Page 20 of Fe
Fen kept working and made no move to take it. Only when Scott had gone did he pick it up. He didn’t recognise the elegant handwriting. But then, no one ever wrote to him. Did anyone write letters these days? Inside the thick cream envelope was an invitation to an exhibition of Japanese ceramics at the Tate.Wow!Fen double-checked it was his name on the envelope.
He’d not told anyone he was keen to go. He’d thought about it, but that was all. This invite wasn’t even for the general public. It was a private pre-opening event, with drinks and nibbles. Fen turned the card over but there was nothing on the back.
He had a very short list of who might have sent it.
His mum? Maybe.
Alistair? Possibly.
Charles? Though it would be the first gesture of its kind, so unlikely.
Seth or Morgan, Fen’s friends? Equally unlikely. It wasn’t as if it was Fen’s birthday and how would they get him an invite to an exclusive event?
So Ripley. In truth, he’d been Fen’s first thought but he’d wanted to consider other options before he leapt at that one. A gesture to compensate for being a twat over the BMD?
Well, he’d find out on Monday evening because there was no way Fen wasn’t going. Although that was assuming Ripley went too and he might not.
As he pushed the card back into the envelope, Scott came bounding in and snatched it from his fingers. “Court summons? Debt collector?”
He pulled out the card and frowned.
“It’s an invite to an exhibition,” Fen said.
“A private opening. Why’s it come to you? It should be for Dad or Uncle Alistair.” He looked on the reverse of the card, then tossed it at Fen. It landed on the floor. Fen forced himself not to look at it. If he showed the slightest interest, Scott would tread on it or rip it up. Scott was reaching for it when the buzzer indicated someone had come into the shop. The moment he’d left the workroom, Fen retrieved the card and put it in a zipped pocket of his backpack.
The shop closed at four. Fen left Scott to lock up and went to his Tai Chi class. Mostly he practised the martial art in his bedsit, but once a week, he took part in a group session. Moving in unison with others somehow gave him more energy and focus. The slow, gentle movements were perfect exercise for someone like him and having others around made Fen feel as if he belonged.
He waved to Agatha, the lady who ran the class, and after he’d dumped his coat and bag at the side of the room, he took his place at the back and put his crutch on the floor. Most of the exercises he could do without it, but not all. Several class members were already warming up and Fen joined them, doing head and shoulder rolls, and more awkwardly for him, reaching for his toes. He could just about circle his hips without falling over.
There were challenges in Tai Chi for someone with BMD. It was harder for him to stay balanced, harder to lose himself in the meditative element, but he did his best and if there was something physical he couldn’t manage, then he did his own version.
Fen liked the way Tai Chi movements flowed without pause so the body was in constant gentle motion. He particularly liked the move yun shou, or cloud hands, when you moved your hands as if they were clouds being softly played with by the wind. First one arm, then the other, then both. When everyone in the room did it, it looked beautifully elegant.
Standing on one leg for any length of time didn’t. When Fen began to wobble, he had to stop. He found his focus again, centred himself and carried on, only to find himself wobbling again.Shit.
“And relax,” Agatha said.
There was a chorus of relieved exhalations. Fen was the youngest person there. Almost everyone else was in their fifties and sixties, plus a married couple in their seventies. He wished there were more his own age. Someone he could make friends with.
“Legs apart, bend your knees,” Agatha said in a gentle voice. “Relax your breathing. Sink further.”
Not without holding onto his crutch. Fen used it as a support.
“Lower.”
Agatha’s voice was hypnotic and sometimes Fen forgot she was telling him to do something he couldn’t do, which tended to wreck his serenity when he ended up struggling not to fall over. It was a miracle he managed not to snigger when the lady in front of him let out a loud fart.
When the session ended, Agatha put her right fist to her left palm and held it out in front of her body, as she’d done when the session started.
“Tong Xue Men Zai Jian, students.” Agatha saying goodbye.
“Lao Shi Zai Jian,” they all responded. Goodbye teacher. They made the same gesture. A martial arts sign of respect, indicating you had no weapons, meant no harm.
Fen never hung around. Everyone always seemed to want to talk to him, generally to ask how he was doing, and when people were too kind, it ate at his defences. As did Ripley not contacting him. Well, that was that, then.
Unless he was at the Tate on Monday.
I am pathetic.
