The House in the Clouds

by Connelly, Victoria

  ‘Is it?’

  Abi nodded and smiled her encouragement because she knew in her heart that, even though Bethanne didn’t fully acknowledge it yet, and even though Ellen passionately discouraged her, Bethanne was a natural artist.

  ‘You have a good eye.’

  ‘Just one?’

  Abi laughed. ‘It’s an expression. Of course, both your eyes are good, but having a good eye is more to do with being able to recognise something. Not everyone has that, you know.’

  ‘And you have it too?’

  ‘I hope so. I think so.’

  Bethanne gave a tiny smile. ‘You do!’

  Abi plunged a hand inside the box and pulled out a torn piece of fabric covered in tiny forget-me-nots.

  ‘Oh, look! I’d totally forgotten this was in here.’

  ‘What is it?’ Bethanne asked.

  ‘This is from the skirt I wore to a friend’s birthday party. I must have been about your age. I loved that skirt, but it wore away to a whisper over the years and I couldn’t bear to part with it so I cut this square from it so I could keep it forever.’

  ‘That’s a really nice thing to do,’ Bethanne told her.

  ‘Maybe you could start your own collection,’ Abi suggested. ‘It doesn’t have to be fabric either. It could be paper prints like wrapping paper on presents or pictures from magazines with interesting patterns.’

  Bethanne looked thoughtful. ‘How many patterns are there in the world?’

  ‘What a gorgeous question!’ Abi said with a laugh. ‘As many as humans can think of, I suppose. It’s infinite.’ She thought for a moment. ‘Here, take the humble polka dot.’ Abi grabbed a sketch book that was lying out and the two of them joined Rosie at the table. ‘You can have a single colour dot like this.’ Abi picked up a paintbrush and dipped it in Rosie’s red paint. ‘Or multi-coloured dots.’ She whisked her brush in the jar of water and dipped it into the green paint and then repeated the process with blue. ‘You can space them out equally or have them just touching each other like dodgem cars. Maybe even interlinked so that their colours merge.’ Abi illustrated, turning a yellow one orange by adding red. ‘Or you can shade one slightly like this.’ Abi added some more red to one side of a dot. ‘You can even place a mini dot inside one. But there’s something else that would make your dots different from mine and mine different from Rosie’s if she painted some.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Our style,’ Abi told her. ‘You see, each of us is different and so, when we paint or sketch, we’re going to bring a bit of ourselves to what we do. Our personalities.’

  Bethanne seemed to be taking this in.

  ‘Can you add other shapes to the polka dot pattern too?’ Bethanne asked.

  ‘Of course. Here.’ Abi handed her the brush she was using. ‘Add away!’ She watched as Bethanne studied the polka dots Abi had painted and then she dipped her brush into the blue and added some straight lines through each of the yellow dots, turning them into stars and making the lines look half blue and half green where they crossed the yellow.

  ‘That’s gorgeous!’ Abi cooed.

  ‘Is it? It’s not too messy?’

  Abi frowned. Bethanne sounded so unsure of herself when there was absolutely no need to be.

  ‘Look at it. What do you see?’ Abi asked her.

  ‘They’re like little stars. Coloured stars.’

  ‘And how do they make you feel?’

  Bethanne chewed her lower lip, her hair falling over her face as she studied the painting.

  ‘Happy?’

  ‘Are you sure? Because you don’t sound sure to me,’ Abi said.

  Bethanne nodded. ‘They make me happy.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Yes!’ Bethanne gave a laugh.

  ‘Well, good.’

  ‘Is that the right answer? Should patterns make you happy?’

  ‘Absolutely! What’s the point of creating a pattern that makes you miserable? Or dressing in something that doesn’t make you feel wonderful?’

  ‘Mum sometimes makes us wear ugly clothes,’ Rosie piped up from the other side of the table.

  ‘But you’ll be able to choose your own clothes one day.’

  ‘Yes, when I’m older,’ Rosie said with a sigh. ‘Everything will happen when I’m older.’

  Abi tried not to laugh because she could still remember the frustration of being too young to be allowed to do anything really interesting.

