The Unconventional Angel (4 page)

Chapter Eight
Creativity

It was a cold, crisp December day and the Thames was awash with pleasure boats, whipping past in the glistening waters. Evie walked along the South Bank with a spring in her step. Her friendship with Greg might not be one of a sexual kind, but it was a relationship of sorts. And, it made her heart happy to know that she would be welcomed at the Homeless Centre anytime.

She had never been to Shakespeare’s Globe and loved anything that was steeped in history.
(Shakespeare’s Globe is a reconstruction of the Globe Theatre, an Elizabethan playhouse in the London Borough of Southwark, on the south bank of the River Thames that was originally built in 1599, destroyed by fire in 1613, rebuilt in 1614, and then demolished in 1644. The modern reconstruction is an academic approximation based on available evidence of the 1599 and 1614 buildings.)

She was also looking forward to seeing Yves and wondered what he had in store for her today. She was determined to find out how a man of quite significant intelligence had found himself in this position.

She saw him puffing on his pipe, swinging his legs over a wall facing out over the water. He looked like a little lost but bearded boy. He was taking in his surroundings and looked completely at ease. She felt as if she could stand and watch him for hours. His whole demeanour exuded happiness. She thought if she could have half of the peace he felt, she’d be more than all right.

She quietly approached and sat next to him on the wall.

‘What’s a handsome bearded fella like you doing in a place like this?’

Yves didn’t move as he replied without missing a beat: ‘Waiting for an amazing woman to unleash her potential.’

‘Oh, I’d better move on then. Before I do, here’s some baccy for you. My Uncle John left it at our place last Christmas and I kept hold of it for some obscure reason.’

‘Thanks, Evie. You are kind. It’s lovely here, isn’t it?’

‘Yes. I haven’t actually been here before and the relief of not a tall building to climb in sight is actually rather comforting. Uh – oh, what about Tate Modern? We’re not climbing up that, are we? ’

‘No, you can relax about that. Didn’t I mention we were abseiling across the Globe?’

‘Erm. See you later.’ She pretended to get up.

‘I’m glad you brought your camera,’ Yves remarked.

‘Why’s that? Do you want me to take a photo of you?’

‘No!’ he said a little too sharply.

‘It’s fine, I know you don’t like your photo being taken and I respect that.’

‘I just want to make sure you are still using your creative energy, that’s all. I think it’s a good release for you.’

‘To tell you the truth, Yves, photography would be my dream job.’

‘Then why don’t you follow your dreams?’

‘It’s not as easy as that!’

‘Was that a little negativity I detected slipping in there, Evie?

‘It’s hard to make a living out of it unless you are really good, and with rent to pay, bills to cope with, clothes to buy, et cetera, I couldn’t justify it.’

‘You could, if you really wanted to. Initially, it would probably mean making some changes. You might have to move to a less fancy area than Chelsea. You would most definitely need to share, maybe with more than one person. Luxury items might be few and far between. But if you really want something, Evie, it isn’t going to be given to you on a plate.’

‘I know you’re right – there would be an element of risk.’

‘Nobody ever got anywhere without an element of risk. If we look at the way humans are designed to learn, we learn by making mistakes. We learn to walk by falling down. If we never fell down, we would never walk.’

‘If you put it like that.’ Evie pulled a bottle of water out of her bag. ‘I’ve got a spare if you’d like one?’

‘No, thanks, I’m fine.’

‘I won’t be offended if you take a drink off of me, you know that.’

‘I’m just not thirsty, that’s all.’

‘Yves?’

‘Yes, Evie.’

‘Do you mind me asking how you came to become homeless?’

‘I will reply to you in the words of the great Bard himself, and then we must walk on, for today is not about me, but you.
You can win life by all means, if you simply avoid two things – comparing and expectation
.’

Evie didn’t push the homeless question. It obviously was a difficult discussion and when it came down to it, really none of her business.

They walked slowly along the river, taking in the post-Christmas sights and sounds. Children on their new scooters and bikes, wrapped in brand new scarves. Parents in their bright winter coats. Ladies smelling sweetly of their fragrant gifts. Couples getting weekday drunk in bars as no work tomorrow.

Yves smiled as Evie snapped away, the delight in her face so evident.

‘I bet you could create enough for a small exhibition out of those and the homeless shelter ones you took alone. In fact, why don’t you speak to Greg about it? I bet the church hall run all sorts of things like that when they are not using the Centre for Christmas-time, and I doubt if the outlay would be much at all.’

‘Hmm, yes I didn’t think of that. Let me concentrate on you now, I got carried away.’

‘No, please continue, it’s great to see you so happy. I’m just enjoying the moment and this glorious winter sunshine. We are so lucky, Evie.’

After walking for about a mile along the river, they stopped and sat on a bench. Yves turned and looked at Evie. His eyes were so fluid, his soul so obvious and pure, Evie was drawn to hug him.

