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Skye saw Morgan, her back to Skye, staring at the one damaged part of the old café interior that hadn’t yet been replaced: Skye’s mural. The paint had bubbled and peeled along the bottom in parts, but the scene was still clear; azure waves curled, partially concealing entwined figures, as inspired by Hunter and his world. Skye’s world.
Morgan’s hair was twisted up behind her head, and she wore the paint-covered clothes from when she, Skye and Ethan had rolled out bird’s egg blue walls here together, a lifetime ago. A drop sheet was spread on the paving stones in front of the mural, with a paint tin, brushes and a roller tray laid out on it.
Morgan hadn’t heard her, and raised hands to her face, clearly wiping away tears.
Skye’s chest hurt. She was desperate to help, but it was like an ocean existed between them. “Hello?” she said hesitantly.
Morgan spun around and stared at her wildly.
“I’m sorry,” Skye said softly. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
Morgan’s intense, liquid eyes were fixed on hers, their expression hard to read.
“Can I... Is there any way I can help?” Skye said. “I’m a good listener.”
Morgan didn’t speak, and Skye swallowed, forcing down the tears that hurt her throat. She drew in a breath that trembled, but unable to get more words out, turned to go.
“Wait,” Morgan said. Skye turned back towards her. “I’m sorry,” Morgan said with an attempt at looking cheerful. “I’m fine.” She noted the dried paint on Skye’s clothes. “Are you here to help with the painting today?”
Skye nodded.
“That’s so kind of you,” Morgan said. She turned her head to look at the mural again, and added, “No time like the present. I’ve been putting off painting over this mural. I don’t know why. It’s lovely work, but it’s ruined...” she crouched down to open the tin, then stopped, gripping the tin as a sob ripped out of her chest. Uncontrollable tears spilled down her cheeks. She pressed a hand to her mouth, her shoulders shaking, and Skye flew to her and crouched beside her, her own eyes welling. She held out her arms, and even though she was a stranger to Morgan, Morgan accepted Skye’s embrace and wept on her shoulder.
But Morgan soon straightened up, sniffing and wiping her eyes. “Sorry,” she said. “Wow. I don’t know what is going on with me.”
“It’s okay,” Skye said. “You’ve been through a lot.”
“I guess.” Morgan blew out a short breath. “I can usually keep it together. You were in the wrong place at the wrong time to catch all that.”
“Or in the right place at the right time,” Skye said, smiling. Morgan smiled weakly back, her eyes welling again. Skye stood up. “You know what you need?”
Morgan stood too. “Probably coffee,” she said at the same time as Skye said “Definitely coffee.”
Morgan laughed, her eyes lightening. “Let me guess - you’re a coffee addict too?”
“Only one hundred percent,” Skye said. “I’ll blame that coffee I can smell for the breaking and entering just now.”
“Oh, hey! You can be my test guinea pig,” Morgan led the way across the paving stones to where the counter and barista coffee machine had been newly replaced. “We only got this set up yesterday evening. I’m trying to get a head start on the competition.”
“Smart,” Skye approved. “So Annie’s coming back when you reopen?”
Morgan looked at her more closely as she prepared grounds for Skye’s coffee. “Yeah, she is. No way I’ll let her win. You’ve been here helping before, right? What’s your name? I’m sure I know it but with so many people...”
“Skye.”
Morgan’s gaze flickered, but she smiled. “I love that name. Thanks so much for helping. It means a lot.”
She knew Morgan was being polite. There was no way she remembered Skye being here. Skye was a stranger to her every single day. “You’re welcome,” she said awkwardly. “I’m glad to help.”
“Here's my second caffeine-related guess: flat white?”
“Yep,” Skye grinned.
Morgan finished making coffee in silence, then handed Skye a steaming takeaway cup, picked up the other, and walked back to stare at the mural.
Skye followed her, sipping the aromatic foam, savouring the sharp bite of the bitter yet creamy coffee. “Oh, sooo good,” she sighed in pleasure. “You’re still the best barista, no contest.”
Morgan looked at Skye quizzically. “Thanks.” She turned to the mural again and they both stared at the scene.
Skye had worked on this painting when she thought she had lost Hunter forever. And it had fascinated her when she had forgotten Hunter existed. It delighted her when he was back in her life.
It had fed Morgan’s obsession with all things Nemaro when she had first learned of their existence after meeting Hunter and learning the truth behind Ellie’s fairy tale. And it had haunted Morgan after Jarrod’s cruel use of her was revealed, and her complicated feelings for him stubbornly refused to die. What did Morgan feel when she looked at it now, Skye wondered.
“Why do you think you’re finding it so hard to paint over this?” she asked, after sipping her coffee again.
