Chapter 14
T he village shop queue always snaked out the door, which usually didn’t bother Millie. In all honesty, it wasn’t often she came here as she preferred the larger variety available from the supermarket in the larger town nearby. Today though, she had wanted to keep a low profile, despite a few days passing since “the incident.” However, those plans had been scuppered when she’d spilt a whole palette of paint after a misjudged step at the backdoor. She desperately needed some supplies to get the splattered mixture out of the carpet. Millie wasn’t holding out much hope, especially as with each passing minute, she envisaged it spreading itself deeper into each individual cream thread. Maybe it would have been quicker to race to the bigger supermarket after all.
She watched the lovely Ivy, who lived a few doors down, come out clutching a wooden basket and dressed in her finest, like someone from the 1940s after exchanging their ration book for their weekly allowance of bread, milk and eggs. She gave Millie a curt smile and she returned it, shuffling forwards another few steps. One more customer and it was her turn. Come on.
“This bloody building business,” she heard Ivy shriek, just over the square. Millie couldn’t help but turn and see what this declaration was all about. She saw Ivy and a couple of others congregate around the village hall. She had never been inside but had often admired the outside of the building; a spectacular structure likely steeped in history, built to form part of the clock tower which stood proudly above the village square.
“There a date now, ees’ there, maid?” Mr Slee hollered from inside the shop.
“Damn well is!” Ivy shouted back. “There’s a final hearing in the New Year about whether they’re knockin’ the bleddy lot down! We need to make sure we’re all there. Turn up in our droves!”
“Our droves of…ooh, couple a hundred?” Ethel replied sarcastically, her enormous dog appearing with her.
“Well, it’s better than nowt’! We gotta do somethin’!” she retorted. “Else there’ll be brand new flats ‘ere blockin’ up our square, our village heirloom will be crumbled in bits and we’ll be overrun with them second home owners from bleddy LONDON!” she shrieked. Millie cringed awkwardly – is that what they thought of her?
“They don’t mean you Millie love, take no notice,” Mr Slee said, making her jump. She realised she was next and stepped up and into the tiny shop, where the kindly shopkeeper served from behind a counter. It was that tiny.
“I hope not,” she replied, pulling a face. “I mean, I know I’m from London but the cottage was offered to me. It’s not like I just pop down on weekends and leave my penthouse up in the capital.”
“We all know that, love. We love Alan and his family. And of course Alfie, e’s a good lad. Stubborn but his ‘eart’s made of gold.” She considered his comment – whilst he seemed very much a closed book she couldn’t really blame him for that, knowing what she knew about him. And especially not moving forwards, after the spectacle she’d put on the other night…
“So, what can I get yer today m’lover? Drop of alcohol?” Mr Slee asked with a cheeky wink and Millie snapped back to the present, her cheeks pinkening.
“I need cleaning supplies please,” she asked, deciding to avoid the jibe altogether (gosh, everyone really did know everyone’s business around here), instead explaining the unfortunate incident from around half an hour before. It was probably dried in by now, creating an abstract mural on the floor. Mr Slee furrowed his brow and moved to the end of the shelves where all the cleaning products were kept.
“Hmm, I dunno if I’ve got anything of that strength in ‘ere,” he replied sorrowfully. “You’d have been better off going over the way to the big one.” Back when she’d first arrived, she would have struggled to decipher that phrase, but she could now translate that as “you should have gone further afield to the bigger supermarket.” Hindsight is a wonderful thing, she thought.
“I tell you who can help yer though!” he declared, his eyes lighting up and arms opening, as if gesturing to something behind her. She turned and saw Alfie coming up the steps behind her. He had on a charcoal grey winter coat and dark jeans, complimenting his dark hair and eyes. And matching the dark expression on his face.
“What am I helping who with and how?” Alfie asked, a confused tone to his voice.
“This beautiful young maid needs a hand getting some paint out ‘er carpet,” he explained. “And as our local artist, I think you’d have just the ticket!?” She swallowed, looking downwards. If the silence hung any longer, she’d just curl into a ball and wait for it to all go away. But suddenly Alfie, spoke.
“You’d better come with me then.”
She faltered awkwardly in the doorway of his kitchen, not knowing whether to move or speak. Thankfully, his house was just across the square from the shop, so the walk there hadn’t been long. Yet, they’d still walked in an uncomfortable silence and Millie couldn’t help feeling eyes on them both as they made the trip. She was surprised he’d even let her in his house at all. The sight of his kitchen sparked some memories from the previous weekend, though still blurry and alcohol-tinged, particularly the arrangement on the fridge. The old photograph was still there – had it been her imagination or had the photograph been moved, as though he had taken it off and put it back on? Strange how she could remember that, yet couldn’t remember practically assaulting his girlfriend...
