Maybe Next Time

Chapter 12

'Ellis. . . I need a favour,' Joan says to me three months later over breakfast.

I flash her a smile as I reach for my mug of coffee. 'Of course,' I tell her. 'What is it?'

She chews on her piece of buttered toast. 'You know that job at the Soho art gallery which I applied for a month ago. . .'

I nod. 'Yeah. . . the one you said that was pretty fancy, right?'

'Yeah,' she says. 'Well, they called me yesterday and. . . they've invited me for an interview tomorrow morning.'

My smile grows as I take a sip of coffee. 'That's great news,' I tell her happily. 'Congratulations!' I know she's applied for a variety of jobs at different galleries all across London over the past few months, but hasn't heard anything back from any of them. So to hear that she's finally got an interview for her dream job makes me incredibly happy for her. She's a talented artist and I know she's longed to work in an art gallery for years now, so she can learn a lot more about art and improve her skills.

'Thanks,' she mutters as she takes another bite of her toast.

'I take it you would like me to drive you to the gallery tomorrow,' I point out, knowing it's the favour she wanted to ask me.

She nods. 'Would that be alright?' she asks me in a hesitant voice.

I flash her another smile. 'Of course it is. You don't want to be messing around with tubes and different lines on such an important day.'

I know she's going to be incredibly nervous, just like I am when I get hired for yet another freelance job, but what I didn't expect was for her to ask me if I'll come inside the gallery with her during the car journey there the next morning.

'Uh, of course. . . if you want me to,' I tell her. 'Are you that nervous?'

She nods stiffly while flattening down her white blouse. 'I was sick this morning,' she mutters quietly.

I glance at her sitting in the passenger seat. 'Is that why you didn't have breakfast?'

She nods as she goes back to examining her white blouse, no doubt for any stray marks or stains she hasn't yet noticed.

As we get closer to the art gallery I can tell her nerves are starting to get the better of her, and her shoulders are tense the moment we step inside the huge gallery. The building is huge and prestigious and I can see she already feels out of her depth as she gives the woman on the front desk her name, who checks her in and asks her to take a seat. I sit down next to her in one of the empty, white chairs, feeling slightly out of place myself as I check out the few abstract paintings which decorate the room with a confused frown.

'How are you feeling?' I ask her quietly.

'Sick,' she mutters as she clutches her black handbag in her lap.

I take hold of one of her cold hands as I lean in close to her. 'You'll do fine,' I assure her in a gentle voice.

She nods at my words while her eyes scan the large room we're sitting in, until she starts to fidget uncomfortably in her seat.

'I'll be back in a minute,' she mutters, jumping out of her seat and I watch as she tries to walk casually down the hallway to what I assume is the ladies' bathroom, so as not to draw attention to herself.

I sit back in the uncomfortable chair and reach for one of the art magazines which sit on a large, white table. I'm idly flicking through it, hardly paying attention to any of the articles, when my phone starts ringing in my denim jacket pocket. I pull it out to see a snapshot of Joan's surprised and flushed face on the screen which I had taken the other day. 'What's up?' I ask her. 'You're taking along time in there.'