Look, I will tell you what happened and then you will know the truth. Horace wanted to buy something special for Evie and he took me along to give him a hand. I thought that he wanted me to help him choose some special item, like a new fridge or a dishwasher; I am good at that, me working for the Electric Board. But no, what he wanted was someone to help him carry the present home.
So off we went down to the docks and landed up at this posh gallery, you know the sort of place, a big empty space all red brick walls and wooden beams.
I wasn’t happy, I’d never been in an art gallery before and the toffee nosed geeza, with the smell up his nose, was watching us like a hawk. Not that it bothered Horace; he would not have noticed if it had been Attila The Hun that was staring at him. He was as they say, in another world, all his attention focused on this highly coloured abomination, hanging in front of the wall.
‘By, it’s a bonny picture,’ said Horace. ‘Just the job, it should get Evie off me back, she’s always going on at me about having no taste.’
‘Are you sure, man, It looks to me as if somebody spilt a couple of tins of paint and walked all over it.’
‘Don’t show your ignorance, lad, this is modern art.’
‘And what would you know about modern art?’
‘Quite a lot as it happens, I’ve looked it up on the Internet.’
‘And you’re going to buy it? For Evie?’
‘Aye, for her birthday surprise.’
‘And where are you going to get five thousand quid from?’
‘Drew it out the building society this morning.’
‘Dodgy.’
‘Why?’
‘Because, that was Evie’s cruise money, she’ll go light.’
‘What’s a cruise, compared to a life times enjoyment from your own work of art.’
‘I still think it’s dodgy,’ I said.
But Horace went ahead and bought it for cash, the sight of which seemed to make the geeza forget the smell up his nose and offer us a glass of wine. I refused, but Horace in his newfound role as a patron of the arts made the most of it and quaffed the bottle. Poe Face wrapped the painting and even threw in a set of wires, you know the ones; they use them in galleries to hang the painting from the ceiling, about six inches away from the wall.
A bottle of wine and a bit of wire and Horace was made up, he shook hand with Poe Face, and with him at the front, and me at the back, we carried the monstrosity home. Me I wanted to get the bus, but Horace would not hear of it, said some old dear might damage it with her Zimmer frame, so we walked.
We arrived at one o’clock that meant we had an hour and a half before Evie got back from her driving lesson.
So we had a cup of tea, while we planned out the job and then we got started. Horace went into the garage and after rummaging around for a bit, came back with these great big screw-in-hooks, you could have hung a side of beef from one. We moved the settee away from the wall, put the steps up and I held them, while he screwed the hooks into the ceiling joists. Then we hung the abortion and moved the settee back.
It didn’t look right, mind you; to me that mishmash of clashing colours could never look right. Horace said it needed to be raised and the settee spoilt the effect.
After moving the settee to another wall, Horace shortened the wires by doubling them over the hooks; the painting now hung six inches out from the wall with the bottom six foot from the floor. I thought it was a bit high, but Horace said it would save them bumping their heads, and since both he and Evie were five foot six, I could see his point of view.
Job done, I returned the steps to garage, while Horace washed the cups up and we were just in time. Not more than a minute later Evie was back, and from the way the front door crashed open and slammed shut, she was in a foul mood. I moved to one side out of her direct line of vision and Horace received the full force of her wrath.
‘Why’s the settee over there?’ she demanded.
She had not noticed the painting yet, it was on the wall behind her.
‘It’s a surprise pet, for your birthday, if you turn around you’ll see it,’ Horace said, with a nervous smile.
He had a good right to be nervous, because from my vantage point in the corner, I could see the look on her face as she spotted the painting. It was a curious mixture of shock, puzzlement, and anger, mainly anger. She swivelled her head around – I swear to god she did, her body did not move, just her head – and said, ‘What on earth, is that?’
‘It’s yours pet, I bought it for you.’
Her head turned back to the painting and swivelled rapidly back again. ‘Where did you get the money?’
‘From our savings account,’ Horace whimpered.
‘How much?’ she asked, her voice low and menacing.
‘I... er... five thousand.’ he blurted.
‘What? You spent our cruise money on a paint spillage,’ she screamed.
That was my cue to get out, I was like a whippet after a rag and before you could say, modern art, I was sitting supping a pint in the window seat of The Lord Nelson, on the other side of the street. My plan was to stay out of the way until things settled down.
I had drunk my first pint and had ordered my second, when a taxi pulled up, the front door of the house burst open, and Evie came out with a suitcase. After she left, I should have gone over to see how Horace was, but I decided to wait awhile and let him settle down.
After half an hour, I wandered over, the door was open, so I went straight in and found him hanging there, with his head stuck through the painting.