He rummaged underneath the kitchen sink, bottles and spray cans taken out and lined up on the worktop. She stood and swayed from foot to foot, not sure where to look or what to say. After what felt like an impossibly long time, he selected three products and nodded to her, which she interpreted as a “let’s go.” He couldn’t have looked any less interested if he tried.
* * *
“Thanks for doing this,” Millie said quietly, watching Alfie apply product after product and expertly dabbing and wiping at the intimidating stain. Each time he scrubbed back and forth, she couldn’t help but notice the muscles in his arm move along with it, visible even through his thin jumper. Despite the clear thawing in his frosty attitude towards her at his Halloween party, he certainly had his guard up again, but she couldn’t blame him. Truth be told, she had half expected him to fling the cleaning products at her and push her out his home, yet here he was, grafting at it himself. He didn’t pause his efforts, nor did he acknowledge her comment. She perched awkwardly on the sofa, wishing the ground would open and swallow her. Or better still, that she hadn’t split an inordinate amount of paint all over the carpet in the first place.
“You look like you’ve done this before,” she tried again weakly. She saw his hand slow down and if she wasn’t mistaken, a small exhale left his lips.
“Not really. Most of my paint tends to end up on my canvas,” he responded, and she would’ve been offended if it wasn’t for the light, teasing tone to his voice.
“What exactly were you creating?” he asked. He imagined she’d tried repainting the walls and made a total hash, although there was no evidence of any amateur home decorating going on. She shifted. She hadn’t expected him to ask anything which remotely indicated he was interested.
“Just... experimenting. I’ve been working on a few different things lately but just had a mishap with my palette.” He paused and his eyes locked with hers, a look of faint curiosity on his face.
“Palette? You paint?” Millie realised that despite having brief discussions about his artwork, they had never broached the subject of her own passion. She shrugged.
“I try. I work on things for a while that don’t always come to fruition. My ex called it my “faffing period.” Alfie frowned lightly. That was a bizarre expression, he thought. It was weird hearing her mention an ex as well. Had she mentioned him before? He couldn’t recall. He carried on dabbing, realising he didn’t really know anything about her, apart from the fact she’d also lost her mum and then rocked up here thanks to her dad offering her the cottage. He wondered what her backstory was until, after a few minutes, realised the stain was lifting quite satisfyingly and his thoughts were cast aside.
“If you leave this last product in to soak and then give it one final dabbing in a few hours, you should be safe,” he explained and he watched the worry drain from her face. He stood up, wiping his hands on his jeans. He had large hands, she realised. Alfie looked around.
“Do you have any artwork here?” he asked, a hint of inquisitiveness in his voice. Surprise registered on Millie’s face.
“Are you suggesting you want to see some?” she asked, an edge of teasing to her voice. She may have been mistaken but she could have sworn she caught a lopsided grin playing on his lips.
“Maybe.” She gave a small smile and against all the voices in her head telling her not to share it, she opened the cupboard under the stairs where she’d stowed away the easel and carefully manoeuvred it out.
“I used to hide in there as a kid, when we used to stay down here,” he said, indicating the same cupboard she was battling the easel out of. She let out a small laugh at the image of Alfie curled up in the tiny space.
“A real Harry Potter in the making,” she teased, gently placing it down, rotating it so Alfie could see.
She dared not look at his face initially, fearing a smirk or even a laugh but after a few moments of silence, couldn’t resist. His face was registering shock, eyebrows raised and eyes slightly wide. Was that good or bad, she wondered?
“Say something, Alfie, please,” she stammered out with a nervous laugh. He broke into a smile himself and her heart flipped – it wasn’t an expression she was used to seeing on his face. He ran his hand round the back of his neck and then through his hair.
“It’s…good. Amazing, even. When did you learn to paint like this?” he asked. She could feel heat rushing to her cheeks and knew she was turning pink, so turned her face slightly, as though studying the canvas.
“Uh, well, never really! It’s something I just started doing as a hobby one day. I’d always enjoyed being creative so decided to give it a go. I bought a cheap canvas and some even cheaper supplies and just kept trying. Oh, and I watched a lot of Bob Ross.” He raised an eyebrow.
“Funny you say that, but I can see a lot of his “wet-on-wet” technique in here,” he replied. “Oil paints, right?” Millie nodded.
