‘I didn’t expect to feel nervous, but I’m truly terrified.’ Selena hugged her sketchbook, hauling her portfolio carry case and her laptop in her free hand as she and Laura made their way through the main entrance of Ashcombe Primary. The familiar smell hit her straight away, sweaty gym shoes and steamed cabbage, reminding her of her own schooldays, and she felt a sudden apprehension.
Laura laughed and ran a hand through her hair. ‘Do you know, I feel most alive when I’m in front of a class of youngsters. My dad was the same when he was a history teacher. I used to love it when I was in Bristol, singing with the children, story time, craft classes, drama and PE in the hall. Oh, I do miss teaching.’
‘You can do my talk for me,’ Selena joked. ‘I might be useless. I’m sure I’m going to stammer or clam up. It’s ridiculous isn’t it, being scared by a bunch of ten-year-olds.’
‘I’ll be right next to you,’ Laura said. ‘If you get stuck, I’ll just improvise and tell them how brilliant you are. And you are, you know.’ She raised her eyebrows over the glasses, an expression of encouragement. ‘You’re marvellous to do this, and the kids will really appreciate it.’
Selena and Laura signed in at reception, a secretary in frameless glasses and a crisp white blouse giving them a lanyard each to wear.
Laura waved a hand. ‘I know the way to Scott’s year six class, Julie. Lovely to see you again.’ Then she breezed down the corridor; Selena following her, a feeling of dread in the pit of her stomach.
The children were already grouped around tables, identically clad in dark blue, excited, notebooks in their hands, as Scott Finch greeted Selena and Laura. He was wearing glasses, a tie, dark jacket and smart trousers. He held out a hand for Selena to shake, but she had none free, so she simply grinned, ‘Pleased to meet you.’ The eyes of the children seemed to burn into her skin as she placed her laptop, portfolio and sketchbook on the table that had been prepared for her. She gazed up hopefully and saw thirty faces staring back in anticipation.
One little boy waved to her and called out, ‘Hello. Are you famous?’
Selena immediately felt self-conscious; she had worn a long dress and arranged her hair in a chignon – it was too formal; she was a visiting artist in a rural school; perhaps she should have worn jeans and a sweatshirt.
Scott Finch took over. ‘This is Selena Cain. She is a professional artist and she’s here because she’s painting the beautiful landscapes of Somerset. We are lucky to have her with us today.’
The children broke into spontaneous applause and Selena felt the skin on her face tingle.
Scott continued. ‘And you all know Ms Fletcher, who comes in to teach different classes from time to time. It’s good to have her here with us too.’
‘Good afternoon, Ms Fletcher,’ the children chorused as one and Laura replied, ‘Good afternoon, everyone. It’s so nice to see you all again.’
‘So…’ Scott lowered his voice. ‘It is okay to call you Selena? Not Ms Cain?’
‘Selena’s fine,’ Selena mumbled in reply, her head down as she arranged A4-sized pictures, opened her sketchbook and set up her laptop for a slide show.
Scott raised his voice. ‘Right, I’ll hand over to Selena and she’ll talk to you for a while, then, if it’s okay with you, Selena, maybe the class can ask you some questions.’
‘Of course. Thanks.’ Selena stood up, her eyes wandering from one expectant face to another. ‘Well, who can tell me what an artist does?’
Every hand shot up. Selena raised her eyebrows towards a small boy who was pumping the air with his fist, immediately regretting the fact that she had responded to the most persistent, attention-seeking child. She recalled, with a pang of sadness, being the small child at school who sat in the middle and was always invisible.
The little boy had a front tooth missing. ‘Miss, they paint pictures.’
‘That’s right.’
Another boy chimed in, without being asked, ‘There are lots of artists, Miss. Van Cough was nuts because he cut his ear off. Then there are artists who drink beer all the time. My dad calls them…’
‘Charlie…’ Scott gave him a warning glance and the boy lowered his head.
‘Right…’ Selena took a breath. She tried again. ‘I trained to be an artist in Manchester, where I live most of the time when I’m not here. I paint mostly landscapes – paintings of trees and hills and skies. Here are some examples.’ She showed them several slides on the laptop: the garden, rising hills, trees spreading tall branches.
