“At least you can afford to come on the school trips now, eh, Cole?” said Kiki, appearing behind me. I think she was trying to be kind but it wasn’t helping.
“How about the skiing trip next year?” said Archie. “Do you reckon you can come on that? You’re the only one not going, aren’t you?”
I shrugged.
“He can’t afford a ski trip after paying his dad’s wages!” said Leyton. “Don’t you remember? His dad’s ‘job’ is looking after him!”
Everyone fell about laughing.
“Leave him alone!” said Isla. “Cole can’t help it if he hasn’t got much money.”
There was a moment of silence and then we faced a machine-gun fire of insults.
“Wind it in, eh, Mozart?”
“Yeah, haven’t you got orchestra practice or something?”
“Ah, does Picasso need Mozart to fight his battles for him?”
“I heard his painting looked like something a toddler could do!”
There was a gap in the crowd and I put my head down and pushed my way through.
Isla caught up with me.
“Why did you stick up for me?” I demanded. “You made it worse!”
“That’s what friends do!” said Isla. “Anyway, they’re just idiots. Ignore them.”
I walked a bit faster and Isla stumbled as she tried to keep up.
“So, I’ve been thinking about the last clue in ‘An Enigma in Oil’ and thought that we could—”
“I really don’t have time to go solving treasure hunts now, Isla,” I said. “I’ve got to get this painting done. It’s silly to go looking for treasure that might not even exist when I could be making real money.”
Isla’s face fell and she began to chew on her bottom lip. I felt a pang of guilt; I didn’t want to upset her.
“OK. I’ll see you later,” she said, before scurrying into the canteen.
After my last lesson I went straight to the art room. Mrs Frampton gave me a new canvas and this time I tried making the grey a bit darker, but I couldn’t get the vapour trails to look right. I went over and over the canvas until Mrs Frampton put her coat on.
“Why don’t you have a rest from it now, Cole?” she said. “Come back tomorrow with a fresh head and it’ll all seem better. It’s only your first day.”
I nodded and got up without saying anything. I was so tired. I went out of the art room and headed down the corridor towards the main doors. Music was coming from the drama room and I peered in through the glass window of the door.
It was Isla.
She was sitting on a blue chair with a music stand in front of her and an auburn-coloured cello between her knees. Her eyes were shut and her head gently swayed from side to side as though she had been hypnotized. Her bow went back and forth in her right hand while the fingers on her left pressed on to the tops of the strings. The sound was incredible. Some notes were so low it sounded like rumbling thunder, and then Isla moved her fingers on her left hand and the music went high and soaring. Every now and then she stopped playing, but her right foot continued to tap steadily, her eyes closed. Maybe this was the bit when the other instruments in an orchestra were supposed to play.
As she came to the end of the music I stepped away from the door so that she couldn’t see me. I don’t know why Isla thought we both had such a special talent. From where I was standing it was only one of us.
When I got home, Dad came rushing to the door.
“Cole! You’ll never guess what’s happened,” he said. Mabel was jumping up and down beside him. “Marika Loft has won a big art award!”
“Oh, that’s good,” I said, not quite sure why Dad would be so excited about this.
“It’s called the Turner Prize and she’s only gone and mentioned you in her speech!”
“She did what?” I gasped, dropping my school bag on the floor. Dad flicked through his phone, pressed the screen and turned it to me. It was a snippet from the news. Marika Loft was standing on a stage. At the bottom of the screen it said: Marika Loft. This year’s winner of the Turner Prize. I turned up the volume as she began to speak.
“…have an incredible amount of talent in this country. In fact, only recently I visited my old high school and discovered an outstanding new artist. A young boy called Cole Miller…”
The audience began to mutter excitedly amongst themselves. I felt a bit sick.
“I have already sold one painting by this exceptionally talented young man and I am thrilled to announce, right here, that we will soon be auctioning his second piece of artwork. All enquiries can go through the Loft Gallery… I’d like to thank my personal assistant…”
“An auction?” I said, stopping the video.
