The Estuary ~ (A
Conversation)
By
Janet Baldey
“So, any luck today?”
“Firstly,” I
held up a finger. “It was such a lovely
day, I decided to take a walk along the estuary. Hadn’t gone a hundred yards
when I found myself lying face down, my nose inches from a puddle. Completely
dazed… Hadn’t a clue what had happened, but although I was winded, nothing
seemed to be broken. Even Essex mud can sometimes be a blessing. Anyway, feeling a perfect fool, I began to get
up, hoping no-one had seen. Fat chance….seconds
later I was being suffocated by lavender and a female voice was doing its best
to hit top C.”
“Are you alright?
Marcus, you bad dog, how could you?
Here, let me help you up. Oh
no! Now, I’ve made it worse. I’ve got
paint all over your lovely jacket. How
stupid! You must let me pay for
it.” Her voice rose even higher, chasing
larks into the sky.
I looked at the woman jitterbugging in front of me. Middle fifties, maybe. Blonde, plump. I was about to tell her what I thought about
her and her damn dog, when I took a second look. Her clothes were casual but obviously top
quality and I’d swear the pearls glowing in her ears and around her neck were
the real thing, so I changed the shape of my mouth into a smile.
“Please don’t worry, it was my own stupid fault…wasn’t
looking where I was going. Is this the
culprit?”
Now, you know I dislike dogs intensely, but I made myself
pat the hairy thing drooling in front of me.
“I’m afraid so, He’s usually so good but he must have seen
a rabbit and when he does, the red mist descends and he’s off.”
I nodded
understandingly. Then, I noticed a
smudge of blue paint on her nose, an easel and a half-finished canvas and quickly
made the logical conclusion. “Why, you’re an artist!”
She laughed, a shrill
tinkling sound that made the fillings in my teeth ache. “Oh hardly, I just dabble, I only took it up
after my husband died.”
I pretended to admire the widow’s painting. “It’s very good.” (It wasn’t, just a mere daub – God, the things
I do for you.)
“Do you think so?”
“Absolutely. It’s
just that…excuse me, do you mind?” I reached for the brush
and added a couple of thin, ochre lines.
“There…”
“Oh, that is so much
better.” The old girl clasped her hands,
looking as if she was peeing herself with joy.
“Do you paint?”
“Used to but when Mater and Pater fell ill, I had to move
out of the Manor. Care Home fees are so
expensive, you know. Where I live now,
there is hardly room to swing the proverbial cat, let alone store canvasses and
what not.”
Blondie’s eyes widened, she couldn’t have looked more
stricken if she’d caught me strangling a cat – or her bloody dog.
“What a terrible shame. It’s obvious that you’re sooo talented.”
I hid a smirk and looked sad.
“Of course, I miss painting immensely – almost as much as I do the parents.”
Her voice dropped to whisper,
as if she was in the very presence of the dead.
“I understand completely. Tell
me, what is it that you do?”
“Got a little business going –
internet design. Not doing too badly
actually – in fact I’m on the brink of something earth shattering. If, of course, I can raise the money to
finance it. Anyway, enough of nasty
business talk. Where do you go to
paint?”
“I belong to a local group; we
meet in the village hall. It’s great
fun. Oh, I’ve just had a brilliant
idea. Why don’t you come along and join
us. I’m sure we could learn from you.”
No doubt about that, I
thought. Aloud, I said. “Do you know, I’d really like to. Take my mind off my business worries. But, as I said, easels and canvasses take up
a lot of space.”
She fingered the pearls at her
neck and my mouth watered.
“That’s no problem. I rattle along in my big old house like a pea
in a pod. I’ve got plenty of room. Come and see.”
I held up a second finger. “So,
I helped her pack up and she dragged me along and wow, that house! Drowning in ivy, glowing in the sun,
slumbering under oaks, all the clichés you can possibly think of, and I had an
‘in’!” I licked my lips and leaned back
in my chair.
“And thirdly?”
“Give me a chance,
babe. But thanks to Marcus, I’ve sown a
whole row of seeds and they’ll fruit soon enough. Anyway, what happened with you. Did the old goat bite?”
The words were no sooner out of my mouth when a shaft of
sunlight coloured her hair rose-gold.
She crossed her long, bronzed legs and lifted
one perfect eyebrow. “Stupid question –
wish I hadn’t asked.”
Copyright Janet Baldey
