Page 29 of Matilda’s Summer of New Beginnings

I wandered into my room after I’d cleared up, and looked at the pictures ranged around the wall. They weren’t big, but they did look good as a sequence. I pulled my phone out of my jeans pocket and found the pdf Jay had sent me. I arranged the pictures in my room in the order they appeared in the Padcock Pathway, and smiled. I had quite a few gaps, certainly, but it was like a little puzzle. I could fill in the gaps when I was short of inspiration, and the next one I was going to do, I decided, was the previously blue house which was now vanilla ice-cream colour. The dovecote would, of course, be the star feature, and I’d leave the house colourless so that if it ever changed colour again, we wouldn’t have a problem . . .

Hang on. We? When had I become possessive of the Padcock Pathway? I’d only been there once, and this was simply a series of quirky pictures related to it. The fact I was doing the pictures more or less as stopgaps to get myself in the creative zone meant that these definitely weren’t serious pieces of art.

My lip curled as I remembered the odd experiences in Julio’s gallery.

Was I more of a Padcock Prowl artist, or a wobbly villi artist?

As you might expect, I didn’t need anybody to help me answer that.

Chapter Ten

May

A little while after the Damien-in-my-bedroom incident, Rosie came wandering into my room as well. But that was fine, as a) she wasn’t in her underwear, and b) it was early evening and I was just messing around — again — with some Padcock quirkiness, exploring a few different things I could do with the sweet-shop-that-wasn’t-a-sweet-shop.

My mind had drifted back to my weekend in Padcock, which I must confess had been happening more and more often over the last few weeks as I’d got into these pictures. In my mind, the walk with Jay, as well as the lovely little bookshop, had taken on a sort of rose-coloured glow.

I was pretty certain that the pretend sweet shop couldn’t have been as — well — as sweet as I depicted it. But it was a very nice daydream.

‘That looks very Padcocky,’ said Rosie, announcing her visit to my studio-cum-bedroom.

‘Thank you,’ I said, snapping out of my reverie. I turned to her and accepted the cup of tea she’d brought for me. ‘That’s because it’s supposed to be Padcocky. So yay!’

‘It’s quirky,’ she said. ‘Some of the more modern art isn’t very quirky is it? Or it’s quirky in the wrong way. But I do like your quirkiness.’

I began to make a general comment about how very different my work and Damien’s work was, and I got as far as, ‘Damien—’

But: ‘Yay!’ she yelled, just at that moment, startling me. ‘And hey! I meant to tell you,’ she continued, without giving me a chance to continue. ‘I’ll be going on a work trip at the weekend. We’ve got another photo shoot.’

‘Oh lovely!’ I replied, giving up my moment to admit Damien was more high-end art material than me. Rosie’s face was so sunny and happy that I felt bad interrupting her exciting trip news. ‘Where to?’

‘Cheshire. There’s an old cotton mill they’ve restored, and we thought it would be an ideal place to take some photos — industrial chic sort of thing.’

‘Yes, I can see how that would work.’ I nodded. ‘See if you can snag yourself a Premier League football player while you’re up there. There are loads of them, dotting the place like mushrooms, from what I hear.’

There was a slight curl of distaste on Rosie’s lips at that one. ‘I don’t think so,’ she replied. ‘I prefer someone a bit more down to earth. Someone less fitness obsessed. And I’m not waggy, so I would hate it.’

‘Do they still call the wives and girlfriends WAGs?’ I asked. It was a genuine question. I don’t follow football, and couldn’t name a Premier League footballer if you paid me. I don’t really read celebrity magazines very often either, despite Rosie’s generous Christmas gift of an annual subscription to Darling! Hence the pile of unread ones on my bookshelves.

‘I believe so,’ said Rosie. ‘Anyway. I don’t want to be one. I’m not tall enough and I’m not blonde enough.’

‘Well I’m not skinny enough,’ I said, helping myself to a biscuit Rosie had kindly proffered from the ginormous pockets in her dirndl skirt. Rosie has a very individual sort of style, and I’d made this patchwork skirt for her for her last birthday. I knew how much she liked pockets. Rosie had once told me gleefully, whilst tugging on the pockets of one of my vintage-style dresses to judge its capacity, that witches used pockets to carry all their magical stuff, and the patriarchy had phased out pockets for that exact reason — but I wasn’t entirely sure I believed her. Personally, I use my summer-dress pockets for popping in loose change as ice-cream money.

‘Best off out of it,’ she said. ‘May I?’ She indicated my bed. I nodded so she sat down. ‘I do like your Padcock pictures though. Maybe you should have a trip to Padcock while I’m away.’ Her eyes twinkled mischievously. ‘I’m sure Jay would repay the massive sofa debt he owes us.’

I laughed. ‘I don’t want to spend a couple of nights on Jay’s sofa, thank you very much. Besides . . .’ I just stopped myself from saying, I’d not complain about seeing Jay, but Polly might get a bit upset. Instead, I said, ‘. . . besides, Damien might need me while you’re away. You know what he’s like.’

‘I am sure Damien will be fine and he won’t bother you in the slightest. Right. I’m heading into the shower. I’m off out tonight. Work thing.’ She pulled a face, but I could tell she was looking forward to it, because she had this very subtle undercurrent of fizzing excitement going on. ‘I have to schmooze.’

‘You schmooze or you lose,’ I offered.

‘Fake it ’til you make it,’ she shot back.

We grinned at each other. It was a standard phrase we said to one another. We both agreed with the statements.

‘Okay. Enjoy. Give me the magic knock when you come home,’ I told her. ‘And if you see Damien, please don’t invite him over.’ I rolled my eyes heavenwards. ‘I can’t bear those boxer shorts again.’

Rosie just laughed. ‘See you later. And have a think about Padcock.’ She nodded at the pictures stacked up around my room. ‘You could take some photos and show everyone. See what they think. I assume they’re for the trail leaflet.’