Page 18 of Healing Hearts on Thistledown Lane: Part 1
She had a point, Fraser had to concede. But the storytelling came naturally to him, as he supposed creating the ghosts did to her. ‘Why don’t we just agree we’re both brilliant and leave it at that?’
She laughed. ‘Deal. As for when you can have them, they don’t take long to make but the firing and glazing process takes a while. How does four weeks sound for the first batch?’
Fraser puffed out his cheeks. ‘It sounds brilliant. Why don’t we go with Agnes the sea witch for our first design? I can take this one away with me, get some photos done and start taking pre-orders.’
‘Sure,’ Maura said, and lowered her voice. ‘Don’t tell the others I said this, but she’s my favourite.’
‘Mine too,’ Fraser replied. ‘Although I’m sure they’re all excellent at haunting.’
She smiled. ‘I’ll wrap Agnes up for you.’
Moving away, she rummaged under the bench to retrieve some old newspaper. Fraser took the opportunity to study the other ghosts, admiring the workmanship. ‘How do you get them all the same size? I know you said the York ghosts used some kind of mould but you don’t, do you?’
‘No,’ she said as she wrapped the sea witch up. ‘Hand building is often a bit hit and miss, but I’ll create a basic template so they’re as similar as possible. Then it’s just a case of arranging the folds into the right shape.’
Fraser eyed her with some scepticism. ‘You make it sound so easy.’
‘It is,’ she said, shrugging. ‘Here, I’ll show you.’
She pulled a black polythene bag across the worktop and reached inside to pull out some clay. With brisk, sure movements, she kneaded it into an even shape and placed it onto a board. ‘The clay shrinks in the kiln, so it’s important not to roll it too thin,’ she said, taking a rolling pin and flattening the shape into a wide circle. ‘Then you use your template to cut the shape you want.’
Her hands moved quickly, manipulating the clay so that it transformed into a ghost before Fraser’s eyes. ‘There,’ she said, and pulled more clay from the bag to place before him. ‘Why don’t you have a go?’
He felt his eyebrows shoot up in alarm. ‘Oh no. I couldn’t.’
‘Yes you could,’ Maura encouraged. ‘Roll your sleeves up and give it a go.’
Fraser’s gaze slid from the well-crafted, sightless ghost she had created in just a few minutes to the glistening grey blob in front of him. ‘Erm…’
‘Here,’ Maura said, offering him an apron. ‘What’s the worst that can happen?’
He blinked. ‘You’ll see how utterly devoid of artistic talent I am and decide not to work with me?’
‘Unlikely,’ she replied firmly. ‘Roll out the clay. I’ll help you with the rest.’
There was, he knew, no way he could refuse. The clay was cold and softer than he’d expected; his fingers sank clumsily into its smoothness as he picked it up. With tentative movements, he ran the rolling pin across the surface, applying what he hoped was an even pressure to flatten the clay to the right thickness. Maura watched, then crossed to another bench to retrieve what looked to Fraser like two long rulers. ‘Use these as guides,’ she said, placing one on either side of the rolled clay. ‘They’ll stop you taking it too thin.’
The guides helped; before long, Fraser had a flat expanse of clay. Maura handed him a stubby, angled knife and the bowl she had used as a template. ‘Now cut around that and peel the excess away.’
He did as she instructed and gave her an enquiring look.
‘That’s great. Next, you’ll need to make something for the clay to drape around. Roll some of the spare clay into a ball around the size of a large marble.’
The next part was where he felt it all went wrong. The circle of clay stuck together once it was arranged across the top of the ball, creating thick clumps that thrust out in odd directions rather than lying in ethereal folds. ‘Ease them apart,’ Maura advised. ‘Use your fingers to create the shape you want.’
But it was no good. No matter what Fraser tried, the clay stubbornly refused to do his bidding. He fired a pleading glance at Maura. ‘Help.’
‘Like this,’ she said, moving nearer. Her deft fingers teased and tugged at the ghost, smoothing out the damage he’d inflicted and shaping it into something that resembled the one she had made. ‘See?’
‘What I see is that I could fiddle with that lump of clay all day and not make it look like yours,’ Fraser said. ‘I think I’ll stick to acting.’
‘You’re not done yet,’ Maura said. ‘Your ghost needs eyes or he won’t be able to see.’
Fraser sighed. ‘I think mine might be blind, actually. Haven’t you ever heard of Sightless Sam?’
‘Nope.’ She created two small ovals in her ghost’s face, and then offered Fraser the thin paintbrush handle she’d used. ‘Your turn.’
He would have been happier if the eyes had been level but at least they were broadly the same size. Maura didn’t comment. Instead, she handed him a sliver of damp sponge. ‘Smooth away any bobbles or creases, or they’ll turn hard in the kiln and catch on things.’ She leaned past him to run the sponge over the clay. ‘See?’
