Paint Me Anew (Fleckney Fields Series, Book 2)

Two Sides of a Shield

My darlings,

I've been feeling more like myself recently. Ergo, here's a double update for you tonight ;)

Love,

K. xx

***

"Mum? Mum! Mum!!!"

Anya blinked a couple of times and looked at Varya.

"Yeah?"

"He's going to scream," the girl said and pointed at Henry perched in his chair next to Anya. "He's been asking for more banana for a while now."

Anya muttered an apology and handed another slice to the boy. He tended to shove as much food in his mouth as he could reach and grab, so Anya would only put a little bit on his tray at a time. And apparently, she'd spaced out and was dangling the fruit in front of the disgruntled child, judging by how he'd already scrunched his beetroot-red face and was preparing to bawl.

"Is everything alright? You've been sort of whacked out recently," Varya asked.

"Yeah, yeah, everything is alright," Anya lied unconvincingly. "If anything, we're doing much better these days, yeah? We've got that appointment with the school tomorrow, and hopefully they'll take you. And then I'll get a job in town, and we'll move out."

She threw a guilty look at Henry who was enthusiastically noshing his banana. Now that she was using the car - she still couldn't believe her luck! - she did her best to visit Fleckney Woulds. Unfortunately, she had had little success finding a job, mostly because, anywhere she went, people would just start chatting with her about Dom and how she's 'enjoying Fleckney' and how Varya was 'a perfect mixture of her parents,' which made begging for a job just a tad too awkward. Anya knew it about those who'd never been poor: it never came to people's mind that not everyone was that jammy. Her cursed ability to make something out of nothing - when it came to clothes, haircuts, and education for Varya - didn't help, either.

It had been a week since she had gotten the keys to the Rover from the man's bedside table, minced down the stairs, muttered her goodbye in the direction of his sofa, and vamoosed. Thankfully, he'd been pretending - and they both knew that he was pretending - to be asleep, and she had escaped without having to address the kiss.

Anya strictly reminded herself that it hadn't even been a proper kiss - just a peck on the cheek - on top of which she wasn't a grade one student when something so small still mattered.

She'd only visited him two times since then. Sally had stayed at her mother's for two more days. Since Anya came with Varya, he wasn't barking, telling her to naff off as he used to, or making venomous remarks. She could see that he tried to hide how much pain he was in, and although he clearly couldn't eat, he moved the food on his plate while sitting next to eating Varya. While Anya cleaned, he asked Varya to show him her drawings.

Anya both feared this moment - Varya had never before shown anyone her sketches - and couldn't help but to feel excited. She herself couldn't draw a stick person for the life of her, but Varya was good. Then, in her past life, Anya had had enough art history classes to see how mature and skilled Varya's art was, for her age.

His treatment of the girl's drawings was exactly - if not better than - what Anya could hope for. He gently moved the pages of Varya's notebooks, asked questions, praised, and asked whether she wanted suggestions. When Varya agreed, they ventured into a two hour long conversation. His comments were inquisitive, objective, and constructive. He mostly asked questions, rather than offer his opinion; and soon Varya had completely relaxed and chatted away.