by Ana McKenzie
Rita grinned. ‘Yeah, of course.’ Her brow knotted. ‘Hey, is that one of those Apple watches? I’ve heard they’re really cool.’
Merren stuck her phone back in her pocket and twisted her wrist to look at the watch. ‘Yeah,’ she said. ‘It is, and they are.’
‘You’ll have to show me it properly at Christmas time,’ Rita said, emptying her mug and rinsing it. ‘Hopefully; if we can go.’ She nodded towards the watch. ‘You should get Bianca one of those. She’s lost her phone.’
‘Yes,’ Merren said, and glanced at the boxes on the table, still there where she’d left them, watch and phone still inside. ‘That’s a good idea.’ She walked Rita to the door.
‘I’ll get right onto that,’ she said under her breath as Rita scrambled back over the wall. Then she sighed, remembered the lesson her mother and grandmother had given her a week or so ago, and drew in a deep breath.
She’d have to make a decision soon whether to buy a new phone and watch for Suzette, or whether to quit on the idea of Bianca using them once and for all and give Suzette those ones. But no, she decided, heading back upstairs. She’d buy new ones for her sister. The seals on the boxes had been opened, after all.
‘There you are, Merren. Finally.’
She stood in the doorway to the studio, blinking in surprise at her grandmother and Bianca.
‘What?’ she said stupidly.
Her grandmother’s grin stretched right across her face. ‘Get your gear off, love. We’re ready to do a bit of art here.’
Merren looked from her grandmother to Bianca. ‘You are?’
It was Bianca who nodded, looking afraid, but also resolute. She cleared her throat and tried on a smile as well. ‘Yes darling,’ she said. ‘If you could please take your clothes off.’
The tension drained out of Merren like a sluice-gate opened. She grinned at the both of them.
‘Well,’ she said. ‘Since you put it so nicely then, I will do exactly that.’
She was already unbuttoning her shirt as she crossed the room to the fancy little screen with the silk robe draped over it.
It wouldn’t take but a moment to undress.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Everything inside of Bianca trembled, jittered, and shook like jelly in an earthquake. She was going to do this. She really was, whether ready for it or not.
Naomi reached out and squeezed Bianca’s hand and somehow her touch felt conspiratorial, almost fun.
Merren’s grandmother had turned up completely unannounced that morning, early. Determined to speak to Bianca, who had been lying in the bed, one hand on Merren, feeling her sleep. The gentle rise and fall of Merren’s chest made Bianca feel good. And Merren slept soundly. Even when Bianca ran her hand over the curve of her body, building an image of her in her mind to compensate for what her eyes could not see, Merren slept on, although sometimes when Bianca traced the rise and fall of hip and waist and thigh, Merren would give a soft, happy sigh.
Squeezing Naomi’s hand in return, Bianca took a deep breath and tried to stop herself shaking. She dropped Naomi’s hand and wrapped her arms around herself, working hard not to listen to the voice inside her head wondering if she should tell Merren not to get undressed after all, that it was still too soon, that she couldn’t see how to do this yet.
Because that wasn’t really true, was it?
She could see how to do it. Standing in the middle of her new studio, Bianca groped for her half-formed understanding. The one that had risen, nebulous and fragile every now and then, only to be torn asunder by her fears and doubts.
But she was stronger right at the moment. Sitting for a while in the pergola with Merren’s grandmother, her hand cold in Naomi’s warm grip, listening to the words dropping like pearls from the old woman’s mouth, had been just what she needed. And Naomi had got straight to the point.
‘It’s only fear stopping you from painting,’ she’d said. ‘And fear doesn’t have any substance. It’s not real.’
Bianca had shaken her head at that. The garden in her peripheral vision was a blur of green and red, muted, as though seen through the lens of a dream. Or eyes filled with tears.
‘Of course it’s real,’ she said. ‘It’s crippling me.’ She fought the urge to snatch her fingers back and tuck them under her arms. But Naomi’s hands were kind. They felt kind, wrapped around her own.
