“Oh,” she said sadly. “My hand went splodge.”
“It doesn’t matter,” I said. “It’s still good. Go to the bathroom and I’ll help you clean up.” She jumped up and skipped to the landing. I took another long look at her painting and then I slid it underneath my bed where no one would see it.
Copying Van Gogh
When we sat down to dinner that evening, Mum gave us a sneak preview of the dress she’d bought for the auction. Even the carrier bag was posh and made of thick, glossy paper with white cord handles. She took the dress out and held it up against herself as she swished around the kitchen. It was dark green and shimmered as it caught the light.
“Ooohhh,” said Mabel, staring.
“It looks lovely, Mum,” I said, pushing my dinner to the side of the plate. I really wasn’t hungry.
Mum smiled and put the dress back in the bag.
“Declan said they are going to send a car with a chauffeur,” said Mum. “A chauffeur! For us!”
“Really?!” said Dad and they both started giggling like a couple of kids. I smiled along and then pushed my plate away and stood up.
“I’m going to go and finish my painting now,” I said, trying to sound cheery.
Mum sat back in her chair.
“Oh, have you got it here?” she said. “Can we see it?”
“Ah, not yet!” I said, smiling as if it was all just a joke. “It’s not finished yet!” It’s not even started, I said to myself in my head. Mum and Dad laughed and Mabel joined in too, even though she probably didn’t know why.
When I got to my room I picked out a canvas from the box of art materials that Declan had left and spread more of the newspaper out on my floor.
This was it. Time had run out. Declan had texted me to say they needed to see a photo by tomorrow morning or they’d call the whole thing off. Whatever I painted now would have to be good enough to be auctioned on Saturday.
I looked around for inspiration. In the corner of my room was an old wooden chair. I never sat on it; I just used it to put my dirty clothes on. I remembered learning about Vincent Van Gogh in primary school and I was sure that he had painted a picture of a chair. He also did lots of paintings of bright yellow sunflowers and one of a sapphire-blue sky filled with twinkly stars. I liked those pictures. He was quite ill and cut his own ear off. I remember we all went really quiet in class when we heard about that. Apparently, he died without ever knowing how loved his paintings were.
I searched for the Van Gogh painting on my phone. He had painted a pipe on his chair. I swept the dirty clothes off of my chair and placed a tennis ball on the seat. Me and Dad used to play catch with that ball over at the Sideway playing fields before they built flats there.
I sat on the floor, took a deep breath and began.
After two hours I took a look at my final picture. The piece of art that everyone was counting on to make us a lot of money. The legs on the chair were wonky and the green paint of the ball had run into the brown of the seat. I went over and over the paint, but the more I tried, the more of a mess it became. I felt tears stream down my face, but then I heard someone coming along the hall and I quickly wiped them away.
There was a quiet tap and Mum appeared around the door. “I’ve just put Mabel to bed,” she said. “How’s it going?”
“Fine,” I lied, quickly getting up and blocking her view. “Don’t look. I don’t want you to see it until it’s finished.”
“OK, but make sure you send a photograph to Declan first thing tomorrow, won’t you?”
I nodded but didn’t say anything. I tried smiling at her but it was hard when I felt all scrunched up inside. I was tempted to just tell her the truth: that the first painting had been pure luck and Marika had seen something in it that I hadn’t intended and couldn’t repeat. I wanted to say that I hated painting and I never wanted to do it ever again. But Mum was about to lose her job. We would soon have no money and lots of bills to pay and everyone was relying on me. I couldn’t give up now.
“Do another hour and then take a break, Cole. Promise me?” she said.
“I promise,” I said, and she quietly closed my door.
An hour later I put my paintbrush down. I’d managed to make the tennis ball look more like a circle, but I just couldn’t get the chair legs to look right. They were still crooked in places, but they’d have to do. What would Marika think? Would she still think I was an outstanding new artist? I seriously doubted it.
I slid the picture carefully beneath my bed and went downstairs. Dad had fallen asleep on the sofa and Mum was watching a wildlife programme about penguins.
