Times Like These Page 6

  ‘I imagine it’s like that for all artists,’ Merren said.

  Bianca nodded, but she was rubbing her forehead as though she had a headache. ‘I might not be so great at looking at things now,’ she said. ‘But I still see plenty. And I have to paint. That’s all there is to it.’ She swallowed, and Merren found herself thinking the woman had a lovely long neck as well.

  ‘But I need help,’ Bianca said, and turned her gaze towards Merren. She hadn’t put her glasses back on, and her eyes were clear, pleading.

  ‘I’ll help…’

  ‘And you’re here…’

  They both stopped talking, and Bianca nodded. ‘Thank you. I don’t know why, since I don’t know you at all, but I feel like, well…’ She hesitated and gave a little shake of the head. ‘I don’t know. Don’t worry about it.’

  There was an unexpected warmth radiating from Merren’s heart, and she put a hand there, pressing the palm flat against her shirt.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said solemnly. ‘I will help however I can. And thank you for your trust in me.’

  Bianca was staring back at the ceiling again. ‘Just one more thing,’ she said. ‘I need you to be discreet. You may not speak of any of this. To anyone. Do you understand?’

  ‘Absolutely,’ Merren said. ‘You have my word.’

  That made Bianca sigh. ‘I guess that will have to be good enough.’ She pushed her chair back from the table and stood up. ‘I hope you’re as nice and honest as you sound.’

  ‘I sound honest? And nice?’

  Bianca smiled. ‘You have a lovely voice. I never paid much attention to voices before. But now, since I can’t see faces so well…’ She trailed off. ‘I need you to help me bring some things in from the studio. Will that be all right? And rearrange some things inside for me.’

  ‘Sounds great,’ Merren said, still bemused over the comment about her voice. She’d never given any thought before about how she sounded.

  ‘You have a nice voice too, by the way.’ It was out of her mouth before she could stop it, and she stifled a groan. ‘I mean, well, as well as your face. Your face is lovely too.’ Oh god, she’d just gone and made it ten times worse. Clearing her throat, she tried to change the subject. ‘I’ll just go out to the studio, then, okay? And you can tell me what you want brought in.’ Her face burned.

  There was a pause, and Bianca stood stock still, her head tilted slightly, not looking at Merren, at least, not straight on. Then a light smile flickered over her face and died, and she nodded.

  ‘You go first, please. I’ve packed up my charcoals and such, but we need to bring my easel inside. Somehow. We may need to dismantle it a bit first.’ She moved toward the door and waited there. ‘Or at least, you’ll need to.’

  Merren nodded, then realised that Bianca likely wouldn’t be able to see that, so she spoke again, trying not to be self-conscious about her voice.

  ‘Sure,’ she said. ‘Okay. Let’s do it.’

  Then she blushed again anyway.

  Chapter Eight

  Bianca followed behind the young woman, bemused by the whole conversation, and with not the slightest idea whether it had gone well or not. She knew she hadn’t followed the outline she’d gone over and over in her head while pacing up and down her sitting room that morning.

  No. It had gone quite some way off the rails.

  For starters. She’d gone and told the kid she had a nice voice. A nice, honest voice. Bianca rolled her eyes. Why had she done that? She didn’t know this person at all. Not one bit. She’d spent all of what? An hour and a half in her company, all told? And most of that had been spent climbing the walls of her own head.

  She was thinking about the day before, in the studio, sitting in front of her easel, realising in hard, concrete facts, that she just wasn’t going to be able to do the job in the way she was used to.

  The woman standing posing for her hadn’t been on her mind at all.

  Until Merren had touched her. No, actually, that wasn’t quite true. It was her voice. Again. Asking if she was all right. Bianca blinked, realised she’d left her glasses behind in the kitchen, then shrugged it off. They weren’t helping anymore anyway.

  ‘Merren,’ she said, unaware that she’d been going to speak out loud.

  The footsteps in front of Bianca stopped abruptly, but she couldn’t react fast enough and bumped into the young woman, then jolted backwards at the unexpected touch. Strong hands reached out and grasped her upper arms, steadying her.

