Ghigau 5

Nikki looked up Exa’s address on Google and noted the walk time was 17 minutes which was fine with her. At around 2.45 she left the gallery in the hands of Bella and headed downhill towards Chalk Farm. She strolled, rather than marched, and took in the shops and houses as she passed by. 

    Belsize Park, like all of London, took on a special quality during these early summer days, a kind of rebirth, and she loved everything about it; the recently cleaned and painted shopfronts in dark gloss colours, framing imaginatively displayed goods, the traditional businesses, open for decades — dry-cleaners, greengrocers, ironmongers — standing their ground next to trendy boutiques, coffee bars, nail salons and estate agents. 

    She loved the wide pavements punctuated with statuesque plane trees, their resurgent leaves filtering the afternoon sun to dapple the pavement beneath them. Even the buzzing traffic made her feel alive. June in London has an intoxicating smell; a mix of internal combustion fumes, warm bricks, and cut grass. Not for the first time she felt a pang of longing, not for herself but for Jamie — sad that he would never experience these joys again.

    She was soon nearing her destination and turned left onto Prince of Wales Road and then, a few minutes later, left again onto St Silas Place, a cul-de-sac of nondescript 1960s local authority housing, terminating at the dirty brick edifice of St Silas Church, finished in 1913 and a lustreless example of that period’s architectural banality. It seemed an uninspiring environment for an artist but then Nikki supposed that young artists settled wherever they could afford. Only if they made it big did they move to airy, stuccoed villas by the Heath.

    

    The door to flat twenty-four was opened by a child. A child dressed in white bib-and-brace workwear, Dr Marten boots, and not much else. She had black, spiked hair, styled apparently with a blunt penknife, eyes like coals that glinted beneath painted thick brows and an alabaster-white, oval face with a button nose and dark-red full lips. The overall effect was of a post-punk, geisha meets Mad-Max child warrior. The splashes of red paint that slashed across her hands and arms helped to complete the image.

    “Hey,” said the child, her voice was surprisingly deep and Nikki realised she was older than she had first thought, perhaps eighteen or so.

    Nikki stared a second too long and then, realising this, said quickly, “Hi, my name’s Nikki Talbot. Is, um — she hesitated, was this Exa? —  is Exa here?” 

    The child/young woman didn’t reply but turned and sauntered back into the flat calling over her shoulder, “In here.”

    The hallway was long and dark and uncarpeted.  At its end a battered door opened into a small living room sparsely furnished with a sagging, four-seat leather sofa, wicker armchair, glass coffee-table piled high with magazines and clippings, and a 1950s gramophone on which an LP was spinning soundlessly. The floor was covered in cracked, black Lino tiles, shot through with muddy green marbling. The back wall was mostly glass, set in a chipped, metal-frame, from ceiling to floor. It contained an off-kilter door which was ajar and led onto an enclosed balcony that overlooked the courtyard behind the building. Nikki could see a solitary, once-white plastic garden chair out there, with an overflowing ash-tray beside it. To her right there was an archway, through which she could see a tall, slightly lopsided fridge, presumably the kitchen, next to this, a closed door. To her left, the handleless door to another room was also closed. Apart from this the walls were featureless. Despite the open balcony door, the flat was stiflingly warm.

    The wild child pointed at the door with no handle. “She’s in there.”

    “Right.” Nikki wondered how she should proceed. “Do I knock or—?”

    “I guess.” The girl shrugged. She had taken out her phone and its flickering screen reflected in her black eyes. She didn’t look up as she spoke.

    “Right, well then.” She walked over to the door and rapped twice. Feeling distinctly out of place. Like a school mum at a teenage party.

    “What?” An irritated voice shouted from within.

    “Hi, Exa? It’s Nikki Talbot, from NEO. We spoke earlier.”

    Shuffling noises. The door pulled open from within, shuddering as it broke free of the frame.

    “Come in then.” Exa was standing back, looking impatiently at Nikki with the same black eyes of the wild child. Nikki figured they must be related.

    “I’m sorry to interrupt you, I know how it is when you’re in the flow,” Nikki apologised.

    Exa was tall, an inch or so above Nikki’s five foot six. Her long strawberry hair was tied back in a bunch with what looked like a piece of paint spattered rag, revealing a strong, flawless face, shorn of makeup, naturally arched eyebrows, and high cheekbones that lent her an aristocratic air. Her white bib-and-brace, like the wild child’s, was covered in paint, and did nothing to disguise an hourglass figure and impressive cleavage . She held a long priming brush in her left hand. A patch of sweat glistened on her breastbone.

    ‘Wow’ Thought Nikki, ‘Do you have anything on underneath that?’

    “Sorry, I’d forgotten you were coming.” Exa’s voice was educated, clear and warm. 

    ‘We only spoke this morning’, Nikki thought, but she let it pass. Artists were a special breed. “That’s ok, if it’s not a good time…?” She said.

    “No, no, of course it is, come in.” Exa looked around and pulled across a tattered canvas director’s chair for Nikki to sit on.

    Nikki took in the room. It was incredible. Not a single space had gone unpainted. Images of demonic creatures with horned heads and grasping claws looked down from the ceiling. Hybrid animals, part lion-part horse, chased across the walls over desert sand-dunes and through forest glades, the tableau bled across door frames and skirting boards. Human shapes, indistinct but clearly in anguish, hung like butchered meat. The sense of movement, of a living breathing scene was almost tangible. Everything was depicted in glorious, hyper realistic detail. It was impressive.

    “Gosh,” Was all Nikki could manage. “We should show the room. That would be an exhibition in itself.”

    Exa looked around. “There have been times I couldn’t afford canvas.” She looked up at the ceiling. “I did those first. I wasn’t in a great place then.”

