Picture Imperfect - By Nicola Yeager Page 0,22

that are coursing through my brain like evil tadpoles. I get out of my work clothes, have a shower and change into my new artist’s uniform of old t-shirt and knickers. I make myself a large coffee and stick Jack White on the stereo. Not literally, you understand.

After all the trials and tribulations of Canvas One, I’m sick of red and decide to go for something brighter – yellows, oranges, stuff like that.

Bright colours like this are usually there to give a happy, uplifting mood, but considering what I feel like at the moment, I don’t think things are going to turn out that way. I keep thinking about all the things that Kristin said. Her immediate outrage. Her pithy, decisive comments. And Mrs Goddard. Who would have thought it? I knew there was something going on with her, but I would never have guessed it was that. I wonder if her ex became a famous writer afterwards? And if he did, would he have tried to get her back? I doubt it somehow, particularly if he knew she’d been sleeping with other men. I wonder if I’ve ever read any of his books? Maybe they’re all about her…

I dab paint onto the canvas as if the canvas has done something terrible to me and I’m exacting my revenge upon it. Sometimes I imagine I’m poking the brush into Mark’s face. After two and a half hours without a break, I step back and have a look at it. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say it was finished. It’s a little disturbing to look at, and despite being in jolly colours, is a little depressing, too. It’s so bloody big!

On a whim, I drag Canvas One across and place it next to Canvas Two. Together, they’re pretty overwhelming, particularly in a confined space like this hallway. I walk to the front door and look at them from there. They’re overwhelming from the side, too. I reckon if Rhoda fires me tomorrow, I could probably get somebody else interested with these two. I start fantasising about how much I could get for them. A few hundred quid would be handy. But who would buy?

Maybe I could get a reputation going and start getting loads more work. For some reason, that’s never happened. Whenever Rhoda has sold a painting or two to someone, that’s it, and we have to start again from scratch. Maybe that’s what it’ll always be like. I don’t know any other artists to ask.

I suddenly feel very tired. I clean my brushes, eat some scrambled eggs and watch an episode of The Killing. I can hardly keep my eyes open. I realise I haven’t thought about Mark for a while. When I do, and when I remember where he is, I get a feeling like someone’s stabbing me in the stomach with a carving knife.

I get into bed and drop off straight away.

Wednesday 18th

Another morning without an alarm clock bothering my delicate artistic sensibilities. I keep my eyes closed for a while before bothering to discover what time it is. What’s happening today? Oh yes. Rhoda’s coming ‘round. What’s she going to say? ‘Darling – you know how much I admire your work and we’ve really given it a good shot, haven’t we. But…’

I start to wonder about Rhoda’s love life. I’m not really sure how old she is and we don’t talk about personal stuff. I would guess that she’s over fifty. She doesn’t wear a wedding ring. She dyes her hair a sort of blue/black, but has a big white streak on one side, as if she’s trying to give the impression that she doesn’t dye her hair and is naturally going stylishly off-white in just one area. I’m trying to think where I’ve seen that look before, then remember that it’s Immodesty Blaize, the burlesque artiste, though I’m sure Immodesty is wearing a wig.

Rhoda often mentions that she’s buying an expensive gift for some young beau she has on the go. I’m not sure how many of these there actually are, or whether she has more than one on the boil at any one time. She is very sexy (very big bottom, tiny waist and big boobs), with the most yummy mouth you’ve ever seen, so I imagine it’s quite easy for her to attract young guys like she does. Her money wouldn’t be much of a drawback, either.

In fact, I don’t really see why she bothers with all the gifts. I would