by Paige Toon
Nell felt caught in the middle. She tried to put all of her focus into the lesson, which was a lot easier once they were in the sea and doing their own thing. When Vian stood up on only his second attempt and rode the wave almost to the shore, she cheered as loudly as she could. Vian looked over his shoulder and gave her the thumbs up. It brightened him up immensely to see Edward fall off.
That afternoon it poured down, so Ruth invited the children into the studio to paint with her. Nell was more of a writer than an artist, but she enjoyed using Ruth’s watercolours and she quite liked the smell in the studio, although she couldn’t ever imagine sleeping in it. The room had four big windows with vistas straight down the river, but otherwise it was a shambles, with colour splatters all over the wooden floorboards and rows of canvases propped up against the walls.
Nell didn’t use Ruth’s expensive oils or acrylics, but Vian did. He had inherited Ruth’s artistic talent and had even had his artwork displayed in a gallery in Truro after entering a children’s art competition. The gallery owner had been impressed by his abstract sailing boats, but Nell loved his piskie drawings more than anything else.
A couple of years earlier, Ruth had taken them to a storytelling session at the library that had described different types of fairies. Nell had been motivated to come up with her own stories about Cornish pixies – or piskies, as they were called here. So she had conceived Fudge and Smudge, two cheeky piskies who lived on the Helford River and whose homes were under constant threat from the naughty Spriggens up the creek.
On Nell’s request, Vian had brought the characters from her stories to life, painting tiny scenes onto smooth pebbles that they’d found at the beach. Nell had a whole series of these pebbles lined up on the windowsill in their bedroom and she counted them amongst her favourite possessions.
Nell loved watching Vian paint. She was fascinated by the look on his face, the way his dark brows pulled together and his eyes narrowed in concentration. He focused on painting like no other task. It was the only time he appeared to be truly absorbed. She never got very far with her own work because she was usually too preoccupied by his. Even now, she kept looking over.
‘What are you painting?’ she asked eventually.
‘Don’t you recognise it?’ He didn’t take his eyes from his canvas as he spoke.
‘It looks like an upside-down Platypus.’ She meant their boat, not the animal.
‘It is an upside-down Platypus,’ he replied, adding a touch of orange to the greenish appearance.
Nell frowned. ‘Er, why?’ she asked.
He glanced at her and grinned. ‘You know how you told me that Fudge and Smudge were homeless after the Spriggens attacked their crab-apple tree?’
Fudge and Smudge had lived in the tree since the spring when they had given gifts of apple blossom to the Hedgerow Fairies in return for some of their magic flying dust. With help from the nature-loving Brownie fairies, they had cared for and cultivated the tiny apples for months. Then the bad Spriggens raided the tree, taking the shiny, ruby-red fruit for themselves. The Spriggens were obsessed with treasure and, to them, the apples looked like jewels. They had no interest in eating them – they only liked to munch on snails and slugs and leeches from the creek. All they wanted was to display them like ornaments until they turned bad, whereupon they’d wastefully cast them down the river.
As the Spriggens had stripped the crab-apple tree of both fruit and leaves – the latter purely to cause mischief – Fudge and Smudge were currently homeless. They were living in the leafless branches, shivering with cold and completely unprotected from passers-by. Fudge had almost been spotted by a human and that would have been catastrophic.
Nell stared at the picture in front of her, while Vian patiently waited for her to join the dots.
‘They live under the boat for the winter!’ she cried at last.
Vian laughed and nodded. ‘Look, I’ve even made them a little door. What do you think?’
She shook her head with amazement. ‘I love it.’ Already, her mind was ticking over, creating jeopardy in the form of the tide rolling in and a storyline that involved a flippy-flapping fish getting trapped and needing to be rescued.
Ruth came over, her curiosity piqued by the children’s conversation. She had her red hair loosely tied back with a green ribbon and she looked especially beautiful today, Nell thought.
‘The algae is incredible, Vian!’ Ruth exclaimed.
Vian blushed, proud as punch.
