Let's Catch an Art Thief!: Let's Catch, #2

1

B oys, we’re going to be late!

Tom groaned as he pulled on the black dress shoe. Probably should’ve loosened the laces first. Tom hadn’t worn formal shoes as far back as he could remember. Probably never. And they didn’t behave the same way as his old trainers, which usually slipped on without a thought.

Charlie straightened his blue bow tie in the bedroom mirror. Let’s go. She’s going to come knocking if we don’t go down now.

Tom glanced at his short, springy hair from behind Charlie and caught his best friend’s dark eyes in the reflection. Tom grimaced.

Charlie grinned. It’ll be fine. I’ve been to her gallery before. It’s chilled.

Chilled? It’s an art gallery. Is that even possible? Tom gulped. He wasn’t really one for art, or galleries, or anything like that. Give me football, or even rugby, over art galleries.

After being coerced by Charlie’s mum, Su-jin Kang, the boys had volunteered to help at the opening night of The Chiswick Gallery’s latest exhibition. Dressed in a suit and tie, Tom felt like a fish out of water. Or more specifically, a fish in the middle of the Sahara. At midday.

And besides … Charlie pulled on his suit jacket. Mum’s receptionist is cute. He swept his long, straight fringe to the side.

Sure. Tom grinned. Of course Charlie would know if there was a good-looking girl around.

As they traipsed down the polished wooden stairs, Tom caught sight of Su-jin. Her short, dark hair and deep brown eyes looked fantastic with her indigo cocktail dress. Su-jin’s angular build was almost sculptural in itself; it was no wonder she had landed this new job as the curator at The Chiswick Gallery.

She turned to the boys. Let’s go. With Ji-hoon on his business trip, I can’t seem to keep you two in line.

Tom chuckled. Charlie was one of the best-behaved teenagers Tom had met—when they’d first crossed paths, Tom had thought him a bit of a nerd. And when Tom was around Charlie, he toed the line as well. Not that he had to change much from his usual quiet, inoffensive self. Su-jin must have been stressed about the opening to be under the illusion she had to expend any energy keeping the two boys in line.

Tom balanced a tray of pink blobs of mush on puff pastry while an elderly couple asked him whether there would be spirits on offer. He shook his head. Beer and wine tonight. I think you get a bottle of champagne with a purchase.

They trotted off, arm in arm, scowling.

He gazed around the room, looking for his next targets. How quickly could he empty his tray so he could take refuge in the other room, away from all this pretentiousness? The polished concrete floor gleamed under the bright gallery lights hanging high above in the airy space. Paintings, prints, and drawings hung on the walls, and sculptural pieces stood on the floor or on white blocks. This wing was referred to as the Modern gallery, and it certainly seemed to house the more modern artworks. The other one was dedicated to antique pieces—and aptly called the Antique gallery—but Tom hadn’t had the chance to sneak a peek. Not that he really wanted to, but he’d rather check out some old paintings than serve canapés to rich snobs.

Tom’s gaze landed on Charlie who was talking to a tall girl with a wispy afro, dressed in a tight, grey suit-dress. Was she the receptionist? Maybe, but Charlie didn’t contain his flirting to one girl at a time, so it could be anyone.

A tinging sound interrupted Tom’s thoughts. A man with tanned skin, light-grey cropped hair, and dark-grey eyes was hitting something against the side of his glass. As Tom turned to watch, he caught sight of an older man with olive features holding a mop as he stood in the doorway. He watched the scene, seemingly unmoved by the prospect of a speech.

Charlie sidled up beside Tom and nodded towards the man holding his glass in the air. That’s Marty Goebbing, the old curator. The guy Mum is taking over from.

Marty cleared his throat delicately and peered through his rimless glasses. His mouth scrunched up momentarily before the crowd’s chatter died down.

After five years as curator, I have many people to thank. Marty listed some names, interspersed with some anecdotes and the crowd’s laughter and applause. Tom watched as the man spoke, wondering how someone could be so comfortable speaking in public. Marty had the air of a practiced celebrity, and Tom could imagine the flashes of the paparazzi popping as he charmed his guests.

After a few minutes, Su-jin joined Marty at the front of the room. They hugged, shared a gleaming smile, then Su-jin spoke.

I’m extremely excited to be taking over from Marty. I’ve only been at The Chiswick Gallery for a few months, so I was very surprised, and grateful, that he decided to take on his new job at a school. I know, as do you all, that the dedication he has brought to this gallery will be appreciated by the students.

The pair hugged again before the applauding crowd embraced them both. As they dispersed, the old man watched from the doorway. He turned, his mop upright, and left the room.

2

Tom met the visored eyes of the motorcycle rider as he crossed the road towards school. At just over ten degrees, according to the forecast on the front of the Metro , it was annoyingly warm for November. By this time of year, London should be starting to rug up in heavy coats, or for those in denial about summer finally ending, curse the freezing autumn breeze circling around their bare ankles.

After making his way through the front entrance, Tom wandered into his classroom for reception. He caught Mr Marsh’s hazel eyes as they reappeared from behind drooping lids. Charlie sat in the middle, scribbling something in his notebook.

Sup? Tom sat at the desk next to his friend.