“Yes! The painting will go to the highest bidder. Isn’t that great?”
“I guess so,” I said. Mabel grabbed my hand.
“Cole? Play with Mabel?” she said, peering up at me. I wriggled my hand free.
“Declan called,” said Dad. “He asked if you could send a photo of your work in progress as soon as you can. Oh, and a journalist from one of the national newspapers is coming here tomorrow to interview you! Marika’s speech has caused quite a stir.” Dad was grinning. I hadn’t seen him look this happy in years.
“Why do they want to interview me?” I said. “Why can’t they talk to Marika?”
“I guess they want to find out for themselves how special you are,” said Dad, beaming.
I began to pick at my laces.
“What do you mean? There’s nothing special about me,” I said, trying to undo a tight knot.
“Of course there is!” laughed Dad. “Not everyone can sell a painting for a thousand pounds! They’ll want an insight into the mind of a twelve-year-old art prodigy.”
An art prodigy? That sounded weird.
Mabel grabbed my wrist and began to tug. “Mabel, let go! You’re hurting me!” I shouted. I shoved her and she bumped against the wall. Her face crumpled and she began to cry.
“Cole! Careful. What’s wrong with you?” Dad said, scooping Mabel into his arms. “Say sorry!”
“Sorry,” I muttered. “I’m just tired.” Mabel wriggled down from Dad’s arms and trotted off to the kitchen. Her grizzle hadn’t lasted long.
“We are so proud of you, Cole,” said Dad, smiling again. “Things are going right for this family at last.”
I gave up with my lace and yanked my shoe off without undoing it. And then I ran upstairs.
The knot in my stomach had tightened again. This was the most exciting thing that had ever happened to my family. I should be enjoying it. But at the moment I felt like I was on top of a very high cliff, peering over the edge. And it looked like a long way down.
The Journalist
The next day I tried a new painting: ‘A Sky in Yellow’. Once I nailed my second piece of art then I’d be able to relax. Mrs Frampton gave me a fresh canvas and I stayed in the art room all morning, at break time and over lunch. Classes came and went, and I was allowed to stay in the corner, working on my picture.
In the afternoon I went back to my lessons. In my last class, geography, I sat next to Mason.
“How’s it going?” he said.
“Terrible. I’m getting worse, not better,” I replied. “Everything just ends up as a swirling mess.”
“Isla asked if we wanted to go back to the museum tonight?” said Mason. “We’ve still got that clue to solve, remember? Listen to the river?”
“I can’t,” I said. “There’s a newspaper journalist coming to my house so I’ve got to go straight home.”
“A journalist?” said Mason.
“Yeah. They want to ask questions about my art and stuff.”
Mason thought about it for a moment.
“Maybe they want to know more about your mates too. Don’t you think?” he said. “I could tell them how it feels to have a best mate who sold a painting for a thousand pounds!”
“Um. Maybe. But I reckon they’ll want to know more
about how I paint and what my inspirations are and—”
“I’m joking!” he said, shoving me on the arm. “But I’d better come back with you anyway. Just in case.”
I liked Mason but I really didn’t want him watching me being interviewed. I didn’t know how to say no, though. As soon as the last bell rang he gave me a big grin.
“Ready?” he said. I sighed and nodded and we headed back to mine.
When we got there, there was a small, silver car parked on the road outside.
“Cole! Mason!” said Dad, opening the door. “We’ve been waiting for you. Come in, come in!”
Mason and I threw our bags on the floor and followed Dad into the lounge. A woman in a navy suit was sitting on our sofa. Mabel was standing by the armchair, looking shy.
The woman stood up when she saw us.
“Cole! I’m Cathy from the Daily Chatter. What an exciting time you’re having!” she said, shaking my hand. I seemed to be shaking everyone’s hands lately.
“Hello,” I said.
“I’m Mason. Cole’s best friend,” said Mason. He reached around to shake her hand but she’d already turned away and sat down.