‘It’s not,’ Naomi said gently. ‘It’s just a voice in your head that’s telling you scary things, telling you that you might fail.’
Bianca closed her eyes. ‘But I am failing. Everything has changed, and I can’t adjust.’
She felt Naomi sit straighter. ‘Phooey,’ Merren’s grandmother said. ‘What a load of rubbish. What have you been doing the last few months?’
What did she mean?
‘You’ve been going to the hospital, having needles stuck in your eyeballs, then coming home and finding ways to carry on. Merren said your eyesight has been bad for months – and yet you’ve not fallen down the stairs and broken your neck, you’ve not starved for lack of being able to make a meal, you’ve not lost track of how to wash and dress yourself. You’re perfectly all right.’
Bianca blinked her eyes open. The day was a murky tangle of light and dark. The sun hid behind clouds, obscuring the little that she could see.
‘I can’t paint, though,’ Bianca said.
‘Why?’ Naomi asked. ‘Have you tried?’
Bianca wanted to shrink back in her chair, but Naomi wasn’t letting go of her hands. ‘No,’ she said at last, because she could feel Naomi waiting for her to say it.
She cleared her throat. Shook her head. ‘No,’ she said again and swallowed. ‘I haven’t.’ And she knew what would come next.
‘Then how do you know?’
She closed her eyes again, feeling herself tremble. ‘I just don’t think I can.’
Naomi’s voice was kind, a lot like her granddaughter’s. It warmed and flowed richly in the air around Bianca’s closed eyes. She could almost feel it brushing against her skin.
‘So, it’s just fear then. Just a nasty, pernicious old worry.’ The voice softened, spoke confidingly. ‘I want you to stop listening to that fearful voice inside your head for a moment, and search around for another one.’
‘Another one?’ Bianca didn’t understand.
‘We all talk to ourselves in different voices. Find the one that urges you forward, that tells you that everything is going to be okay, that you can do this, that you know how to do this, that you can find a way.’ Naomi chafed Bianca’s hands between hers, warming them. ‘That voice knows what it’s talking about, so dial the others down, push them aside and listen to that one. Turn the volume right up on that one.’
‘What if I can’t find it?’ Bianca asked. ‘What if there isn’t such a voice?’
‘Nope,’ Naomi said. ‘That’s the wrong voice. Look again.’
Bianca swallowed, frowning.
‘It’s the same voice that’s led you to success so far. The one that said you were good enough to keep painting in the first place, the one that said you should keep trying, that it was worth the effort.’
That voice. Bianca shook her head. She hadn’t heard from that one for months. Not more than the occasional squeak, quickly strangled by the one that yelled at her not to be stupid, that there was no way she was going to get through this.
‘Oh my god,’ she breathed.
‘You’ve got it, haven’t you?’ There was a smile in Naomi’s voice. ‘I knew you’d get it.’
‘It can’t be that easy.’
‘Oh honey. Nothing’s easy, but nothing is near as difficult as you think it will be.’
Bianca drew in a deep breath that tasted of clouds and soil and everything in-between. ‘So, all I have to do is choose…’
‘Which voice to listen to.’ Naomi stood up and tugged on Bianca’s hands. ‘Just keep following the one that believes in you. It speaks the truth.’
Standing, Bianca peered a
round the garden. ‘What are we doing now?’ she asked.
Naomi tucked Bianca’s hand in the crook of her arm and walked with her towards the house. ‘Why, we’re going to go play with some paints, of course. It’s been years since I threw paint around; I’m so looking forward to it.’
Bianca’s blood slowed, turned icy in her veins. ‘We are?’ she said hesitantly. Then breathed in and out, slowly. ‘We are,’ she agreed. ‘We’re going to try.’
Naomi patted her hand and laughed, sounding for all the world like she could be any age at all. ‘That’s my girl,’ she said.
Merren’s lovely voice interrupted Bianca’s reverie. ‘Where do you want me?’ She stepped into Bianca’s line of sight, a slim, dark-haired figure. And something inside Bianca clicked on.
