Page 2 of Painting Ghosts

“Theo. How’s the painting going?” I unlocked the door to my Racing Green Mini Cooper One—my pride and joy—and clambered into the driver seat. I plonked my phone into its holder and connected the Bluetooth.

Heat. I need heat. It’s bloody freezing. I ran the engine and turned the heat up to maximum.

Theo gave a strangled groan. “Terrible. I can’t get the lighting right. I might paint over it. And there’s something else weird going on.”

I started the car, and she idled, purring away as I slipped the seatbelt over. “Well, I can come on over. Wait until I come around, and I’ll give you an opinion.” I knew that if Theo hated it enough, by the time I got there, the canvas would be blank again, but it was worth a try. He spent so much time on his art but was such a perfectionist. His speciality was painting old creepy houses and the rooms within, and he’d made a successful career out of it.

He grunted. “That’s not the only thing that worries me at the moment.”

I pulled slowly out of the school grounds into the traffic. The roads were already heavy with snow, and it looked as if we’d be getting more. “Oh yeah? What else is on your mind?”

“My agent wants me to become social media-friendly.” Theo hated social media like The Witches hated children. “She says I need an artist brand or platform, whatever, and it’s something she can’t do for me.”

I wanted to laugh aloud but refrained. “Wow, that’s awful. I mean, what a curse. Having to tell the outside world you exist.”

“Don’t be so bloody condescending,” he growled. “You know how I feel about that stuff. No offence, cause I know it’s your job, but can you see me twittering or Facebooking? I’d look a right pillock.”

I chuckled at the word ‘twittering’ as I pootled along the country lanes that led to Theo’s new place in the country. Outside, the January sun shone brightly, even if it was Arctic. My temperature gauge on the dashboard showed six degrees Celsius.

“Well, you know I’ll help you. That is kind of my area of expertise.” I was warming up to the idea now. “I can set up all your accounts, show you the ropes. I’ll even do some of the work for you, like, be your social media assistant.” I’d do anything to spend more time with Theo. “It’s not rocket science, T. You’ll get the hang of it soon enough.” I doubted the veracity of that last statement -Theo really wasn’t a fan of putting himself out there to the point of being phobic-but he sounded as if he needed some encouragement.

He harrumphed. “Yeah, right. Let’s chat when you get here. I’ve got the kettle on.” Then just like that, the phone went dead. Theo was also not a great believer in platitudes, greetings, or social niceties. It was another reason I love-liked him. He never pretended to be someone he wasn’t.

I arrived safely at the huge, spooky-looking manor house ten minutes later, and drove down the winding driveway festooned with denuded trees, their gangly limbs reaching out to grey skies. Winter had set in like footprints in concrete. As I got out of the car, a chill wind blew through the courtyard. I shivered and drew my Primark parka closer for warmth. Snowflakes drifted from the tree branches, finding a home in my hair and on my clothing. The fountain in front of the imposing manor stairway leading to the creaky cherrywood door was already frozen. If ever you could imagine that place from an old Winter horror movie with every cliché written, Monkwood Manor was it.

I knew Theo would have left the door open, so I walked straight in. I’d only been in the house once since Theo had moved in a week ago. It had been a fleeting visit to drop off an extra power cable he’d needed, as I’d been on my way to work. The interior hadn’t changed much. The compact entrance hall was sparse of anything, and the entrance room beyond which I walked into still held unopened boxes and various bits of Theo’s life. His vintage telescope stood in solitude at the foot of the sweeping staircase to the first floor. Old photographic prints were stacked like slices of bread against the wall. Around the room, thick curtains hung awkwardly from skewed rails, covered in dust.

The ballroom next door, though, glimpsed through an open, ornate wooden door looking like something out of King Arthur’s castle, was the real prize Theo sought.

I smiled. This was so Theo’s ideal house. He was going to do great things here. I stamped my feet clear of snow on the ratty carpet in the hall.

“Ty, that you? I’m in the studio.” Theo’s deep voice echoed out from behind one of the dusty curtains. I strode over to the deep burgundy fabric doorway and pushed through.

“Achoo.” The dust billowed around me as I sneezed. My eyes began itching, and I coughed weakly, hamming it up but feeling the dust in my throat. “Jesus, Theo, would it do you any harm to have these curtains cleaned? I’m gonna end up with lung disease.”

Theo, all smouldering six foot three inches of him, glowered at me from under a mop of black hair with an adorable cowlick. He stood at his framing desk, hands filled with an old fashioned bronze frame. “Stop being such a diva and come over here. I need a hug. It’s been too long.”

Have I mentioned my bestie was also a great believer in bodily contact, a fact that was both a blessing and a curse? I couldn’t count on my fingers the number of times I’d got a boner from his fierce embraces. I was becoming quite the tango dancer, swivelling my hips out of contact so as not to embarrass him, or myself. Sure, he was a bi-guy, but that didn’t mean he wanted to feel my dick all hard and ready for him.

Awkward greeting over, I gestured around me and moved away. “I see you’ve settled in,” I said teasingly. “It’s all looking very home from home.” I nudged a piece of fabric on the floor with my foot and shuddered as a giant spider ran out of it. “And you’ve got visitors. Go you.”

Theo snorted as his long fingers reached out and plucked the spider from the floor. I watched in horror as he walked over to an open window and gently deposited the offending arachnid outside.

“Ugh, how can you touch those things?” I put on a theatrical shiver which wasn’t all that difficult to pull off given I hated spiders and creepie crawlies of any kind.

Theo smiled, a flash of white teeth in a full-lipped mouth that I’d wanted to kiss so many times and never dared to. “Ty, I’ve told you before. They’re more scared of you—”

“Than I am of them,” I finished. “Yes, so you’ve said. That still doesn’t mean I want to bloody touch them.” I ambled over the to the entrance of the ballroom. “So, is this where the latest masterpiece resides? Can I see it?” I quirked one eyebrow as Theo frowned.

“I’m having trouble with the light,” he growled. “It was perfect, and then- it wasn’t.”

I nodded sagely, pursing my lips, having heard Theo’s rant on the waning of the light many times before too. “Don’t you bloody hate it when the sun has a mind of its own and doesn’t stay still for you? I wonder if God ever has that problem?”

I ignored Theo’s muttered expletive as I sauntered into the ballroom. This room was the one place in the house that had retained its majesty. I mean, the rest of the house wasn’t too shabby, only old and dusty. The ballroom, however, still held its grace and beauty from a bygone era.

The ceilings were impossibly high, adorned with cornices and elaborate edgings depicting whorls and swirls of intricate detail. Arches sunk deep into the pale ivory walls their inners beautifully coloured with delicate patterns of forestry and flowers.

And of course, the three giant Gothic windows looking out onto the overgrown gardens beyond were portals into another world, one where the seasons would be reflected in all their natural splendour.