Never Somewhere Else by Alex Gray Read Free Book Online

have some bubbly.’
    They allowed themselves to be towed off by Jayne, giving a wave or smile to others in the Press fraternity.
    ‘Here darlings.’ Jayne handed them both long glasses of sparkling wine. ‘You will just
love
Davey’s piccies. I can’t wait to tell the world about this little show.’
    Diane laughed. Jayne’s over-the-top style often included the phrase ‘tell the world’, her approach to art criticism having the zeal of a white-hot evangelist.
    Martin strolled over to a glass table and picked up a couple of catalogues. He passed one to Diane and quietly took himself off to see Davey Baird’s collection of pictures.
    They were, as she had told him, mostly of children. There were faces that grinned out at him with more than childish mischief. Davey had succeeded in capturing their air of adult insouciance. Martin stopped before number nineteen. The picture showed two boys here in a back court, both street urchins in bomber jackets and garishly illustrated t-shirts. One was looking straight at the camera chin up, teeth showing in his grin. His cropped hair glistened in the sunlight. Behind him, the other had turned slightly from the camera’s gaze. His smile had drooped a little and his eyes were cold and unfathomable. Martin’s eyes followed the boy’s to see what he saw, but it was out of the photographer’s range, whatever it was, somewhere beyond the old-fashioned ‘midden’ where dustbins were shoved in out of the rain. Martin nodded his approval. Davey certainly had a composition that told a story with characters and setting. The plot was entirely up to the spectator, of course. There were several red dots in the corner, indicating that prints had been sold. Giving in to a moment of impulse, Martin decided that he would add one for himself.
    There was only one other purchaser at the desk where a young girl sat taking orders from the catalogue. Martin had half-turned around to see where Diane was when the words, ‘Number nineteen’ made him swing back. Curious to see who else had fancied his print, he stared at the man in front of him. He looked like an art student with his tawny hair pulled back into a rubber band and his black leather jacket slung over one shoulder, but when Martin caught sight of his face, he wasn’t so sure. The guy must be his age, at least, he thought, watching as he wrote a cheque, noting the signature’s artistic flourish.
    ‘Thanks, Chris.You can collect your copy at the end of this week. It’ll take a few days to have them all framed. Everybody seems to like that one,’ the girl gushed.
    Martin caught her eye and smiled.
    ‘Me too. Number nineteen, I mean,’ he said, turning towards the man she’d called Chris.
    The guy looked at him for a moment as if Martin was daft then his expression cleared.
    ‘Oh. Right,’ he answered. ‘The print. Aye, that’s another one to add to my collection. I’ve got quite a few of his,’ he nodded back in the direction of the main gallery where the photographer was still surrounded by a clutch of admirers. The man smiled briefly at Martin then headed for the main door calling back to the girl. ‘See you, Daisy.’
    Martin rolled somenotes out of his pocket and paid for his copy of the picture, giving the girl his name and address then strolled back to examine the rest of the exhibition. From number twenty onwards the pictures were mostly taken in sunshine, the quality of light contrasting vividly with the bleak tenement surroundings. One showed puddles gleaming in the foreground, dazzling the eye against the rows of grey houses and uneven chimney pots on the skyline. Another, taken in a rural setting, was a study of a hare on the skyline of a field, its head upwards as if gazing at the moon.
    ‘Real talent, eh?’ Diane said as she rejoined him.
    ‘Mm. He’s really hit it off this time.’
    ‘You never know, maybe he’ll do this sort of thing full-time.’
    ‘I hope not. His shots usually tell a better story than