by Jane Linfoot
I go back to the charcoal. Concentrate really, really, really hard on the knobbles of the backbone, the way I can see the ribs moving ever so slightly up and down as he breathes, the ragged curls of hair at the nape of the neck, and make a sweep of my own. If there’s another shiver down my own spine as I notice the tautness of the fabric over the buttocks, I promise to give myself a slap on the wrist later for that.
‘Nice work.’ Plum’s so close I can hear her breathing too but there’s no tingle from that. ‘If you concentrate and let yourself go at the same time, you get to a kind of dream state, and that can be really beneficial for freeing up the brain’s pathways. A good life drawing session can actually be as replenishing as meditation.’
I’m hoping Aunty Jo took note of that. If it’s a choice between drawing my own foot or emptying my mind muttering mantras, I know which I’d rather do. Even better, I might be able to draw them with my shoes on.
This actually isn’t the first time I heard this. Bella and Tash were both on FaceTime last night, telling me about the benefits, and how life drawing can improve your critical thinking skills and your emotional well-being too. And I can’t turn down anything that helps my head. Although, thinking about it, that was Tash. Bella was more into the immediate delights of drawing hot people in general.
Loella’s beside me. ‘So, you’ll stay with the model for now?’
My reluctant squirm is just for show, because I’m already hooked. I’m not sure where the time goes after that. All I know is, I fill a lot of sheets. I’m concentrating so hard turning this real live body into light and shade on the paper without realising its beauty and its strength reach right out to me. The pent-up vitality. The way the wrists tense, and the knuckles are wide and a little bit roughed up. Those broad thumbs, stretching out beyond the head I can hardly see. The curve of the calf, the stretch of the thigh bone, the knot of the ankle. The tiny criss-cross of a white scar on the foot. Staring at him for so long the essence of this person doesn’t just seep onto my paper, it forces its way into my soul too. Just a little. If every woman in the room had fallen the smallest bit in love deep inside their secret hearts tonight, no one could blame them.
All too soon, Plum is standing up, smiling at the front, saying, ‘In a minute we’ll break for a few seconds, then move straight into the motion poses.’
I’m bracing myself. Although why I’m holding my breath, hoping the face behind the body isn’t a disappointment is a mystery, and ridiculous on every level. Any fireman this hunky will be sure to have a partner and, in any case, I’m definitely not on the lookout. In my current halfway-back-to-myself state, I couldn’t be less available. Being removed is not a bad feeling. Looking in from behind a fence in no-man’s land is a safe place to be. Even so, as we put down our charcoal, I take the precaution of dropping the sunnies down from the top of my head. If I accidentally make eye contact with this guy, the last thing I want is everyone in the class being forced to eavesdrop on my thundering heart.
As Aunty Jo takes down her latest sketch, I’m making sure I keep my smile small enough to be distant. And dammit if I’m even caring that I’d like it to look in any way attractive.
Plum gives a little cough. ‘Okay, we’ll move on with some action, if you’d like to get up now please, Barney.’
‘Barney?!’ Just when I could do with my mouth not working, not only does it leap into action, it also lets out a shout loud enough to echo so hard around the gallery, the lights above our heads start to spin. The sudden sound of my own shout makes me jump, and my lurch is so huge that my arm catches the edge of my drawing board. For a few seconds my easel wobbles in the balance, then there’s a huge splintering crash as the giraffe legs clatter across the floorboards and come to a halt, resting on Barney’s naked, rippling thigh. Wishing the floor would swallow me up doesn’t begin to cover it. If I wasn’t totally rigid, actually I’d run. As it is, as I watch Barney’s head and face rise up from the pose, my feet are literally welded to the floor with embarrassment superglue.
Aunty Jo’s hand lands on my leg. ‘Okay, Sweetpea? You’re not going to …?’ From her iron grip, she’s fearing the worst.
