Page 3 of Old Girls Go Greek
‘You’re crackers.’ I laughed, loading up my brush with more yellow paint.
‘I’ve spent more than enough of my life being told what to do,’ she said, wiping a smear of blue paint off the floor. ‘Now I’m retired I can do what I like as long as I don’t break any laws. Anyway, this is an impression of Bonzo’s ball, because the real thing is punctured and rather flat. I’m quite proud of him actually. There’s not a dog toy out there that he can’t destroy.’
On the other side of the circle there was a small commotion as Gwen knocked her water over, and she did a strange little tiptoe dance, trying not to get her canvas shoes wet while Polly laughed and shouted, ‘Clear up on aisle three.’
‘You’re new to the village, aren’t you?’ Polly called across from the other side of me. ‘Haven’t you just moved into High Winds?’
I agreed I had.
‘Nice house, we went for a look round when it first came on the market. We didn’t want to buy it; we were just being nosey. Anyway, Bruce said there wasn’t room for his model railway. It just about fills our attic. Sometimes he goes up there in the middle of the night to change the points when the new timetables come into operation. Still, he’s not hurting anyone and I never have a problem wondering what to buy him for his birthday. Are you all settled? Boxes all unpacked?’
‘I did them all in the first week,’ I said proudly.
‘Marvellous, well done you. Bruce and I still have some packing cases we haven’t looked at, and we moved into The Briars thirty-one years ago next week.’
‘Got any cardboard left over?’ Anita said. ‘Rick’s always looking for some to flatten and put down over bits of the garden. Cheaper than weed-proof membrane and more ecological.’
‘The trouble is, I find myself agonising over cardboard boxes these days,’ Beryl said. ‘Some of them are really good boxes, and I hate to get rid of them because they look so useful.’
‘And are they?’ Anita said.
Beryl shrugged. ‘No, not very often. But it’s no worse than men keeping random bits of wood in the shed because they might come in handy one day.’
We chattered happily about life in the village for a few minutes, and I began to relax. I was enjoying the company of new people too. I began to think this could be the activity and the group for which I had been looking.
All of a sudden, I stopped applying paint with an uncertain hand and a small brush and started being a bit braver with my brush strokes. Perhaps Anita was right; I shouldn’t be hidebound by convention either. I swiped a rather bold brushful of pale lavender paint under the edge of a leaf to create a shadow and leaned back to admire it. I was rather proud of it actually. Maybe a bit more colour in my life was what I needed. That and the occasional bit of excitement.
‘There you are. Such a happy little flower, isn’t it?’ Cassandra said, coming up behind me and clapping her hands unexpectedly.
My paintbrush flew up into the air and landed on Anita’s lap, splattering her jeans with purple paint.
She gave me a look. ‘These jeans are my favourite; they are Versace, I’ll have you know.’
I gave a gasp of horror. ‘Really?’
Anita rolled her eyes. ‘No, of course they aren’t. They were from the market about ten years ago. Stop looking so tragic!’
* * *
When Cassandra called that it was time to start clearing up, I was amazed. The hours had passed so quickly. And for the first time in ages, I had really enjoyed myself.
Everyone seemed very jolly and encouraging, and there was a fair bit of local gossip floating around too. Details of the couple who had taken over the shop, whether or not the produce fair in September was going to take place, how someone called Elspeth had a gentleman caller who used to be married to Judith, the woman from Scotland. What the Young Farmers were doing in the pub on Saturday nights and who everyone suspected of breaking the window in the bar (someone called Short Kev). It was fascinating and a great insight into village life.
Dennis began barging about, organising the chairs back into the storage room, while Gwen collected the mugs on a battered tin tray decorated with the Queen’s Silver Jubilee and started washing up. Beryl, meanwhile, was standing admiring her painting until Dennis took her easel away.
‘Typical man,’ she said, giving him a hard stare. ‘He was just as bad last term, trying to organise us all the time. I hate it when people do that. We’re not at school. How did you both get on?’
‘Good fun,’ I said, ‘as long as no one looks at the painting.’
Beryl flapped a hand at me. ‘It’s fine. We are all a bit anxious at first. You’ll get the hang of it. Nice brushwork with those leaves. And Anita, I’m loving that dog, he looks a real character.’
‘What dog?’ Dennis blustered, overhearing. ‘There wasn’t a dog.’
‘He’s my spirit animal,’ Anita said. ‘Couldn’t you see him?’
Dennis stomped off, muttering, to fold up some more easels, and Anita and I grinned at each other.
‘So how have you settled in? You’ve been there for a few weeks, haven’t you? I kept meaning to come round and say hello properly, and then it was Hogmanay and Rick and I went off to Scotland with our dance group for two weeks and I came back with the lurgy that’s been going round. Now the spring is coming I won’t see anything of him. He will be out birdwatching with his mates or mowing and fussing and doing all sorts of manly things in the garden. He’s planning a bonfire too, so apologies for that when it happens.’
