him and looked in her bag for a tissue, but all she found was an old packet of dried-out baby wipes. She wiped her nose. Ivo took one from her, wiped her eye makeup away and stood back to look at her.
‘Better,’ he said, and he took her hand.
‘Come on, I’m not letting a silly thing like you not being able to read twenty-six letters get in the way. I can think of twenty-six things that I don’t know, so let’s call it even,’ he said, and he took Kitty by the hand and led her back to the museum.
As they walked back to the painting, Ivo spoke. ‘The reason I wanted you to see this is because this is your great-great-great-grandmother, the woman whose journals you let me read. This is her, and I think she bears a striking resemblance to you. Now you look while I read to you what this label says.’
Kitty stood back, trying to compose herself.
‘This painting is called In the Orangery by George Middlemist – 1851. George Middlemist used his wife, Clementina, as his model for many of his paintings. Clementina was born in France to wealthy parents who disapproved of the marriage. She and George resided at their home Middlemist House. The orangery was built for Clementina and filled with exotic fruits, including clementines, which symbolise joy. Soon after this painting was finished Clementina had their first child, Albert. Who was your great-great-grandfather,’ pointed out Ivo proudly.
Kitty forgot about her problem for a moment and stood gazing in wonder at the painting. ‘Didn’t you know about this?’ asked Ivo.
‘No idea,’ said Kitty. ‘Actually I don’t know anything about George at all,’ Kitty said, embarrassed.
‘We have to sort that out,’ said Ivo. ‘I know so much about him, and about art. How about I tell you?’ he said, liking the feeling of usefulness that washed over him.
Kitty looked up at him shyly. ‘I would like that,’ she said, and Ivo felt proud of himself and proud of her for telling him.
‘Now, we need a drink,’ he said. Kitty nodded, desperate for something to calm her nerves.
Ivo took her hand and they walked towards the nearest pub and sat down. It was cosy and not crowded and Kitty felt herself relax slightly.
‘Gin and tonic?’ asked Ivo, and she nodded. He gave the order to the waiter and they sat quietly till the drinks were served.
‘So I have to ask you about it,’ said Ivo, and Kitty grimaced. ‘Just so I understand,’ he added gently. ‘How did you get through school?’
‘I didn’t. I fudged my way through for as long as I could and then I left once a few teachers began to get clued in,’ she said, twisting the drink in her nervous hands.
‘How do you get through life?’ he asked. ‘Forms, banking, driving, reading to the children?’
‘I don’t drive. I look at the pictures in the story books and I just make it up.’ Kitty paused. ‘You actually get to be quite clever. I got someone at the bank to show me how to use the ATM a few times and then I just remembered the process, and when I have really hard forms to fill in …’ she took a deep breath, ‘I wear a sling.’
‘A sling?’ asked Ivo, confused.
‘Yes. I pretend I’ve hurt my arm and get someone at the place to fill it in for me,’ she said, taking a sip of her gin and tonic.
‘Jesus,’ said Ivo, trying to imagine his life without reading. ‘Does your brother know?’
‘No, he just thinks I’m a bit thick,’ she said sadly.
‘I’m sure he doesn’t,’ said Ivo, frowning.
‘He does. Everyone does,’ she said, feeling tears springing into her eyes again. ‘I think that’s the hardest part,’ she said quietly.
‘What?’ asked Ivo.
‘Being underestimated. Nobody having any expectations of you. When you talked about your father and how he was disappointed with your choices because he thought you could be so much more, I wondered what that was like. My father had no expectations of me. My mother got sick when I was five years old, when I should have been learning to read, and it kind of took over the house. Merritt was so much older than me – he wasn’t about to sit and explain the letters to me. Then Mummy died and I was forgotten. I guess that’s why I’m with children; they don’t know any better, and they don’t realise that I’m the same intellectual age as them,’ she said sadly.
‘Oh bullshit.