“Mum? Let him in!” I pleaded. Dad joined us.
“What’s going on, Cole?” he said.
“I told you!” I said. “I sold a picture and Marika Loft wants me to do another one.”
Declan stepped into the house.
“Marika Loft?” said Dad. “The artist? The one who paints the boxes?”
I nodded madly.
“I’ll need to take your bank details,” said Declan. “Ms Loft has agreed to waive her commission on this first occasion so you’ll get the full one thousand pounds.”
Mum looked at Declan and then at me.
“I’m sorry … has there been some kind of mix-up?” said Mum. “Cole isn’t a painter.”
Declan smiled.
“Your son has a great deal of artistic talent, Mrs Miller. Marika wants to nurture that talent and has offered to manage his next sale.”
“His next sale?” she said. “What do you mean?”
Declan put the box down by the stairs.
“We’d like Cole to do another painting. Marika expects his next piece to sell for more than a thousand.”
Dad snorted.
“Oh, I get it!” he said. “This is some kind of practical joke, right? You’ve got one of those tiny cameras hidden in your button or something!”
He went over to Declan and started looking closely at his blazer.
“Dad! He’s telling the truth! I have sold a painting!” I said. Declan was beginning to look very fed up indeed. He turned to me.
“This is all of the artists’ materials that you should need, Cole,” he said. “If you require anything else then just call.”
I looked inside the box. There were canvases, pencils, different sized-brushes and lots and lots of paints.
“This looks perfectly satisfactory,” I said, trying to sound like I knew what I was talking about. Mum and Dad just stood there until Mabel appeared and began to pull everything out of the box.
“Mabel! Hands off,” said Dad. “Those are, um … Cole’s art things.”
Declan got an envelope out of his bag.
“I’ve got some paperwork for you to have a read through and sign, Mr and Mrs Miller.”
Mum and Dad looked utterly dazed at this, but nodded in tandem, and then the three of them headed into the lounge.
“Mabel wants to see Cole’s painting,” whispered my little sister, beside me.
I crouched down next to her.
“Someone has bought it so you can’t, I’m afraid,” I said. “But I’m going to do another one!”
Mabel blinked at me with her big blue eyes.
“Sold?” she said, not really understanding what that meant.
“Yes,” I said, with a big grin. “I’m going to sell the next one too!”
We followed everyone into the lounge and Mabel climbed on to Dad’s lap.
“Who is that man?” she said, pointing right at Declan. She was so embarrassing. Dad whispered something in her ear and she went quiet.
“What kind of painting does Marika Loft want Cole to do, exactly?” said Mum. So, she finally believed me!
“Marika likes paintings that make her ask questions. Pictures with a story,” he said earnestly. Mum nodded slowly at him and looked at me with wide eyes. I kind of shrugged back.
“And how much does she think she can sell it for?” said Dad, leaning forward.
“It’s hard to say but there was a lot of interest in ‘A Sky in Blue’,” he said.
“Hold on a minute, is this some kind of scam?” said Dad, his eyes narrowing. “Are you going to suddenly ask us for money? To sell Cole’s paintings? Because I can be very clear with you right now. We don’t have any.”
Declan smiled and shook his head.
“It’s not a scam, Mr Miller. Cole will have the same terms as our other artists. Whatever he sells we will take thirty-five per cent to cover our gallery fees. If it doesn’t sell, there’s no charge. Although, to be honest with you, I think that is highly unlikely.”
“Thirty-five per cent sounds like quite a chunk,” said Dad.
“Yes. But remember that Marika has overheads to consider. Promotion, gallery space, insurance, staff, etc.”
Dad looked at me.
“And you’re sure you want to do this, Cole? You think you can do another painting?”
“Definitely!” I said.
“That’s great!” said Declan, handing me a little card. “Here is my number. Please give me a call if you have any concerns.”