  ‘How do you choose your designs, Aunt Abi?’ Bethanne asked, drawing her attention back to what they were doing. ‘There are so many patterns to choose from.’

  Abi thought about this for a moment. ‘I suppose what I’m trying to do with my patterns is to create a feeling of happiness, of joy and welcome. When people look at things I make, I want them to feel at home. I want them to get that lovely cosy feeling that comes from being in a home one truly loves. So I guess most of my designs start with a feeling you get when you see something. Like how did you feel when you picked up those pieces of fabric?’

  Bethanne turned to the pink and white chintz and the sky-blue check. ‘They made me smile inside.’

  ‘That’s the feeling exactly! Now, keep that feeling locked inside you for when you’re creating something.’

  Abi glanced across the table at Rosie. She’d been very quiet.

  ‘You okay, Rosie?’

  Rosie nodded, not looking up from the bird she was painting a vivid red.

  ‘Aunt Abi?’ Rosie said as she dipped her brush in the jar of water before dipping it in the green paint.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Why haven’t you got a husband like Mummy has?’

  ‘Ah, well your mummy got the best man in the world,’ Abi said light-heartedly.

  Rosie laughed.

  ‘Do you think you’ll get married one day?’ Bethanne asked.

  Abi took a moment before answering. ‘I don’t know,’ she said honestly. ‘You have to meet the right person first.’

  ‘And you haven’t?’ Bethanne asked.

  ‘No.’

  ‘So you can’t have children?’ Rosie asked.

  ‘You don’t need to be married to have children,’ Bethanne said.

  Rosie frowned, obviously confused. ‘Yes you do, silly!’

  ‘No you don’t. Chloe Meadows hasn’t got a dad, has she?’

  ‘Hasn’t she?’ Rosie said. ‘That’s sad. I think everyone should have a mummy and a daddy.’

  They continued with their artistic pursuits for a while and then Rosie started up again with the questions.

  ‘Do you want children, Aunt Abi?’

  Abi gasped at the bluntness of the question, feeling the heat of both Rosie and Bethanne watching her for her response.

  ‘I… well…’ her voice petered out and her throat felt dry, her breathing becoming fast and ragged.

  ‘Aunt Abi?’ Bethanne leaned forward and placed a hand on Abi’s arm, but Abi withdrew, standing up so fast that her chair fell over behind her.

  ‘Get your things together, girls,’ she managed to say.

  ‘Are we leaving?’ Bethanne asked, her face full of surprise.

  ‘I’ve not finished my painting!’ Rosie complained.

  ‘Never mind that,’ Abi said quickly. ‘It’s time to go home.’

  Chapter Ten

  Abi didn’t often have nightmares or, if she did, she didn’t remember them. But, sometimes, they would creep up on her in the middle of the night, twisting their tormenting visions through her mind until she woke up in a cold sweat. And she wasn’t a bit surprised that she had one the night after she’d seen Bethanne and Rosie.

  She hated that she’d been so mean to her nieces and regretted the drive back to their home in silence. Rosie seemed to have forgotten all about Abi’s awkwardness and had fallen asleep on the backseat, but Bethanne had looked pale and anxious as if she’d known something was wrong with Abi. But how could she even begin to explain to them?

  Still hung over from th
e disorientating feeling of having been lost inside her own head, Abi switched her bedside lamp on and took a long, cool drink from her glass of water and then got out of bed. She was wearing a long T-shirt and felt uncomfortably warm so she padded downstairs and opened the French doors, letting the cool night air circle around her bare limbs, caressing her gently and making her feel calmer.

  Why was she still having nightmares after all this time? Abi had hoped that leaving London behind and all the memories of her old home would mean an escape from her nightmares too, but you couldn’t outrun your fears, could you? Even hiding away somewhere as beautiful as Winfield couldn’t guarantee banishing one’s past. Because the past had a way of creeping up on you when you weren’t looking, catching you at your most vulnerable and assaulting you with its memories.

