by Sasha Wasley
Beth eyed her. ‘You know, you don’t have to live here. You could live with me. I have room. My place is bigger – and nicer.’
Free placed the cat on the ground. How could she tell Beth that she wanted to live in government accommodation – in this duplex – and not in her sister’s pleasant house in the nice part of Mount Clair? The duplex was part of the job, part of the artist-in-residence contract with the high school, and it was special to Free. It represented the first real, important job she’d ever had. Beth, who’d been running her own medical practice in town almost since she graduated with a medical degree, wouldn’t understand.
‘It’s all signed, sealed and delivered.’ Free attempted a casual tone. ‘And the duplex is so close to the school. I could walk if I wanted to. I’ll try it out for a while and see how I like it.’
Beth shrugged. ‘Please yourself. The offer stands.’
‘Thanks, Beth.’
The cat made that cracked meow again and Free chuckled. ‘I love that he says his own name. Will you stay, Max?’
The cat flopped on the carpet and commenced cleaning himself.
‘I don’t think he’s going anywhere,’ Beth said. ‘Hopefully he’s house-trained.’
Free was optimistic. ‘Cats are always house-trained. It’s their instinct.’
Willow had arranged a ute and two Paterson Downs station hands to help Free move in. Beth helped with unloading Free’s gear, then they waved the guys off and Beth unpacked a box full of Patersons cast-offs.
‘You don’t have any matching cutlery at all,’ she called as Free heaved a box of art supplies into her new studio.
‘Yeah, it’s funky,’ Free called back. ‘Chic. The antique stores in Perth charge like wounded bulls for mismatched cutlery.’
‘Yeah, but that stuff’s stylish. Not Ikea and Kmart.’
Free shrugged inwardly. Who had matching cutlery at her age? She struggled with her large easel, pinning it open with her knee and one hand while she tightened the nut with the other. She transferred her latest work onto the easel, catching sight of a smudged corner as she did.
‘Bugger,’ she muttered.
It was still a little wet. It must have been bumped during the drive. She dug out a brush and used its hard wooden end to scratch texture back into the paint. Hmm. That wasn’t quite right. She opened a tube of black and another of burnt umber and squeezed smidgens onto her metal palette, then worked into the corner again until the rock looked better. Not perfect, but better.
The sky was still wrong. Free stood back and frowned at it. No matter what she did, she couldn’t recreate that particular blue. She unpacked jars of oil and turpentine, and squeezed out a lump of cerulean paint in among smaller splodges of whatever other colours she could put her hands on. Inhaling the hard, clean scent of linseed oil, Free blended the blue with white and green, adding a touch of ochre. Hey, that was looking good. More ochre? The tiniest amount of silver, perhaps. Free tried the colour mix on the canvas and stood back, holding her breath.
Gah. Fail.
She sighed and plopped her brush into the turpentine jar just as Beth appeared. Her sister stopped short, her eyes going from Free’s easel to the cat, still cleaning himself indolently on the carpet.
‘Seriously, Free? You’ve been in your new place for half an hour, and you’ve already adopted a cat and started painting?’ Beth edged behind Free and took her arms, steering her out of the studio. ‘Priorities, girl. Unpack.’
‘Oh yeah.’
‘I have to go. I wanted to stay and help but my locum just called. He’s got some kind of domestic emergency going on and needs to leave early.’
Free was relieved, which gave her a stab of guilt. ‘It’s okay, Bethie, you go. Thanks so much for helping me today.’
‘At least your kitchen’s done, so you should be able to make yourself some dinner. Willow threw in a bunch of cans and packets to start off your pantry.’
Free hugged her. ‘My sisters are the best.’
‘There are still some things outside, on that little table on your porch. Your printer and another box. Don’t forget to bring them in.’
‘I won’t.’
‘You should focus on your bathroom next,’ Beth advised, collecting her handbag. She swiped away her long hair so she could sling the leather strap across her shoulder and studied Free. ‘Are you sure you’re going to be all right here?’
‘Of course! I’ve trekked through mountain ranges in Nepal, Beth. I’m sure I can handle my first night in Mount Clair teacher’s accommodation. And Max will keep me company.’