‘Honestly, I think you two could publish these stories. I bet there are plenty of people out there who would buy them. I could type them up for you,’ Ruth said, addressing Nell. ‘And perhaps I could help you choose some key scenes for Vian to illustrate. We could photocopy and bind them up and maybe even send some off to the people who make books to see what they say.’
Nell gawped and then jumped up and down with excitement. Ruth kissed the top of her head, but as she straightened up, her green satin ribbon slipped from her hair and fell onto the floor. Nell, who had been coveting it, swooped it up with a giggle and attempted to fasten her own hair with it. But she had recently had it cut to chin-length so the ribbon tied itself to thin air.
Ruth laughed and gave one of Nell’s locks a gentle tug. ‘You’ll have to grow it back if you want to wear it like that.’
Ruth had tried in earnest to keep Nell’s hair tangle-free over the years, beginning with that first summer that they’d all spent together. She hadn’t been entirely successful – Nell’s mother had still claimed it looked ‘like straw’ by the time Nell had returned to London. Eventually, Nell had won her battle to cut it shorter, but now, for the first time, she found herself regretting it.
‘I know what we’ll do,’ Ruth said, and she fashioned the ribbon into a hairband and fastened it around Nell’s head.
‘What colour do you want the door?’ Vian asked, bringing a delighted Nell’s attention back to his picture.
‘Green,’ Nell replied without a beat.
Vian and Ruth looked at each other and smiled. Nell was so predictable.
‘Which is your favourite green, Nell?’ Ruth asked, plucking tubes of acrylic out of a box as she spoke. ‘Ever since you were a little girl, you’ve said green is your favourite colour, but which green do you like the best? There’s lime-green, grass-green, pine-green, sage, olive, mint… Do you like jade? Or teal? Or the colour of the ribbon? I’d call that emerald.’
Nell studied the colours before her. She liked lots of them, but she was mostly drawn to mint and teal.
‘Interesting,’ Ruth said. ‘They’re not what I’d call the greenest greens. This is more of a bluey-green,’ she said of the teal. ‘What if you look out the window?’ Ruth asked, guiding her away from the box. ‘Do you like the colour of the leaves on the trees? The oak leaves are darker than the sycamore ones down by the deck. What about the colour of the grass? Or the river water?’
Nell screwed up her nose at that last one and Ruth smiled.
Nell had never questioned why green was her favourite colour. She didn’t own any green clothes, but if they played a game that had coloured counters, it was always a given that she would have the green one. Her toothbrush had always been green, and when they had got Scampi, she had begged for him to have a green collar. In the end, Vian had won the coin toss and Scampi had ended up with a red one. Not that Vian’s favourite colour had remained the same. Right now, it was yellow.
‘How about the wheat in the farmer’s field?’ Ruth asked, pointing across the river. It wouldn’t turn golden for another month or so.
Nell went closer to the window and looked out. ‘Yes, I like that colour,’ she said decisively.
‘Again, I would call that an almost bluey-green,’ Ruth commented. ‘I’d say it even has a hint of grey. It’s certainly not as bright green as the barley that grew there last year. That was lime-coloured.’
Vian sighed.
‘Am I boring you, son?’ Ruth teased.
‘Ca
n I go and watch Inspector Gadget now?’ he asked, his shoulders slumping.
Ruth smiled and cast her eyes to the heavens. ‘Go on, then. Leave your brushes, I’ll do them with mine.’
‘Thanks, Mum,’ Vian said with a grin, giving her a quick hug before running out of the door. Nell copied his actions to the letter.
There was no surf lesson the next day as it was Sunday, so Nell and Vian decided to kill time by taking Platypus across the river for a picnic. They also planned to go fishing for minnows. Webster was still being fed a diet of chick crumb, and the children thought a few tasty fish morsels might make a nice change. The duckling had really taken to the paddling pool, and Scampi had really taken to the duckling. Fortunately, Webster didn’t appear too fazed by the excited dog’s barking.
Today they took Scampi with them to give Webster some peace and quiet and, as usual, he leapt out of the boat before it had reached the shore and waited for the children to join him before shaking his wet fur in a frenzy all over them.
Whilst on the other side of the river, Nell took a closer look at the wheat.
