Let out your artistic side
“What’s that meant to be?”
“It’s a child. You know, like the ones we’re meant to be helping?”
Annie regarded the screen Polly was painting. “Looks like a bear to me.”
“A bear?”
“Yep. People will think we’re raising money for Paddington.”
“Okay, okay, I failed art at school, that’s why I ended up doing history of instead. At least I’m having a go.”
Annie patted her shoulder. Today Polly was wearing her dungarees again, the remnants of her hair tied back in a silk scarf. Annie had to hand it to her; there was nothing she didn’t know about dressing for an occasion. “That’s okay, we’ll tell people the kids painted it. Maybe you should get that white stick, after all?”
Polly pouted for a moment, then drew back her brush and flicked a dollop of blue paint at Annie. It landed on her jeans and for a moment Annie gaped, then she stuck her fingers in the pot and threw some back. It hit Polly square on the face, and Annie for a second was terrified she’d hurt her, and then Polly burst out laughing and flung some more.
“Och, for God’s sake,” tutted Dr. Max, who was passing. He was just passing a lot, it seemed, for someone so busy. “Are you two twelve or something?”
She felt it, Annie realized, around Polly. Like she was young, and she’d found a new best friend, and everything was ahead of them, exciting and fresh and new. Except, of course, it wasn’t. She passed a tissue to Polly. “Here. Sorry about that. Why don’t you let me finish this one, eh?”
“Okay,” Polly said, surprisingly acquiescent. “I might just…sit down over here for a minute.”
Annie watched her friend drag herself to a chair, her face set in pain, and a flicker of alarm came and went in her stomach.