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‘OK.’ Brooke nodded. ‘And Clover…’
‘Yes, dear?’
‘Thank you so much. I’m very grateful for your time.’
‘You are always welcome here, Brooke.’
Clover took the mugs through to the kitchen and Brooke picked up the sculpture of Gaia that Clover had given her. The sculpture’s eyes seemed so real, so knowing, and the clay felt warm against her skin. She knew that whenever she looked at it, she would think of this day, this moment, this time with Clover. And that would comfort her because today she had taken an important step in her healing journey. She understood that healing would be gradual, but taking small steps forward was important for her and Allegra. Her daughter needed a mum who was present and not immersed in grief, a mum who could help her grow strong and resilient so she’d be able to deal with whatever life threw at her. Brooke wanted to be that mum.
Chapter 13
Brooke
‘Right, here’s your tea.’ Clover handed Brooke the mug. ‘And you’re going to need to put this on.’ She held up a grey apron.
‘OK.’ Brooke accepted the mug, then set it on the table before standing up and accepting the apron. She put her head through the loop, then tied it behind her.
‘Very fetching!’ Clover winked. ‘You drink your tea while I get some things together.’
Brooke sipped the steaming beverage, watching as Clover wandered around the workspace, then set some items on one of the tables. When she’d finished, she smiled at Brooke.
‘Come and sit here, dear.’
Brooke drained her mug, then got up and went to Clover and sat in the chair Clover had pulled out for her. She looked at the table in front of her.
‘Are you wearing any jewellery?’ Clover asked, peering over her shoulder.
‘My wedding and engagement rings,’ Brooke replied.
‘You might want to take them off, so you don’t get clay stuck in them.’
‘Oh … OK.’ Brooke removed the engagement ring first, then the wedding ring, both rose gold bands. There was a solitaire diamond in the engagement ring and three smaller diamonds set in the wedding ring. She tucked them into her pocket, then glanced at her hand. The finger looked thinner where the rings had been, like it had been throttled or hugged very tightly. She preferred the latter image, as the rings had always meant so much to her because of what they represented. Aidan had a matching wedding band, but his was wider because he only wore the one. It was safely tucked away in her jewellery box because he’d been cremated and his ashes scattered in a memorial garden. She’d wanted to wear his ring, but it was too big for her fingers and even her thumbs. She’d considered getting a chain to wear the ring on but hadn’t got round to it because every time she got it out to look at it, she became upset and so she put it away again. One day, she thought, she’d give it to Allegra and her daughter could have it made smaller or wear it on a chain around her neck if she wanted. She was certain that was what Aidan would have wanted too.
‘Right then, this is polymer sculpting clay,’ Clover said. ‘It’s a good one to begin with.’
‘Polymer clay,’ Brooke said as she placed her hands on the grey rectangular block. It felt cool and hard, not at all workable.
‘The best sculptures start with well-conditioned clay so you should knead it and warm it up before you try to shape it.’ Clover pulled out a chair and sat next to Brooke. ‘Like this.’ She broke off a piece of the clay and started kneading it with both hands. ‘Have a think about what you’d like to make.’
Brooke laughed. ‘I have no idea! I’m not that creative a person.’
‘Well let’s keep it simple. How about a ring dish?’
‘All right then.’ Brooke nodded.
Clover pushed the rest of the block of clay towards her and Brooke broke some off then began kneading it. At first, it was cool beneath her fingers, but it soon warmed up and became more pliable. She watched as Clover shaped the clay into a bowl shape, her thumbs and fingers dexterous despite the arthritic lumps, the actions as natural as if she did this every day. Which, Brooke assumed, she most likely did. Clover's bowl molded seamlessly and rapidly. Brooke paid attention to her own clay, but it wasn’t as easy as Clover made it look. Her dish seemed to have uneven sides and a lumpy base.
‘Keep working it,’ Clover said, casting an evaluative eye over Brooke’s work.
‘It looks like a toddler made it,’ Brooke said with a snigger.
But she continued pressing, squeezing and shaping. She discovered her mind was focused on the activity and found shaping the pliable substance to be an enjoyable distraction. Soon, her dish looked better, and she paused so Clover could look.
‘That’s the way!’ Clover nodded her approval. ‘Once it’s been baked you can paint it.’
‘Is it going into the kiln?’ Brooke asked.
‘Not this one because it’s made of polymer clay and the kiln is too hot for it. We’ll use the regular oven that I have here for this purpose.’