“Well, this is exciting, isn’t it?” said Dad, sitting in the armchair. Mabel climbed on to his lap. Mason stood by the TV.
“It certainly is!” said Cathy, taking a small notepad out of her bag. “What an incredible moment for your family.”
“I’m so sorry my wife couldn’t join us,” said Dad. “She works at the museum and she couldn’t get away, unfortunately. They’re closing down soon so she’s a bit snowed under at the moment.”
Cathy nodded and scribbled something down in her notebook. I took a peek at what she’d written: Wife about to lose job.
“That’s no problem at all. It’s mainly Cole I’d like to talk to,” she said, looking up and turning to face me. “So, Cole. I’m going to ask you a few questions and record everything on my phone. Is that OK with everyone?”
I shrugged, Dad nodded and Mason said, “That’s fine.” I shot him a look and he pressed his lips together.
Cathy turned a page on her notepad and I could see a list of questions. She fiddled with her phone and then placed it on the sofa between us. It was recording.
“Let’s make a start… Have you always been interested in art, Cole?” she said. Mason immediately snorted.
“Um. I quite liked it at primary school,” I said. “I remember doing finger painting and stencils and things like that. It was good fun.” Mason did an exaggerated sniff and I glared at him.
“And what did you think of Marika Loft? It must have been quite intimidating meeting one of the most iconic and famous artists that this country has ever seen. Especially one as elusive as Marika. What’s she really like?” Cathy’s eyes twinkled.
“She’s all right, I guess,” I said.
She nodded at me, waiting for me to carry on, but I didn’t have anything else to say. She looked back down at her notes. Mabel twisted round on Dad’s lap.
“Mabel have a biscuit?” she said, really loudly.
“Not now, Mabel,” whispered Dad. She stared at me and the journalist, and then wriggled her way off Dad’s lap and padded towards the kitchen.
“So, can you take me through what happened when Marika came into your art class the day you did the painting?” said Cathy. “What instructions did she give you?”
I took a breath.
“Well, she gave us all some art materials and told us we could paint what we wanted.”
Mason suddenly stood forward. “Yeah! Remember she said we could paint the smell of coffee and all that weird stuff?” he said, laughing.
Cathy frowned at him.
“And did inspiration hit you straight away, Cole? Or did it take time to really get into that … creative zone?”
Mason started giggling again. He was really beginning to get on my nerves.
“I guess it took a while,” I said. “I didn’t know what to do at first, and then I looked out of the window and—”
There was a clatter from the kitchen and then Mabel began to cry. It sounded like she was trying to get to the cupboard with the biscuits.
“I’m so sorry,” said Dad, getting up. “I’ll just be a second.”
Cathy gave Dad a sweet smile as he left and Mason quickly sat in the armchair.
“A thousand pounds is a lot of money. Have you had any thoughts about what you might spend it on?” asked Cathy.
I opened my mouth but Mason butted in again. “He’s getting some new trainers. Aren’t you, Cole?” I glared at him.
“Ah, that’s nice,” said Cathy. “Expensive trainers are the thing to have at your age, I believe.”
I shuffled in my seat.
“Actually, we need to get our boiler repaired so I think Mum and Dad are going to get that sorted. It keeps breaking down and—”
“Ah, I see,” said Cathy, leaning closer. “So, the money isn’t entirely yours then? Are your parents intending to spend it on themselves?”
I shook my head.
“Not on themselves, exactly. It’s just that we need—”
“I understand that your father is out of work at the moment,” she said, interrupting. “Money must be incredibly tight for you all. This little windfall must be a huge help.” She smiled again. I frowned back at her.
“He’s not out of a job. He looks after me and my sister. His old job didn’t pay enough to cover childcare so he decided to stay at home for now. He’s actually trying to find a job that fits around us.”
Cathy smiled. I watched as she wrote dad unemployed on her pad. I could sense Mason fidgeting in the armchair.
“And is there anything else that the money is going to go towards? A new carpet, perhaps?” She looked down at our old, thin carpet with the bald patches. “Some decorating?”