I let out a sigh. ‘Don’t worry, it’s not a seizure, Aunty Jo, it’s just my easel falling over.’ I turn to the sea of faces around, and let out a moan. ‘Shit, I’m so sorry.’ For overreacting. For wrecking their class. For showing myself up. And that’s just for starters. And yes, they are all looking, and they’re laughing and smiling, not at me, but in a sympathetic way.
A woman from the patchwork class peeps over the top of her drawing pad. ‘Don’t worry, Edie, we’ve all done it. Rogue easels galloping off down the gallery are why I stick to a sketchpad now.’
Loella’s out of her chair, picking up the wreckage. ‘That sounds like one of your calligraphy quotes, Edie, you should put that one down on her list, Josie.’ As she hands me my board, she’s laughing.
As Barney gets to his feet and picks up the rest, I’m pleased to see he’s having as much difficulty as me gathering the legs together. He hands the bundle of wayward bits of stick to me with a rueful grin. ‘I’ll have to leave this animal to you, who designed these things?’
‘Come here.’ Loella’s back and, with a couple of expert twists, she’s not only tamed it to submission, she’s also taped some more paper into place on my board. Which I take as a message that, however much I’m dying here, I’m not going to be allowed to escape.
Barney’s hitching up his boxers and rubbing the life back into those disgustingly honed forearms. ‘What’s this, Edie, still wearing those sunnies of yours? Have I accidentally dazzled you with my biceps?’
I ignore how close to the truth that is, focus on how grateful I am to have them to hide behind, and move this on to a more important question. ‘But where’s Cam?’ And, more to the point, why couldn’t I rely on him to keep Barney out of the way? Even if it’s the holidays, it’s so long since teatime he should surely be in bed by now after his busy day. Fast asleep and all the rest of it.
Loella’s eyebrows lift. ‘Cam’s off adventuring with the rest of the kids. Beth’s dad has taken them off around the bay to make a driftwood fire on the beach and toast marshmallows.’
Beth’s joining in too. ‘That’s why we jumped at our chance to get Barney, he’s not often free. He’s one of our favourite models because he’s so good at staying still.’ Obviously nothing to do with his physique then.
Plum’s handing Barney a top. ‘So, for the next bit, we’re doing ten minutes speed sketching, trying to capture the movement as Barney gets the feeling back in his legs and pulls the sweatshirt on and off.’
As Barney tugs the fabric over his head Aunty Jo’s murmuring beside me. ‘Now this is a first. They never talked about action sequences in Harpenden.’
As if it wasn’t bad enough drawing his back when I didn’t know it was him, watching it appearing and disappearing as the sweatshirt slides on and off, when I do know it’s him, is … agony? awful? excruciating? All of the above. I give a mental scream to block out the tiny voice in my head that pipes up and says ‘delicious’. Who knows where the hell that came from but, take it from me, it’s totally not what any part of me thinks or feels. Even worse, watching him put his clothes on is like mentally undressing him the wrong way around. When I get home and tell Bella about this, she’ll be on the next train. Although that’s not quite true, because she drives. So she’ll actually be jumping in her car.
I look longingly down the gallery at the vase of daffodils, then catch Plum’s eye. ‘I don’t suppose …?’ With my record on toppling easels, I’m not going to risk getting up to get them myself and disrupting the class all over again.
Plum smiles at me and gets up. ‘Would you rather have the forsythia?’
I’m nodding and letting out a sigh of relief.
Then Barney’s face appears from the sweatshirt and his eyes are boring into me. ‘Edie Browne, I don’t believe you. I’m going to all this trouble and you’re
asking to draw flowers?’
If he didn’t sound so wounded, I’d be laughing less. ‘Since when do models answer back?’ Him cheeking me wrecks any tiny bit of artist-model divide we had left.
Loella’s laughing too. ‘We break all the rules in St Aidan. I’ll get you the daffodils.’
From the crinkles at the corners of Barney’s eyes, he’s seeing the funny side. ‘Totally not, if I’m suffering for art, Edie can too.’
