Page 31 of Kate and Clara's Curious Cornish Craft Shop
‘Oh yes,’ I say, standing behind him. ‘It almost makes it three dimensional you holding it over the painting like that. The lighthouse comes to life. We could have created a whole new artistic genre here!’
I’m joking, but Jack doesn’t laugh. Instead he simply stares at the fabric.
‘What? What is it?’ I ask, but Jack doesn’t respond.
‘You’ve gone a little pale, Jack,’ I say, staring at him. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘Er …’ Jack rests the embroidery on his lap and rubs his eyes. ‘I’m not really sure. Perhaps you should take a look, in case I’m seeing things.’
‘What do you mean?’ I ask, taking the fabric from him as he wheels himself backwards so I can stand in front of the easel. Was he playing a joke on me?
‘Hold the fabric over the canvas,’ he instructs, ‘in exactly the right place so the two pictures match up.’
‘Okay …’ I say hesitantly, wondering what I’m supposed to be seeing.
‘Look at it,’ Jack says. ‘I meanreallylook into it, and tell me what you see.’
I do as he says, first matching up the two pictures, then staring hard at them. ‘I can’t see anything unusual,’ I say.
‘Crouch down,’ Jack says, ‘so you’re at eye level with them like I was.’
‘Okay …’ I say again, bending down a little so my eye line is level with the little lighthouse on the harbour depicted in the embroidery.
‘What do you see now?’ Jack asks. ‘Kate?’ he asks again when I don’t respond. ‘Are you seeing what I did?’
‘That depends,’ I reply quietly, ‘on whether you saw a moving picture?’
‘I did,’ Jack says equally as quietly. ‘That’s why I was rubbing my eyes. How are we both seeing a moving image in something as static as a painting?’
‘I don’t know,’ I say, still observing what’s going on, ‘but I’m not going to stop watching now, are you?’
I make room for Jack to come in close beside me, and we peer intently at the pictures. Both of us let all our rational thoughts dissipate while we allow ourselves to become absorbed in the moving images in front of us.
St Felix ~ May 1957
‘Please, Mummy, can we go a bit closer!’ a young girl in a simple yet functional wheelchair pleads.
‘All right, just for a little while,’ her mother relents, and she pushes the wheelchair a little bit closer to the end of the harbour wall.
‘Can I get out?’ the girl asks. ‘Just for a bit?’
‘No, Maggie, you’re not strong enough yet. Remember what Doctor Jenkins said – you need to rest and recuperate.’
‘I’m fed up with recuperating,’ Maggie says huffily, ‘it’s so dull.’
‘I know, darling, but your convalescence is so important, otherwise you might never fully recover.’
Maggie sighs. ‘Why did I ever have to catch silly polio anyway. None of my friends got it. Why me?’
Her mother sighs; ‘Yes, youwerevery unlucky in that way, but so very lucky in others when you see how some of the other children who caught it have suffered. At least you will be able to walk and talk properly again. I’ve read some terrible stories in the newspaper about children being paralysed and only being able to breathe using one of those horrible iron-lung machines. At least you didn’t have to use one of those when you were in hospital.’
‘I saw those in another ward,’ Maggie says, looking sad. ‘They looked horrible.’
‘Anyway,’ her mother says brightly, ‘let’s not dwell on the past. We have a lovely new future to look forward to now we’re here in St Felix. If you breathe in as much of the healing sea air as you can, you’ll be back to your old self in no time.’
Maggie doesn’t look so sure.
‘Excuse me,’ a man says, approaching them both. In contrast to the woman’s neat, smart clothing of a pale pink cardigan, tweed skirt, pearls and a cream blouse, the man is wearing much more casual attire: a striped smock top, loose trousers and a red scarf tied jauntily at his neck, while on his feet he wears brown leather sandals. ‘I hope you don’t mind but I did a quick sketch of the two of you while you were at the end of the harbour just now, and I wondered if you might like it?’
