Finally, completely satisfied now, Jason removed The Skiver from his easel and laid it carefully against the wall. He put a new gesso board on the easel, and removed the photograph of the construction worker. His mind turned to the miserable old couple in the pub – he could see them sitting there, but could he recall their faces enough to paint the detail he wanted? It was a bugger that the photograph had gone.
In his mind the old man had been saying, I should have divorced you twenty years ago but now I’m stuck with you until death truly do us part. And the woman was saying, I don’t like you but you’re better than nothing.
More in hope than anything else, he clicked on his photo album on his phone and, to his amazement and joy, the photograph was back. Had it really ever gone, or had he mistakenly filed it elsewhere?
All had been quiet downstairs for a long while. Outside, in the street below, some bright floodlights had been set up. He glanced out and saw a team of people, in white oversuits, on their hands and knees inside the cordon doing a fingertip search, while another group, identically dressed, was filming or photographing with a large camera.
He was hungry. Maybe he’d grab a bite to eat before he started, make a strong coffee, and work on into the night. He realized he was almost living on coffee and would have to try and cut his caffeine intake after the exhibition, when things quietened down.
The door burst open behind him.