The only answer to that is an eye roll. But somehow, after that, even though I limit myself to drawing from the knee downwards, any concentration I have goes out the window. And when I look through my drawings later at home, I’m shaking my head at a guy who even has ankles that are beautiful.
21
Day 163: Friday, 13th April
The barn yard at Periwinkle Cottage
Epic Achievement: Discovering the old Edie Browne maybe wasn’t completely perfect after all.
In a way I should be thankful for finding out that the sensual part of my head didn’t get killed off along with my reading brain cells. That it’s still there ready, for if I want it in the future. When I’ve closed my circle, that is. Gone all the way back to the start again. It’s much the same as when Bella brought her bike round a while after I had my stroke and I got on and found I could still ride it. Even if I was a bit wobbly and got straight off again, everyone, including me, was over the moon. But it was just good to know as a random fact; it didn’t mean I was going to start road racing or even leisure riding. I haven’t been on a bike since I left junior school, and I have no intention of starting now.
It’s the same with my appreciation of the artists’ model. It’s good to know I still can, but it doesn’t mean I’d consider opening up that box any time soon. I know from being with Marcus how much time a relationship can consume. For now I want to put all my energy into getting well. Then when I’m back to being that whole, proper person – well, then we’ll see.
With the school holidays still going on, Aunty Jo and I go back to painting and wall-stripping in the downstairs areas, but even after another solid week of work, we’ve only done a small amount of what there is to do. Meanwhile, Loella and Beth are busy in the barn yard, with their crowd of children floating between there and the cottage.
They’re amazingly good at amusing themselves. The bigger ones look after the smaller ones and they spend a lot of time hunkering down in the little space that was once a piggery at the end of the barn yard. They also spend an unexpected amount of hours chopping up and wearing Aunty Jo’s outfits left over from golf club dinner dances. Let’s face it, she won’t be needing those again. I have no idea how she came to actually bring them all the way to Cornwall, because mostly they’re so over-the-top they should have hit the charity shop years ago, but as they aren’t short on glitz or shimmer they’re perfect for dressing up. And if the kids ever get bored, Aunty Jo’s always happy to leave off supervising me and my paint roller to step in with a story or a film or a craft activity.
Cam comes around at some time each day, and we read together. When I give him the mini Eat more strawberry ice cream poster with a picture of a giant ice cream cone that I’ve put in a little frame his face lights up into the closest I’ve yet seen to a smile. As for Barney, since what I’m now thinking of as the most embarrassing moment of my life at the life drawing class, I’m happy to say I’ve somehow managed to avoid coming face to face with him. Okay, I know some things get worse, the longer you put them off, but my fantasy slash master plan is to avoid him – forever. Aunty Jo pointed out I’ve already been here a month, so it’s not that unrealistic to think if I make a big effort and have a sensible strategy, staying out of his way for a few more should be completely do-able.
One other significant thing has hit me as I’ve replayed that awful scene over and over in my head until my insides curl up so tight I can’t open my eyes. The biggie is, I can’t blame tipping up my easel on top of Barney on anything to do with being ill, because it wasn’t. Not that I’d ever make excuses because of what I can’t do any more. But the important thing for me was, the biggest blunder of my life to date wasn’t to do with the lesser, more recent, lower-functioning version of myself. It’s the fully operational, properly working part of Edie Browne who has to take full responsibility for this stuff-up.
So long as you overlook that if it hadn’t been for being ill, I would never have been here in Cornwall, this one would have happened, regardless. Not only is it a bit of a shock, it also takes time to get my head around the realisation that the person I’m striving to get back to being wouldn’t actually have handled it any better than I did. In fact, in that incarnation it might have been worse, because at least as my current self no one expected me to make any fancy apologies or explanations. They accepted that my ‘Shit, I’m so sorry’ came straight from the heart of a person who makes mistakes all over the place. Then they left it at that, and all moved on.
We all agreed that when Friday morning came Aunty Jo and I would make our way around to the barn yard to see the full effect of the Easter holiday transformations.