  Abi took a few deep breaths, contemplating going out into the garden and sitting in the cool darkness or maybe even walking up onto the downs and cooling off under the stars, but she’d always been a little afraid of the dark and so she closed the doors instead and made herself a cup of herbal tea, sitting down at the table a moment later. It was still littered with the papers and paints left behind by Bethanne and Rosie. She hadn’t had the heart to tidy them away when she’d got back from dropping them home. She’d felt bruised by her ugly behaviour towards them and keeping their friendly mess out had seemed a kind of apology to them, making her feel as though they were still with her. She wished they were here now so that she could hug them closely to her and kiss their warm cheeks and tell them how much she loved them and how sorry she was for the way she’d reacted.

  Looking down at the beautiful dots that Bethanne had painted, Abi wondered what had gone through her nieces’ heads when she’d suddenly bundled them up and taken them home without giving them any sort of reason. She suspected that Rosie wouldn’t have made that much out of it. But what of Bethanne? How much had she read into Abi’s actions? She might only be ten years’ old, but she felt things very deeply and Abi had seen the wounded look in her eyes and the concerned expression on her face a moment later. She’d known that Abi was acting out of character and that it wasn’t just about being a grown-up as Rosie might have thought. There was something else going on.

  Abi drank her tea, smelling its fruity perfume and hoping it would bring sweeter dreams to her when she went back to bed. It was as she was rinsing her mug at the sink a few minutes later that she heard a loud banging. She frowned. Was someone at Winfield’s front door? It was after three in the morning. She moved towards the front door of her apartment and listened. Yes, there was definitely somebody there, banging and shouting now too.

  ‘Edward! Open up! Come on – I know you’re in there!’

  Abi’s hand hesitated on the lock of her door, but the caller obviously wasn’t for her so she refrained from venturing into the hall, just opening her door a crack so she was able to hear a little better.

  ‘Come on, Ed! Let me in for pity’s sake!’ the stranger cried from outside, banging yet again.

  Interesting, Abi thought. Edward had clearly told her he wasn’t an ‘Ed’. So perhaps this was a close friend of his.

  At last, she heard Edward’s voice. She blinked in the bright lights of the entrance hall which he’d put on.

  ‘You took your time,’ the man was saying now that the front door was open.

  ‘What are you doing here? It’s the middle of the night!’ Edward said angrily.

  Abi wondered whether she should go out into the hallway and see if Edward needed some back up, but would he appreciate her poking her nose into his business? Probably not. He seemed to be an intensely private man. Yet, at the same time, she thought she had a right to know what was going on in her home during the middle of the night. But she didn’t venture forth. For one thing, she didn’t have the courage to wearing only a T-shirt, and Edward seemed to be handling things now.

  ‘You shouldn’t be driving,’ Edward was saying, his tone angry.

  ‘You letting me in, then?’ the other man said.

  ‘No.’

  ‘I’ll have to drive home if you don’t let me in.’

  ‘You should sleep in your car if you’ve got any sense,’ Edward said.

  ‘I don’t need to sleep. I’ve hardly drunk a drop tonight.’

  ‘Why do you do this?’ Edward asked.

  ‘Do what?’

  ‘Act like this?’

  ‘Oh, god – the last thing I need right now is a lecture!’

  She didn’t quite catch what Edward said next. It was some kind of mumbled curse which seemed to irritate the stranger even more because he started cursing too.

  ‘Shut up!’ Edward cried. ‘There are people trying to sleep here.’

  ‘People? What people?’

  ‘You know what people. I told you.’

  ‘Told me what?’

  ‘That I sold half of the place.’

  ‘Oh, right.’ The stranger made an exaggerated hushing sound and then laughed.

  ‘Sleep it off in the car, okay?’ Edward said.

  ‘But I want to talk to you.’

  ‘I’ve got nothing to say to you.’

  ‘Don’t be like that!’

  ‘You shouldn’t have come.’

  Abi flinched at Edward’s tone, wondering who on earth this unwelcome visitor was.

  ‘Why are you like this?’ the stranger said. ‘Why do you treat me this way? What the hell have I ever done to you, huh?’

