“Did you ever fall off while you were learning?”
“A few times,” she admits.
“Can you remember what you were thinking before you did?”
“Probably that she didn’t want to fall off,” Prim says, gathering Daisy’s artwork. The little girl nods.
“Well, that’s pressure. Trying to make something not happen usually has the opposite effect. So if you try to make mistakes—on purpose—what do you think might happen then?”
“I might not make them?” she asks doubtfully.
“It’s worth a try, right?”
“But when I make a mistake, I feel bad,” she says in a tiny voice. “And I don’t like feeling bad.”
“That’s not great, but it’s not a catastrophe, is it?”
“People might laugh at me.”
“People laugh all the time at Primrose, and she’s survived.”
My sister reaches up to scratch her nose.With her middle finger.
I don’t retaliate. Wow, this being sensible and sensitive takes it out of a girl.
“Look, Daisy. Nobody’s perfect. But you know what everyone wants?”
She shakes her head again.
“To have fun. So that’s what we’re going to do. Those old clothes you brought with you?” I say, curling my knees under me to stand. “Go and put them on. We’re going to do a little project.”
22
LAVENDER
“Oh my!”
Polly’s exclamation pulls my attention, but not Daisy’s, as she gleefully flicks paint onto the oversized canvas. She’s wearing an old T-shirt that Tod likely left here after we whitewashed the gallery walls because the old clothes she’d brought were unsuitable. Now Tod’s T-shirt is wearing as much paint as the canvas.And the wall behind.And I’m pretty sure her fingernails will be indigo for a long time to come, but boy, is she having fun. Which was the whole point. The wholemessypoint. Though it had taken some persuasion for her to give it a go.
“Hey.” I send a cursory smile my mother’s way as the back doorclicksclosed behind her. We’re in the tiny communal backyard. I’d warned the other commercial residents we’d be getting messy out here for an hour or so because no one wants to be splattered with paint when you’re trying to have a sneaky cigarette out the back. Thankfully, they’re a nice, accommodating bunch, which leads me to believe they’re all aware of who my brother is. I suppose he is their landlord as well as mine.
I’ll take the perks where I can, including the lack of complaints received about our Christmas decorations. Or should I say Tod’s artistic vision? He’d made a Christmas tree from rolls of wrapping paper that was meant to be a statement against consumerism and waste despite the fact he bought the rolls from the local Sainsburys. But I suppose the butt plug baubles (yes, butt plug baubles) were purchased from various local charity shops. Though why anyone would recycle a sex toy, let alone be in the market for a secondhand one, is beyond the realm of my comprehension.
“It looks like you two are having fun,” Polly says with a smile. “And this must be Daisy.”
Daisy does her worried-but-trying-to-hide-it smile, the same she’d greeted me with, as she steps toward us. “I’m pleased to meet you,” she offers softly, the poor kid’s gaze flicking back to the mess and her no-pressure project.
“And I you,” replies my mum. “It looks like you’re making a masterpiece.”
The little girl nods.
“Then don’t let me stop you.”
With a grateful grin, she hurries back.
“A budding artist,” Mum says.
I lean my shoulder against the wall, glad I’d also changed into an old pair of jeans for our painting experiment. “One unafraid to take risks.” At least, I hope she’s learning to now.
