Chapter Eight
With Mary kindly offering to take over from Flo to ensure cover at the shop, Ava decided to head straight home and take Myrtle out for a walk.
Discovering the dog had been sick and didn’t seem her usual tail-wagging self, made her reconsider.
Myrtle was rarely ill, no matter what she ate or rolled in on their walks.
Ava looked into her large, doleful eyes, and promptly decided that an afternoon in, snuggled up in front of an open fire, might do them both good.
Once she was satisfied that Myrtle was comfortable, Ava made herself a coffee and decided to get her sketchbook and materials out.
Working on the display at the charity shop had reminded her how long it had been since she had done anything creative.
It was no wonder she had been feeling so tense; she had long known drawing was good for her mind, and spirit.
The dozy dog, in her cosy surroundings, provided the perfect muse.
Blocking in Myrtle’s basic shape and features was made easy by the fact she didn’t stir.
Using a light touch, Ava began to sketch in a few details.
It was satisfying, calming even. With Myrtle sound asleep Ava didn’t have to focus on getting her eyes straight; practice over the years meant she’d improved at this, but still it was always the part she found most difficult when putting pencil to paper.
Next, she started drawing in the details, and the portrait began to take shape.
She confidently added faint lines to gesture at Myrtle’s folds of skin and ruffles of fur.
Ava knew the trick was not to overthink but to let the ideas and the pencil flow as one.
Working from dark to light, Ava added in shading to demarcate the shadows, and the picture began to have greater depth.
Even asleep, Myrtle’s gentle, loving personality was evident, and Ava could feel how blessed she was to have her in her life.
Picking up her coffee and taking a swig, Ava winced at the fact it was now cold.
She decided to make herself another before beginning to remove her guidelines and starting to add definition and final touches.
She enjoyed working methodically. Ava knew one of the things she found hard about working in the charity shop was the unpredictability of what would come in.
She had no control over the quantity, quality, or size of donations they received, sometimes making it a matter of doing what she could to organise the chaos.
A knock at the door interrupted her thoughts. Myrtle lifted her head and barked, but didn’t move from her cosy spot by the fire. Few people called at Ava’s house. Generally, Mary would be her first thought, but she usually let herself in the back door and, besides, Ava knew she was at the shop.
Ava pushed her fingers through her hair and then noticed the pencil smudges on her hands and wiped them on her jeans.
She went to check she hadn’t put any black marks on her face, but the knock came again.
Ava tutted and muttered about the lack of patience of some people as she went straight to the door.
Opening it, she did a double take as she took in the sight of the unexpected visitor.
‘Gino! What are you doing here?’ Ava tucked a stray curl behind her ear, aware that she must look a mess, having rubbed her hand through her hair as she contemplated her drawing.
Gino was leaning against the wooden porch, his legs crossed at the ankles, the sun causing a glint in his dark eyes. ‘Mary told me to come, so here I am.’
Ava stared at him, discombobulated. ‘Why? I mean . . .’
‘She said you needed a hand.’ Gino stood up straight as if readying himself to enter the cottage.
‘A hand? No. Perhaps she meant at the shop. I can’t think—’
‘In the bedroom.’
Gino stated the words matter-of-factly, and yet it took Ava a beat to absorb what he said.
‘What?’ Heat rose to her cheeks.
‘Pauline wanted to swap shifts, so I’ve got a few hours to spare. I went to the shop to talk through our idea a bit more, but Mary said I should come here to help you as you were having difficulty in the bedroom.’ He spoke slowly, making his accent more pronounced.
‘Wh—?’ Ava could scarcely believe what she was hearing. ‘I don’t . . . I mean, it’s been a while, but—’
‘With your mum’s things,’ Gino explained, attempting to curtail the grin that mischievously tugged at his lips. ‘Mary said you needed a hand to shift a few boxes and sort a few of your mum’s things.’
Ava stood, heat spreading across her neck at the thought of what she had almost said, attempting to make sense of Gino’s words.
‘She said she would help you herself, but she doesn’t do sentimental, or family. So, here I am.’ Gino shrugged as if his words explained everything.
Ava stared at him.
‘I don’t do sentimental either really, but family . . . family I get. Being part Italian, how could I not? And’ — he held up a bottle Ava hadn’t realised he was holding — ‘I’ve brought wine! Also, Mary’s suggestion.’
Ava looked at the bottle. She couldn’t think of anything worse than going through her mum’s things with Gino.
What was Mary thinking? Wasn’t it the type of thing people had to do in their own good time?
Ava thought about all the time that had passed since her mum’s death and the room upstairs, still crammed with her possessions.
She knew she was a hypocrite; she regularly encouraged people to have a sort out and donate to the charity shop.
Yet she’d been unable to let go of her mum’s things, leaving them idle when she knew her mum would rather they went to a good cause.
‘OK.’ Still thinking it was a crazy idea, Ava found herself standing back and inviting Gino in.
Mary had obviously sent Gino to give her a kick in the right direction, which direction Mary exactly intended that to be, Ava wasn’t sure.
But she knew she’d be foolish to turn the offer of help down.
As Gino passed her the wine and stepped inside, Ava shook her head.
‘But you don’t know what you’ve let yourself in for. ’