  ‘I’m sorry!’ Merren yelped. ‘I shouldn’t have just stopped like that. Are you all right?’

  Bianca nodded dumbly. The hands loosened their grip but stayed where they were, warm against the thin cotton of Bianca’s shirt. Finally, they dropped away. She reached up and touched one of her arms where Merren’s hand had been, pressed her fingers to the spot.

  ‘I guess I have a bit to get used to,’ Merren said from the gloom of the hallway. ‘Bear with me, okay? Please?’

  Bianca nodded. Swallowed. She could still feel the warmth from Merren’s hands. It seemed to be spreading, radiating. She squeezed her eyelids shut and scolded herself.

  You’ve just been shut up too long, Bianca, she told herself. It’s been too long since you’ve been in any sort of company. That’s all.

  That was all.

  She smiled. ‘It’s okay.’

  ‘Great!’ Merren said. ‘What did you want to say?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You said my name?’

  ‘Oh,’ Bianca didn’t remember. ‘Oh. It wasn’t important.’ She swallowed, resisted the urge to rub her arm again. ‘Ah, I think I was just going to ask about your name. It’s rather unusual.’

  She had no idea what she’d actually been going to ask. It could have been anything.

  ‘Yes, Merren said, turning, and Bianca listened to her opening the front door. ‘There’s a story behind that. There always is a story, with my mum.’

  The scent of grass and flowers wafted in, and Bianca gasped, stopping dead on the doorstep.

  ‘Are you okay?’ Merren sounded alarmed, and Bianca nodded, then shook her head helplessly.

  ‘I can smell the flowers,’ she said. ‘When you opened the door, the breeze brought the scent of them right inside.’ She huffed out a breath. ‘I can smell the grass too, but mostly the flowers.’

  ‘That’s kind of awesome,’ Merren said to her. ‘I didn’t even notice them.’

  Bianca slipped her arms around her waist and hugged herself. ‘It is,’ she said. ‘And it isn’t.’

  ‘Why’s that?’

  They were still standing in the doorway, and Bianca breathed deeply of the fresh air from outside. She could smell flowers, and grass, and something that made her think of sunshine. Her face creased into a smile.

  ‘I can smell sunshine,’ she said, her voice almost wondering, while she conjured up pictures inside her head. ‘Wow. Listen, Merren, let’s get this thing happening, okay?’

  ‘Sure. All right. But what’s going on?’

  ‘I can see what I want to paint,’ Bianca said. She lifted a hand and tapped a temple. ‘Right here. I can see it right here. So clearly.’

  ‘But that’s excellent!’

  She grimaced, but there was a rumble of excitement inside her too. If she could find a way to overcome the technical difficulties, then maybe – just maybe – she could see the new direction she could take her work in. Reaching out, she connected with Merren’s arm, clutched it.

  ‘Merren,’ she said. ‘I can see it. I can see what I want to do. It’s different from anything else I’ve done.’ She shook her head. ‘But also, not so much. It’s me. It’s my work.’

  A hand covered her own, then was holding it. ‘I love it,’ Merren said, squeezing her hand. ‘Let’s get it happening.’

  Bianca nodded. ‘Yes,’ she said, feeling suddenly more optimistic than she’d been for months. Since the diagnosis, in fact.

  They stepped outside, and Bianca breathed deeply, her h
ead almost exploding with images. But not so much that she didn’t notice that Merren kept hold of her hand.

  She didn’t withdraw hers either.

  ‘So, you’re not going to paint in the studio, then?’ Merren asked as they moved down the path together and across to the conservatory Bianca had used as a studio since she and Bess had moved into the house.

  The thought of Bess brought with it the usual hollow feeling of old and well-worn pain, and she embraced it for a moment, like she always did, then tucked it away.

  ‘No,’ she answered. ‘I need solid walls. The conservatory doesn’t have any. I have to be able to control the light better as well, I think.’

  ‘Okay. Have you picked a room to work in already?’

  There was a curious note to Merren’s voice and Bianca picked up on it. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Why?’

  A self-conscious laugh. ‘I was kind of hoping I’d get to see more of your house. It’s just so beautiful.’

