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Ready to get going, she stepped on the back of her shoes and kicked them off, then shed her layer of office wear. Her hairs stood on end with the cold and the anticipation of the evening ahead. She stepped into a boiler suit and secured a fistful of hair on top of her head.

Elda tapped a switch on the floor, and the room was bathed in white. Every contour had a different hue. Three canvases leaned on wooden frames, each begging for attention.

The mill was home to dreamers and makers, and Elda had rented this studio since she’d left art college five years ago. Making art was part of her, and although she struggled to make money, she wasn’t ready to give it up. She’d stumbled into her office job, and it paid the bills. But here, in this space, she was herself.

Elda approached the window and peered down towards the murky canal, all but invisible in the darkness. She imagined the flow of water beneath and her neighbours cooped up in colourful narrowboats. She could hear the hum of the city beyond, and laughter from the bars nestled along the canal. Life was happening to someone else out there.

Elda turned away and braced herself. After weeks of painful indecision, she had to make progress tonight. As usual, she’d been doubting herself. That little voice in the back of her mind telling her she wasn’t good enough.

She stood back from her three canvases and adjusted the floodlight. She took in a breath that travelled all the way to the pit of her stomach, and she smiled.

While she worked with her paints, cloths, and brushes, the outside world faded away. Her heart beat faster and sweat gathered at her brow. The depths she reached inside her body when her mind was focused on the palette in her palm and the brush between her fingers were exhilarating. She could rely on herself with a canvas at her fingertips. There was no doubt, she was connected to something, and everything was whole.

Elda became frantic, absorbed, and soon, she was shrugging off the sleeves of her boiler suit and wrapping them around her waist. Beads of moisture began to form at her lower back beneath her crop top. Adrenaline was pulsing through her veins, giving her the hyper focus she needed to channel every ounce of imagination into her work in progress.

There was nothing, except for her and the colours she was mixing. Her racing thoughts stilled, her constant chatter muted. The helicopter of catastrophes that accompanied her everywhere was silent.

She reached for water and took three gulps. Hunger stabbed at her, and she became aware of the time. She’d worked for two hours without a break. Her phone rang and broke the silence.

“El, are you coming out or what?”

Jack. She’d completely forgotten her promise to go out. Her heart sank, and she looked across to the unfinished canvas. It would have to wait.

“We’ve got pizza and alcohol. Come down and we’ll feed you.”

“I’ll be about twenty minutes. Where are you?”

***

Elda twisted the volume control, and the music faded as Rebecca drove onto a short gravel driveway at the edge of suburbia.

“You look hot.” Rebecca cut the engine and stroked the back of Elda’s earlobe.

Elda’s shoulders hunched towards her neck, and she forced them down. She wasn’t sure why her body tensed up so much, but she hoped Rebecca hadn’t noticed.

She imagined this was her family home, with her mother and father waving from the doorstep. Perfect family fantasies often played out her mind, usually starring her absent father.

The curtain twitched and brought her back to the present. A woman flashed behind it before the front door swung open and an older and fatter male version of Rebecca galloped towards them.

“Hello there. This must be the famous Elda. I’m Philip.”

Before she could step away, she was suffocated in a brief embrace, his round belly thankfully preventing him from getting too close. “Thank you for having me.” Elda bristled at the unwanted touch and peeled herself away.

“Dad, grab that other bag from the boot for me.”

“Gotcha.” Philip disappeared behind the car.

Rebecca led her inside and they settled in the kitchen. “Elda, this is my mum, Sue.”

“Happy birthday, it’s lovely to meet you.” Elda brushed at imaginary creases on her jumper.

“Thank you so much for coming. It’s wonderful to have you both.”

Sue disappeared into her daughter’s hug, and Elda couldn’t quite place the jab to her belly. It wasn’t regret. Was it envy? She rested her eyes on the wooden cabinets and china plates. They seemed safe enough not to trigger any emotions.

“Do you like those plates, Elda? They’re family heirlooms.”

Elda smiled. She’d seen most of them at the department store in town. Perhaps Sue wanted them to befutureheirlooms.