Chapter 10 Stephanie #2
‘Doesn’t matter. It’s not about what you end up with, it’s about doing it. And it doesn’t have to be drawing. It can be finger painting or sculpture or collage.’
Micah looked vaguely interested. ‘So I do art and it makes me feel better?’
‘I’m not sure it’s that simple. But the idea is you focus on your worries while you’re working, and it should help. Sometimes it’s good to get things out of your head and on to paper.’
He fixed me with a hard stare. ‘Sounds like you should take your own advice.’
He had a point.
*
Later that night, as I lay in bed, I rolled over and took my sketchbook and pencils from the floor where I’d left them.
I sat up against the pillows and thought about Micah saying to start small.
And I began to draw a tree – one of the proud poplars that I’d seen in the photographs and which were obviously where Tall Trees got its name.
I had a vague idea that the mural should be framed by the trees.
And perhaps I didn’t yet have a plan for what would be in the middle, but I could work on that later.
For now, I was starting small. I let my pencil sweep across the page and tried to lose myself in the rhythm of the shading.
It wasn’t anything like the paintings I used to do, and that was good. It made it easier.
When I woke up the next day, the pad was next to me on the bed and the pencil was on the floor.
Wiping the sleep from my eyes, I picked up my drawing and looked at it with some trepidation.
But it was okay, I thought. Not amazing.
But it was okay. I smiled to myself. Maybe I would draw another tree later. In fact …
Surprising myself, I turned to a clean page and began to sketch one of the peonies that were in the garden at Tall Trees.
For more than an hour, I drew and coloured the petals, trying to capture the exact shade of pink that warmed the bushes and the heaviness of the blooms. When I’d got it right, I looked at it with satisfaction.
Not perfect, perhaps, but not disastrous.
And perhaps I did feel a little bit better.
More clear-headed. I put it into a folder and put the folder into my backpack, and then I got ready for work.
*
It was busy at Tall Trees. There was a lot going on today – the bingo man was coming in that afternoon, and the mobile library, which normally came on a Tuesday, had arrived today instead for reasons that I didn’t properly understand but which had thrown the residents into great fluster.
‘I’ll go and choose you something, if you trust me,’ I told one of my favourite ladies, Joyce, as she hunted for her shoes because it was raining again and she didn’t want to get her slippers wet when she walked across the car park to the library.
‘I can’t remember the last time I wore them,’ she muttered, peering under her bed. ‘Maybe I left them in Mr Yin’s room?’
I smiled at the thought of Joyce being so comfortable in Mr Yin’s space that she took her shoes off. ‘Tell me what you want and I’ll take back the books you’ve read and choose you some more.’
Joyce straightened up with a groan. ‘My returns are on the coffee table,’ she said. ‘Anything along those lines really.’
I picked up the books she’d read. One Stephen King, one Shirley Jackson and two detective novels. I’d been expecting Catherine Cookson or Jane Austen.
‘Vampires, ghosts and murderers?’ I said.
‘All three preferably,’ Joyce said, giving me a wink.
I took the books, and her library card and went down the corridor, past Mr Yin’s room.
I stuck my head round the door but he wasn’t there – perhaps he was getting ready for bingo, because I knew he was a fan.
I took out the picture of the peony that I’d drawn and left it propped up beside his television. I hoped he’d like it.
Then I went out into the miserable afternoon.
Inside the library truck it was quiet and warm with the rain pattering on the roof.
One of the librarians, a nice woman called Sindhu, was showing a book to Kenny.
I put Joyce’s books on the pile of returns and went to browse the shelves marked “horror”.
Sindhu turned her attention to the returns as Kenny took his book and left.
I watched him go through the rain-lashed windows of the truck.
He sheltered in the entranceway of Tall Trees as Helen – the odd new resident – came the other way.
Intrigued, I watched as Kenny showed her the book he’d borrowed and she looked – to my astonishment – interested and friendly.
She bent her head over the book as Kenny turned the pages and I wondered what it was that had captured her attention.
As though sensing my eyes on her, Helen looked up at the library van and I stepped back from the window, not wanting her to see me watching.
‘Kenny looks pleased with his book,’ I said to Sindhu.
She smiled. ‘It’s about football during the Second World War.’ She gestured proudly to one of the shelves. ‘We’ve been bumping up our local history section because they go like hot cakes when we visit the care homes.’
I followed her gaze and to my delight noticed that the shelves were full of books all about this part of South London during the Blitz, and beyond. Perfect inspiration for my mural project.
Putting down the Dean Koontz I’d chosen for Joyce, I went to go over to the history section, just as Helen climbed up into the van. She flicked her gaze over me, then made straight for the wartime books.
Without even properly reading the titles of the books on offer, she began taking them off the shelf and piling them into her arms.
‘Oh,’ I said, too startled to be polite. ‘Are you taking them all?’
Helen turned her steely gaze on me and then smiled at Sindhu. ‘I believe I can borrow ten books on my ticket?’
‘That’s right,’ Sindhu said. ‘And you can keep them for six weeks. It’s an extended loan period as we’re not here every week.’
‘Thank you so much,’ Helen said. She picked up a book called Bombs and Bandages – London’s Hospitals in Wartime and tucked it under her elbow. I wanted to reach out and grab it from her arms.
‘Does that mention Tall Trees?’ I asked. ‘It was a hospital during the war.’
‘Was it?’ said Helen.
I nodded. ‘I’d like to know more about it.’
‘Well then, I’ll be sure to let you have this book when my loan period is up,’ she said. ‘In … six weeks was it you said?’
‘Six weeks,’ Sindhu said. ‘And if that’s not long enough, you can renew.’
Helen added the final book about the war to her pile. ‘I may have to,’ she said. I thought her tone was triumphant, but I couldn’t understand why. ‘I have a lot here to get through.’
I looked at the now empty shelf where all that remained were two books about the Sixties, which did look interesting but weren’t going to help me, and something about the Industrial Revolution. I forced myself to smile at Helen over the top of her pile of books.
‘You must be interested in local history, huh?’
‘I am indeed.’
‘But you’re not from here?’
She looked guarded suddenly. ‘No, I’m from Ireland. I have some …’ she paused ‘… family links with this area.’
She turned away from me and gave the pile of history books to Sindhu to check out. I waited for her to go and then borrowed Joyce’s books.
‘She’s a big fan of history,’ Sindhu said, tilting her head in the direction Helen had walked, back to the main building.
I raised my eyebrows. ‘Apparently so.’
With Joyce’s books in my arms, I hurried back to the main building and shook off the rain.
I could see the doorway to Finn’s little cupboard as I walked through reception, but I couldn’t see him.
I felt ratty and cross that Helen had taken all the books from under my nose.
But I was nothing if not contrary. So what if Helen was making things hard for me?
I was going to do my own bloody research.
Maybe I’d even track down Elsie Watson myself.
Full of determination, I ducked behind the reception desk and went inside Finn’s tiny room.
He wasn’t there, but there was a pad on his desk.
So I picked up a pen and wrote: ‘I’m going to base my mural on Elsie’s book.
Any help you can give me gratefully received.
’ And then, after a moment’s thought, I added my phone number. I hoped he’d call.