  They were still holding hands, and Bianca felt a sudden flush of warmth. ‘I’ll show you through it,’ she said impulsively.

  The fingers wrapped around hers squeezed. ‘Hey, wow, are you sure? I don’t want to make you feel like I’m imposing, or anything.’

  Bianca made herself laugh. ‘Of course,’ she said. ‘But it’ll be more like you showing me around, anyway.’

  She heard the pain in her own voice and dropped Merren’s hand, folding her arms tightly across her breasts. ‘I’m sorry.’ She sucked in a breath. ‘I haven’t been in company for a while.’

  They were at the studio door, and Bianca unhooked her hand long enough to feel around in her pocket for the key, pressing forward to slot it into the lock.

  ‘It’s all right, you know,’ Merren said softly as the door swung open. ‘I think you have reason to be a bit on edge every now and then.’ The voice lightened. ‘Besides, I’m not really company, am I?

  Bianca stepped into her studio, Merren at her heels, still talking, although Bianca was no longer listening. She was feeling the space opening out around her, the light a hazy white sheen, her nose filling with the familiar scent of oil and turpentine.

  She wanted to turn around and go back to the house. Upstairs to her room. Lie on the bed curled into a small, tight ball.

  It was the smell. All those years of painting, the smell of it was in the air, the blinds, the floor, her very skin, most likely. Paints she quite possibly wouldn’t be able to use anymore.

  ‘Bianca?’

  She turned her useless eyes towards the young woman standing at her elbow. The young woman waiting for her to do something, say something. Be someone she wasn’t sure she could be anymore. Despite what she’d felt back there for a brief moment.

  ‘Bianca?’

  She shook her head. ‘I’m being foolish,’ she said. ‘I’m just dreaming.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  She spoke as much to herself. ‘What am I doing? Thinking there is a way I can still manage to do this? What an idiot.’

  There was a light touch on her arm again, but this time she barely felt it.

  She was cold, and heavy, and she’d been kidding herself. ‘I don’t even know if I can use the same paints anymore.’ She shook her head. ‘I’ve always used oils. That’s what I do. What am I supposed to use now?’

  ‘Hey.’ The touch on her arm was firmer. She felt it. ‘Bianca. You’re getting ahead of yourself. We’re just starting today, you know? You only have to do one thing at a time. Answer one question at a time. That’s it. Just one step at a time.’

  Bianca’s answer was bitter. ‘One step at a time. Headlong into the darkness.’

  Chapter Nine

  ‘You know what?’ Merren asked, and Bianca shrugged at the question. She stood in the middle of the room, breathing in all the smells and memories of her studio. She didn’t care what Merren had to say.

  ‘Let’s get out of here.’

  Bianca turned to her, a wavery shape out of the corner of her eye. ‘What did you say?’

  ‘I said let’s get out of here. We should get out of here. Go do something fun.’

  She didn’t know what to answer.

  ‘You know,’ Merren carried on. ‘The weather is gorgeous. When you smelt the flowers, you exploded with creative energy. That’s what you need right now – a good dose of that energy.’

  Bianca opened her mouth to ask the woman how she’d possibly have any idea of what she needed right now. And then closed it again.

  The truth was, maybe Merren was right. Bianca felt her way tentatively around the idea.

  ‘Where would we go?’ she asked.

  ‘I know just the place.’

  ‘Where?’

  There was a smile in the voice that answered. ‘How about we let that be a surprise?’

  ‘A surprise?’

  ‘Yup.’

  Bianca shook her head. ‘I don’t think so.’ She turned away. ‘I’m not really up for any more surprises. And anyway, I haven’t been out for months. How do I get around? I can’t anymore. Even when I go to the hospital, I have to call the Red Cross people to pick me up and take me.’ She dug her fingers into the tangle of her hair.

  ‘Yeah, but I’ll be with you. You’re not going somewhere on your own, and you’re not going to the hospital. We’ll go somewhere better than that.’

  Bianca laughed despite herself. ‘That’s not a difficult task – somewhere better than the hospital.’