“Want to watch this with me for a bit?” she said. I looked at the screen. There was a snow blizzard and a huddle of penguins stood motionless as the wind howled around them. A grey baby penguin appeared to be lost. It was battling against the wind as it slowly walked around a huddle of adults, calling for its mum. The other penguins already had their babies, tucked snugly between their feet. The young chick went around the group, opening its little beak and saying, “Chur-chirp! Chur-chirp!” to each and every bird. But the heads of the big penguins hung low against the swirling snow.
“I think I’ll go to bed,” I said. “I’m really tired.”
Mum turned to me.
“OK, darling,” she said. “I’m really proud of you, you know? I know you’ve found the past couple of weeks a bit stressful, but you’ve done so well. You should be so proud.”
“Thanks, Mum,” I said. She turned back to the TV. I watched as the baby penguin drifted from adult to adult, but not one turned to help it.
*
That night I dreamt I was standing alone on a frozen wasteland. I looked down and all I had on were my pyjamas. I folded my arms against the cold as my bare feet wriggled against the icy snow. Around me was a vast expanse of white, just like a blank canvas. I turned and saw a small, dark shape coming towards me. I couldn’t make out what it was, but it was making a sound. It appeared to be saying something.
“I can’t hear you! You’ll have to shout!” I yelled as the thing got closer and closer.
I turned my head to one side, trying to listen. The shape staggered closer, struggling to walk against the wind. And then I heard it.
“Chur-chirp! Chur-chirp!”
It was the baby penguin. I ran towards it, stumbling in the freezing snow and ice.
“Don’t worry! I’ll help you!” I shouted above the roar of the wind. I dug my feet into the ice, but no matter how fast I ran, the baby penguin was just too far away. I couldn’t get any closer. I tried one more step and slipped, falling face down into the snow.
I jolted awake and shivered. My duvet had fallen on to the floor and my bedroom was icy cold. I rolled over and switched my lamp on, and then I reached down for my covers. A corner of my canvas jutted out from under my bed. I eased it out to take another look and see if it was as bad as I feared, but it wasn’t my painting, it was Mabel’s: the one of us playing the butterfly game. I stared at the picture, and then I slid it back beneath my bed.
Sending a Photo to Declan
There was a knock at the front door at 8.15 a.m. I heard Dad’s voice.
“Oh hello, Mason. Go on up.”
My painting was on the floor in the middle of my room and I heard Mason thump up the stairs.
“Is that it?” he said, coming in. “A chair? What happened to ‘A Sky in Beige’ or whatever?”
“Marika didn’t like that one,” I muttered.
Mason crouched down and examined my painting.
“It’s not bad, I guess,” he said. “I don’t think I’d pay a fiver for it but … you know. Who can argue with other people’s weird tastes?”
I knew he was trying to make me laugh, but I wasn’t in the mood for jokes. I’d only had a few hours sleep and I was so worried that Marika would reject it. If she did, well, that was it. No auction and no money. Mabel suddenly appeared in my doorway.
“Hello, Mabel,” said Mason, grinni
ng at her. “How are you?”
Mabel went shy and dropped her head. She bounded across the room and stood beside me, putting her little hand on my shoulder as I fiddled with my phone.
“Mabel got allllllll messy!” she said.
“You got messy? How did that happen then?” said Mason. His voice went high when he talked to Mabel. I don’t think he found it easy to talk to little kids.
“I did a picture and I got paint ALL on my fingers!” she said, wiggling her hands at him. He laughed. “My hand went SPLODGE!” she said, smacking her hand on to her leg like she had with the red paint on to the canvas.
“You’ll have to show me your picture one day,” he said. “I’d like that.”
Mabel did three little jumps and my floorboards creaked as she dropped to her knees with a thump. “It’s here!” she said in a hushed voice. She dived under my bed and reappeared with her painting.
“Shhhhh,” she said. “It’s a secret. Mummy and Daddy said don’t touch Cole’s paints ’cos he’s doing something very ’portant.”