I stared at the business card. On the front was the Loft logo in gold and on the back was a phone number and the words: Declan Hewitt – Personal Assistant to Ms Marika Loft.
“If I can get your signature on this contract and your bank details, Mr and Mrs Miller, I can get the thousand pounds transferred across to you this evening.” He passed the form and a pen to Mum. Her face flushed.
“I could open an account for Cole, couldn’t I? I mean, it feels wrong, having his money going into my account when he has done all the work.”
Declan reorganized the papers in his hands. “That’s between yourself and your husband, Mrs Miller. You can always move it from your account at a later date.”
Mum looked at me.
“We’ll talk about that later, shall we, Cole?” said Dad. I agreed, but there was no way I was keeping the money.
“We’d also like to organize a launch party at the gallery for you, Cole. A little soirée with a few journalists and other artists. It’s a way of getting your art seen by a lot of people. How does that sound?”
“A swarrrr-what?” I said. I’d never heard that word before.
“A soirée,” said Dad. “It’s a bit like a party, but for posh people.” He gave me a wink. I wasn’t sure I liked the sound of that.
“How long has Cole got to do the picture?” Mum said, passing the form back.
“Within the next three weeks. Does that sound OK, Cole?”
I nodded. Considering how quickly I did the first painting, I could probably do fifty in that time.
“Great!” he said. “Please send me a photo of your work in progress to keep us updated, OK?”
“No problem,” I said, making my voice sound as bright and confident as I could.
Declan stood up. “Right. I’d better be getting back to the gallery to give Marika the good news. We’ll be in touch soon to see how you’re getting on.”
He shook my hand and then shook hands with Mum and Dad. Mabel, still in Dad’s arms, held out her hand and Declan gave it a little shake as well, making her giggle.
As soon as Declan left, Mum and Dad went crazy.
“I don’t believe it,” said Mum. “A thousand pounds!” She squeezed me so hard I couldn’t breathe and then she gave me a kiss on the top of my head.
“Who’d have thought it? Our very own artist in the family!” said Dad, hugging me as soon as Mum had let go. Mabel climbed on to the sofa and jumped up and down, clapping her hands.
Everyone started talking at once. Mum kept repeating herself about how she didn’t want to take my money, but maybe they could borrow it for a while? Dad said he’d text the plumber about fixing the boiler and that, hopefully, it would then see us through the winter. Mabel jumped off of the sofa and patted me on the hand, asking if she could play with my new paints.
I stood back and smiled at everyone. I felt a warm glow growing bigger and bigger, deep inside my stomach.
I, Cole Miller, was about to make my family very, very rich.
Starting Painting Number Two
The next morning Mason was early for once, and he knocked for me so that we could walk to school together.
“Bye, Cole, bye, Mason!” called Dad. “Have a lovely day, you two!”
Dad was in a really good mood and Mum had also left for work with a big smile on her face. The money was in my parents’ account and the plumber said he would come out and fix the boiler as soon as possible. Things were going right for us at last. The knot of worry in my tummy felt les
s tight, my head clearer.
“When are they going to sell your next masterpiece?” asked Mason as we walked down the road.
“In three weeks,” I said. “I’ve got no idea what to paint though.” Doing another picture had seemed really easy when Declan was round. But the more I thought about it, the more like an imposter I felt.
“You could always do a portrait of your best friend,” said Mason, pulling a stupid face.
“Yeah, that’s not gonna happen,” I laughed.
“Why not do another sky painting? You could do a whole set of them. Lots of artists do that, don’t they? Paint the same thing over and over?”
I wasn’t so sure.
“I dunno,” I said. “I don’t think Marika would like that.”
“Of course she would! When you paint ‘A Sky in Blue Part 2’, you might have the hump so it comes out all murky or dark or something. You could call it ‘A Sky in Black’! Modern artists love all that rubbish.”
Maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea? I could even recreate my handprints on the sides. Marika seemed to like that bit. And, more importantly, it sounded easy.