‘Miss, isn’t that a bit boring? Just trees and scenery?’ A cheeky-faced girl with tousled fair hair spoke as she raised her hand.
‘Not at all.’ Selena clicked the mouse and more images of landscapes appeared. ‘I get to sit outside in the sunshine and sketch things all day– for example, this is the oak tree across the road from where I live, and this is a blackthorn, and here’s a well in the garden.’
The children leaned forward in unison, their faces puckered with interest.
‘And do you get paid lots of money for doing it?’ Charlie called out.
‘It’s not bad. I can make a living.’ Selena thought a simple answer would be best. ‘Here are some larger paintings I’ve done.’ She showed them one from her portfolio. ‘This is a painting of the flowers in the back garden, and this one here is of a cow being milked by a milkmaid.’
‘Is that you?’ The boy with the missing front tooth gave a wide grin.
Scott raised a finger. ‘You can see the costume the milkmaid is wearing. Clearly, Selena has researched it, and we’ve just been studying that time period in class, Charles the Second and Oliver Cromwell. Who can tell me the dates the milkmaid might have lived?’
Arms were raised at once, some pupils pushing their fists towards the ceiling and calling ‘Sir!’ as if in pain.
‘Phoebe?’ Scott pointed a finger. ‘Phoebe Shears, not Phoebe Davis.’
‘The sixteen hundreds, Sir.’ Phoebe, the girl with the tousled fair hair, replied. ‘1666.’
Another girl replied sulkily, ‘1666 was the Great Fire of London.’
Scott waved a hand. ‘The costume is what an ordinary woman would wear in the seventeenth century, so yes, the sixteen hundreds. It’s a beautiful painting of a milkmaid at work.’ He nodded encouragingly to Selena.
Selena took a breath and gazed around at the children’s faces. ‘So, I paint the pictures and then they go to my gallery in Manchester, which is called Ariel Art, and that’s where people come in and look around, and then they buy the ones they like.’
‘Are your paintings worth a lot of money?’ Charlie shouted out.
Selena smiled. ‘Not as much as Van Gogh’s. But it’s a great life being an artist. You get to be independent, and work at your own pace, and you choose what you want to paint.’
Another girl wearing blue glasses pushed up her hand. ‘Miss, why would you want to paint a cow? If I was an artist, I’d want to paint ponies.’
‘Good question,’ Selena said, her face shining with approval. ‘I paint things that relax people. Often people buy pictures of the countryside because of the sense of tranquility they bring.’
Scott intervened. ‘Who can tell me what tranquility means?’
Several faces were screwed tightly, as if in deep thought. Then one girl raised her hand and said, ‘Peace and quiet.’
‘Exactly.’ Selena smiled. ‘Now, if anyone would like to ask me some questions about being an artist, I’d be happy to answer them.’
A dark-haired boy threw up his hand. ‘What’s the hardest thing to paint: people or scenery?’
‘Both are equally exacting. It’s about practice, and trying to improve,’ Selena replied. ‘Everything gets easier if you practise it a lot.’
More hands shot into the air. Selena indicated a small girl at the front. ‘Miss, have you ever painted any famous people?’
Selena said, ‘In my final year at university, I did a scene from a rock concert, the Arctic Monkeys. It took me weeks to finish it because there were so many people in it.’ She shrugged. ‘After that I stuck to landscapes.’
A frowning boy threw his hand into the air. ‘Do you paint men and ladies in their nude?’
Scott was about to intervene, but Selena replied, ‘As part of an artist’s training, we have to study everything, from the human body to the dimples in an orange. We paint everything that is out there – still life, figures – in detail so that we can learn, but it’s like a science, because we want to improve and get it exactly right.’ She raised her eyebrows in the direction of the boy. ‘Does that answer your question?’
‘Miss, yes,’ he mumbled.
‘Any more questions?’
Selena turned to the girl who had spoken earlier, Phoebe Shears, who had raised her hand.
‘You live in Sloe Cottage in Chitterwell, don’t you, Miss?’ Phoebe smiled, a brash confident grin. ‘My dad says that place is haunted. My dad says our family have lived in Ashcombe for hundreds of years and Sloe Cottage is a bad place and no one will live there because it’s haunted by a ghost.’ She gave Selena a bold stare. ‘Have you seen the ghost yet?’
