Page 108 of Be More Octopus

Em raised her eyebrows.

'I meant go for a run,' Ben laughed.

CHAPTER SEVENTY-SEVEN

Maybe this wasn't such a good idea. Em was setting up her easel and canvas in a corner of Dashford village hall.

'There are some tables in the side room if you want one for your paints and brushes.' Carol, the organiser, bustled over. 'But we have to cover them with plastic. The village hall committee don't like it if they're more colourful than when we started.' She gave a rather pained smile.

With her fitness plan sorted, Em had moved on to tackling her lack of social life. She'd found the art group in the parish magazine.

A supportive social art group for adult artists of all ages and abilities.

We meet fortnightly on Thursdays from 7.30 pm to 9.30 pm.

Phone Carol on 07700 900077 to book your place.

£5 per person to cover room hire and refreshments.

They didn't have an internet presence, not even a Facebook page, but Nancy said she knew Carol from WI and she was a good organiser, so it would be worth a try, especially as they met in the evenings, so it shouldn't just be retirees. But the eight other attendees this evening were at least 70 by the look of it.

Em waved a fiver in Carol's direction.

'I'll collect those later. We usually have a break halfway through for tea and biscuits, and someone talks about their work. We have a rota. It's Jerry's turn today,' she said, pointing at a man with floppy white hair and a paisley cravat who was tinkering with what looked like a painting-by-numbers landscape. 'We're very fortunate. Jerry is an experienced painter. He's been creating art for over 40 years. We love Jerry's tips.'

Em wasn't sure she would feel the same way, but there was no escape now. She may as well make the best of it.

The rest of the painters were engrossed in their work. There wasn't much chit chat considering it was meant to be a social group.

A loud noise disturbed the silence. Em turned to see a tall man in a check shirt and baggy jeans attempting to get a large easel and canvas through the door.

'Sorry I'm late, everyone.' He flashed a big smile from deep inside his bushy ginger beard. He looked about the same age as Em - a breath of fresh air.

'Ooh, a new face.' The way his eyes lit up looked like he thought Em was a breath of fresh air too. 'I'm Matt,' he held out his hand and shook hers enthusiastically.

'Hello Matt, I'm Em.'

'Do you mind if I set up my easel next to you?'

'Be my guest.' Perhaps this evening wouldn't be a waste of time after all. Em wasn't attracted to him, but at least he wanted to be friendly.

Matt's canvas was a large abstract with strong brush marks in shades of red and burnt orange. Em was genuinely drawn to it. 'That's so powerful.'

'Thank you. I'm going through a phase of self-doubt.'

'You shouldn't be. But I know that's easier said than done. I love it. How long have you been coming to this group?'

'It must be nearly three months now. I teach at the local secondary school. I started in September.'

'Do you teach Art?'

'No, no, no. Too dangerous being stuck in a room of hormonal teenagers with paint and knives around. I prefer History - fewer potential weapons.'

Oh no, another historian. 'You don't specialise in ships, do you?' Em asked.

'No. Why did you ask that?'

'It was just a guess.' She decided to change the subject. 'Is that a Brummie accent?'