“I guess so,” I said, thinking it over.
Mason smirked. “The first one looked like it had been painted by a three-year-old. I think you’ll be fine.” He slapped me on the shoulder and laughed and I laughed back. He was right. This was going to be a piece of cake! My next painting would sell for a load of money and things at home would just get better and better.
“Have you thought about what you are going to buy when you sell your next painting?” said Mason. “You should definitely get some trainers. I’m not being funny but my gran wouldn’t be seen dead in your ones.”
“Yeah, I s’pose so,” I said, cringing. He’d never been rude about my trainers before.
Mason went on about his XT50s and how comfortable they were but that they’d probably sold out. I’d been so busy thinking about helping Mum and Dad, I hadn’t thought about buying something for myself. If my next painting sold for enough money, I might be able to get a few things for me: a new phone, a decent coat, a watch, some trainers. It would be like getting all the Christmas presents I ever wanted in one go!
When we got to form there was another message waiting for me to go and see the head teacher. “I wonder what great news he’s going to give me THIS time,” I said airily as I walked out, Niall and Leyton staring suspiciously after me. When I got to his office, Mr Taylor was grinning again.
“How are you today, Cole?” he asked.
“I’m great!” I said, grinning back.
“Fantastic,” he said, rubbing his hands together. “I have some more good news! Marika Loft believes that Crowther High has the potential to nurture further artists, such as yourself. Isn’t that incredible?”
I nodded.
“And even better than that, she has personally pledged a substantial sum of money to refurbish our art block! It is an incredibly generous offer, and one that we couldn’t possibly have hoped for without your influence, Cole.”
“Right,” I said.
Mr Taylor leant forward on to his elbows.
“We really want you to do well with this second painting, Cole. You will be showing the whole world what incredible talent we have here at Crowther High. Marika said she has some big plans to get the maximum attention for your work. It’s terribly exciting.”
I fidgeted in my seat. “Attention?” I said. I suddenly felt really hot. Mr Taylor ignored me.
“I’ve had a discussion with your form tutor, and some of your teachers, and we are all in agreement that you should have the option to skip a few classes. This will enable you to have more time for your art work.”
I swallowed. “Skip classes?” Mr Taylor nodded.
“Your art teacher, Mrs Frampton, said that you can make a start in her room this morning. She doesn’t have any lessons until after lunch. How does that sound?”
“Um…”
“She’s got all the materials you need and she can offer you advice. You can also work there during breaks and after school, if you wish. OK?”
I swallowed again. I’d gone from getting time off lessons to having to stay longer. This wasn’t great.
“I guess so,” I said.
“Wonderful!” said Mr Taylor, clapping his hands together. I quickly pictured my timetable in my head. I’d miss maths and French, which wasn’t so bad.
“Right, get yourself off to the art room, young man, and get going on your next masterpiece!”
He stood up and reached his hand across his desk. The only time the head teacher shook hands with students was during the end-of-year assembly when he was handing out certificates. I stood up and shook it.
“We’re all incredibly proud of you here, Cole,” he said, his face beaming. “Very proud indeed.”
I looked back at him and tried to smile, but it came out a bit wonky.
When I got to the art room, Mrs Frampton was waiting for me by her desk.
“Cole! Isn’t this wonderful?” she said. She blinked madly like she did when she got really excited about something. She took a deep breath, her eyes batting open and shut.
“Do you know, I always thought you had an incredible talent deep down inside of you, Cole,” she said, putting her head on one side. “I remember when I saw your woodland collage at the beginning of term. You have something really special.” Her eyes flickered towards the back of the class and I followed her gaze. My collage had appeared on the wall with a bold label positioned underneath:
“A Woodland Scene”
by our exceptional artist, Cole Miller
All the other paintings on that wall by the year eleven GCSE students had been taken down.
