The Art that changed my life

I don’t have time for this. I don’t have time for anything these days. I’m exhausted, I haven’t slept properly for days, and I’ve not even had time to use the bathroom this afternoon. Thankfully I’ve also had no time to drink water.

I park my car on the street outside and run across the road, dodging traffic, almost colliding with a cyclist who shouts a few choice words at me.

‘F you too!’ I scream at his back as he swerves off, but my words are lost in the noise from the street. A car beeps at me and I move off the road onto the pavement. A mother standing with her child edges away from me and I realise how I must look. I’m in grubby yoga pants stained with white paint, and old long-sleeved t-shirt also stained with paint as well as the remains of my lunch and I can’t remember the last time I brushed my hair or showered. And now I am standing in the street swearing. I look unhinged. I’d be terrified of me.

‘Sorry.’ I smile at the kid. ‘About the swearing. That was naughty of me.’ I look at the mother. ‘It's been a day,’ I say as an explanation, but she recoils from my look and backs off further.

I run up the steps to the gallery and head to the receptionist behind the information desk. ‘I’m here to pick up a backpack. My daughter left it today as part of the school trip. Ella Hills.’ Realising I have left my bag in the car I hope he doesn’t ask for ID. He seems unconcerned about the security of a kid's backpack and fishes it out from under the desk. Out of the corner of my eye, I see a sign for the toilets. I try and mentally calculate the rest of my afternoon: pick up the cake for the party, get to the dry cleaners for his suit, shower. If I’m quick I can just about do it.

‘Could I quickly use the bathroom?’ By now, I am hopping from foot to foot.

‘We close in five minutes so be quick.’  He motions to a corridor.

I run to the bathroom barely and quickly relieve myself. As I wash my hands afterwards, I try not to look at the haunted face in the mirror, the black circles under my eyes, the cheekbones protruding like Maleficent. My yoga pants are barely staying up with all the weight I have lost.

The phone tucked into my waistband starts to ring. It's him.

‘Where are you?’

‘Art Gallery. Ella left her rucksack here when she came for the school trip.’

‘I can’t find my black shoes. For tonight.’

I try not to sigh loudly. ‘On the counter in the utility room where I left them after I cleaned them.’ Where I told you they were yesterday I almost add but catch myself.

‘And the babysitter isn’t here. Ella is asking for you.’

Play with her, talk to her, be a father I want to say. I check the time. Dammit, the battery is at 2%.

‘I told her to come at 6.30. I expected to be home by now but had to make this additional stop.’

‘Right. So, when will you be home?’ he emphasises when as if he is used a scenario when I am not usually home.’

‘Soon. About thirty minutes before we must leave. Look my battery is low. Can you give Ella a snack and watch her for 30 minutes?’

‘I guess I have to. I might go early then. When the babysitter arrives.’

‘Fine,’ I say. There is a heaviness to the word that of course he doesn’t pick up on. I don’t catch the reply as my phone dies.

‘Great,’ I mumble to myself heaving the pink backpack over my shoulder.

The corridor is dimly lit as I walk back to the reception desk. A metal grill has been pulled down over the reception desk. The desk and space behind are empty. I try the entrance door but find it locked. The clock behind the metal grill says 6.08. Of course, he delayed me and of course it will be my fault.

‘Hello!’ I shout.’ The silence is unbearable. I look around for help. The art gallery is small, just for local artists, do they even have twenty-four-hour security? It's hardly the Tate. I see a CCTV Camera in the corner and stand in front of it waving hopefully.

I head back up the corridor I had taken to check for an exit but find only toilets and a small cafe containing two tables and a sofa area. There is an honesty system for the use of a coffee machine or water dispenser. Back into the reception, I try another door which leads me to a room full of paintings. I ignore them as I run to the other side following the sign for the emergency exit.  The door on the other side is locked but I see on the other side the emergency exit. What use is an emergency exit if I can’t get to it in an emergency? I pull at the door. For an old building housing cheap local art, it's surprisingly sturdy.

Back in the reception area, I try the main door again. It barely moves as I wiggle the handle. Back in the painting room, I try a window: closed and even if I could open the bars on the other side would be too close together to squeeze through. I bang on the windows, but the building is set back from the noisy street, and no one looks over.

I fall back onto a hard chair by the door. My chest feels empty. I’m trapped in this stupid art gallery. I run through the list of things I must do. The dry cleaning can wait. He has another suit clean for tomorrow and several shirts. It's not his favourite but it will do. He can suck it up. The cake is for lunchtime so he can show his colleagues what a great boss he is remembering their birthdays so I could pick it up in the morning and drop it off to him later. Not great that he can’t waltz in looking like the hero with a cake box, but they’ll have it for mid-morning coffee.

