1 Chapter 1

“Just come and meet her,” my flatmate begged.

“I can’t be bothered,” I said listlessly.

I loved Cynthia, but she could be so annoying. She knew the last thing I wanted to do was go out and meet other people. I still missed Bethany, still hoped things would change, that she would come back and we’d be a couple again.

“You can’t be bothered. You’ve got to accept the situation you’re in and move on. You’re being ridiculous,” she said.

“No, I’m not.” I sighed, wishing desperately that she’d shut up. “I just don’t feel like socializing, that’s all.”

“You can’t just sit around the house all the time. You’ve got to start going out again,” she said.

“Look, Cynthia, I don’t need new friends,” I snapped when I really wanted to say shut the fuck up.

“She’s an artist, like you. You’ll love her,” she persisted.

“I know nothing about sculpting.” I moaned.

“Neither do I. And I know nothing about writing, but I’m your friend, aren’t I?” She had a point, and I was weakening.

Ten minutes, I promised myself. We’d get there, and I’d pretend to have a headache. Ten minutes, and I’d be out of there.

“Okay, okay, just shut up about it. I’ll go,” I said.

“Good. I’ll call her,” Cynthia said, rushing out of my bedroom.

My lover, Bethany, had to go overseas for a year. I was devastated when she told me. Thought all my days of being single were over when we met, but now she was living half way across the world and said I should move on. I wanted to but couldn’t be bothered with the dating scene.

It had been six months. Six months of thinking about her and all we’d had together. When she’d first accepted the position, she thought I’d be happy to go along, to be with her, but I had commitments here. She begged me, but I had to say no. There was no other compromise, and now I was still longing for her and what we had.

“She said to come over now,” Cynthia said, bursting back into the room. “She’s sculpting but enjoys talking at the same time. Come on. Let’s get moving.”

I went, reluctantly, listening to Cynthia babbling about Margaret the whole trip. I was surprised when we pulled up at an old warehouse. Cynthia said Margaret had brought the whole building. Had renovated it into a studio and an apartment. I was intrigued now and eager to see the inside.

Renovating was a passion of mine. Didn’t matter what it was; an old house, a window, a cupboard…anything…as long as it was truly old. The outside of this was in pretty bad shape, desperate for a paint job, but when the door opened and Margaret ushered us inside, the transformation was amazing.

“Hi,” I said, holding out my hand.

“So you’re Julie,” Margaret said. “I’ve heard lots about you.”

I laughed. “All good, I hope.” I laughed.

Why do we always say that, as though we were the ones that made up the saying on the spot?

Margaret was a gorgeous older woman. Short, with a cute little figure, dark hair pulled back into a ponytail, and dressed in a pair of tracksuit pants and skimpy top. She had perky breasts, which jutted out through the material, the nipples clearly identifiable underneath.

I wondered why she called herself Margaret. It seemed so old and didn’t fit her image, but then either would Maggie or Marg. She would have been better off changing her name to something sultrier. As she spoke to Cynthia, I eyed her, impressed with how well she kept herself. I was pretty sure Cynthia said she was in her late fifties, so I was searching for signs of Botox but could not find any.

She showed us around the studio first. The whole area of the ground floor of the building was littered with her amazing work. Not only did she sculpt, but she was a fantastic drawer as well. Nearly all her work consisted of nudes, some of them quite raunchy to boot.

The models had sensational figures, and the guys were built like bodybuilders. I wondered how many of the sketches were actually lifelike and not embellished upon as I stared upon them, imaging her at work whilst the models held their poses.

Then we climbed the stairs to her apartment. Here, the room was massive with big windows, floor to ceiling, surrounding the whole top floor. It was an open plan, everything flowing in together. Her work area was in one corner where light shone through from all directions, giving the area an ethereal eerie feel. It was as though she was working in a huge cloud. The white walls and floor were perfect to work against the black material she used for sculpting.

avataravatar
Next chapter