It was the voice of the artist she’d always been that answered. Bianca heard it issue from her mouth with astonishment, and then relaxed into it. Yes, she knew how to do this. She’d been doing this one way or another for years. All her adult life, all her teenaged years, half her childhood. Painting was as natural as breathing.
So what if she had to mix it up a bit now? So what if she had to search around to find new ways of doing what she loved? And so what, that bright, loving voice in her head said, if you can’t do it straight away?
‘I need you beside me, Merren,’ she said. ‘So I can see you out the side of my eye.’
Merren shuffled into place and Bianca looked critically at her. Shook her head. ‘Can you drag the screen behind you?’ she asked. ‘I need a darker background than the white walls.’ She thought for a moment. ‘And grab the blanket from my bed – the purple one, and drape that over it.’
Merren and Naomi were moving, doing exactly what she asked.
‘And lights,’ she said. ‘We’re going to need the light on you. The window isn’t near enough.’ Bianca blinked around the room. ‘No easel?’ she asked.
‘No, because I haven’t ordered the boards for you yet,’ Merren replied. ‘But I’ve cut several lengths of the cotton canvas and taped it to the wall.’
‘It’ll be easier to work like that if you’re doing full-size anyway.’ That was Naomi and Bianca listened to her, smiled, and nodded.
‘You’re right.’ She could see it again in her head. Lying in bed that morning, awake while Merren was sleeping, smoothing her hand over Merren’s gentle curves, blinking in the gloom but not looking with her eyes at all.
She drew a breath. She’d been seeing Merren in her mind, building a picture of her there, the long line of her leg from hip to knee, the dip of waist.
If she could see it in her mind, then she could paint it, once she had the measurements, the feel of the curves on the canvas. And for that – she needed to see Merren beside her.
‘The light good?’ That was Merren.
Bianca smiled. ‘I don’t know. Hop into position.’
‘Yes ma’am.’ Merren appeared in front of the screen and struck a dramatic pose. Bianca giggled.
‘Yeah,’ she said. ‘That’s really good.’
‘All righty then.’ Merren relaxed. ‘I’m going to get nekkid – in front of my grandmother, I’ll have you realise, which I’m trying not to feel too weird about – and try that pose you gave me the very first day I came here.’
‘You’re not showing me anything I haven’t seen already,’ Naomi said from somewhere behind Bianca.
‘Oh sure, Gran,’ Merren said, dropping her robe and tossing it away out of sight. ‘How old was I when you last saw me wearing just my skin and a smile?’
Naomi started laughing, and suddenly there were sparks of colour in Bianca’s vision again. She blinked, but they exploded around Merren anyway.
‘I haven’t seen you wearing just your skin since you were a tyke, it’s true,’ Naomi said. ‘But I did see you once wearing that girl – what was her name? Benny, or something, I think – and that was a whole lotta skin, and quite the smile.’
Merren moved, and Bianca saw her clap a hand to her mouth.
‘Gran!’ Merren groaned. ‘Jeeze. I thought you’d forgotten about that.’
Her grandmother cackled. ‘Never.’
Merren’s hand dropped, and she shook her head, then stretched her arms up, elongating her body into a nice, sinuous curving line.
A beautiful line. Bianca drew in a breath, nodded over the lump in her throat. When Naomi spoke again, it was quietly, business-like.
‘How do you need to start, Bianca?’ she said. ‘I’m going to be your assistant for today.’ There was a thread of pleasure in the voice at this – Bianca could almost see it. ‘Do you want one of the oil sticks?’
They were arranged behind her on the table, but Bianca knew in a moment that she would have to change that. A rolling trolley, she thought. And she’d learn the order they were arranged in, memorising them by colour so she’d be able to put her hand on whatever one needed.
‘I need to take some measurements first,’ she said. ‘Do we have that plastic adhesive? Or a push-pin? For putting on the canvas so I can feel my way from point to point?’
She could see exactly how to do this.
Naomi pressed something into her hand, and Bianca nipped off a piece from the strip and rolled it between her fingers into a small ball.