Charlie’s mouth stretched into a yawn. Tired. Should know by now that the art geeks love a party.

You didn’t seem to mind last night, flirting with that girl.

Charlie’s mouth stretched up on one side. Melissa. He lengthened the middle like a hissing snake. Well, that bit was okay. He winked.

The boys slouched in their hard, plastic chairs while Mr Marsh rolled through the class list. Ama and Jasmina chatted at the back, and nobody, not even the teacher, seemed to care. Even though the rest of the country was in full Christmas swing, school was yet to embrace the festive season. It was that time of year where summer had dragged on far too long, exams hadn’t even started, and the holiday seemed to be in the distant future.

Mr Marsh straightened. We have assembly today for Armistice Day.

The class continued to chatter, laugh and throw things at each other. Tom gazed at the teacher,

Mr Marsh slapped his hand on his desk. Come on, guys. This is important.

The class fell into silence.

Remember, no funny business in the minute of silence. Freddie from the other class will be playing the trumpet—

Jasmina giggled and flicked her long, dark hair over her shoulder. I bet he will.

Ama and some of the other girls chuckled.

Tom shook his head. Was that some sort of wordplay?

"As a sign of respect … The teacher paused pointedly before continuing, … to the people who’ve been involved in conflict over the years."

The class settled. Tom hoped they wouldn’t be so disrespectful in front of the entire school. But there was a slim chance of that.

Five minutes into assembly, the remembrance part began. Mrs Eun, the deputy head teacher, addressed the school from the stage at the front of their main hall. Her short, black but greying hair and shiny glasses made her look like a movie star trying to do her groceries in secret. Her small frame was hidden beneath a dowdy, green dress. Mrs Banerjee, the head teacher, stood beside her. A serene look adorned her warm, ochre face, as her deep brown eyes surveyed her school before her.

Some other teachers and students stood on the stage, wearing medals on their uniforms and clothes, staring solemnly at the ground. Moments before eleven, the hall fell into silence while Freddie played the trumpet.

Tom always tried to think about the wars during these minutes of silence, but his mind tended to wander. He wasn’t great at concentrating at the best of times, and something about closing his eyes made his brain slip into daydream mode.

I wonder how long it will be until Su-jin ropes us into another event? Gallery openings weren’t Tom’s idea of a fun night. Especially when he didn’t even want to sneak some of that weird food. She’ll have some big shoes to fill. That Marty guy was popular.

The instrumental music ended, and Tom opened his eyes along with the rest of the assembly.

Mrs Eun walked up the stairs, accompanied by a man. It was Marty Goebbing, the old curator.

Tom turned to Charlie beside him. What the?

Marty’s hair looked light-blond instead of grey and under the lights of the stage, and he seemed younger than he had last night.

Charlie frowned back at his friend. Yeah … weird.

Weird that I was just thinking about him.

Thank you, Freddie, that was beautiful. Mrs Eun nodded at the boy. He smiled, cheeks redder than usual, and descended the steps, followed by the students and teachers wearing medals. They sat in the front few rows of the hall.

Now, I would like to introduce a new staff member. She gestured to Marty. This is Mr Goebbing. He will be taking up a new position as Head of Art and Culture here at the school, joining Miss Raffat and Miss Adams in the arts staffroom.

Tom remembered that Su-jin had mentioned a role at a school in her speech at the party. He saw Charlie nodding beside him in his peripheral vision.

Marty—Mr Goebbing—took the microphone from Mrs Eun and plastered on his shiny white grin. Alright, everyone? Having a good week?

The students before him grunted various responses, clearly needing a stronger boost after reflecting on a hundred years of war.

Come on, everyone, I said: are you having a good week?

With that, people cheered a little more heartedly, but it was hardly like they were at a Taylor Swift concert. Or something less girly.

Marty spoke briefly about … Well, Tom didn’t really pay attention. Why was he at their school, after working at a prestigious art gallery? It wasn’t like this place was the envy of the country when it came to extracurricular activities or cultural prowess. And why didn’t Su-jin mention that Tom’s school, her son’s school, was where her old colleague would be working?

3

S o, boys, what are you up to tomorrow night? Susie raked up her long, dark hair with her hand. Her tawny skin glowed despite the day’s lack of sunlight.

Tom leaned back against the rough bark of the tree, shielded against the wind. He looked at Charlie slouched back on the ground to his left.

Friday night. Big plans, don’t we, Tom? Charlie reached a toe to kick his mate’s shoe.

Tom’s lips downturned in a mock frown. Charlie, of course, was seeing this as a chance to impress Susie. Maybe on behalf of Tom. But despite his regular suggestions that Tom and Susie should get together, Susie wasn’t interested in him. And Tom definitely wasn’t interested in her.

Tom tilted his head back. Nah, no plans yet.

Charlie frowned at his friend. Whatever.

All I want to do is Netflix and … well, whatever you say instead of ‘chill’ when you actually just want to veg out.

If you borrow my password again, you mean? Charlie grinned up at Tom.

What’re friends for?

Susie smiled. Well anyway, I wanted to go to this exhibition—

Tom groaned. Susie was always on the lookout for something cultural to do on weekends. Doesn’t Ali normally go with you?

"She’s already made plans