The Function to Breathe

Chapter 1

2015

It's a cold morning, the kind of cold that if we were inland there would have been a frost. Mist is rolling in from the sea, making the air damp. I wrap up warm and make my way up the hill to work, but by the time I arrive at the gallery I'm too hot and the mist has turned my long, wavy chestnut brown hair quite mad and frizzy. I wish I'd taken longer over it this morning and put it up; I hope that I've got a hair band or something in my bag so I can try and tame it before we open.

As is often the case I've arrived at the gallery before Jack and after unlocking the first thing I do is put the coffee machine on. It's an unwritten rule that starting the coffee is the most important job of the day and has to be done by whoever arrives first. Once the coffee is underway I disappear to the toilet for a few minutes to try and sort out my unruly hair. Luckily I've got a selection of hair bands and clips in the bottom of my bag and within a few minutes I've coaxed my hair into a messy knot at the nape of my neck. It still doesn't look great, but it looks a lot better than it did when I arrived.

Jack arrives while I'm tidying myself up and we chat for a few minutes over coffee, discussing the work of a new artist we've just taken on. It's different to the other things we exhibit, delicate jewellery made from silver wire and sea glass; some of the pieces are beautiful. I've already got my eye on a necklace that I'm hoping will still be here when I get paid.

As I suspect we would be given the time of year and the weather, we're quiet all morning, with just a couple of customers coming in. One of the locals pops in for a birthday card and stops to chat for a while, but other than that Jack and I sit and chat in between customers; he at his computer in the office and me at the counter. My sketchbook and paints are set out next to me, but so far this morning I haven't touched them.

We do the crossword in the day's paper together and chat about gallery business and a few odd bits of town gossip. Jack loves a gossip and he gets quickly frustrated that I don't know more people in the town so that he can share even more juicy titbits with me than he already does. He finds it boring having to explain who people are before he tells me what they've been up to, but I'm not really interested in meeting more people. I'm happy to do my days work here, chat to him and our customers, exchange pleasantries with a locals on my way home in the evening and then shut myself away from the world once I reach my cottage. I live a fairly reclusive life, but it's what I need a lot of the time.

Just after twelve I pop over to the bakery across the road to get us both lunch – a Friday tradition – and then around one thirty the gallery door opens and a couple comes in; a bearded, dark haired man wearing a flat cap and a woman with a blonde pixie haircut and a bright red coat. As I usually do, I call out a greeting and then go back to my drawing and leave them in peace to browse for a while. I hate to bother customers immediately, there's nothing worse as far as I'm concerned than being hounded by shop assistants the second you set foot inside.

The couple spend some time looking round, concentrating on Jack's photographs which are all displayed on the largest wall of the gallery – only fitting considering he is the gallery owner and principle artist. Noticing the length of time they've spent looking at the photographs I approach them, working here for a couple of years has given me a good sense for when a potential customer would like to talk to someone about the art on display.

"Can I help you with anything?" I say as I approach, smoothing down the skirt of my denim shirt dress.

"Yes please, I wonder if..." the man turns to look at me and stops mid sentence. "Cat? It is Cat, isn't it?"

"Yes," I hesitate a little, suddenly recognising the person standing in front of me. "Peanut? How are you? What are you doing here?"

"I'm really good; you're looking great Cat. We're on holiday for a few days, we're here with... We're here with Ricky. He's got a place in Falmouth."