    Nikki nodded, not quite sure how to respond.

    “Tea?” 

    The question was so normal it threw Nikki for a brief moment. “ I don’t suppose you have anything cold? Just water would do.”

    Exa faced the open door and shouted through, “Tilly, could you bring us some of that lemonade?” There was a grunt from somewhere and then the sound of rummaging.

    “Your, sister?” Nikki hazarded a guess.

    “Yes, she doesn’t actually live here but she’s been in a bit of trouble lately and our lovely stepmother thought she would benefit from some time away from the group she’s been hanging out with. God knows what she thinks I can offer her.” She pushed the door closed with a foot and spoke in a whisper, “She’s a smart girl, and talented. She just needs to grow up a little.”

    “Don’t we all?” Nikki offered. She hadn’t missed the sarcastic tone of ‘lovely stepmother’.

    Tilly brought in a circular wooden tray on which were two glasses of cloudy lemonade. Ice cubes clinked as she put the tray down. Beside the drinks were two small shortcake biscuits. Nikki was somehow surprised, it all looked so — domestic.

    Nikki kicked off the meeting by asking how Exa saw herself as an artist. Bonding with the artist was her particular talent. Her own knowledge of the craft and her experience with painters of many different genres, ages and persuasions gave her a solid base to work from. Usually, the tricky part was convincing creative types that the sales side of the business was a necessary evil and that their integrity as an artist would remain unaffected. This was of course a hypocrisy, she had never met an artist who didn’t want to be renowned, feted and rich. They just didn’t like to admit it. Exa was different though. She had no misgivings about commercialising her work and was well aware what the show could achieve for her. She had sold some paintings already and had developed a name in certain circles, but she wanted to break through and reach a bigger audience and she hoped that NEO could do that for her.

    “Hermione said you had some work to show me?” Nikki enquired.

    Exa crossed the room and pulled back a sliding door that Nikki hadn’t noticed, because it too was painted and therefore camouflaged within the mural. Beyond the door was what must have been a walk in cupboard of some sort. Stacked inside were perhaps twenty paintings, all carefully protected and ordered by size.

    Nikki was impressed. “Can I see some?”

    Exa pulled a large canvas from the store. It was painted in oil and about five feet by four. It depicted a woman in a white, blood stained dress, firing a gun. On closer inspection Nikki could see that the bullet was, in fact, a human child, naked and screaming. In the distance, set against a shadowy cityscape, a man ran from the scene, looking over his shoulder, his face stricken with fear. It wasn’t subtle, but it was beautifully executed, especially from such a young artist. The light was ethereal, and the dark areas gradually revealed more and more detail as she looked. It was brilliant, and more to the point, it would sell. 

    They spent a while looking at more canvases, each one more impressive than the last. Nikki decided there and then she would exhibit Exa and do her utmost to bring her art the recognition it deserved. Hermione had been right about Exa and Nikki knew that she had a major and prolific talent on her hands. And a bonus was that Exa was surprisingly warm and likeable once you got past her intimidating appearance.

    “So how did you get into the art racket?” Exa asked. They had moved on from lemonade and Nikki’s glass was now filled with Beaujolais Villages.

    “I did fine-art at Leicester then worked for an auction house for a few years, went freelance for a while and then the gallery came up. It just all seemed to happen at the right time.” Nikki sipped her wine. “Actually it was a carpet shop not a gallery when I heard about it. A friend was an estate agent and she knew it would be a great space and the location was perfect. Not that it’s easy starting from scratch, my husband Lenny carried the family bills for quite a while.”

    “Sounds like a good guy.” Said Exa.

    “He really is,” Nikki nodded. “How about you? Have you always wanted to paint?”

    Exa appeared to think about this question, as if it hadn’t occurred to her to before. Then said, “I suppose I have, or at least I wanted to create something. I mean I was never going to be an accountant,” she smiled, showing perfect white teeth.  “Although my family would have just loved that.” 

    There’s that tone again, Nikki thought.

    Exa produced a pouch of tobacco and papers, offering them to Nikki first, “Smoke?”

     “No, thanks. I haven’t in years.” She answered, though something had momentarily made her want to say yes. This young woman’s energy made her refusal feel somehow square, unadventurous. Am I getting boring? She thought. 

    Exa rolled a cigarette with her long elegant fingers and lit it with a silver Zippo lighter. She inhaled and blew smoke in the air. 

    “So does Tilly live here? Does she help with your work?” Nikki asked.

    “She does live here yes, but I work alone. Tilly wants to be an actress. Well, she kind of is really; have you heard of ‘Only Fans’?

    “Oh, yes I think so, though I’m never really sure what it actually is.” Nikki blushed. “It sounds a bit…” She wasn’t sure where she was headed with her comment. ‘God I am getting old.’

    “Seedy? Dangerous?” Exa smiled. “She’s more than capable of looking after herself don’t worry.” 

    At that moment Nikki felt her phone vibrate in her purse. She ignored it, not wanting to break the mood. “So I think you should come and see the space,” she said. “Walk around it, get a feel for how we might present you.” She shifted in her chair. “What do you think?”

    “Sounds good.” Exa leaned forward, twisting her mouth to blow smoke to one side. She held the lit cigarette vertically, burning tip up. “Go on. Have a puff.” Her dark eyes twinkled with amusement.

    Nikki felt it was a test. Should she show resolve by refusing a second time, or empathy by accepting? She took the cigarette between her fingers, inhaled, and pulled the smoke down into her lungs. The hit was instant. She coughed briefly. “Thanks,” handing the roll-up back. 

    Exa sat back. “I like you Nikki Talbot,” She said smiling, “I think we’re going to get on.”    

    Nikki’s phone buzzed again. 

    Exa stood and said, “You get that, I need to pee anyway.” She left the room.