‘No, I haven’t.’ Selena tried her best to keep her voice calm. ‘To be honest, I don’t really believe in them.’
‘I do. My dad’s seen it; it’s a lady. He went there once to sweep the chimneys and he saw her looking at him. She was horrible—’
‘Enough, Phoebe, please,’ Scott said calmly. ‘Now it’s almost time to pack up tidily and go home, but first I think we need to thank Selena for being our guest.’
Applause sounded and Selena breathed out, relieved.
Selena sat in the warmth of the kitchen of Laura’s cottage, sharing a cup of tea: the walk back from the school had been chilly and the sky was overcast. Rob was upstairs in his room, having a nap and Laura was glad of the company. Her eyes shone behind the glasses. ‘You were great with the kids today, Selena. Really calm and confident.’
Selena shook her head. ‘I was rattled by the questions a couple of times.’
‘When the boy asked about painting nudes? I thought you handled that brilliantly.’
Selena shook her head. ‘It was the question about the ghost that threw me.’
‘Why?’ Laura leaned forward. ‘Do you think Sloe Cottage is haunted?’
‘Almost certainly,’ Selena replied and Laura caught her breath, taken aback. ‘Do you know the painting I did, the one that I showed you, Joely and Matty…’
‘The one of Wychanger Lane?’ Laura said. ‘Even though you’ve never been there? I thought that was a bit odd…’
Selena’s voice was low and confidential. ‘I was sure someone whispered it in my ear as I slept. When I woke up, I put it down on the canvas, just as I remembered it in the dream.’
Laura looked doubtful. ‘It’s probably a coincidence – are you absolutely sure you haven’t been past there and not remembered?’
‘There are other things though…’ Selena pressed her lips together. ‘More than just an atmosphere – I’ve heard noises on the landing.’
‘Oh, this old house creaks too,’ Laura waved a hand, then she saw Selena’s serious expression and paused. ‘Are you sure you’re all right living there alone, Selena?’
‘I’m fine, most of the time,’ Selena said. ‘There’s something about the solitude I actually like. And it’s really working for me, being there and painting, but, you know, I often have the sensation that someone is watching me or standing behind me…’
Laura was staring at her, her eyes shining behind the glasses. ‘If I lived somewhere like that, I just couldn’t stay there by myself…’
‘I’ve had a few moments where I’ve felt really shaken, but…’ Selena forced a smile. ‘I’m okay. I just work all the time, and I have great visitors like you and Joely, and Claire is coming down to stay next week. I’m not really too worried.’ Laura’s expression was still horrified, so Selena continued. ‘It doesn’t feel like an evil presence, just… a bit unsettling.’
‘I’ll have nightmares tonight now.’ Laura glanced at the wall clock and frowned. ‘Right, Selena – I’ll run you home.’ She placed a hand on her shoulder. ‘Now, are you sure you’ll be all right?’
‘Absolutely, yes,’ Selena said, in an attempt to convince herself. ‘And thanks for the cuppa. I’m shattered after just one hour of being in the school today. I think I’ll go back and have a shower and get an early night.’
Laura reached for her car keys and shrugged on a jacket. ‘Okay, let’s get you back.’
Selena protested. ‘I can walk, it’s not far…’
‘The wind has picked up outside – it looks like it might rain,’ Laura suggested.
Laura drove down the narrow lane to Chitterwell and they paused in the drive to Sloe Cottage. The wind blustered and stirred the garden. Overhead, clouds gathered and the sky was brooding and heavy with rain. Selena hugged Laura briefly, pulling keys from her pocket, her other hand holding the laptop and the portfolio case, her sketchbook under her arm, then she wriggled out and watched Laura’s car swivel round, disappearing towards Ashcombe.
Selena opened the door and stepped inside the hall. The evening gloom swallowed her, enfolding her in its arms, as she fumbled for a light switch. In the sitting room, the fire glowed amber and she dropped her portfolio and laptop on the table, flopping down on the sofa for a moment to warm her hands, staring into the flames as if in a trance.
In the garden, something moved by the well. The shape of a slender woman shifted silently towards the blackthorn tree. She stayed, pressing her hand against the window as if she was watching Selena by the fireside. Her face touched the glass and she paused for a moment, but there was no mist from her breath.