Page 19 of Healing Hearts on Thistledown Lane: Part 3
And the truth was she didn’t mind the quiet evenings on her own. It was a relief to not be listening constantly for the sound of the front door opening, trying to judge from the tread of his feet on the stairs how much he’d had to drink. And work helped her too. In the days immediately after the break-up, she’d found it impossible to achieve anything – her fingers were slow and stupid, her eyes too often blurred by tears. But gradually, the smooth coolness of the clay had soothed her raging emotions and she’d felt her skill returning.
Effie had noticed her red-rimmed eyes, and all three women had gathered around, easing the facts out of her before clucking about men and insisting on making her a cup of tea. It wasn’t fair of Maura to compare them to the students with her now but she couldn’t help thinking that Effie, Sharon and Cordelia would never have taken the tortured steel glaze from the cupboard without asking.
‘I’m really sorry,’ Lisa repeated, and she looked it. ‘I won’t do it again.’
She wouldn’t, Maura thought, because the tub of tortured steel was going in the bin as soon as the class was over. But she did her best to summon up a reassuring smile. ‘These things happen,’ she said, starting to remove the ruined ghosts from the kiln. ‘And at least your cup looks good.’
She tried not to look at the forlorn pile of ghosts in the blue metal bin once she’d finished clearing the kiln, their eyes were too reproachful as she piled them on top of each other. Perhaps she would keep them as seconds, she thought, and instantly dismissed the idea. Agnes was a sea witch, mournful and tragic, and her story was a terrible one. Fraser would have no use for a patchy pink version.
Fraser. She ought to message him, explain that she could offer him fifteen but that the rest would be delayed by a week or more. He would understand. But she found herself strangely reluctant to contact him, a feeling that had begun the night she had confronted Jamie and had only grown since.
It made no sense – Fraser had started off as her business partner but she’d begun to think of him as a friend too, and she knew he would have nothing but sympathy for her situation. The trouble was that she didn’t want to have to tell him. Didn’t want to see the pitying look in his eyes when she explained what Jamie had done. The mere thought of it made her squirm and she couldn’t bear the idea that Fraser might somehow think less of her as a result. And it didn’t matter how many times she reminded herself that he wasn’t like that, the seed was too firmly entrenched to root it out.
So she’d stayed silent and ignored his messages, especially the one about an exhibition at Edinburgh Castle; she had no bandwidth to even contemplate such a high-pressure commitment. Perhaps by the time she had remade the damaged ghosts, she might be in a better place emotionally. Perhaps.
‘I hate to tell you this, Maura, but I think your clay trap might be full.’
It was Tuesday morning and Maura had spent a very long weekend firing and decorating and glazing another batch of ghosts, while simultaneously working on the set of thirty plates for the restaurant owner she’d met at ScotPot and trying not to test the already stretched patience of her students any further. The kiln had run three times, which had warmed the studio and helped the other pieces on the shelves to dry more quickly, but she dreaded to think what it had done to her electricity bill. She’d hidden the energy monitor in the kitchen cupboard and didn’t dare look at the soaring cost.
‘I know,’ she said, glancing over to where Cordelia stood gazing at a sink full of greyish water. ‘It’ll go down eventually but there’s a bucket on the floor you can use to wash things in the meantime.’
Nodding, Cordelia did as she suggested. At the workbench, Sharon was doing her best to manage in the little space she had. Most of the surface was taken up by plates in various stages of development – some were drying, others were waiting to be glazed and still more needed to be fired for the final time. Maura had done her best to stack them where she could but there was also the small matter of twenty-five Agnes ghosts.
‘I thought you’d finished those,’ Sharon said, as she squeezed a pot of slip into a tiny gap and began to dab it along the seam of her pot.
Maura rubbed her forehead wearily. ‘I had,’ she said, and explained about the disastrous glaze reaction the week before.
‘Exactly what you didn’t need,’ Effie said sympathetically. ‘How’s Fraser been about it?’
‘Fine, I think,’ Maura said, and gnawed her lip. ‘I – um – haven’t actually told him what happened. I thought I’d explain when I delivered this batch.’
Effie regarded her levelly. ‘But aren’t you horribly late with them?’
‘And don’t you need to deliver forty more next week?’ Sharon asked, looking up from her clay.
‘Yes,’ Maura exclaimed, her tone snappier than she intended. ‘I know, all right? I’m doing the best I can. It’s just…’ Her gaze came to rest on the full sink, its unappealing depths a mute accusation. Emptying the clay trap beneath it was a dirty job that needed muscle power and patience and a pair of thick rubber gloves, followed by a slog to the tip to dispose of the discarded clay. It had always been something Jamie did. She sucked in a deep breath and tried to ignore the pressure building behind her eyes. ‘With Jamie and the ghosts and the plates… I feel like I’m failing at everything.’
Instantly, they were beside her. ‘Absolutely not,’ Cordelia said firmly, guiding her to the nearest chair. ‘It’s a wonder you’re still standing upright – I’d have taken to my bed for a month if I’d been through half what you have.’
‘She’s right,’ Sharon agreed. ‘Although it seems you might have fallen into the classic trap of working too hard as a way to escape your problems. When was the last time you had a day off?’
‘Um…’ Now that she came to think of it, Maura couldn’t remember the last time there’d been a day when hadn’t set foot in the studio. ‘A while. But there’s so much to do – I can’t afford to take time off.’
Effie glanced around, taking in the cluttered surfaces and half-completed work. ‘You need help,’ she said. ‘Tell us what we can do.’
Maura was shaking her head even before Effie had finished speaking. ‘No. It’s very kind of you but I can’t ask you to do anything. This is my mess; I’ll find a way out of it.’
Cordelia was also looking around, her eyes narrowed in thought. ‘Obviously, we can’t do any of the plates – none of us have Maura’s skill. But I’m up for sorting out the sink.’
‘Didn’t you hear me?’ Maura said, looking from one woman to the other. ‘I said no.’
Sharon puffed out her cheeks. ‘No offence, Maura, but I don’t think you’re in a position to turn us down. Only an idiot would refuse help when it’s so desperately needed, and I know you’re not an idiot.’
‘Well—’ Maura began to answer, then broke off. Sharon was right. She wasn’t stupid enough to ignore the fact that she needed help, but that didn’t mean she was unprofessional enough to expect her students to bail her out. ‘I can’t let you do this.’
Effie had picked up one of the ghosts waiting to be painted and was studying it with a critical eye. ‘This just needs a lick of green underglaze along the lines of the seaweed, right? And then dipping in clear glaze before you fire it?’
‘That’s right,’ Maura said. ‘But—’
