I didn’t reply, not wanting to put him off.
‘I’ve had some … help at school and stuff,’ he added. ‘And now I know to start with one bit of it. So if I’m worrying about doing, like, my chemistry homework or something, I just tell myself to do one question. That’s all. Because that’s manageable, innit?’
‘It is,’ I said, impressed. ‘That’s good advice.’
‘So whatever you’re worrying about, maybe just start small.’
‘Maybe I will.’
I thought for a second. ‘Have you ever done any art, Micah?’
He looked dubious. ‘Like colouring in?’
I laughed. ‘Maybe. Anything really.’ I adjusted my position on the sofa so I could see him better. ‘I was learning about arttherapy before I lived here. Before things got messed up. It can really help.’
‘I’m rubbish at drawing.’
‘Doesn’t matter. It’s not about what you end up with, it’s about doing it. And it doesn’t have to be drawing. It can be finger painting or sculpture or collage.’
Micah looked vaguely interested. ‘So I do art and it makes me feel better?’
‘I’m not sure it’s that simple. But the idea is you focus on your worries while you’re working, and it should help. Sometimes it’s good to get things out of your head and on to paper.’
He fixed me with a hard stare. ‘Sounds like you should take your own advice.’
He had a point.
*
Later that night, as I lay in bed, I rolled over and took my sketchbook and pencils from the floor where I’d left them. I sat up against the pillows and thought about Micah saying to start small. And I began to draw a tree – one of the proud poplars that I’d seen in the photographs and which were obviously where Tall Trees got its name. I had a vague idea that the mural should be framed by the trees. And perhaps I didn’t yet have a plan for what would be in the middle, but I could work on that later. For now, I was starting small. I let my pencil sweep across the page and tried to lose myself in the rhythm of the shading. It wasn’t anything like the paintings I used to do, and that was good. It made it easier.
When I woke up the next day, the pad was next to me on the bed and the pencil was on the floor. Wiping the sleep from my eyes, I picked up my drawing and looked at it with some trepidation. But it was okay, I thought. Not amazing. But it was okay. I smiled to myself. Maybe I would draw another tree later. In fact…
Surprising myself, I turned to a clean page and began to sketch one of the peonies that were in the garden at Tall Trees. For more than an hour, I drew and coloured the petals, trying to capture the exact shade of pink that warmed the bushes and the heaviness of the blooms. When I’d got it right, I looked at it with satisfaction. Not perfect, perhaps, but not disastrous. And perhaps I did feel a little bit better. More clear-headed. I put it into a folder and put the folder into my backpack, and then I got ready for work.
*
It was busy at Tall Trees. There was a lot going on today – the bingo man was coming in that afternoon, and the mobile library, which normally came on a Tuesday, had arrived today instead for reasons that I didn’t properly understand but which had thrown the residents into great fluster.
‘I’ll go and choose you something, if you trust me,’ I told one of my favourite ladies, Joyce, as she hunted for her shoes because it was raining again and she didn’t want to get her slippers wet when she walked across the car park to the library.
‘I can’t remember the last time I wore them,’ she muttered, peering under her bed. ‘Maybe I left them in Mr Yin’s room?’
I smiled at the thought of Joyce being so comfortable in Mr Yin’s space that she took her shoes off. ‘Tell me what you want and I’ll take back the books you’ve read and choose you some more.’
Joyce straightened up with a groan. ‘My returns are on the coffee table,’ she said. ‘Anything along those lines really.’
I picked up the books she’d read. One Stephen King, one Shirley Jackson and two detective novels. I’d been expecting Catherine Cookson or Jane Austen.
‘Vampires, ghosts and murderers?’ I said.
‘All three preferably,’ Joyce said, giving me a wink.
I took the books, and her library card and went down the corridor, past Mr Yin’s room. I stuck my head round the doorbut he wasn’t there – perhaps he was getting ready for bingo, because I knew he was a fan. I took out the picture of the peony that I’d drawn and left it propped up beside his television. I hoped he’d like it.
Then I went out into the miserable afternoon. Inside the library truck it was quiet and warm with the rain pattering on the roof. One of the librarians, a nice woman called Sindhu, was showing a book to Kenny. I put Joyce’s books on the pile of returns and went to browse the shelves marked “horror”.
Sindhu turned her attention to the returns as Kenny took his book and left. I watched him go through the rain-lashed windows of the truck. He sheltered in the entranceway of Tall Trees as Helen – the odd new resident – came the other way. Intrigued, I watched as Kenny showed her the book he’d borrowed and she looked – to my astonishment – interested and friendly. She bent her head over the book as Kenny turned the pages and I wondered what it was that had captured her attention. As though sensing my eyes on her, Helen looked up at the library van and I stepped back from the window, not wanting her to see me watching.