Beth departed, mumbling under her breath about stray cats and flea infestations. Free leaned against the railing that divided her porch from her neighbour’s and waved as the Beast crunched out of the driveway. Then she went back to her studio. Max gave her a cracked meow greeting and she rubbed his ears, staring at the sky on her painting again. Maybe a wee bit of yellow . . .
The sun was dropping when she finally emerged from her painting reverie. Free stretched and put her brushes in the turpentine jar. Something had disturbed her. There was a noise, she realised – an unfamiliar sound coming through the wall. Was it music? A radio, perhaps. It stopped briefly, then started up again, louder and closer. Singing. Someone was singing right on the other side of the studio wall.
Of course – this was a duplex. There must be another teacher living next door, sharing a wall with her unit. Free picked up an empty jar and crept across the room, where she placed it ever so gently against the wall. She pushed her ear up to the glass, just like she’d seen in the movies, and the singing became a touch clearer. Her heart softened. Whoever it was had a lovely voice, and he was singing a song she thought she’d heard in Dublin. Staying on the edge of Temple Bar, Free had stumbled into a local estate drinking hole, thinking it was a regular Irish city pub. At first they’d been unfriendly, but after she’d bought and drunk a couple of pints of Guinness, the barman finally cracked and they got chatting. Soon enough, half the people at the pub had introduced themselves, and included her in their gossip and songs.
As she listened and remembered, a warmth came over her – the same warmth she felt whenever she sat at the Paterson Downs kitchen table to drink tea with her father.
She smiled down at Max. I think I’ll like living here.
‘You don’t need to be nervous at all.’
The head of the Mount Clair High School’s art department was Jay Lincoln, a round, short woman with a mop of curly black and grey hair, upon which her glasses were permanently perched. She had beautiful big, dark eyes.
‘The Year Tens and Elevens want to be studying art. They’re not like the lower-school kids. Some of them would mess with you.’
Aidan, the other artist who’d been awarded a residency for the tile wall project, rubbed his sharp nose. ‘They wouldn’t want to mess with me.’
Jay smiled politely and Free hastened to break the tension.
‘Hey, if I can survive the Mount Clair Muster Festival beer tent, I can survive spitballs,’ she said.
Jay guffawed. ‘The infamous beer tent! Look, these are basically good kids. Some of them are incredibly talented, in fact. We’ve got a couple of kids who’ve picked up awards in the local shows and further afield. And anyway, by the time they get past Year Nine, they’re doing art by choice. These are the interested ones.’
‘Phew,’ said Free. ‘That’s good because I wouldn’t have a clue how to “behaviour-manage” anyone.’
Aidan swept his gaze across the studio, spotless from its summer holiday clean-out. It was still deeply familiar to Free, even after nine years away.
‘That’s not what we’re here for, anyway,’ Aidan was saying. ‘We’re here to give these kids the benefit of our knowledge and skills. If there’s any bullshit in my classes, they’ll be out the door before they can say “time-waster”.’
He smiled at her, but Free felt a little sorry for Aidan. He must have gone to a private school in the city, to have s
uch a limited understanding of how Mount Clair teenagers worked.
‘Maybe if someone’s causing trouble, it’s because he or she’s got personal issues,’ she ventured. ‘Problems on the home front, or something.’
‘Well, he or she can take his or her personal issues out of my studio,’ Aidan said, with another of those cool smiles.
His confidence was astonishing. Jay gestured towards a thin woman with cropped grey hair, who was lugging a drying machine across the classroom. ‘That’s our assistant, Inga, who’s been with us for years. She’ll help you with materials, organising equipment, storing and moving stuff, setting up displays, that sort of thing. Inga!’ She waved at the woman. ‘This is Free Paterson and Aidan Hamilton, our two artists-in-residence for the tile wall project.’
They exchanged greetings and Jay moved them on, indicating a darkened doorway. ‘The ceramics materials and kiln are in here.’
She led them inside, switching on the light. Free examined the equipment. A good-sized, newish kiln, and in a smaller storage room, slabs of plastic-wrapped clay and containers of glazing chemicals.