“It’s all I’ve ever really used. I’ve recently purchased some gouache though. I want to try and broaden my skillset a bit.” He leaned in even closer to examine and she felt a rush a pride flow through her – how amazing was this? She was actually having a conversation with someone about her artwork, and someone who clearly was incredibly talented with a paintbrush. She felt some of the insecurities she had about her own ability- mostly drummed into her by Sam’s petty comments – draining away.
She noticed a frown on his face all of a sudden.
“What is it? Is there something wrong?” she asked hastily, rushing to his side and swivelling her eyes over the canvas.
“No, no, not at all. Nothing wrong. Like I said, it’s amazing. I’m just intrigued how someone as clumsy as you could create any art form,” he responded, drily with a side-eye.
She looked up into his eyes and exhaled loudly. “I am not clumsy?! What makes you say I’m clumsy? Just because I’ve spilt one bit of paint?” She indicated to the now drying patch on the carpet.
“I’m referring more to your display in the pub back on Halloween. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone trip backwards before...” he replied. There was no denying it, his eyes were twinkling as he said it. She suddenly had the feeling she was off the hook. She paused and started to stammer over her words, although somewhat pleased the elephant in the room had been realised.
“I’m really sorry about that, Alfie. I know it must have been so embarrassing for you. And even more so for Dana! I don’t really know how it happened...” she stumbled. He let out a small chuckle, stopping her in her tracks, and shrugged.
“Forget about it. The sooner you forget it yourself, the sooner everyone else will.”
“But I need to apologise to Dana. No matter how outrageous her outfit was, she didn’t deserve what I did.”
“She’s out of the village for a few weeks now. It’ll have blown over by the time you come back. If you really want to, I’ll pass on your apology.” He paused, holding her gaze a moment longer before turning to pack his products away in a bag. She watched him intently, wondering exactly what his relationship with Dana was all about. Was it purely for convenience? Was it because there were very few other young women in this village? Maybe they genuinely were in love. Hmm. Her instincts told her that wasn’t the case.
Why did she even care? It was no business of hers who Alfie Drew associated himself with, which is why she was even more surprised when she found the following words leaving her mouth before she could stop them:
“Do you want to stay for a coffee?” He hesitated and she noticed a flicker of something across his face. Surprise?
“Thanks for the offer but I can’t,” he replied, and she felt her heart sink. Damn. She’d taken it too far. How awkward... “I need to get back, I have a commission to finish,” he continued, making a beeline for the door. Pulling it open, Millie felt the November chill swirl into the cottage and watched Alfie pull his coat on. “I am interested in this artwork of yours though,” he continued, doing up the buttons one by one. “I’d love to see more of it sometime. There are very few people around here I can “talk shop” with.” He finished and his eyes met hers. Her stomach gave a flip. “How about you come over one evening and we can share pieces?” She was so shocked by his proposition, she just nodded, and he gave a small smile.
“What about Dana?” she asked. He paused and let out a small shrug.
“She doesn’t like art. She won’t want to be involved,” he answered. That’s not quite what Millie had meant but she just nodded, and a smile tugged at her lips.
“How about Friday evening. Seven, at mine?” he said, moving down the two tiny, stone steps at the front of her house.
“Ok,” she replied, still feeling slightly confused. He gave a brazen smile.
“You can even bring some wine if you like.” She blushed intensely and he smirked, raised a hand and started to walk down the lane towards the main village and his apartment.
She turned and closed the door, staring around the room. What had just happened? Had she just accepted a date with Alfie Drew? The man who had seemingly detested her when she’d moved here.
* * *
Her head pounded and she was pretty sure there would be at least three permanent frown lines etched into her head from now on. It just wasn’t coming together this time. Colours didn’t make sense anymore – was this even a shade of blue?! It looked green?! Maybe it was. Her eyes were tired and her back aching. But this was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to provide a piece of art for a local showcase. So many incredible people were going to be there, and it could be her chance to get her work taken seriously. All her previous chances had failed but you never knew when luck could change... Must. Keep. Going. It would transform into something. It would .
Arms snaking round her waist caused her to jump and resulted in a smear of blue (or was it green) paint to spread across the canvas, right over an already painted section of creams and greys.
“Fuck’s sake, Sam!” Millie yelled in frustration, quickly diving for her wet cloth and carefully dabbing at the messy gloop.
“God, sorry. I was only trying to show you some affection!” he declared, arms retreating. She felt her heart sink at the annoyance in his voice and exhaled loudly.
“I know, it’s just I’ve been working away at this for hours and I’d really like to finish it.”
“I know,” he replied huffily. “I’ve barely seen you this weekend.” She glanced across to where he was stood, hands stuffed in pockets, lip pouting like a four-year-old. She resisted the urge to roll her eyes.
