‘It’s fantastic!’ I said, laughing as I bopped along.
‘We aren’t going to get away with any more straight quizzes, are we?’
‘I certainly hope not!’ I grabbed Lance’s hand and spun around, forcing him to join in. ‘You’re the best care worker I’ve ever seen, Lance. But if I have to sit through another one of those, I might start rioting myself.’
* * *
The glass painting was, in itself, a perfectly fine activity. For the three women who turned up, that is. We had a nice enough time painting jars for tea-lights and glass coasters. The women who took part were fantastic artists, but the problem seemed to be the same as before. Even as a monthly class, there was only so much glass one person could paint.
‘At our age the last thing we want is more clutter,’ June told me, adding a streak of turquoise to her jar to complete the striking wave effect. ‘We’ve all run out of family to palm them off on, so nobody can see the point.’
Tracy, leading the session, sniffed. ‘The point is that you get to explore your creativity, express yourself artistically while enjoying each other’s company. It’s not about the end product.’
‘I just think that if you don’t especially like the end product, there’s only so much exploring you can do,’ June said.
‘It’s all right for us,’ Hetty added. ‘We’ve got an Etsy shop linked to Robin Hood’s Barn Weddings, so we sell them off cheap as wedding favours or decorations, which pays for our extras in the café.’
There was unlimited tea, americano coffee and cordial free of charge in the café, as well as one ‘cake of the day’ each. Anything else had to be paid for.
‘Can I buy some of these off you?’ The jars they’d decorated were stunning, and would be one step closer to transforming Chimney Cottage into a home rather than a youth club.
‘If you promise to kick some life back into this place, they’re yours.’
I helped myself to three, and left the rest for their cake fund.
* * *
Another highlight of the day was meeting Isaac’s creative director. She and Isaac usually took Monday and Tuesday off, after working flat out over the weekend, but a particularly tricky client had been bombarding her with messages so she’d nipped in to check a few details.
‘Connie’s upstairs,’ Mum said, bursting into the art room, panting as though she’d sprinted through the Barn to tell me this, which I’d bet my new tea-light holders she had. ‘If you’re finished in here you could go and say hello.’
‘Who’s Connie?’
‘The perpetual thorn in Isaac’s side.’
‘Oh – the person who’s left all that stuff strewn about their office?’ I was smiling already.
‘Organised chaos, she calls it. I won’t say what Isaac calls it in front of our art class members.’
‘A “bloody disaster zone”, is what he yelled down the stairs after her last week,’ Hetty chortled. ‘We love Connie. She’s our biggest client!’
‘I’ll see you next week then?’ Tracy asked, stacking the jars and coasters on a shelf.
‘Maybe.’ June tossed her ash blonde tresses over the shoulder of her mustard pinafore as they got up to go. ‘Depends what else might be happening by then.’
‘Nothing that’ll earn you fifty pence a jar!’ Tracy retorted.
Finding the upstairs office door locked, I gave it a tap and it was cautiously opened by a woman with light-brown skin and a mass of shoulder-length corkscrew curls wearing a charcoal, off-the-shoulder top and cream, crocheted shorts revealing endless legs. She was maybe a couple of years younger than me, several inches taller and had a confidence about her that would have intimidated the heck out of me if her face hadn’t lit up with such a warm, wide smile.
‘Jessie!’ She stepped back to let me in. ‘Come in, come in! I was hoping to meet you soon. And apologies that you had to knock. I had a terrifying incident with a Bridezilla’s mum recently so I keep the door locked if I’m here without Isaac.’ She peered at me as I walked past. ‘You are so like him, it’s uncanny. I knew who you were instantly.’
‘I’ve never figured out if that’s a compliment or not,’ I said, laughing to show I didn’t mind.
‘I don’t know how to answer that without offending one of you.’ She grinned. ‘I’m guessing that you’re the only one allowed to diss your twin?’
‘Well, my mum manages the odd dig.’
‘Yes, but Pippa has this way of doing it that’s so lovely, she gets away with it.’