‘It’s two sessions per week, plus an after-school class, is that right, Jay?’ Aidan was asking.
‘Yes, two classes with either the Year Tens or the Elevens – I’ll assign you one year each. And then one of you can do Tuesday afternoons, and the other Thursdays. That’s your opportunity to make inroads with the tile work. The theory and design can happen during class-time. It dovetails nicely with the curriculum. But it might be easier to work on the practical stuff – moulding and glazing – in your after-school sessions.’
‘Yeah, that’d be good.’ Free poked through a box of paints. ‘Hopefully, the students will be happy to stay beyond the hour we’ve been given, so we can get some of the more time-consuming stuff done.’
Jay had already nodded and stepped back out of the storeroom, but Aidan glanced Free’s way. He leaned in and spoke quietly.
‘Our contracts only specify an hour per week for the after-school sessions, you realise?’
‘Yeah, I know,’ said Free. ‘But if they’re willing to stay a little longer, rather than leaving dead on the hour, we’ll get through so much more. You know what it’s like when you have to stop halfway through a job.’
‘You’ll only get paid for the hour. No overtime. Jay told me the grant is fully expended on our salaries and the equipment for the tiles.’
Free laughed. ‘I wouldn’t expect to be paid extra.’
Aidan’s eyebrows rose and he ran his gaze over her but said nothing. Free stepped into the classroom after Jay.
‘Tomorrow will be a good opportunity to familiarise yourselves with the equipment and set-up of the classrooms,’ Jay said. ‘Have you done the reading I sent you on learning outcomes?’ They both nodded. ‘Perfect. I’ll be directing the content, but I’d like to hand over to you as much of the theory and skills work as possible. That’s what you’re here for, after all – to share your expertise. I’ll spend some time with both of you individually tomorrow to run you through the term plans.’ Jay paused. ‘We’re having a get-together at Mounties on Friday night. All the teaching staff. You should come, meet everyone socially before we start the term.’
Free nodded. ‘Sounds good.’
Aidan pursed his lips. ‘I’ll see how I go. There’s an art show I’m entering and I need to work on my entry piece. This week’s been pretty full-on, with coming here today and again tomorrow, as well as settling into the unit.’
Jay wasn’t particularly fazed. She cast Free a warm smile.
‘Come along, straight after we finish here tomorrow. We’re a good bunch when you get to know us.’
‘I will,’ said Free.
‘I’ve finished the term plans now so I’ll send them to you both,’ Jay told them, and headed for the office.
Free ran her gaze over the classroom. This was where she’d spent her happiest moments of high school. Heart swelling, she took in the familiar deep troughs and laminated benchtops beneath paint-spattered windows. Outside, the blue sky cut through a bloom of white clouds. Breathtaking. Ultra blue and raw umber, maybe? Or cadmium —
‘We should probably take the opportunity to compare notes on our teaching strategies for the term,’ Aidan said. ‘Are you free for a coffee when we’re finished here?’
Free came back to the present. ‘Um, okay, yeah. But I don’t really have a strategy, as such. I was just going to do what Jay told me to.’
His mouth pulled up on one side. ‘Perhaps we could just get to know one another a little better, then, since we’ll be working together for the semester.’
Free was puzzled. ‘Don’t you need to work on your entry for the art show?’
Aidan chuckled. ‘I can take an hour off.’
‘Oh. Okay, if Jay doesn’t need us here, we could grab a quick coffee. But I need to spend as much time as possible going through the term plan. I can’t help but worry I’ll mess it all up.’
Free was hit with a wave of apprehension at the thought of teaching. She checked Aidan’s face to see if he was showing any sign of nerves. Hard to tell. She was distracted by his stretched skin, thin lips and bulbous, pale eyes. It was almost as though his brown ponytail was pulling his face taut. If she released that ponytail, would his face relax into a normal, warm, friendly face? She itched to try it.
‘Sounds like you definitely need a coffee,’ he said, giving her a quick smile. ‘You’ll be fine, you know.’
‘Hope so.’
‘Let’s head across to Marcel’s Deli when we finish up,’ he said. ‘I’ll shout you a brew.’