‘You are amazing, Yves with a Y. I feel such a love for you that I can’t explain. It’s not a boyfriend love; it’s somehow deeper than that. I don’t know what’s happened to me. I hope we can stay friends forever.’

Yves took her hand and told her gently, ‘Evie, when we see through our hearts, we recognise that every single one of us is infused with creativity. Divine sparks are embedded in everyone. It’s up to us to be courageous, to look and listen deeply, to find the sparks, gather them and release them back into the universe, transformed into something new. Your photography will do that, I know. Please don’t waste your talent. Promise me.’

‘I promise,’ Evie whispered. So overwhelmed by the experience of the day she felt she had barely any breath left in her to speak.

‘So tell me,’ Yves went on to ask her the customary question: ‘if you were to use one word to describe how this afternoon’s experiences have made you feel, what would it be?’

She needed no time to think.

‘Creative – yes, creative. You’re right! With will and determination and a little bit of compromise thrown in, we can achieve anything we want to.’

‘Good! That’s really good, Evie.’

‘Anyway, I’m hungry and I’m not going to take no for an answer this time. Please: dinner on me?’

Yves lit his pipe and shook his head, placed a piece of white card in her hand, closed her fingers around it – and by the time she had read it and lifted her head, he was gone.

This time, the little piece of card had the most beautiful water-colour painting of a ladybird on one side, and on the other in perfect handwriting was:
Meet me at Winter Wonderland tomorrow night at 7

Chapter Nine

‘You look lovely with your hair tied back,’ Greg greeted her at the door of the Centre. ‘And thanks for coming at such short notice, really appreciate it.’

‘I never thought I’d say this, but I actually quite like doing my bit for charity – and seeing you is a bonus, of course.’ Boom! Greg’s face reddened again and he turned away so Evie didn’t notice. ‘You’ve got me until six as I’m off to Winter Wonderland at seven.’

‘Ooh, that’s fun. Going with anyone special?’

‘Well, er . . . yes, Yves actually.’

‘Oh, OK. Although I’m not sure I should allow you to date the customers.’

Evie laughed. ‘It’s hardly dating. I just like his company, that’s all.’

‘Now, who was it who said
Love is friendship set on fire?
’ He winked and walked over to chat to another couple of the volunteers who’d just arrived.

Evie went to the kitchen. So Greg had gone red again even though he thought she hadn’t noticed; he was questioning who she was going out with, maybe she’d even detected a slight bit of jealousy. Maybe it wasn’t love’s young dream with young Shell, after all.

She poured a sack of potatoes into the sink and began peeling them. Singing along to ‘Do They Know It’s Christmas’ she felt happy. She not only felt happy, she realised she hadn’t had one negative thought all day. She must ask Greg about the photo exhibition too. Strike whilst the iron was hot. She was on a mission now. She might have to go back to the rat race for a short while and save up, but all the time she could be working on her dream of building up her portfolio and becoming a fulltime photographer.

She wiped her hands on her apron and went and found Greg in the back office. He was on the phone and gestured her to sit down.

‘That’s brilliant, Shell, well done. Yeah. Yeah. I know you do. It’ll be fine. Yep, yep, all go here as usual. Anyway, I’ve gotta go. Love you and talk New Year’s Eve, Bye, darling. Take care.’

He smiled at Evie. ‘Shell,’ he said unnecessarily.

‘Ah, right. She OK?’

‘Yes, she’s fine. She misses me.’

‘I bet she does.’ Ah, get off the
girlfriend small talk and let’s talk photography
, Evie’s inner voice screamed.

‘I am in the middle of a very important spud-peeling mission, but I have a quick question.’

Greg stood up. ‘Let me come round this to your side of the desk. I feel as if I’m interviewing you, or I’m your boss.’

‘Take a letter, Miss Jones, and all that.’ Evie giggled, and as her head shook, the hair-band holding back her blonde curls fell to the floor. They both reached to get it and on doing so bumped heads.

‘I’m sorry,’ Evie said, despite the pain.

‘Don’t be.’ Greg said huskily. ‘You look so beautiful.’ And, then, without warning, he grabbed Evie round the waist and gave her the sexiest, most passionate and arousing kiss she had ever experienced in her life.

‘Shit, it’s me who should be sorry now,’ he gasped when he drew up for air.

‘Yes, you bloody should be.’ Evie had fire in her eyes as well as in her heart. ‘You have a girlfriend and I have just been cheated on! I know how it feels and I’m sure as hell not going to put somebody through the same hurt as me.’

With that, she ripped off her apron, threw it to the ground and stormed out of the church hall.

By the time she had reached Bea, she had calmed down slightly but not enough not to order a large Bristol Cream blue bottle sherry – with ice – and down it in one.

‘What a cock,’ she ranted.