  Abi leaned forward, but she couldn’t hear Edward’s reply as he was muttering under his breath, probably in a vain attempt not to wake her. It wasn’t like Abi to eavesdrop, but she couldn’t help wanting to hear the whole conversation and not just snatches of it. Then she felt guilty. She really shouldn’t be listening in on what was obviously a private moment.

  She was just about to close her door when she heard the front door of Winfield slam shut. She waited until she was quite sure the stranger had gone, hearing the screech of his tyres on the driveway outside. Hesitating, not quite knowing what the right thing to do was, she opened her door a little wider and saw Edward standing in the hall, his face dark with emotion.

  ‘Edward?’ she whispered as she approached him.

  His head shot up in surprise.

  ‘I heard a commotion. Is everything okay?’

  He nodded. ‘Go back to bed. I’m sorry if you were disturbed.’

  ‘Are you sure you’re all right?’

  He sighed and it was such a pitiful sound that her heart bled for him.

  ‘Go back to bed, Abigail,’ he said, before walking across the hall towards his own apartment.

  * * *

  The next morning arrived as a blessed relief for Abi. Still shaken by her nightmare and the odd behaviour of Edward after the episode with the stranger, she decided to leave it all behind and stride out into the countryside. Wearing a brand new pair of walking boots, a straw hat and a lot of factor fifty, and carrying a backpack in which was a flask of water, a strawberry jam sandwich, an apple and her sketchbook, she felt ready to conquer the downs and was excited to have the whole day to explore. That was one of the joys of working for yourself, she thought – the hours lay ahead of you to be filled by whatever you fancied. You could plan things in detail or be spontaneous and just see what the weather was doing and how you responded to it. There was so much freedom and Abi loved that. So much of her London life had been timetabled and scheduled. There’d been very little room to be spontaneous when running her company, and that had definitely been a factor in her little wobble. But today was hers to do with as she wanted and, with the sky a clear and happy blue and the July sun promising golden limbs, she was going to spend it outdoors.

  Slowly, Abi was getting to know her environment, walking the chalky footpaths, exploring the beech woods and following the streams. There was nothing more satisfying than a day spent in the countryside and she was beginning to regret the years she had lost by not spending more time away from her work. But then she had to remind h
erself that the time at work had been in pursuit of the thing she loved most in the world: her art. She was a creative soul and sometimes, by giving that creativity free rein, it meant giving other things up.

  Dana would definitely approve of this, Abi thought, as she hiked up one of the hills outside the village, her eyes devouring the colours of the South Downs. Everything seemed so bright today. The barley fields were a vivid yellow-green when the sun was full upon them, the chalky paths were blindingly bright and the little woods that dotted the hills were wearing their deep emerald colours, glorying in the peak of life. Abi took it all in, her artist’s mind thinking about the juxtaposition of the blue sky and the green hills, the silvered and weathered wood of a stile she climbed over, the rich magenta of the common knapweed which danced majestically on its long stalks, and the lacy beauty of the yarrow. There were so many colours and patterns and textures. And what joys would autumn bring, Abi wondered? What would the palette be then? And winter’s hues, and then spring before another summer came to enrapture her again. She had so much to look forward to.

  After walking for about an hour, she found a shady place underneath a great oak tree with a view into a valley village with a fine church she promised to visit another day. She unpacked her bag, taking a long cool drink of water and devouring her jam sandwich before munching on her crisp apple. It was as simple as lunches got but, eaten outdoors with the trees and sky above her and the landscape of the downs rolled out before her, it was elevated to something very special indeed.

  After she’d finished, she lay back, making a pillow of her backpack and gazing up into the dappled light through the deep green leaves of the oak, seeing little patterns of blue sky beyond and hearing the piercing song of a skylark. Her eyes closed in a drowsy daze and she allowed herself to drift off for a few minutes, feeling the warmth of the breeze on her bare arms.

  When she awoke, she grabbed her sketchbook and pencil and drew the scene before her, not wanting to forget its beauty. After she’d finished, she walked further along the path, stopping to sketch the wildflowers and the Marbled White butterfly whose distinctive black and white pattern looked as though it had been designed by an Art Deco artist.