Mason smiled at her.
“Oh, Mabel. That’s brilliant,” said Mason. “I actually think it’s better than Cole’s, don’t you?”
Mabel looked at mine and then back at hers and nodded. Mason laughed.
“That’s me and that’s Cole,” she said, pointing at the shapes. “We’re playing the butterfly game!”
“Right…” said Mason, not having a clue what she was on about. Mabel’s confidence was growing now and she jumped up and grabbed Mason’s hand.
“Come and see the butterfly game!” she said, pulling him along.
“OK. But we’ve got to leave for school in a minute,” he said as Mabel dragged him out of my room.
I looked down at the paintings on my bedroom floor and then I realized I hadn’t added my signature. I grabbed a brush from the art box and squeezed a tiny blob of dark blue paint on to the end. I stared at it for a moment, took a deep breath, then carefully painted a curly “C” in the bottom left-hand corner. I found my phone, took a picture and forwarded it to Declan, before sliding the two pictures back under my bed.
‘Catch’ by Cole Miller
All day long I fretted about the picture. What if Marika hated it? Would they call the auction off? What would happen then? Although I knew exactly what would happen. Mum’s job would come to an end and we wouldn’t have any money in the bank.
I tried to take a peek at my phone during chemistry to see if Declan had replied, but I nearly got caught. I didn’t want my phone confiscated so I shoved it to the bottom of my bag and tried to forget about it. I’d just have to wait until the end of the day.
As soon as the last bell rang I grabbed my stuff and ran out of class. I pushed the heavy door open and went into the playground.
“Cole! Can you come to the museum today? I need to talk to you about the next clue.” It was Isla. She must have run after me. I’d completely forgotten about ‘An Enigma in Oil’; finding that note in the canopic jar felt like a lifetime ago.
“Sorry, Isla,” I said, turning my phone on. “I’m busy tonight.”
I stared at my phone as it lit up and put in my security code. When I looked up, Isla had gone. I felt a bit bad, but I had enough things going on at the moment. Most crucially whether Marika liked the painting.
A message flashed on to the screen.
You’ve done it, Cole! I love it. It’s a painting from the heart and it really tells a story. Well done! Declan will collect it today. What is the title? We’ll do a grand unveiling just before the auction. Marika.
I grinned and did a little air punch. She loved it! A huge wave of relief washed through me. Everything was going to be OK. I quickly thought up a title and texted back.
I’m pleased you like it! It’s called ‘Catch’. Why aren’t you showing the picture before the auction? Cole
There was a beep as her message arrived.
To create a bit of drama! Trust me. People will flock to view ‘Catch’ by Cole Miller for the very first time. M.
That made me nervous. What if they revealed the painting at the auction and everybody laughed? My stomach somersaulted. I just had to hope that Marika knew what she was doing.
When I got home, Dad came to the door. He was grinning from ear to ear.
“Cole! Guess what! The boiler is fixed. We have hot water at last!” He gave me a hug and I squeezed him back.
“That’s great, Dad,” I said.
“The plumber said we’d need to replace the whole system at some point, but it should see us through the winter.” He kissed the top of my head and I took my coat off.
“Oh, and Declan rang and said he’d be here in half an hour to get the painting. Can I have a look before it goes?”
“Um. No,” I said. “Marika wants to reveal it at the auction.”
Dad frowned.
“But I’m not bidding on it, am I?” He laughed. “I’m your dad and I’d like to take a look before my famous son gets even more famous!”
He ruffled my hair. I hated it when he did that. Mabel appeared at the top of the stairs and started to come down. She had a butterfly net in her hand.
“Butterfly game!” she said. I groaned.
“Can you have a word with her?” I said, kicking off my shoes. “She keeps pestering me to play that stupid game all the time.”
Dad looked at me.
“Are you all right?” he said.
“Yes,” I snapped. “I just don’t understand why you want to see the painting when the whole point is that there’s going to be this big reveal on Saturday. That’s all.”
