𝙸𝙽 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙴𝙽𝙳 || Original Story

thirty-four | paint

So much time had passed since the fête and it felt like such a blur. It was now the very beginning of October and the weather was declining into misery. Luckily, it had been dry this week, but everyone was waiting in anticipation for the frost and heavy bouts of rain to arrive.

On one finer morning, when the sky was clear and air was fresh, I made my way to the florists. Kate had been in need of help again and I was more than happy to offer my assistance. Even her customers were pleased to see me.

"Oh, Mr Bailey, what a wonderful surprise!" Mrs Richardson exclaimed as she entered the shop when it was quieter. She was clad in a bright yellow raincoat and was a lovely contrast to the dreary weather.

I smiled warmly in return and bade her a good morning.

"Are you keeping Katelyn in line?" She joked as Kate scoffed in response.

"I th-think you'll f-find it's the other way around," I replied.

"He's just being modest, Mrs Richardson," Kate uttered as she tied a ribbon around the stem of a small bouquet.

"Modest and presentable! You look most handsome in that suit, Mr Bailey."

"Oh," I mumbled, pleasantly taken aback. "Th-Thank you. Th-That's most k-kind of you."

"Yes, well, I thought the same," Kate chimed in as Mrs Richardson smiled sweetly in response. If Mrs Richardson wasn't stood right in front of me, I surely would have gone red in the face.

"I've not seen you wearing one before," the latter added. "Except at the fête back in June."

"Th-They're for s-special occasions and to m-make good impressions," I said. "And if... if I'm working with K-Kate, then I h-have to look smart."

"What a gentleman you are. I wish there were more like you."

To me, kindness was a life style rather than a choice. I'd suffered enough bitterness in my time and my grandmother always taught me to be kind. I couldn't understand how some people (and Patrick Collins springs to mind) could lead their lives being so cruel and inconsiderate.

Mrs Richardson stayed a little while longer to make idle chitchat before dashing off and leaving me and Kate alone in the peaceful quietude of the morning before another set of customers arrived.

After a relatively busy day at work, Kate had invited me over for tea and cake (the latter of which was baked by her mother) that evening. I remembered Marina's homemade soup being incredibly delicious, so I had high hopes for her cake.

I hung up my coat on the hooks behind the door and turned to the living room.

I saw something that wasn't there the first time I was here: an easel propped up near the window where the most light came through into the room. Several brushes were stuck inside a pot of water and a watercolour paint set lay open on the table beside it. The canvas (or rather paper) was partly covered and I could tell that a sunflower was forming; it was half-finished, but still looked wonderful and bright with its golden petals and deep green leaves

"You p-paint?" I asked, gazing to Kate, who was having trouble untying the laces on her shoes.

She smiled and nodded. "I do. I've been doing it since I was a kid... What do you think of them? Be honest."

I went over to the easel and looked closely at the landscape painting. I recognised it as the river that ran through the park and it looked alive. The movement of the water was visible through the brushstrokes and the colours used were unbelievably realistic. It was as if I could walk through the painting and instantly be besides the river.