“You know how much this means to me, Sam and I’ve been working flat out this week in the office. This weekend has been my only chance to get this done. The exhibition is only two days away.” The fresh paint that had been splodged in error was mostly removed and the painting was saved.
“There. No harm done,” Sam said lightly, as she put down the cloth and paintbrush and wiped across her face with the back of her arm. He came towards her again, his arms grabbing her waist again and pulling her close into him. He started to run kisses lightly down her neck, his hands tightening and untightening in rhythm. She sighed internally. It wasn’t that it wasn’t nice, but she just wasn’t in that place right now. Regardless of the fatigue from her ten hour straight painting session and the aches and pains that had been inflicted mentally and physically, Millie was still feeling very fragile from the devastating news she had received weeks earlier. Learning she couldn’t conceive had drained all her needs, desires and wants for physical connection. She wasn’t sure if this was going to be a temporary sensation or something more serious. She didn’t want to think about it.
What she did know, is that Sam clearly didn’t share her feelings. If anything, his desires had increased two-fold. He could barely keep his hands off her. She hadn’t really communicated her feelings with him, and she had no idea herself, let alone how she would explain it to someone else. Instead, she’d just made continuous excuses as to why she couldn’t. She could tell his patience was wearing thin.
After a third attempt to subtly move away, Sam let go a little too roughly.
“What is the problem? I’m trying to show some affection to my fiancé and yet all I’m getting is constant rejection?” She paused, a little shocked at his outburst. He’d always had a short fuse, but she put it down to work stress and passion rather than a genuine intolerance of her.
“I’m sorry Sam. I’m just not in the right headspace,” she stammered, tucking strands of escapee hair behind her ears nervously.
“But you never are,” he responded, anger in his voice. “I know you’re dealing with some stuff right now, but we can’t let it affect our relationship.” Millie tried to process his words, feeling a simmering mixture of annoyance, anger and hurt, yet struggling to process them. “Some stuff” completely demeaned what she was going through. He stared directly into her eyes whilst she tried to formulate a response. This conversation shouldn’t be happening whilst she was covered in paint and fighting off eye strain. He remained quiet but looking at her intensely, as though anticipating a response.
“You’ve still got energy for all this though, haven’t you,” he said venomously, indicating the almost-finished canvas. She glanced at the artwork, feeling a sense of pride overcome her despite the intense situation she was in.
“It’s different Sam. This helps me. It gives me time to process...” He cut her off abruptly.
“I’m your FIANCE Millie. Do I not matter to you at all? You’ve completed neglected me the last few weeks and for what? This will destroy us if you let it, Mils!” She felt anger bubbling up inside her. She couldn’t believe how ruthless he was being, how uncaring. He’d never have won awards for his compassion, but this was next level. Muscles tightened in her face, and she felt her teeth begin to grind.
“You don’t get it Sam. I’ve been told I’m not able to have children. NOT ABLE. Does that register in any way with you? That you do not understand how I’m feeling? That I may need time before I’m able to just jump into bed with you to do the act that – oh yes – for so many people, creates children?! I need time and you just don’t understand. You’re too concerned with your own needs and desires that you don’t consider my feelings! You can be such a selfish bastard!” The word lava that erupted from her mouth ceased and she found herself out of breath. His face remained red and focused on her face for what felt like hours but could only have been about two seconds. Without saying a word, he turned and stormed out the room. She heard his heavy footsteps on the wooden stairs, the clatter of keys being retrieved from the pot and finally the slam of the front door. Intense silence ensued.
Millie felt a sickening feeling course through her, and hot, angry tears simmered in her eyes. She glanced across at the canvas she had spent the last two days poring over intently. Each brushstroke became so clear, evidence of hours of concentration and hope. Hope for what, she asked herself. It had allowed her to smother her feelings of desperation and focus on something else but, she realised, as soon as the painting was finished and there was nothing else to concentrate on, these would come flooding back in a river of pain and loneliness.
In one swift movement, she picked up the open tin of white paint she had been using to mix and without hesitation, launched it. The thick liquid smacked spectacularly against the canvas, splattering on the floor and up the wall behind. Some seeped down the painting, leaving spatters of white, other places were so thick they covered the painting, causing irrevocable damage. She stood back, realising she was exhaling heavily and stared at her now destroyed painting. Hot tears leaked from her eyes and down her cheeks and she found herself sobbing out loud, dropping the paint tin to the floor and sitting down in its contents. Nothing mattered. Nothing mattered anymore and never would again.