‘No, now, go on. I can tell there’s something…’
I look at this feisty woman, who remains undefeated by a life that has dealt her some harsh blows. I look at this beautiful room, and the mind-meltingly gorgeous view from the huge windows. Why should I lie? How can opening up hurt me?
‘I loved drawing,’ I tell her, shrugging, half embarrassed. ‘I always loved the illustrations in children’s books, and in the old classics. I saw you had a Mabel Lucie Attwell, I adored her.’
‘I’ve got a crackingArabian Nightswith the Edmund Dulac plates as well,’ she tells me, a happy glint in her eye. ‘Lovely, they are. Well, it’s never too late, my love – maybe you could apply for one of our grants. Assuming we get the funding, and that’s a bit touch and go.’
‘Oh, why’s that?’ I ask, as she frowns.
‘Well, we got past the first round of hoop-jumping, and now we have to fill in more forms, put together a presentationdocument, show what we’ve done already and what we have to offer. If we get through that, then there’ll be an in-person visit. That bit I’m okay with – the bookshop is already so lovely, the perfect foundation for the rest of it. I know the shop, the community we’ve built, are solid, and I know the gallery could work so well. But I’m flummoxed by some of it – the forms, the presentations, the language they use? That foxes me. Bureaucracy was never my strong suit, and Kate is busy with the bookshop and the baby. I’m worried we’re running out of time… that I’m running out of time.’
She sounds melancholy as she says this, which I hate.
‘I can always take a look at the paperwork if you like, and I’m a dab hand at pulling together presentations,’ I announce, surprising even myself. I blush a little, and add: ‘Bureaucracy is actually one of my specialisms.’ God, could I possibly be more boring?
Besides, it’s a stupid idea, and I don’t even know how long we’re here for. I suppose I just want to help, to say thank you, to cheer her up. ‘Anyway,’ I go on. ‘It looks like you’ve done a lot already. This place is amazing, and the shop seems to be buzzing with all the events! What other ideas do you have?’
‘Och, I’m not totally sure. I know what I want to achieve, I just don’t know how to do it. I want to do something that brings some of the outliers in more,’ she tells me. ‘This place is wonderful, but there are a lot of people living out in the wilds. Older people a lot of the time. The ones who’ve spent their lives working the land or the sea, independent to the point of isolation. I’d like to come up with something that includes them here in the village community more. I’ve run a bookshop all my life, sharing stories. So… could we capturetheirstories before it’s too late?’
I nod, thinking it over. ‘I bet they have some great stories to tell.’
‘Aye, that’s for sure! There are a lot of tales to be told, and room in the world for all of them. The way of life here is changing, has changed from when even I was girl, and before we know it, it’ll be gone. I’d like to leave something lasting behind that captures some of it. Sounds morbid, but I’ve been feeling the pressure of time more recently.’
She looks fit as a fiddle to me, but I know she’s in her eighties, and was in a wheelchair last year. It’s natural enough that her mind heads in that direction. ‘What about some kind of exhibition about them?’ I suggest. ‘Would they agree to sitting for portraits?’
She seems intrigued, and gives it some thought. ‘Some of them would, I’m sure. It could work, couldn’t it? I mean, this gallery is the perfect place to hang portraits like that… the first show is going to be of Angus’s photos, but that’s all right. They’d blend well. It’ll take a while to get new paintings done though. I suppose we’d have to commission someone.’
We walk around the room together as she thinks out loud. ‘Someone good. We’d need the grant money ideally. And to get that, we need a bit of help managing the whole thing… were you serious when you said you’d help, hen?’
Oh bugger. Why did I say that?I look at Moira’s hopeful face, and realise that I said it because I meant it. I want to help her. ‘Of course. But if we’re only here for a night, there might be a limit to what I can do.’
‘I think you’ll be here longer than that, my love. When my Angus came up with the idea of sharing this place, I think he was onto something… and when I sent that invitation, I did mean that you were welcome here as long as you like. Plans are afoot to find you the perfect place to stay. It’s with a good friend of mine, and I’m going to ask you to trust me on that – he’s a lovely man. An artist, in fact.’
‘Oh! Is he the kind who does portraits?’
‘Sadly not. But he is grand. He lives in a big old house up in the hills, and he has plenty of room for you and Beth. What do you think? You’d be perfectly safe with him, I promise.’
I know what Beth would say – she’d say yes. But I am her mother, and I need to make sensible decisions for both of us. Moira clearly sees some uncertainty in my face.
‘Truthfully, Jane, I think he’s a bit lonely. He’s lived here for years. I love the very bones of the man, and you’d be doing me a favour if you said yes. If you stayed a few nights at least.’
I narrow my eyes, feeling slightly manipulated. She winks at me, obviously knowing what she’s doing. ‘Pretty please with sugar on top?’
I can’t help it. I laugh out loud. ‘Maybe. I’ll talk to Beth and tell you tomorrow. But I’ll definitely do as much as I can to help with your application while I’m here, and if I have the time, we could start planning the art project.’
She hugs me, and looks a little tearful as she pulls away. ‘Thank you. I feel better already for you saying that. Like I’m sharing a burden! Now, let’s go to the pub and seal the deal, shall we? They have cranachan on there tonight!’
‘Oh, that’s exciting – what is it?’
‘It’s a pudding made of cream, raspberries, oats and booze. Possibly the finest achievement of modern man. Now, did I remember my sage…’
I’m confused until she roots around in her bag and produces what looks like a dried-up bunch of weeds. The smell isn’t unpleasant, but it is pungent, and I’m glad she’s not setting it on fire.
‘Um… clearing away evil spirits?’ I ask.
‘Och no, no evil spirits here – I just like to use it at home to annoy my sister Joanne. She’s very churchy, and likes to glower at me from her usual spot on her high horse. Every now and thenI pretend I’ve gone all Wiccan, just to give her something to pray about.’
I laugh again. It’s good to see that siblings can maintain their petty differences well into their later years. My sister is over a decade older than me, and we were never close enough to want to annoy each other.