It still just looked green to her, but she could see what Ruth meant about the stalks having a slightly blue hue.
‘I really like this colour,’ she said to Vian, who was already tucking into the biscuits that were supposed to be for dessert. ‘I think it is my favourite green. Can you do the door like this?’
He shrugged. ‘Pick some so we can take it back with us. I’ll see if I can match it.’
When the children returned home, they were taken aback to see Edward sitting inside the duckling pen, cradling Webster in his hands.
‘Hi!’ he exclaimed.
‘What are you doing here?’ Vian asked rudely, as Scampi set about, barking his head off.
‘Your dad said I could come and see her. He saw us walking down the creek.’
Nell forced a smile, trying to buffer Vian’s impoliteness. ‘He’s cute, isn’t he?’
Vian climbed into the pen and upended the contents of their bucket into the paddling pool. Tiny fish zipped in every direction.
‘Give him to me,’ he snapped.
Edward hastily handed Webster over and Vian put him in the pool. Almost immediately, the duckling bobbed underwater and zoomed, stealth-like, in search of food.
The children looked on with glee, the tension between them momentarily forgotten.
‘Have you been out in your boat?’ Edward asked Nell, crouching down to pat Scampi. Scampi immediately rolled over to give Edward access to his belly.
‘Yes, we went to the other side for a picnic.’
‘That sounds like brilliant fun.’
Before Nell could even think about inviting him along the next time they went out, Vian gave her finger a pinch.
‘I’ll see you in the studio,’ he said meaningfully. ‘I’ll get the key.’
Embarrassed by Vian’s behaviour, Nell remained where she was.
‘Your brother doesn’t like me,’ Edward said.
‘He gets jealous,’ Nell admitted, kneeling beside him and patting Scampi, too.
Edward pulled a face. ‘Why?’
‘I don’t know,’ Nell replied. It’s not like she was going anywhere.
But she felt protective of Vian. That was just the way it was. He seemed to feel things more deeply – things that, to her, were like water off a duck’s back.
She still remembered those early days of them all living together and how much he’d struggled when Ruth gave her attention. But he’d soon got used to it, because Nell became family, too, and family, to Vian, was of the utmost importance.
It hurt Nell’s heart when his father sent him postcards from Australia. Vian would be on cloud nine when one came through the letter box, but later he’d withdraw into himself and nothing Nell said could bring him out of his black mood. She had learned to simply give him a hug when that happened. They had fallen asleep together on his bottom bunk on countless occasions.
Nell felt a pang at the reminder that their parents wanted to separate them. It still didn’t make sense to her.
Vian appeared from the cottage. He stood for a moment and glared at Nell and Edward before going over to the studio to unlock it.
Ruth had taken some of her artwork to Padstow to meet with a gallery owner, so she was out for most of the day. Hopefully she wouldn’t mind Vian going into the studio alone – they weren’t actually supposed to.
‘Surfing again tomorrow?’ Edward asked casually.
‘Yeah,’ Nell replied, downcast. ‘I’d better go and give this to Vian.’ She scooped up the bundle of wheat.
‘What’s it for?’
‘He’s going to paint it for me.’
‘Why?’
‘Because I like the colour. I’m writing a book,’ she explained, feeling proud as she said the words. ‘Vian is doing the pictures.’
‘What’s it about?’ Edward asked with interest before remembering Nell had been about to leave.
‘Sorry,’ Nell mumbled, feeling bad as she walked away.
Vian was rooting around in a box in the studio, pulling out various shades of green and blue.
‘Why are you so mean to him?’ she asked crossly.
‘I’m not.’
‘Yes, you are, you’re rude!’
‘Why do you like him so much?’
‘He’s kind and he doesn’t have anyone to play with. I feel sorry for him.’
‘So go and play with him.’
Nell glared. Vian ignored her, continuing to rummage around in the box. She was infuriated.
‘Maybe I will,’ she said. ‘It’s not like you need me here.’
‘Nope,’ Vian replied.
‘Fine, then.’
He didn’t say another word as she left the studio.
Edward was still sitting on the grass, patting Scampi. He looked up as she approached.
