Are You Ready? (25 page)

‘Who wants drinks?' Scott said, heading for the bar.

As they sipped their beers Molly realized that Eve was right: she had just needed to go out and do new things. Her life with Luke was over, she needed to be open to different experiences and people. The day had been so much fun, and Molly was delighted Eve had forced her to come. Just then she got a call from Ali, saying they were going to see Set List one more time tonight, and did she want to come? It would be a chance to see that guy Will again, and earlier Molly would have said it was too soon, but today had taught her change was necessary, so she texted Ali back and said she would be in town as soon as she could. She went to say goodbye to Scott but couldn't find him. So,
as she wished goodnight to her cousin and André, she asked them to thank Scott on her behalf. She started to walk out to Anglesea Road to catch a taxi to Temple Bar, and suddenly saw Scott deep in conversation with a beautiful young girl. Their heads were bent together, so Molly decided not to disturb him. That must be his girlfriend, Molly thought, as she flagged down a taxi.

Sarah was having breakfast with her mum before going to work in the gallery, when the post arrived.

‘There is one for you, Sarah,' said her mum, handing her a large gold envelope. Sarah opened it up and actually gasped. It was Ali and Robin's wedding invitation with her drawing on the front! Seeing her work in print made it feel so real, made her feel like a real artist.

‘Sarah, it is beautiful, well done. I knew you still had that artist inside you, wow,' her mum said as she hugged Sarah and stared at the invitation.

Ali had included some spare invites in the envelope, and a cheque for Sarah's work. Sarah had felt uneasy being paid, but Ali had insisted. Sarah stood one of the cards up on the windowsill, and when the sun shone in on top of it, she felt like it was an invitation to her own wedding, she was so proud! The whole way to work Sarah just kept smiling; she was chuffed with herself, the invite looked so professional and beautiful. As she opened up the Stone Studio she
received a text from Molly congratulating her on the ‘most original and stunning wedding invitation ever!' Sarah was delighted, and as she unpacked the day's new canvases and paintings she started to imagine that one day someone would unpack her work and hang it on the walls of a gallery like this one. It had been her dream once to be a full-time artist. Maybe it could be again, she thought, as she began photographing and cataloguing new pieces for the gallery.

By lunch Sarah had all the new work ready to be hung, and was waiting for Clodagh to come in. Clodagh was helping her get prepared for the gallery's latest exhibition, which was opening that night. Sarah grabbed a sandwich and coffee in the newsagent's next door, and as she ate she flicked through the property section of the daily newspaper. She would still like to grow up and finally live in her own place, but it was hard to find somewhere she liked and could afford. It was too early to talk to Hugh about buying somewhere, and all her friends either had places or, like her, couldn't afford to leave home. As she circled places she might look at over the weekend Clodagh walked in.

‘Still trying to move?' Clodagh said, as she noticed the newspaper.

‘I wish,' Sarah sighed.

‘Well, at least you have a full-time job. Imagine how hard it is for me. I would love to move away from home, but being a student who works part-time means nothing to a bank, especially when they hear I'm an
art student. Nobody wants to lend money to artists, we might be creative but we are too unreliable, too much of a risk. I can't even get a meeting with my bank manager! I should have studied accountancy or something boring and reliable like that.'

Sarah laughed, but she did feel sorry for artists. She knew how hard it was to spend days, weeks, months on work, and then for it not to sell. It was a tough life, and money was always a problem, and if she became a full-time artist she would have to cope with that. But now she needed to spend the afternoon getting this evening's exhibition up and running.

The gallery was filling up, and with a David Gray CD playing in the background and the wine flowing, there was an air of excitement about the unveiling of the gallery's new collection of pieces from an up-and-coming French artist. Sarah was just handing out some exhibition brochures when she got a shock: Maggie McCartney, the gallery's owner, was walking in the door. The months of living in her villa in Marbella had obviously paid off. She looked great: tanned and healthy. She walked up to Sarah and gave her a big hug.