Aunty Jo’s leaning towards me, whispering as we go under a new string of colourful bunting at the entrance. ‘Oh my, it’s all looking very spick and span.’ From Aunty Jo, nice words do not come any better.
A lot of the rubble has been taken away by Beth’s partner Morgan in her builder’s trailer. Now it’s empty, even if it’s a long way off Barney’s neat and tidy next door, the courtyard is looking so much more spacious and the lovely stonework of the stable walls is much clearer to see.
The whispering is catching. ‘Look at those pretty trees.’
Aunty Jo’s hand tenses on my arm. ‘Yes, bay trees either side of the doors, and look, Loella’s painted her stable door pink, and Beth’s painted hers blue.’ She stops to take it all in. ‘And they must be the lanterns Beth makes. Malcolm told me all about those that night at the gardeners’ club.’
Just as we get there, the blue door bursts open and all the children rush out in a cloud of purple and green and orange chiffon and sequins, which I’m sure Aunty Jo recognises. Since yesterday they’ve obviously plundered her hat boxes too because, looking at their heads, they could be on their way to a royal wedding.
Beth is beaming as she shows us in. ‘Come and see what we’ve been up to.’
‘So many shelves.’ For a moment all I can do is gasp. Not only have the walls been whitewashed, there are lanterns and other stock and materials neatly arranged on one side, and then a more arty cluster near the front, with a workbench towards the back and a welder’s helmet. ‘Truly, it’s …’ I can’t actually think of a word that’s wide enough. ‘… amazing.’
Loella springs in front of us. ‘You haven’t seen mine yet.’
The kids are leading the way, and they’ve already flung back the door to show the same painted walls and shelves, but this time they’re bursting with vibrant, coloured fabrics.
Aunty Jo’s running her hand over a velvet chaise longue covered in folded quilts. ‘This one looks comfy.’ Then her eyes light up all over again when she sees the tables at the back, covered in cut pieces of fabric waiting to be sewn, with the sewing machines beside it.
I pull Loella into a hug. ‘You’ve done so much work.’
Beth’s laughing. ‘We thought if we made it really, really, really nice you might want us to stay a bit longer.’
‘It is going to work, isn’t it?’ I’m pursing my lips, then waving my arm along the yard towards the rows of doors. ‘Is it too soon to ask if anyone else would be interested in doing the same in the other stables? More to the point, do any of your friends make chocolates?’
‘I wish they did.’ Loella’s laughing. ‘Leave it with us, we’ll ask around our inner circle and see what we come up with.’
Aunty Jo’s rustling in her bag. ‘There are just a couple of things here for you two.’ As she pulls out the first cushion, I’m holding my breath.
Loella’s smile widens
. ‘Hold on tight to your dreams … Thank you, I couldn’t put it any better.’
‘And this one’s for Beth.’
Beth smiles too. ‘Shine a light … That’s brilliant, those little candle flames over the “i”s are perfect!’ She plants an air kiss on each of our cheeks, then goes back to examining her cushion.
‘So what’s the verdict?’ I’m watching her face. ‘Do you think anyone would buy them?’ This is my plan to get Aunty Jo earning. I painted the words with fabric paint, and she made them.
Loella pulls in a breath. ‘Josie’s sewing is impeccable, and the idea is quirky and fun.’
Beth turns to Aunty Jo. ‘There’s one sure way to find out. Make me a couple more, I’ll pop them in our online Etsy shop, we’ll see how they go.’
‘I can’t say I’ve ever sold anything before.’ There’s a curl to Aunty Jo’s lips, and she’s fanning her fingers in front of her face.
Loella pats her cushion. ‘At the risk of sounding like a pillow quote, there’s a first time for everything, Josie. Beth’s right, they’re witty, and the stitching details are top notch. I reckon they’ll fly off the shelves.’ She grins at me. ‘Well done you two, that’s a great place to begin.’
Beth’s looking at her phone. ‘I don’t want to rush you, but we’ve promised the kids a picnic and a day out.’