I ran upstairs. I thought Dad might come and knock on my door, but he must have decided it was best to leave me to it, and before long I could hear him clattering about getting dinner ready.
After about half an hour I heard Declan arrive. I quickly got down on to my knees, pulled the painting from underneath my bed and stared at it. This was it. There was no going back now. I went out on to the landing and listened to them talking.
“I understand that Marika wants the painting to be a surprise?” said Dad.
“Yes, Mr Miller. The painting will only be revealed moments before the auction begins. It’s great publicity for the Marika Loft Gallery and for Cole.”
“He won’t even show me!” said Dad, laughing nervously. “But you’re the experts, so I guess you know what you’re doing.”
I began to make my way down with the painting under my arm. Mabel scooted out from the kitchen.
“You’ve got big eyebrows,” she said to Declan. He laughed, casually wiping the back of his hand across his forehead. My sister was so embarrassing.
“Right, well we’d better get out of the way in case we see the painting and ruin the surprise, eh, Mabel?” said Dad, taking my little sister’s hand. “Thanks for coming to pick it up, Declan. We’ll see you at the auction tomorrow.” They headed to the kitchen and I ran downstairs. Declan held out a black cloth bag and I carefully placed the painting inside.
“Thanks, Cole. It’s absolutely terrific. I think it is going to create a huge buzz throughout the art world. This is going to be the biggest and best night of your young life!” said Declan. “Right, I’d better get back to the gallery so that we can get set up.” He opened the door and then turned back to me.
“We’ll see you at the auction, Cole,” he said, patting me on the side of the arm. “And well done again.”
“Thanks,” I croaked. “See you there.”
I closed the door behind him and took a deep breath.
I went to bed early that night. Mum popped into my room to see if the clothes she’d ordered fit me OK. She’d chosen a blue cotton shirt and dark navy trousers with a pair of smart, black shoes. I said they were all fine, even though I hadn’t tried them on. I turned away and stared at the wall.
“Is everything OK, Cole?” said Mum. I felt my mattress sag as she sat down on the end of my bed. “I can’t wait to see your painting. It’ll be a nic
e surprise for us as well as everybody else. I’m sure you’re nervous but you’ve got nothing to worry about. Marika is clearly very impressed.”
We were quiet for a moment and then I rolled on to my back.
“Mum? Can Mabel stay here when we go to the auction?”
“Stay here? Why?” said Mum.
I sat myself up.
“She’s too young and it’s going to be a really late night and … and, well, she’s so embarrassing. Did Dad tell you what she said about Declan’s eyebrows?”
Mum smiled.
“Cole, she’s three years old. I think that excuses her a little bit, don’t you?” she said.
“But she’ll just show us all up,” I said. “Please, Mum?”
“We can’t leave her out, Cole. It wouldn’t be fair. This is a once-in-a-lifetime event for all of us. She’ll want to be there just as much as we do.”
I didn’t say anything.
“I’ve got a little surprise that might cheer you up,” she said, smiling. “I had a word with Declan and Mason can come along with us.”
“Mason?!” I said. Mum frowned.
“I thought it would be nice for you to have your best friend there,” she said. “What’s wrong with Mason coming?”
I kept quiet.
Mum put her hand on my arm, but I shuffled down under the duvet, bringing it up to my neck.
“What’s wrong, Cole? Are you getting nervous?” she said.
I shrugged. “I just don’t want my embarrassing sister there,” I said, glaring at my duvet.
“Well, she’s coming and that’s the end of it,” said Mum. “I’m sorry if you’re ashamed of your sister, Cole. I’m pretty sure that she doesn’t feel the same way about you.”
And with that, she reached towards my lamp and switched it off. I turned over and curled up in the darkness. Falling asleep felt impossible. Every time I closed my eyes I saw the painting and imagined everybody pointing and laughing after the big reveal. Or could it be possible that Marika was right and everyone would love it? I bounced from one thought to another and my head began to ache. One thing was for certain though: after Saturday nothing would be the same again.
The Boy Who Fooled the World Page 11