‘Sorry to surprise you like this, Sarah darling. I swear I'm not trying to spy on you! Just this morning my husband had to come home to Ireland for some business, and at the last minute I thought to hell with it, I'd come too. I knew we had this exhibition tonight, and to be honest a few days away from paella, siestas and chorizo will do me good!'

Sarah was very surprised to see her boss, but was instantly relieved that the gallery was packed and looking impressive.

‘Thank God we hoovered earlier,' whispered Clodagh, as she poured wine for their guests. Sarah laughed her agreement. Maggie will find nothing wrong with this place, she thought. The evening was a huge success, and not only did the gallery earn a hefty commission and sell many pieces, but the artist promised to do more for them, and to spread the word to his other artist friends. Clodagh finished tidying up, and then headed home, leaving Maggie and Sarah sitting down enjoying a glass of wine.

As Sarah filled Maggie in on Hugh, and her sister's new baby, Maggie thanked her for running the gallery so well, and always keeping her informed of what was happening. ‘You have such a great eye, Sarah. Some of these new pieces are great buys for us, well done. I actually have the name of a new artist I want you to contact. If you have a pen there I'll write his name and number down.'

Sarah opened her oversized handbag to search for a pen. She had to unload her iPod, diary and wallet to find it, and as she did so the wedding invite fell out. Maggie picked it up.

‘Wow, who did this? It's beautiful. Is this a wedding you are going to?'

‘Well, yes, I'm going, but I also designed that invite. It's my work.' Sarah blushed.

Maggie looked shocked.

‘Sarah, this work is completely different from your old pieces. It's far more commercial. I love this kind of free illustration, and you've a great sense of colour. I could sell this! You know there is a growing market for
illustrative work like this, and I'm always on the lookout for new artists. You are an untapped treasure.'

Sarah didn't know what to say, but Maggie did.

‘Please tell me that there is more like this – lovely pieces to frame and sell. There are buyers crying out for work like yours.'

Sarah shook her head. ‘Oh, Maggie. I'd love to work as a full-time artist, you know that, but it didn't work out for me years ago, and I wouldn't even know where to start, or how to fund myself.'

‘You don't know where to start? Sarah you have already started. This is beautiful, so different,' Maggie exclaimed, as she placed the invite on a large glass table beside two large bronzes. Seeing her work on show alongside the sculptures, Sarah began to think: Maybe I could do this, maybe I should be an artist, a proper artist.

‘Sarah, don't let your talent go to waste. Your work has really evolved, and I think maybe you have found your niche. I'd be delighted to exhibit your work,' Maggie encouraged. She went on: ‘Well, you have a serious think about it. You could show here, let us sell your work. If you worked part-time for me, that would give you more hours to paint. Think about it, Sarah. Listen I've to go now, as hubby will be waiting! But I'll be back in Ireland again in a few weeks' time to attend a friend's sixtieth party, so maybe we can sit down and have a proper chat and see what your plans are then.'

And with that Maggie waved goodbye to her gallery and was gone out the door.

Sarah sat there for another hour, stunned, staring into space, dreaming about her future. Maggie McCartney, one of the top gallery owners, was offering to show and sell her work! Maggie was right, she shouldn't let any of her love for art be wasted, but she knew painting needed your full commitment, and even though she might manage to work the odd day at the gallery, she couldn't work full-time, or even part-time. She knew when you were in a creative flow, you just had to go with it, and serving wine at exhibitions wouldn't help. But then Sarah remembered what Clodagh had said about getting loans and mortgages from a bank. I'll never be able to move away from home if I give art a go, Sarah thought, as she locked the gallery and headed home. She fretted over whether to become an artist, or stay in the gallery and buy her own place all the way home. It was going to be a tough decision.

As she walked in the door at home, and took her suit jacket off, the wall in their hall caught her eye. On it her mum hung framed family photos: there was a photo of Sarah's parents on their wedding day, another of her parents at Mel's college graduation, one of their whole family in Italy in summer, one of Mel and John on their wedding day, and another of Sarah, Mel, their mum and baby Fiona on her christening day. But it wasn't these older photos that caught her eye, it was the brand-new frame in the middle that did. Right bang in the centre of all these proud family photos was Sarah's wedding invitation, framed and now hanging for the world to see. Her mum had been so proud that
she must have rushed off to buy a new frame to show off Sarah's work. Alongside the photos of Mel and her achievements now hung Sarah's invite. Excited, she headed up to bed, but couldn't sleep. Between the new painting in the hall and Maggie's encouraging words, Sarah's head was filled with dreams of paints, sketches, canvasses and gallery exhibitions.