‘Would you like to hear about my stories?’ she asked.
‘Yes,’ Edward replied with a smile.
It wasn’t long before Edward’s dad came to find him and said they needed to go home for tea, so Nell went to check on Vian’s progress.
‘Are you all right?’ she asked, poking her head around the studio door.
‘Yep,’ Vian replied.
She caught sight of the sheet of paper taped down on Vian’s easel – it was almost entirely covered in bluey-green paint.
‘Do you think it’s right?’ he asked her, holding up the bunch of wheat.
The colour started out bluey-green with a hint of grey at the bottom, and gradually became more of a pale-green towards the top.
‘It’s perfect!’ she said. ‘I want to stick that on my wall!’
‘You can, if you like.’ He looked pleased. ‘Hopefully I’ll be able to remember which ones I mixed together so I can do Fudge and Smudge’s door.’
She was relieved that he wasn’t still put out about Edward.
‘Can you write your name on it?’ she asked.
He rolled his brush in the last dregs of bright blue paint and Nell watched as the words appeared on the paper in cursive writing: Vian Stanley Stirling.
Ruth’s surname was Stanley. Vian’s father’s surname was Stirling. At some point during the last five years, Ruth had decided that Vian should have both.
‘What are you two up to in here?’ her dad interrupted from the door. ‘Gosh,’ he said as he spied Vian’s picture. ‘That’s a whole lot of green.’
‘It’s the colour of wheat,’ Nell told him.
Geoff frowned. ‘Wheat is yellow.’
‘No.’ Nell shook her head and gathered up the bundle she’d picked earlier. ‘Not at this time of year. Can we trim the edges so it’s all completely green?’ she asked Vian.
He nodded.
Geoff ruffled Vian’s hair fondly. ‘Want me to do that with a Stanley knife so it’s dead straight?’
‘Okay,’ Vian agreed. ‘Can you do it now?’
Ruth came home as they were finishing up.
<
br /> ‘Vian’s painted the colour of wheat!’ Nell parroted.
But Ruth did not look at all happy.
‘Oh, Vian, you’ve used up all my cerulean!’ she exclaimed with dismay, coming forward to inspect the paint tubes. ‘I needed that to finish my piece.’
Vian’s face fell.
‘We can get more,’ Geoff butted in softly.
‘How? When?’ Ruth demanded to know. ‘You’re out at work tomorrow and we’re at the beach – when am I going to get to Falmouth to buy more paint?’ They only had the one car between them. ‘And you’ve used up all the milk so I can’t make macaroni cheese.’
‘I’ll go to the shop right now,’ Geoff said calmly, trying to appease her.
‘It’s Sunday! The shop is closed!’ she snapped. ‘Forget it. I’ll walk up the road and ask Linzie if I can borrow some.’
‘I’ll go.’
‘No, I need the fresh air and exercise. I’ve been stuck in a car for over two hours. The traffic has been hell.’ She stormed out the door in a huff.
Geoff gave the children a small smile, but Vian still looked upset as he tidied up.
‘It’s all right, son,’ Geoff said kindly. ‘I don’t think Mum’s meeting went well, judging by her mood. We’ll cheer her up at dinner.’
Ruth was ages getting milk and Nell’s tummy started to rumble. Vian was upstairs, sulking, but she hung around the kitchen, picking at the grated cheese that her father had prepared in anticipation of dinner. Geoff’s glances at the clock were becoming more and more frequent.
‘Where is she?’ he muttered eventually. ‘I know Linzie can talk, but this is ridiculous! Maybe I should call her,’ he decided out loud, heading into the hall to look up the number for the farm.
‘Oh, hello, Steven, it’s Geoff,’ Nell heard him say. ‘Yes, very well, thank you. Yourself?’ There was a pause. ‘I’m after Ruth, actually. The children are getting a bit peckish, so I thought I’d better give her a nudge.’ Another pause. ‘Oh. She was coming up your way to ask if she could borrow some milk.’ He sounded confused. ‘Oh,’ he said again. ‘Yes, if you could. That’s a little worrying. Actually, I might get in the car and—’