Page 58 of Matilda’s Summer of New Beginnings

Crikey. I really did not know what to do with babies or toddlers.

‘You look terrified,’ said Cerys with a grin. She stood up and gave me a hug. ‘It’s great to see you. Ignore the babies. How’s things with you?’

‘Yes, sit down and I’ll make a cuppa,’ said Edie. ‘And then, you can show me what you’ve got in there.’ She winked and I held the package a little closer to my chest.

‘Ooh has she brought the goods?’ asked Cerys, her eyes alighting on the package. ‘I’m looking forward to seeing them!’

‘Um. I’m fine thanks,’ I replied, and sat down awkwardly on the edge of the sofa. ‘I mean, you don’t have to look at these you know. They really aren’t meant for anything more than me just . . .’ I trailed off.

‘Rubbish!’ said Edie. She swiped a load of magazines and toys off the coffee table in front and nodded. ‘Put them on there,’ she instructed, ‘and I’ll be back.’

Slowly I opened my package. It was, in fact, a portfolio of pictures. I laid them out, one by one. There was the lock-keeper’s house. There was the cottage with the dovecote on the roof. Here was Padcock Court, two hounds at the gates wagging their tails . . . I laid everything out — all my quirky line and wash pictures relating to the Padcock Pathway.

‘Oh my God, I love them!’ squawked Cerys. ‘Look! Look at the chocolate shop. Isn’t it delightful?’

Edie hurried back into the room, the cups clanking dangerously together on her tray.

‘SnAckkkkk,’ growled Bean, and wandered over to the tray. ‘Oooooh.’ He smacked his lips together and rubbed his tummy as Edie handed him a plate with a rusk and some mushed up banana on it. He took it back to the toy box, came back for a little cup of juice, and sat chomping his way through it all as Elin stared at him for a bit, just for a change.

‘Let me see those pictures — oh yes!’ Edie peered at the artwork and clapped her hands. ‘Perfect.’ She looked up at me and smiled. ‘Not Julio. Totally not Julio. But perfectly Padcock. Trust me.’

‘You know,’ said Cerys, picking up the picture of the chocolate shop. ‘I wouldn’t mind taking some of these to sell at the tearoom. Can you get prints off them? Postcards? I mean — I’d even consider taking some originals if you could bear to part with them. Even just to decorate the walls with if you didn’t want to actually sell them.’

I stared at her. ‘Wow. Well — yes, that all sounds great. I kind of did them based on the tourist trail, but if you think they are okay for the shop?’

‘They are more than okay for the shop,’ replied Cerys firmly. ‘Edie, tell me again exactly why you asked Matilda to bring these down this weekend?’

‘Wasn’t it just to see some examples of my work?’ I asked confused. I looked from one woman to the other and back again. Bean burped. ‘’Scuse,’ he muttered from the corner.

‘Oh of course I wanted to see them,’ said Edie, looking at me, her eyes sparkling with something a lot like mischief. ‘But it just happens I’m in charge of the Art Tent this year — soooooo . . .’ She let the sentence hang. I was still uncomprehending and blinked at her. ‘Matilda!’ Edie laughed. ‘Okay — we have an art group: the Padcock Painters.’

‘We have practically everything here,’ said Cerys, reaching over for her drink. ‘Sub-cultures you wouldn’t even know existed. We don’t have a book group though. That’s a thought.’ She tapped her fingers on her chin. ‘Anyway, the art group started after Edie and Ninian—’

‘—and my grandad,’ added Edie.

‘—and her grandad did that television show a few years ago. It sort of got them all thinking about it. And then Veronica mooted the idea — I think her moment of fame on the show went to her head — but they persevered and suddenly, voila, we had an art group. So every year, they have an exhibition in the Art Tent, and this year . . .’

Cerys pointed at Edie, and Edie took up the story. ‘. . . This year, I volunteered to be in charge of the tent. I told them we’d have a special exhibition as well, which was going to be a surprise. And your paintings, my dear Matilda, are the special exhibition. They will love them. And don’t be surprised if the WI want to use them on the leaflet. Flora has connections with her work, and she can get a whole load of new booklets printed in no time. Sam’s already started rewriting it to future-proof it, and I’ll take any digital images you have of your paintings and slot them in. So yes.’ She spread her hands out in front of her. ‘Voila.’

I was still staring at her, unable to respond, when Bean waddled over and smeared his snack on her open palms. ‘Naaaaarrrrrna,’ he commented. ‘Nom nom nom.’

‘We’re taking your silence as consent,’ said Cerys winking.

‘We are,’ added Edie, her hands still stuck out stickily in front of her.

‘Can I get you a baby wipe?’ asked Cerys solicitously.

‘You can,’ replied Edie.

And that seemed to be the end of the conversation. I would apparently have no opportunity to refuse the offer. And indeed, the less stunned part of me thought, why on earth would I want to refuse?

‘Thank you,’ a strange, alien, squeaky voice uttered. ‘Thank you so much.’ It took a moment to realize that the unnatural voice was indeed my own.

* * *

After spending a little longer at Edie’s, I wandered back to Bookend Cottage. I’d left the portfolio with Edie, and my hands felt oddly empty. I wasn’t sure what to do. Rosie and Damien were obviously over in the flat, but I didn’t feel like bothering them. We’d already arranged to meet up at the Spatchcock that evening — I found myself at a loose end.

‘Matilda Matthews.’