Coffee Conversations

6- Copper by candlelight

My intense rehearsal schedule can be interrupted by one thing and one thing only; Ledger.

His showcase opening is just days away and whilst I've made sure that he's fed and presentable, I'm less able to control the turbulent anxiety that's overruling his mind.

"Will you come down and see it? Unofficially, I mean. Just...cast an eye over it? It needs to be perfect and...Ned! I told you not to put that there! No, your other left, you dingbat. Oh for heaven's sake, I'll do it myself. Be CAREFUL! That's from the sixties!"

I frown, pressing my phone against my shoulder as I stand up, shrugging on my jacket.

"Ledger?" I ask.

"Yeah, sorry, Grey. These guys are doing my nut in. They think that the lamps can just go anywhere, and that they can be manhandled. They're old enough to be their grandmothers. If their grandmothers were lamps. The point is, it's Hygge." He says.

"Hygge?" I question, faintly recognising the term.

"Danish feng shui. But it's more...comfort focused. Anyway, the lighting has to be just right, and these guys don't have the first fucking clue. So, I'm having to do it myself. I need an outside opinion." He demands, the line rustling terribly.

My chest is warm and light at the thought that I was his first port of call, the feeling completely inappropriate.

"Of course, I'll come straight down." I say, grabbing my keys.

"I'm not...interrupting or anything am I? You don't have rehearsals today?" He asks.

"No, I have the day off." I say.

In truth, I had a to-do list a mile long, and the idea that I have time for this is laughable. But that doesn't seem to stop me.

"Ok, see you soon. Call me when you get here, no one answers the fucking door if you buzz it." He says, hanging up swiftly.

It wouldn't do to point out that he never bothers to answer his phone either.

I make my way down to the studio, grinning at the poster in the window. It's half-concealed, but I recognise the signage from a sketch that Ledger has designed. It looks incredible, and suddenly everything seems a lot more real. His art is going to be showcased to the finest critics in London. This is a huge deal.

I call Ledger and he, predictably, doesn't answer, but the front door buzzes open a few seconds later, much to my surprise. I squeeze through, a little disconcerted at the hordes of lamps scattered in different locations across the floor. These can't all be his...right?

"Ledger?" I call.

"Hey Grey! I'm through here!" Ledger responds.

I weave my way through the maze of lighting, finding Ledger wrestling with a particularly ugly antique lampshade. The tassels are caught in the cuff of his shirt, his hair sticking up in every plausible direction.

"Need a hand?" I ask, coming to his aid.

"You're a lifesaver." Ledger mumbles.

I smile, untangling him from the lamp with ease. Ledger sets it on a wooden podium, plugging it in and switching it on. The light flickers, probably due to the age of the bulb, but it gives the effect of candlelight. He steps back suddenly, reviewing the sculpture from seemingly every angle, critiquing it with a heavy gaze.

"What do you think?" He demands suddenly.

I glance at him, noting his serious expression. I haven't seen it much, he likes to be alone when he's working and I find that I understand that. He's in a completely different place, seeing things I'm sure I can't imagine.