Ali was one stressed fiancée. She was in Kilkenny for the weekend, not only for her hen party, which was taking place that night, but also because her two sisters Jill and Kate had yet to make a final decision on their bridesmaids' dresses. Her sisters had planned her hen for the Saturday, but Ali had driven down home the night before, so all three of them could get up and shop early, before all her friends arrived in Kilkenny for the big night. So they were now in a very fashionable boutique, with Jill in one changing room, Kate in the other, and Ali running between the two rooms trying to stop them fighting. Ali's mum was sitting in a large chair, with a cup of tea in her hand.

‘Ali, I think we should let them wear their tracksuits. I've wasted enough time with those two. I mean, God help us all, when they actually have to get married and pick their own wedding dresses, I'll have a stroke.'

Ali sighed. Her mum was right, the whole idea of being a bridesmaid had gone to their heads, and both sisters seemed to be competing for best bridesmaid
ever, yet somehow not actually helping Ali at all. Ali was looking at bridal shoes when she heard Jill shout.

‘You only picked this dress because you know it won't suit me. You want me to look fat on the day, Kate.'

‘I want you to look fat? You are the one wanting us to wear yellow corsets, which you know will clash with my fair hair,' Kate shouted back.

Ali looked at the boutique's owner, but she didn't seem fazed.

‘I have seen it all before,' she said softly as she poured Ali's mum more tea.

‘I can't take this, Ali, my nerves …' Her mum sighed.

Ali raced towards the dressing rooms.

‘What is wrong with you girls?' she shouted.

‘Jill wants to show me up on the big day,' Kate shouted.

Jill was about to answer back when Ali turned on them both. ‘I picked you both as my bridesmaids because you are my sisters and I love you, but let me tell you this, if you don't start realizing that it's mine and Robin's day, not yours, then I'll ask mum to be my bridesmaid. Now, stop arguing and get into those dresses.' And with that she walked out of the dressing room and grabbed some tea from her mum.

She heard nothing for five minutes, but then suddenly her two sisters appeared out of the dressing room, looking sheepish yet stunning in two matching ballet-length pink satin dresses.

‘Do you like them, Ali?' asked Jill in a whisper.

Ali knew her sisters were scared of her, and although she sensed it wouldn't last for long, she decided to exploit it a bit longer.

‘I do, but I want to see the champagne version of it on both of you, too.'

Kate seemed about to protest, but abruptly stopped, and walked back into the dressing room.

‘Well, Ali, it's funny how well threats work on the two of them, isn't it?' her mum laughed.

The girls appeared again in knee-length champagne dresses that had large white ribbons around the waist, and a high neckline.

‘I like those too, but I think the pink ones were nicer, try them again,' Ali ordered.

The girls turned wearily on their heels and reappeared a few minutes later, and when they did Ali knew the rose-pink ballerina dresses were the ones to go for. The girls looked stunning, and the fit of the dresses suited their now slimmed-down bodies. The cream waistline bow and matching cream satin shoes made them look so grown-up and beautiful. The girls also knew they looked good, and for once stopped fighting and gave each other a hug. The shop owner looked relieved and started to tot up how much the outfits, shoes and matching bags would cost. Ali didn't have much time to celebrate finding the dresses, as she had booked to have her hair done in a local hairdresser's, ready for that night's hen party.

She waved her sisters goodbye and headed towards the city centre, and only as she got comfortable in the hairdresser's chair and told the stylist what she wanted
done, did she realize that she was going on her hen in a few hours' time. Her last official night out as a single girl! Weird, she thought, but as the hairdresser began to wash and then cut her hair, Ali forgot all about her hen and instead enjoyed having some time to herself, away from work, bridesmaids and wedding talk.