They may not mean to, but they do - 13. Thirteen

They were in town having coffee. As far as Keith was concerned, he would have been happy with Starbucks, but Thomas insisted that they use a local independent. It took Keith a couple of goes to get a coffee he liked, but he sort of understood. Ethics came into a lot of what Thomas thought, in ways that Keith had never considered. Sometimes Keith wanted to be able to buy a t-shirt without worrying about the working conditions of the local workers, Indian, Chinese or whatever. Yet another part of him understood after all his Dad suffered for much of his life with his lungs, brought on by the conditions in the factory. Thankfully, there were no arguments, but a lot of eye-rolling, and sometimes Keith was aware of Thomas letting things ride.

Thomas seemed to have a wealth of information about a huge variety of things, a talent that Keith admired. Thomas would laugh and say his head was full of useless stuff. And they hadn't talked about politics yet, something both were avoiding carefully.

So, the two were sitting with their coffee, Thomas short and black, Keith longer and white, though Keith had been persuaded to experiment a bit and take his coffee darker and stronger. Keith's influence could be seen in the sticky buns, and Thomas would laugh that Keith was corrupting him. That day, they had ended up sitting by the café's noticeboard, a community display full of reading groups, flower arranging and such, along with one for Norton in Harmony - your local community choir, show tunes, popular songs and musical fun.

“Have you ever sung in a choir?”

“Me?” Keith laughed.

“You should try it, it's great fun.”

“But I know nothing about music!”

“I sang in a choir when I worked in Zimbabwe, there was one at a local mission church and a number of us from the charity joined in. No-one could read music, but we all had fun and did terrific things. I enjoyed it so much that when I was in Ghana, I went looking for something similar.”

“Do you sing at the moment?”

“I'd like to, but you need to be able to commit to a regular rehearsal night. Alison at work keeps trying to get me involved but”, he shrugged his shoulders, “I don't know?”

“I used to enjoy singing at church at Christmas and stuff. But I can't sing”.

Thomas laughed, “How do you know until you've tried.”

Keith thought nothing more of it, but somehow a leaflet managed to find its way to the flat, thanks presumably to Thomas. And Keith didn’t bin it. He didn’t do anything with it either, just put it in his drawer.

Luckily, there were other notices to draw Thomas’ eye. One was for a contemporary art exhibition which had just finished. The names meant nothing to Keith, but if he figured Thomas could come and watch him play football and help him pick computers, then the least he could do was go to an exhibition or two. And he might learn something.

They were walking back to the car when Thomas stopped dead. “Shit, I’m an idiot”.

“What’s the matter?”

“I promised Alison I’d ask you.”

“About?”

“Best wait till we are home.”

So, Keith was on tenterhooks till they got back to the flat.

“Alison, the head of the school where YAFA is based” (YAFA was the acronym for Thomas’ charity, Keith was gradually learning that the man’s life was full of such things) “has a problem. The school was something of a show-piece when it was built, first-class architecture for a first-class education, that sort of thing”.

Keith had no idea where this was leading, so kept quiet and nodded.

“Well, they were given a sculpture by this young local guy, Michael Atkinson. Not well known, but a name, and it was put on display. Over the years it's got a bit crappy and now someone wants to borrow it.”

Keith stared at Thomas. What had this got to do with him? “And?”

Thomas looked up embarrassed, “Sorry. Michael Atkinson specialised in mobile pieces, boxes of Perspex with lights that moved. The problem is that this one barely lights up and doesn’t move. Atkinson’s work has become more of interest and there is an exhibition planned for next year. Alison’s been asked if they can borrow the school’s piece, but she can hardly lend it in its present state, and there’s no money to get it fixed, besides it would probably cost a fortune”.

“So, you want me to have a look?”

“If you would. Neither Alison nor I have the slightest idea about such things, so it might need a lot of work, or it might be just a little.”

Keith nodded, it pleased him that there was something he could do for Thomas, as it seemed as if it had been rather one-sided recently what with the new flat and all. “I don’t know anything about mobile sculptures, but I can look. After all, its only lights, wires, and motors. I have a mate that’s interested in mobile models, he makes and collects stuff, and I can ask him when we know more.”

Thomas had been scanning his phone, “Here we are, this is another one from the same series.”

It was called Mounted Figure 1 and was a quartet of boxes, some presumably on armatures if they moved. The boxes were translucent Perspex of different colours, with lights showing through. It was pretty enough, without being anything to get your knickers in a twist about. It didn’t look like what Keith thought of as sculpture.

Thomas explained that the school had originally been built as showpiece that had lots of contemporary art on display, and people had given them stuff. It was still quite a collection, but a bit of an embarrassment now as it didn’t look good if they sold art-works that had been given to them, but there was no money to look after them either.

Keith laughed, “I could imagine the headlines in the Mail, ‘Scandal school uses money for art, not kids’ or summat. So, who is this Atkinson bloke?”

“Local artist, troubled soul but innovative, I think. Frankly, Pop Art isn’t my style, but Michael Atkinson is interesting.”

“Pop Art?”

Thomas smiled, “Ah, we will have to see to your education!” The resulting lecture on 1960s art movements was surprisingly interesting and entertaining, Michael Atkinson had Keith a bit intrigued.