Then her hand was shaking again but she stepped up to the canvas on the wall in front of her anyway and stuck the adhesive ball to the canvas at approximately Merren’s shoulder height.
Naomi must have caught on straight away. ‘I’ll measure across the shoulders,’ she said.
‘We have a tape measure?’
There were sounds of rummaging. The crow of triumph. ‘We do. We are well-prepared.’
Bianca couldn’t help her smile. ‘Merren did that,’ she said and felt the welling of pride in her chest. How lucky she’d been the day Merren had turned up in Penny’s place.
She’d gained so much.
Model, assistant.
Friend.
Lover.
And such a patient one. Bianca knew she hadn’t been easy, in the short time they’d known each other. She wouldn’t have blamed Merren if she’d slipped away, thinking Bianca was too much trouble.
But Merren had kept coming back. Her rich voice needling Bianca into laughter. Her strong, capable hands making her feel safe and desired all at the same time. She was so generous. Bianca found herself shaking her head.
She didn’t want the summer to end. She didn’t want Merren to go back to university and Penny to come back to model for her instead.
Or at least, she admitted in one long, low breath, she did want Merren to go back to studying whatever it was at the university.
She just didn’t want her to stop coming around here.
‘Good enough,’ Naomi said. ‘Do you want me to just transfer the measurements to the canvas for you?’
Bianca came back to awareness, stepped back from the wall, cleared her throat. ‘Yes, please. That would be perfect to start with.’
‘In her outline, or just main points down the side? If you know what I mean?’
Bianca figured it out. ‘Just a line down the side. I can move them as I need them. Just make a rectangle with main points marked – shoulders, waist, hip, knee.’
She kept her gaze on Merren as Naomi stepped back and forth between canvas and model. Merren didn’t even flinch as her grandmother moved around her nude body, wielding the measuring tape.
With the light on Merren, Bianca could almost make out her features. And she swore she saw Merren drop a wink at her.
Then it was time. There was one of the oil sticks in her gloved hand, the wax coating removed, everything ready.
The canvas waited for her.
Bianca blew out her breath through her nose, stepped forward, and put paint to canvas for the first time in six months.
And it was shaky, but glorious.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
It had taken such a short time.
That’s what surprised her so much. After
all the stress and worry, the black hole of depression had lifted, just like that.
Because she could paint again.
Bianca felt the small knob of adhesive with one hand, and with the other, drew the paint down in a sweeping line that pleased her ridiculously. Going life-size had been the right decision. She was even developing some muscle memory for the task, and with the adhesive points, she was feeling her way around her painted version of Merren’s figure much the same way as she felt her way around the real thing each night in her bed.
‘Don’t forget we’re going out this afternoon,’ Merren said from the chaise longue where she was stretched out, all lean lines and sensuous curves.
‘I haven’t forgotten,’ Bianca said, turning to the rolling supply table she’d had Merren order and get delivered. She put down her oil stick – how she loved those things! What an amazing invention! – and selected another colour.
‘Good,’ Merren said, voice lazy on the afternoon breeze that fluttered in on butterfly wings through the open window. ‘Because you’ve been painting practically non-stop for the last week, and the summer is running away without us.’
There was a pause and Bianca murmured ‘Mmm hmm.’ She was getting the hang of this new style of painting. Definitely she was still in the learning and experimenting stage, but it was coming along nicely. If she did say so herself. The voice inside her head – the one she was listening to as much as possible now – did definitely say so.
‘It’s almost Christmas, you know.’
God, thought Bianca. Was it?
‘And you’re still coming to Mum’s for Christmas dinner?’
At the moment, Bianca was uncertain about how to do the background, so was simply playing with colour. She was layering on colour the way she saw it. The streaks and sparks of colour that paraded around her vision.
She’d worry about structuring the background and really trying to say something with it later. When she was better used to what she was doing. It was certainly very different to the way she’d used to paint. The detail of the nude, and the room – always a lot of detail in the room.