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Flora ached for her.
Jack sat down on the other side of her and leaned across. “That’s brilliant. Hey, Molly, it even looks like you.”
“Can I keep it?”
Flora carried on shading with her pencil, adding definition. “Of course.” When she was satisfied, she flipped over the page and started again, this time capturing the shape of the tree and the flowers.
Molly was watching so closely her nose almost touched the pencil. “Where did you learn to draw?”
“My mother taught me. When I was little she wanted to make sure that I paid attention to small things. Plants. Flowers. Trees. People.” She moved her pencil across the page. “She believed in really enjoying every moment and not wasting it worrying about yesterday or tomorrow.”
“Does it make you sad when you talk about her?”
“A little, but mostly I like it. It’s a way of keeping her alive and remembering her.” Flora kept sketching even though all her attention was on Molly. “Does it make you sad?”
“I’m already sad so it doesn’t change much.”
Flora resisted the temptation to hug the little girl. “What used to make you smile?”
“Dancing, but I don’t like to do that anymore.”
Flora nodded. “Anything else?”
“Painting.” Molly studied every pencil stroke Flora made. “You’re good at drawing.”
“Well that makes us a good team, because I can draw something and then you can color it. Would you like to do a sketch?” she asked casually, and was pleased when Molly nodded.
Flora set her up with paper and a pencil and the two of them sat quietly, Molly copying what Flora was doing. She worked carefully, her tongue caught between her teeth as she concentrated.
Flora felt Jack’s fingers lightly brush her neck and turned her head. His gaze was fixed on his younger daughter. She had a feeling he was holding his breath.
“That’s great, Molly.” His voice was rough. “I’ll put it on my wall at work.”
Flora watched as Molly concentrated. “You’re good. You pay attention. What do you enjoy drawing most?”
“Animals. I liked your fox.”
Flora flipped the page again and did a quick sketch of a horse. Molly giggled.
“I like it. Can you teach me to do one the same?”
Flora demonstrated stroke by stroke, while Molly copied her. They argued cheerfully about whether Molly’s drawing looked more like a cow than a horse.
“Definitely a horse.” Jack smiled at Flora across the top of Molly’s head. “You’re brilliant.”
In t
hat moment, the complexities of their relationship were forgotten. It was just the two of them.
“She is brilliant,” Molly said. “My horse doesn’t look like her horse.”
“A painting doesn’t have to look exactly like the thing you’re copying. Sometimes it’s just an impression.”
“Like Monet.” Molly switched her green pencil for a red one. “I know about Monet. Aunt Clare went to Paris and sent us a postcard. Mommy said she’d take us to Paris one day.”
“I promise we’ll go to Paris.” Jack stretched his legs out. “If you’d like to.”
“Would Flora come?”
