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Leah and Lynne returned home from Chadstone, after staying for late night shopping and fish and chips in the food court. Lynne had made Leah smile when she’d picked up a chip carefully, trying to make sure not to chip her newly painted nails.
“The paint’s dry, Mum. You’re fine.”
“They just look so pretty. I don’t want them to be spoiled.”
“If they chip, I can redo them. I bought a bottle of that color.”
“Oh, lovely.”
It seemed like such a small thing to care about, but Leah understood the importance of it for Lynne.
Now she was upstairs, in her bedroom, lying on her bed, staring at the ceiling. She picked up her phone, holding it in her hand for a long time before she typed the code to unlock it. She felt ridiculously anxious. She typed her name in the search bar, ignoring the squeeze of her heart as the image of her and Callum on stage popped up. She went straight to thePosted Bytag. George Q. She clicked on it. The link went straight to a closed profile. No photos. No details. If she didn’t know that this was her friend Georgie Quinn, because of the video, she would never have found her. With her fingers shaking slightly, Leah pressed the “messages” button. She knew it would go straight to spam. All she could do was hope that Georgie checked it. She opened a new message box, then just lay there, staring at it for a long time. What on earth could she say? Hey, I haven’t seen you in years. I dumped you and our friendship because I was too scared to stand up to my weasel of a husband? She shook her head.
Leah:Hey. She paused. Took a deep breath. I’m in town. I’d love to catch up.
There. Keep it simple. It was the truth. Everything she needed to say, she wanted to say face to face. She dropped her phone on the bed and rolled on her side. It could take Georgie a week to get back to her. Or eternity. Maybe she didn’t want to speak to her at all. Leah could hardly blame her. She jumped when her phone beeped and she snatched it up.
Georgie:I would love that. Tomorrow?
Leah blew out a breath and had to blink back tears of relief.
Leah:Yes! Lucarelli’s?
Georgie:Gelati after dinner?
Leah:Perfect. Seven o’clock?
Georgie:Great. See you then
Leah smiled. Georgie hadn’t forgotten their old habit. Dinner at Lucarelli’s in Lygon Street, gelati for dessert. It was a small thing, but it made Leah feel hope for the resurrection of her friendship with Georgie.
A knock on the door had Leah sitting up. “Come in.”
Her mother pushed the door open, holding something behind her back when she stepped into the room. “I got you something. I picked it up when you went to the bathroom at the shops.”
“Oh, Mum. You didn’t have to do that.”
“I wanted to.” Lynne pulled her hand from behind her back and held out a small box.
Leah took it from her and gasped. Her eyes flew to her mother’s face. “Mum!” It was a little art kit, with canvas, brushes and paints.
“It’s not much, but I thought you might like it.”
“I do. I love it.” Absurdly touched, Leah ran her finger over the top of the box. Her father’s opposition to her art was well entrenched and terribly unfair. It had caused Leah a lot of pain as a teenager, when he had quashed her emerging talent mercilessly. She pushed to her feet and hesitated for a brief moment before putting her arms around her mother. Affection didn’t come easily to either of them. She felt Lynne’s arm around her, and the awkward pat on the back. “Thanks, Mum,” she said quietly.
“You’re welcome.”
“I’m going to open it right now. How about we have a cuppa while I have a look at it?”
“Lovely.”
Ten minutes later, Leah was sitting at the dining room table, dark head bent over the canvas, her mug of tea going cold. She was lost in concentration, absorbed in the trail of her brush over the canvas.
“It’s amazing how you can do that,” Lynne said softly, from her seat across the table.
Leah leaned back, surveying her work critically. “It’s not great. The paints don’t glide.” She was painting a bunch of forget-me-nots. Lynne’s favorite flower. “I’ll do you another one when I’m back home.” She took a moment to take a sip of tea, before continuing.