“We … we haven’t decided yet,” I said.
“I think it’s up to Cole where the money should be spent, don’t you?” said Mason, perching on the edge of the armchair. Cathy fixed him with a steely glare.
“Of course,” she said. “It’s just that I’m sure most twelve-year-olds would choose to spend the money on a new PlayStation or the latest phone. Not a gas boiler.”
She turned back to me and her smile magically returned.
“I understand there is already a lot of interest in your next painting. Marika Loft’s gallery have made a statement saying that they expect it to go for well over a thousand pounds at the auction. How does it feel to know you will be getting another large sum of money? It must be quite exciting, I imagine? Considering…” She looked around our shabby front room. “Considering you … you know … haven’t got much.”
Mason huffed and stood up.
“Why do you keep asking him about the money?” he said. “Shouldn’t you be talking about his art?”
“I’m getting on to that next,” she said, glaring at him. “Cole? How about this next sum of money? Will you be spending it, or your parents?”
“I … I don’t know. It depends how much there is, I guess,” I said. “My mum is going to get me a bank account and—”
“So, the thousand pounds isn’t even in your bank account?”
I opened my mouth and closed it again. I didn’t like her questions. She looked down at her notepad and ignored the fact that I hadn’t answered.
“And how is the second painting coming along?” she said. “Any hints for our readers as to what it’s of?”
I felt myself turning red. “I’m not sure yet.”
Cathy frowned.
“But isn’t the sale in a couple of weeks?” she said. “You must be feeling immense pressure to produce something as good as, if not better than, your first painting?”
I blinked and looked down at my knees as I thought about what to say. I suddenly remembered what Marika had said on the phone in Mr Taylor’s office.
“I’m letting the painting speak to me first. Then I’ll begin,” I said. As soon as the word
s had left my mouth I blushed. Mason spluttered out a loud guffaw and put his hand over his mouth. I glared at him again and then Dad came through the door with Mabel on his hip. She had a ginger biscuit in her hand and a red bump just above her eyebrow.
“How are we getting on?” asked Dad, with a smile.
“I think we’re done!” said Cathy, stopping the recording on her phone. Mabel wriggled out of Dad’s arms and trotted over to Cathy, standing right in front of her.
“Mabel banged her head getting a biscuit!” my sister said proudly. Cathy stared at her, not smiling.
Undeterred, my sister went to the arm of the sofa and whacked it with the palm of her hand. “Look! Our sofa makes clouds!” she said as dust puffed into the air. I saw Cathy’s eyes widen when she saw it.
“So it does,” she said. She smiled and quickly wrote something down before putting her notebook into her bag. It wasn’t that the sofa was dirty, it was just old. Mum and Dad bought it from a charity shop when I was little and it had been ancient even then.
“Thank you so much for your time,” said Cathy, getting up. Mabel scooted out of her way and went to stand beside Dad. “Can I just get a quick photo of you, Cole? Maybe sitting in the middle of the sofa?”
“I guess,” I said, looking at Dad, who nodded. I edged to the middle as Cathy crouched down and held up her phone. She spotted something behind me and repositioned herself.
“Lovely!” she said, pressing the screen. “Thank you, Cole, and thank you, Mr Miller. I know that it’s an extremely exciting time for you all and I know that our readers will enjoy learning all about it.”
“No problem,” said Dad.
“I’ll get this written up and it’ll make tomorrow’s paper,” she said.
“That’s wonderful,” said Dad. “Thank you for coming.” He went into the hallway to show her out.
When they’d gone, I got up to see what Cathy had been looking at before she took my picture. Right above me was a bare patch of wall. Dad had said the whole room needed to be plastered and then decorated, but they never had the money to get it done. It had been like that for so long I barely noticed it, but I knew it looked awful. I was pretty sure that Cathy had deliberately positioned herself so that the scruffy patch was in the picture.
The Boy Who Fooled the World Page 9