‘But you fancy him, Evie! In fact, it’s what you said you’d quite like to happen. If it had been me, my skirt would have been hitched up and we’d still be at it over that desk.’

‘Well thankfully I’m not you, am I?’

‘Come on, don’t tell me a little bit of you wanted to do just that.’

Evie couldn’t contain a wry smile. ‘Oh, fuck it, I wish sometimes I could be more like you.’ Her phone buzzed. ‘He’s calling – look.’

‘Well, speak to him then.’

‘No way.’

Bea sighed. ‘Look, if he likes you that much – which he so obviously does – then maybe he will finish with Shell. Would you see him then?’

‘I’m not sure – I guess so, but it all seems a bit too soon if he does. They seemed so close on Christmas Day. She ran in and wrapped her legs around him – it was really sweet.’

‘But that is all you saw.’

‘It was enough to feel the love, all right? Anyway, let’s get another drink, and by the way, thanks for coming over here. I’m meeting Yves in a couple of hours, so it’s saved me coming all the way back to Chelsea then into town again.’ Her phone bleeped. ‘He’s texted now,’ she sighed.

‘What’s he saying?’

‘We need to talk.’

‘So talk to the man! Sometimes, Evie!’

‘I’m turning my phone off, tomorrow is New Year’s Eve, we are going to the Heart and Flowers to party hard and kiss random strangers. I am done with complication and men who are cheaters.’

‘I will drink to that, dear friend. To kissing random strangers! Bottoms up!’

Chapter Ten
Hope

‘I am SO sorry I am late and even sorrier I’m a little tipsy. I’d better not go on any rides now.’ Evie greeted Yves with a sherry-laden kiss on the cheeks. ‘I got you some peanuts.’

‘Evie, you know I think this is commercial rubbish and I don’t bring you anywhere to spend money. But thanks for the peanuts, that’s sweet of you.’

‘Ooh, hark at you.’

‘And drinking isn’t the answer to shielding pain, you know.’

‘How do you know I’m in pain?’

‘I can just feel it, that’s all. What’s happened?’

Just then, a screaming child ran into Evie, sending her handbag flying. Children were everywhere, running between rides and stalls, screaming with both delight and protest.

Yves reached down, picked her bag up, took her hand and led her out of the kerfuffle, to a quiet bench near the opening of Hyde Park.
(Hyde Park is one of the Royal Parks of London, and is famous for its Speakers’ Corner. The park has become a traditional location for mass demonstrations. The Chartists, the Reform League, the Suffragettes and the Stop the War Coalition have all held protests in there.)

Once they were sat down, Evie spilled her tale of woe.

‘Greg kissed me. It felt so right – but he has a girlfriend and I don’t cheat.’

‘Well done you for standing up for what you believe in.’

‘But I do really like him,’ Evie added wistfully, ‘and could actually see myself with him and what if I never meet anyone I fancy and it’s too late for me to have a family and I end up all alone and . . .’

‘And breathe, Evie . . . just breathe. If only to extinguish all those negatives that just came flying out of your mouth. Now what did I say to you the night I met you? There is always a solution. Have you ever read
The Prophet
by Kahlil Gibran?’

She shook her head.

‘Well, I think maybe you should. He has a very interesting take on life and death and everything in between. In fact, what he says about children is a must read.’ Yves began to recite.

Your children are not your children.

They are the sons and daughters of Life’s longing for itself.

They come through you but not from you,

And though they are with you, yet they belong not to you.

‘They are never truly yours, you see, Evie. And equally, all those poor ladies who can’t have children, who have tried and suffered many losses, their little babies’ souls just weren’t ready for this world yet. When your time is right, you will have your babies, or not. For I truly believe that our lives are written before they even start.’

‘Yves, every time I see you, I am in awe of you and what you tell me. However, that still doesn’t alter the fact that I am in lust with a man who has a girlfriend.’

‘Just talk to him. Communication is key in any sort of relationship, be it business or personal.’ He stood up. ‘Anyway, you were late and I have to go. I’m sorry.’

‘Come and have another little drink with me.’ But Evie’s flirting tactics were wasted on her scruffy friend.

‘No. But, in your slightly drunken state, if you were to use one word to describe to me how tonight’s brief experiences have made you feel – what would it be?’

‘Hopeful. Hopeful that I will be able to have beautiful babies. Yes, beautiful babies with Greg. Oh, I don’t even know his surname either, that’s strange. All these men floating around me and I don’t know their names.’

‘How are you getting home, Evie?’

‘It’s fine, Bea is still in the bar, she is waiting for me and we’ll get a taxi together.’

‘Good.’ He placed a piece of white card in her hand, closed her fingers around it, turned, walked away – and had vanished into the crowd.

The piece of card had the most beautiful water-colour painting of a cherub on one side and on the other in perfect handwriting was:

Meet me at the lake in St James Park at midday on New Year’s Eve