I let my mind go to Ella. Ok breathe. She is safe. He might be an ass who remembers his colleague’s birthdays and forgets his wife’s, but he won’t leave her alone. He will stay with her scrolling on his phone in annoyance, but he will stay. Once the babysitter gets there he will leave, and Shelly knows what to do. She’s babysat so many times Ella loves her. She will make her some food, tell her to shower and make sure she goes to bed on time. Ella will be safe and cared for.

When will anyone notice that I’m missing? Ella and Shelly will assume I went straight to the party. He will be upset he doesn’t have his trophy wide to parade around but he’ll cope. He will assume I forgot, or I’m mad at him. The latter is not far from the truth. So, it will all come out when he goes home around 11 and finds me not there. Will he have the sense to call the police who will retrace my steps and unlock me from this place? Or will he go to bed in a huff?

I close one nostril with my finger and thumb and practice a breathing technique I had learned in yoga, back when I used these pants for yoga and not painting fences. In and out. In and out. I am safe. Ella is safe and he’ll be OK. I have water, access to a toilet, even coffee and I can wait this out. I can’t remember the last time I had time to wait for anything.

I throw my car key and dead phone into Ella’s bag and check if she has anything left to eat, I always overpack food. She’s eaten the fruit, the small muffin and half the sandwich but I chew on the other rest of the sandwich. I rarely eat bread these days, making sure I keep the stomach washboard flat, so I don’t become the cliche ex-wife left for the secretary. It is one of the most delicious things I’ve tasted in years. I close my eyes and savour it. Feeling oddly serene, I get up and look around the room. The paintings, or art, as one is pen and ink, show various scenes from the city.

Kelly Martin – Skyline of a Bridge – Oil on Canvas. I recognise the scene, it’s one of the most memorable in the city. It is depicted on a rainy day, with people scurrying in raincoats holding umbrellas. The yellow from the lampposts is brighter than the other colours giving the painting a warm glow despite the obvious rain. I get closer to examine the brushwork, it’s almost non-existent, like a photograph rather than a painting. I try and remember the last time I held an artist’s brush. Ella is ten and it was before she was born. I'm envious of the artist, not just because she is better than me but the time, she had to make this beautiful piece of art. Who has that sort of time?

Josh Green – Peace – Watercolour. The same bridge but from a different angle on a different day. The setting is serene and shouts Sunday afternoon. People in boats glide idly along the river while kids play on the shore. People doing nothing except enjoying life. The style reminds me of my mother. She loved to sit in the garden with her watercolours, sipping iced tea and enjoying life. Perhaps she still did. Visits were few these days he liked them to be on call for weekends should he need to be seen as a family man.

Maria Ramirez – Noise – Pen and Ink. Despite the lack of colour, the scenes shout out just as the name suggests, noisily. It’s a set of three scenes, each showing different street corners at their busiest. The first is a market, the second a busy junction known for its traffic and the last, a well-known tourist trap, a square always filled with people admiring the old buildings. Her penmanship is exquisite. Her tiny pen strokes bring the streets to life. The time it must have taken her and the control she had in her work. I try and think of the last time I had control of my life, the last time I did anything for me. I loved to do things for Ella but everything else was for a life I hate. The gym, the house, the parties, the insipid people that surrounded me. People who looked down on me as the young but naïve wife who was good at making small talk and looking pretty. I almost laughed. Right now, it would take a long shower and a trowel of makeup to look pretty in their eyes. I step back and let my mind run there. I was happy to not go tonight.

Ali Ahmed – Yellow – Acrylic on Canvas. I’d always admired abstract art even though I had never been able to do something as good as this. It is the city but also, it's not recognisable as the city. I try and imagine the person who was able to create this wonderful piece. What sheer brilliance his mind must be? Did he see this in his head before or did the brush just touch the canvas and guide him? The painting is bright and it's hard not to look at it and feel bright. Madam. I can’t remember the last time I felt bright. The last few years have been a fog. Ella has kept me alive and functioning but barely. Madam. Surrounded by this art I feel…

‘Madam!’ This time he’s louder, and sharper and I jump as I turn. He’s wearing the white shirt and dark trousers of a security guard and I see a radio clipped to his belt.

‘We saw you waving on the security footage, and you triggered an alarm. Several in fact.’

‘I went to the bathroom just before 6 and when I came out It was locked in.’

‘The on-duty guard should have done a sweep. Any injuries, problems?'

I shake my head.

‘Ok, then I need to get your details for a report and then I’ll release you.’

Ten minutes later I am back in the car plugging my phone into the charger I keep there. It's almost eight. If I get home quickly, I can shower and be ready by half past and at the venue for nine. I can text him and he can enjoy himself telling them all the tale of his idiot wide who got locked in the museum. I tap my fingers on the steering wheel thinking. Then I dial.

‘Mama, can Ella and I come stay?’

‘Of course, my darling. Always. When and for how long?’

‘Tonight, and maybe forever?’