  Merren joined in the laughter, and hers was rich and sort of…. Bianca closed her eyes. Sort of like the tumble of river water over stones. It streamed, giggled, gurgled. She snapped her eyes open and turned around. She felt like she could see it.

  ‘Okay,’ she said suddenly.

  ‘Okay?’

  A nod. ‘Yes. Take me somewhere.’

  ‘You really want to?’

  ‘Yes. Maybe. Yes. But let’s do it now before I change my mind.’

  Another piece of laughter, and Bianca imagined it in colour, swirling around the young woman in liquid streamers. Excitement quivered in her belly.

  Maybe this new person with the warm hands and the beautiful laughter could be muse as well as model.

  ‘My car is in the garage,’ she said, nervous again, shaky. ‘We can take that. I haven’t been out in it for months. I should probably sell it before it seizes up.’

  What was she doing?

  She took a deep breath. Trying to find her way back to her life. That’s what she was doing.

  Maybe this would help.

  ‘Is it a gas guzzler?’ Merren asked.

  ‘A what?’

  ‘Petrol-driven?’

  ‘Yes; it’s a Mercedes.’

  ‘We’ll take mine then,’ Merren said. ‘It’s electric.’

  ‘You drive an electric car?’ Bianca asked, mind all a-whirl. ‘And that’s important?’

  ‘I do, and you bet it is.’ Merren’s figure melted towards the door. ‘Better for the environment, don’t you know.’

  Huh. Bianca trailed after the young woman. ‘That’s important to you?’

  ‘Yes,’ she answered simply. ‘And besides, it’s right here, all ready to go.’

  ‘I’ll have to lock up the house.’ Bianca looked down at herself out of habit. Spread her hands out against the fabric of her painting smock. ‘And get changed,’ she added.

  ‘You look charming right as you are.’

  Bianca barked a laugh. ‘Maybe so, and thank you for saying it, but I think I’ll get changed all the same.’ She turned and locked the studio door behind them, then padded slowly toward the house, astonished at herself. She was going to get into a car and go somewhere. She didn’t even know where she was going to go.

  Her head spun.

  The house welcomed her back inside with an embrace of dim, dusty air, and she wrinkled her nose. The housework had perhaps taken a back seat lately. But still, it did at least feel welcoming, rather than simply dark and stifling. No doubt it would feel that way again, and so
oner rather than later, but right now, it was familiar and comforting. She found the stairs, hand steady on the bannister.

  ‘I’ll be right back,’ she said over her shoulder.

  ‘I’ll be right here,’ came the reply.

  She walked the rest of the way to her room, astonished to find herself smiling, her hand trailing along the wall, and she flicked the light switch on before crossing the floorboards to the old wardrobe and tugging the doors open to run her hands across the hanging array of fabrics.

  The last few months, she’d been slouching around the house in thick jerseys and leggings. Not worrying – not even bothering to think – about how she looked. Now she sifted a hand through her clothes and frowned into the darkness of the wardrobe, picturing the clothes in her mind.

  She picked a simple pair of trousers, holding them up to one side, trying to discern if they were her blue pair, or black. Not that it mattered, she decided, putting them on the bed and returning to the rack of clothes.

  The shirt had long sleeves, but it was silky, not too hot, not too cold, the fabric luxurious, creamy. It would go with the pants whether they were blue or black.

  She used her hands to sift through the underwear in her drawers too, fingertips sorting through the various textures, trying to remember what they all looked like. It was so long since she’d put on anything nice.

  For some reason though, she wanted to look nice right now. And tugged out matching bra and panties, hoping she wasn’t taking too long.

  At least being half-blind didn’t stop you from being able to dress yourself, she decided.

  Down the stairs again, Bianca called out to Merren. ‘Where are you?’

  There was movement in her peripheral vision, and Merren wavered in the open door-frame. Behind her was the earthy and somehow green scent of daisies, and behind that the purple-pink smell of lavender.

  ‘I’m right here,’ Merren said.

  ‘How do I look?’ Bianca patted her hair self-consciously. She’d tried dragging a comb through its tangles. ‘I need a haircut.’

  There was no answer for a moment, and Bianca shrank inside. Did she look that bad?