Free had walked to work, so Aidan drove them to Marcel’s after Jay told them they were finished for the day. His car was spotless and brand-new, a dark silver in colour. It smelled expensive.
‘I don’t normally go to Marcel’s,’ she said.
Aidan indicated right, waiting for a red mud-coated 4WD to rumble past. ‘Why’s that?’
‘Galileo’s does fair trade beans, so I usually go there. I mean, since my sister taught me what that means.’
‘Marcel’s coffee is excellent,’ he said.
‘Oh, good. And they do fair trade beans?’
‘I’d be amazed if they didn’t.’ Aidan braked suddenly and honked at a young Aboriginal woman crossing the road with two small children. She gave him the finger and Aidan sighed.
‘Locals,’ he muttered.
‘It might be better to go a bit slower,’ Free said. ‘There’s always lots of pedestrians on the main street.’
‘Careless pedestrians,’ he remarked. ‘They’d get flattened in the city.’
He pulled in and parked outside Marcel’s Deli.
‘Oh, they’re closing, I think,’ Free said, seeing a young man lugging a sign inside the café.
‘I’ll check.’ Aidan jumped out and approached him. They had a brief discussion, then Aidan gestured at Free to get out of the car.
‘Are they still open?’ she called.
Aidan beckoned again. ‘Josh here says he’ll make us a coffee.’
‘You’re not closing?’ she asked the young man.
He shrugged. ‘It’s no trouble. Come in.’
‘Why don’t we just go to Galileo’s, Aidan?’ Free urged him. ‘If Josh is trying to close up, we shouldn’t delay him.’
‘He’s absolutely fine with it,’ Aidan said, and his voice was so firm Free didn’t feel like she could argue.
She climbed the step into the pink-and-brown-striped deli with its lit-up cabinets of croissants, quiches and pastries.
‘Long black, topped up with lactose-free milk,’ Aidan called to Josh. He gave Free an inquiring look.
‘Uh, flat white, please.’
‘And a selection of macarons,’ Aidan added.
They sat at a minuscule table on hard wooden chairs.
‘So, what’s your background?’ Aidan asked.
‘Oh, I’m a farm girl!’ Free said. ‘My family runs a cattle station o
n Herne River Road. I live with Dad and my sister Willow. We’re going to organic certification.’
He raised his eyebrows. ‘Really? Is that viable?’
‘Yeah, well, I think so, anyway.’ Free grimaced. ‘I don’t know, actually, but I don’t think Dad would let Willow do it if it wasn’t financially okay.’
Aidan already appeared to have lost interest in the topic. ‘Actually, I meant your artistic background.’
‘Oh! It’s not very fabulous. I did visual arts at uni, then travelled a bit. Did some short courses with ceramics masters in Italy. I mainly do oil painting, charcoals and ceramics, you know?’ She paused, hoping she didn’t sound pretentious. ‘What about you?’
‘I studied VA at Notre Dame —’
‘In France?’ Free broke in, excited.
‘The University of Notre Dame in Perth.’
‘Oh – of course.’
‘Then I won a grant to develop a piece of art for a corporate office in Perth. I’ve had two joint exhibitions and one solo. I do mainly sculpture and abstract pieces, and acrylics is my preferred medium.’
He stopped. Free was humbled.
‘Wow. I’ve never had a solo exhibition. That is just amazing. It’s so hard to be successful as an artist. I’m in awe.’
Josh brought them coffees and a gilt-edged tea plate loaded with macarons of various bright colours.
‘Thank you!’ She stared at the biscuits. ‘How gorgeous!’
‘Still think Galileo’s is better than Marcel’s?’ Aidan asked with a smile.
Josh shot a surprised look at Free and she wanted to crawl under the teeny-weeny table. ‘I never said that!’ she said. ‘I just meant that I’m in the habit of going there. But I’ll definitely come back to Marcel’s.’ She attempted a smile at Josh and his face softened into a quick grin before he retreated.
‘Try the purple one,’ Aidan advised.
Free had been reaching for the one that looked like coconut but she hesitated.
‘Go on,’ he urged. ‘It’s the best.’
‘Okay.’ She picked it up and tasted it. Licorice? Yuck, she hated licorice.