‘Well, that’s the thing. You know I’m outside on most days, painting the river! So you’ll always be able to find me in my usual spot.’ She tried to envisage a situation where she might paint on the towpath with a stack of Polo mint apartments rising up behind her, an image almost too awful to conjure.
‘Will you look after my stick for me?’
‘I will. I promise.’ Lilly took it from his little hand, as was customary, happy to place it in the corner of her hallway with the growing collection, each one representative of a precious journey taken with this child.
‘Bye, Lilly-Robot!’ He giggled as he made his way through the school gates, the funny little thing.
‘Bye, Apollo!’
She relished the walk home, lifting her hand in a wave at the owner of the cat who liked to survey his kingdom from the lid of the wheelie bin. It happened in these pockets of the big city: streets became villages, and neighbours smudged the boundary between acquaintance and friend; it helped everyone feel as if they belonged. This thought only helped muster her enthusiasm in the fight for Waide House. She would not roll over and fling her flat keys in the direction of Portland and bloody Montague, she would not!
‘Bit of a chilly wind!’ Glenda joined her on the towpath and pulled her soft cotton scarf closed at her neck.
‘Yes, but that’s why I wanted to paint today. Look at the way the water’s moving. It’s like a giant is blowing on the surface with a straw!’ She chuckled as the ripples moved quickly in a uniform way. ‘Plus, I’m used to it, Glend. I’ve got my layers on. This ain’t my first rodeo!’ She wiggled her fingers inside the fingerless gloves. It felt easier to joke, to laugh, instead of giving in to the heave of distress in her chest at the thought that her days here were numbered, that she might just be helpless, entirely without power when it came to the future of her home and whatever might come next.
‘Or you could just paint on a warmer day.’
‘I could! But I don’t let anything put me off, not weather or fear!’
‘Fear?’ Glenda stared at her with her mouth downturned.
‘Yep, often when I was sitting here, particularly when I was younger, I got the feeling someone was staring at me.’
‘They were probably thinking, there’s that nutjob again, sitting in the same bloody spot, painting in all weathers!’
‘Possibly, dearest.’ Lilly smiled, knowing the ease of their ribbing came from a place of companionable closeness. ‘But it was odd. You know that sensation when you’re aware of someone’s eyes on you – it was a lot like that. I figured it might have been someone in the flats opposite who studied the water as I did – it made sense. I remember telling my dad, and he agreed it was that. Which is odd, because I’d always waved at the other side of the river, still do sometimes.’
‘Who are you waving at, you dozy mare?’ Her friend chuckled too.
‘No one in particular, just saying hi to whoever might be looking back.’ She didn’t want to explain further, not when Glenda considered her actions those of a dozy mare.
‘Well, you’re braver than me. The thought that someone was watching me’ – Glenda shuddered – ‘that would have scared the shiteout of me, put me off for life. I’d have definitely found a different place to paint!’
Lilly huffed at the thought; her friend had kind of missed the point. ‘But that’s the thing, I don’t want to paint anywhere else. It’s all here for me: the variation in light, weather and conditions that feed my compulsion. Different every day. And itisa compulsion, no doubt, like collecting something. People get obsessed, don’t they? They want them all, worrying they might be missing out on part of their collection, needing to fill the gaps! This is no different. I want to capture as many facets of this river as I can from this point right here. That said, in heavy rain I give it a miss, and on the very rare occasion we have snow, but other than that? I set up my old easel and my camping stool and away I go.’
‘You must have thousands of these pictures, Lil.’
‘No. I only keep some. A few of the better ones go to the gallery. They sell quite well. Most canvasses I reuse over and over, and some I dispose of or gift to charity shops.’
‘What will you do, love, when you have to move away? Come back and set up in front of the building site?’ This, too, was something she loved and hated about her friend, her directness. It meant topics others might consider too sharp or painful to voice were flung from her mouth without too much care or attention. On the positive side, Lilly never had to wonder what her friend was thinking or feeling and always knew where she stood. It was also a topic that she and Apollo had raised earlier in the day. Not only did Lilly hate the thought of it; she also feared that putting this acceptance, this proposed solution, out into the universe might help it come to fruition, which was the last thing she wanted.
‘Truthfully? I can’t think about it too much.’ She took a slow breath. ‘I know that might sound cowardly or like I’m putting myhead in the sand, but I don’t let myself dwell on it. I’m trying to remain confident that I won’t be going anywhere.’
‘Norm says that once these decisions have been made and palms have been crossed with silver, the powers that be rarely change their minds or go back on it.’
‘Did he now?’ She widened her eyes at yet more wisdom from Norman. ‘Well, I’m not going to go without a fight.’
‘I told Norm, if you leave Waide House, it’ll be like the ravens leaving the Tower, the whole bloody place would fall down, and he said it’d save the builders a few bob in demolition costs!’
‘That’s funny.’ She spoke without the faintest whiff of humour, glancing back at the building and trying to imagine it as just bricks and rubble. She felt sick at the prospect. The topic of demolition was not one she could find amusing, not at all. It made no sense to her that this place, its history, her history, could be gone in a blink! A concept that she felt diminished her very existence.
‘He did have one good idea though.’
‘Let’s hear it.’ Lilly dipped the brush into the murky khaki she’d mixed in her porcelain pot and dabbed it on to the canvas, trying to recreate the dappled surface of the muddy water.
‘He said you should paint placards, put them in your big window. Make a fuss. There’s always plenty of people walking past or on the river.’
Lilly turned to look at her friend, feeling the glow of enthusiasm at this rather great idea. Maybe Norman wasn’t short on good advice after all. She pictured him then, way back when, reaching out to lay his hand on her arm, his voice steady ... Life goes on, Lil.A good man.