“Oh,” I said. “I thought you gave me a D for that?” I remembered she’d written on the back in red pen that I’d been “too heavy-handed with the glue”.
Mrs Frampton closed her eyes and pursed her lips, shaking her head from side to side.
“No, no, no… It was an A-star,” she said, doing a little sniff. “I’ve cleared an area for you, which you can use whenever you want. You won’t be disturbed.”
She pointed to a table in the corner covered in newspaper. On it was an easel, a selection of paints and brushes, a jam jar of water and a blank canvas. I walked towards it and put my bag down by the chair.
“I guess I’ll get started, then,” I said to her. She nodded and watched me intently. I rolled up my jumper sleeves and stared at the white board. The paints were all brand new. I unscrewed the top of one and squeezed it on to a plastic tray. I decided to do “A Sky in Grey”.
“Oh… What an interesting choice of colour. So atmospheric, the hue of an overcast day, the threat of a storm building…” mused Mrs Frampton. I frowned at her.
“I don’t think I can channel my genius if you’re watching,” I said.
“Of course not!” she said. “I’ll just be over here if you need any … um … help.” She backed up towards her desk. I twisted the easel around so that she couldn’t see what I was doing and stared at the blank board. Then I took a deep breath, and began to paint.
First Disaster
I worked on ‘A Sky in Grey’ for two hours.
I started by painting the whole canvas the same colour as the elephant in Mabel’s butterfly game. Then I did some white lines criss-crossing the board like the aeroplane vapour trails in ‘A Sky in Blue’. While the picture was still wet I picked it up, placing my hands on the sides. I wanted to make two handprints, just like before. (I think Marika particularly like that bit.) But this time the paint smeared. They didn’t look like hands at all.
When I showed Mrs Frampton, her face dropped.
“Oh,” she said. “It’s a bit like your first painting, isn’t it? But not as … um… blue.”
It was a mess. There was no way it would sell for fifty pence, let alone thousands.
“It’s rubbish!” I said. “I can’t do it!”
“Don’t be silly. This is
your first attempt! There’s no need to panic!” said Mrs Frampton, her voice going all high. “You can’t rush art.”
The bell went for lunch and I threw my brush into the pot of water, grabbed my bag and headed to the door.
“Come back after school, Cole, and try again with a fresh canvas,” called Mrs Frampton.
I ignored her and closed the door behind me.
“Hi, Cole! How’s the painting going?” It was Isla. She must have been waiting for me.
“Badly. I just can’t seem to do it right.” Isla trotted beside me, trying not to crash into anyone as the corridors got busier.
“I know how you feel,” she said. “I sometimes feel like that about my music compositions, when the melody just won’t flow. We both have these talents but sometimes they can just desert us temporarily, can’t they?”
I glanced at her but didn’t say anything. I wasn’t anything like Isla, was I? She carried on talking.
“Anyway, I wanted to talk to you about ‘An Enigma in Oil’. I’ve been thinking and…”
Leyton appeared and stood in front of us, blocking our way.
“Hey, look at this,” he said to Niall. “Mozart is hanging out with Picasso!”
They both laughed.
“Where’s your double bass, eh, Mozart?” said Niall. A few other kids crowded around.
“Actually, it’s not a double bass, it’s a cello,” said Isla loftily. I groaned. Answering them back was the worst thing she could do.
“Oh, is it, actually?” said Leyton. We tried to go around them, but a boy from year ten stopped me.
“Lend us a fiver, will ya, Picasso? We’ve all heard about your painting selling for a grand.” Everyone laughed again.
“A grand?” said Niall. “My dad earns that within hours. Although, I guess that’s a lot of money in your house, eh?”
I kept my head down.
“Maybe you should buy some new shoes with it,” whispered a girl I didn’t know.
Everyone stared down at my feet. My big toe was bursting through the end of the left shoe and I tried to make it shrink back inside, but there wasn’t any room.
The Boy Who Fooled the World Page 8