“I don’t know.” Morgan’s voice was low. “But I feel like it means something. Like it’s important. So maybe it’s connected to... It must have been here when we moved in, because we can’t remember who painted it.” She shook her head in frustration. “I know I need to tidy this wall up, but...”
“But you feel it’s important,” Skye repeated her words.
Morgan nodded.
“Then why don’t you keep it? Trust yourself,” Skye said more passionately than she intended. “Some things are worth keeping. Listen to your gut, Mags. Trust what it’s trying to tell you. Some things shouldn’t just be covered up, or forgotten.” Her voice broke and she swallowed, keeping her eyes carefully on the mural until she could trust herself to speak. “I just think, you know, if you feel like it matters...then it does. Or whatever, right? But if you want to keep it, I could tidy up the damaged bits for you.”
“Really? You could?” Morgan’s voice sounded odd, but Skye couldn’t look at her.
“Sure. There should be paint in the -” She stopped herself in time, remembering that she shouldn’t know her leftover paint was in the studio. “I mean, if there was any leftover paint, it could be somewhere around...”
“There’s a room out back that looks like it used to belong to an artist,” Morgan said. “I saw paint in there. Another of the mysteries we haven’t fathomed yet. Come on.” They set their cups down near the mural.
Morgan shot Skye a look as they walked along the hall towards the courtyard, but Skye was looking around. It was still the same, apart from some missing panelling and two missing doors. They crossed the courtyard and stepped through the French doors into the studio. The flood of memories made Skye’s chest hurt. Her canvases were lined up, and the sensation of walking back into her past, and of being utterly separated from it, returned, almost overwhelming her.
She twisted her fingers together as she stared at her paintings. The tide had left stains on every canvas, and stripped away some of the washes of colour. She knew the flood would have swept these around the room, but someone, maybe Morgan, had set them up again. On some of them, faded figures floated in shabby light. They were like ghost-paintings, spat out by the sea. Skye felt like she was looking at her life.
Morgan was watching her closely. “Are you okay?”
Skye could only nod.
“Do you know this work?”
Skye nodded, then shook her head, then shrugged. “Sorry, I don’t feel well.” She made for the side door, and had it open and was half way down the lane towards the road before Morgan caught her up. “Hey! You aren’t staying?”
“I think I should go.”
“Please don’t go. Please - stay? I’d love you to fix that mural if you really can. Get the others off my back about it needing to go. I’d be so grateful.”
Something in Morgan’s voice kept Skye from leaving. Although Morgan’s expression was merely concerned and friendly, Skye thought she caught a glimpse of something stirring behind her eyes, like...memory. Maybe not memory exactly; there was no recognition. But this had never happened before, this connection. Feeling herself spinning in a
storm of emotion, Skye knew she had to take this chance.
“Okay, I’ll stay. I’m not one to turn my back on a painting in distress,” she said and Morgan beamed.
“Excellent.”
They went back into the studio and Morgan waved vaguely towards where Skye had stacked all her paint tins and brushes, high enough above the water line to be untouched. She gathered what she needed, and she and Morgan carried everything back across to the café and set them down in front of the mural. Morgan filled an old container with water from the kitchen to wash brushes.
“First we need to sand off all the paint that’s come loose,” Skye said.
“Are you sure?”
“Totally. Trust me.”
Morgan seemed to flinch at Skye’s words, but obediently accepted the sandpaper and block Skye handed her, and soon the air was filled with the sound of rasping strokes. For the really loose bits, they used scrapers.
Morgan grinned. “This is oddly satisfying,” she said, raising her voice over the noise, and Skye laughed. The next stage was wiping the paint dust off the wall, and when that was done, Skye said, “Now we paint.”
“Not so much ‘we’, sorry. More like ‘you’. But I’d love to watch, is that okay?”
“Of course.”
“This feels...really familiar. You seem so familiar,” Morgan said, watching Skye check tins. “Are you from around here?”
Skye nodded, feeling heartsick at their vanished history. She studied the mural, trying to keep her expression neutral as she assessed where to begin.
“Then you’ve probably heard about the weirdness of Bannimor,” Morgan said.
Skye could tell Morgan was trying to joke, but when she looked at her, she saw Morgan’s face was strained. “Once or twice,” Skye said lightly. “Why?”
“I hope you don’t mind me talking to you like this?” Morgan sounded apprehensive.
“Like I said, I’m a good listener,” Skye reassured her.
“Thanks,” Morgan looked pensive. “I feel like I can’t talk to anyone else about this without freaking them out, or sounding crazy. But I feel like...like I can talk to you.”
“You can. And I think I can safely promise you that nothing you say will shock or frighten me, or make me think you’re crazy,” Skye insisted, and Morgan’s expression softened as she smiled.
Skye sat down, cross legged on the drop sheet, patting the space beside her, and Morgan joined her.
