinner at a nice restaurant with white tablecloths, not the sort of casual dining I subjected you to on Sunday for breakfast. Feel free to dress up – or not, if you wish; no pressure – as I will be making an appropriate effort. I am not a man for wearing ties, but I do own a suit. Apologies for the over-sharing, but I don’t want there to be any misunderstandings. Please have dinner with me Friday night. I am not begging. Well, I sort of am. If you are willing to forgive me and give me a second chance – give US a second chance – please text me. A simple yes will suffice. I await your reply with bated breath.

  Yours truly, Pete.

  Hannah stared at Beth, a grin pulling at the corners of her mouth.

  ‘Well,’ said Beth. ‘So, what do we think about that?’

  ‘I was just about to ask you that question. He’s pretty full-on, isn’t he?’

  ‘I think it’s rather delightful. He’s clearly smitten with you. And apologetic.’

  ‘He doesn’t use paragraphs. It’s like he hasn’t taken a breath.’

  ‘I like that. It means it’s come from the heart. I think it’s terribly romantic. It’s probably not very often you get handwritten notes these days.’

  ‘You’re right, it is pretty sweet,’ Hannah agreed.

  ‘So, what are you going to do?’

  ‘Well, I can’t really say no after reading this.’

  ‘Of course you can. You are your own woman. You’re allowed to spend your time however and with whomever you wish.’

  ‘I liked him – even …’

  ‘I know you did – it was written all over your face.’

  ‘Do you think he sounds a little bit dorky?’

  ‘Maybe. He’s a vet, so he’s clearly kind and well educated – even if he didn’t use paragraphs. Sometimes really intelligent people struggle with social norms. But he’s being honest and in my book that’s important. He didn’t have to write all that. He could have simply tried to woo you with flowers, chocolates, champagne. In this case, dear, I think the words are speaking louder than the actions.’

  ‘I’d like to meet his sister. She sounds like my cup of tea. I love that they’re clearly so close, too. I’m going to go – give him another chance.’

  ‘Good for you. If nothing else, I’m sure you’ll have a lovely meal. And it will be good practice for you,’ Beth said.

  ‘The poor guy. It was probably his first date in years and he thought it went well only to be told he’d failed.’

  ‘Well, thank goodness someone told him. Men really don’t have that much of a clue. Oh, the stories my friend Myrtle tells me about her Gerald. It makes me glad to be living alone.’

  ‘And here you are encouraging me to go on a date, Auntie Beth!’

  ‘Oh, you’re far too young to be shutting that door just yet, dear, as you well know. Go on, text the poor fellow and put him out of his misery – these arrived hours ago.’

  They were silent for a few minutes while Hannah tried to find the perfect phrase.

  ‘Okay. What do you think of this? Thank you for the gorgeous flowers and heartfelt letter. I would love to accept your kind invitation to dinner on Friday night. Hannah. How’s that?’

  ‘Good. Send it bef
ore you start second-guessing yourself.’

  ‘Okay. It’s gone.’

  Seconds later she received a reply.

  Yay! Thank you. I won’t disappoint you again. I’ll pick you up at 7 p.m. unless I hear otherwise. Pete

  ‘Thank goodness he didn’t add kisses or hugs or smiley or winky faces or any other sort of emoji or anything.’

  ‘You’re going to have to explain what you just said, because it sounded like gibberish to me!’ Beth said.

  Chapter Twenty

  Well, he’s punctual, Hannah thought when her doorbell rang at two p.m.

  ‘Hi, Henry. Thanks very much for coming,’ she said, after opening the door. In his stressed, slightly haggard state at the court, Hannah had pegged Henry Peace’s age at late forties. Now she surprised to realise he was probably only ten years older than her – definitely nearer forty than fifty.

  ‘No problem. Thanks very much for thinking of me. I really appreciate it.’

  ‘I’m sorry it’s taken me so long, I …’

  ‘Ah, no worries.’ He gave a slightly nervous laugh. ‘Better late than never, as they say.’

  She shook his hand and noticed the roughness of his skin. She thought she was perhaps being a little too formal in offering her hand, but in the next breath she asked herself how else she should be. She’d met the man once – weeks before – in what had become an intimate moment that had felt right. But that was then. Craig had sized him up and given his approval, but Hannah didn’t know Henry well at all. And here she was inviting him into her home. She closed the door behind him.