Page 35 of Indie
Chapter Seventeen
I didn’t need to be introduced to the woman who bounded out the door. Her hair was grey. All different shades, streaks of white, black, dark grey, all melded together. A thick strand fell from her ponytail, swinging past the gentlest light-brown eyes I had ever seen. Her hair and the wrinkles on her skin aged her, but the light in her eyes and the energy she radiated did not.
The revelation that we were standing on his mother’s doorstep took me as much by surprise as seeing me did to her. Yet her smile quickly returned, warm and welcoming, and anymisgivings about the situation I might have had didn’t even get the time to properly form.
“Emmie, this is my Ma. Ma, Emmie.”
She held out a hand, splashes of pink and blue, of white and yellow all over her skin. Her finger ends a blur of colours. I stared for a moment, wondering whether I was about to become the same colour as whatever she had been painting. Tentatively, I placed my palm in hers.
“Grace,” she introduced herself, and even her voice was colourful. A merge of accents all rolled into one, and not one I could pick out independently. “Come in. I assume you’ll be wanting breakfast?”
“Whey aye. Does a bear…”
“Dinna finish that sentence lad if you don’t want a clip round the back of ye heed.”
The Geordie accent rolled to the fore, dominating the hodge podge of tones I’d heard earlier. And Indie grinned back, his face suddenly boyish, as if all his worries had evaporated out into the surrounding air. And I couldn’t help feel the same.
I followed them through the house, my eyes scanning left and right, unable to concentrate on any of the pictures I walked past, each frame almost touching as they took up every space on the walls of the narrow hallway. The cottage opened up at the back to a cosy lounge with wood crackling in the log burner on the far wall. There was only one small sofa, the flowery covered settee pushed back against the wall, making space for the manky dust sheet that almost entirely covered the carpet underneath it, and the easel and table of paints that was set out in the middle of it. The curtains were drawn back, an enormous expanse of window looking out across the island and the little castle that saton a mound of rock at the very end. Lindisfarne Castle. Even in the distance, the castle atop the rock was breathtaking. And the painting on the easel that stood in front of the windows was just like staring out of the thin paned glass just a few steps away.
“That’s incredible,” I breathed.
“Fantastic view, isn’t it?” Grace answered, taking a cloth and wiping her hands.
“No. I mean the painting.” It was one of the most amazing things I had ever seen. But the sky was bluer, and the mound of rock more coloured, with patches of green, and the gentle hue of pinks and purples, of flowers growing into the rock face.
“Why thank you, lass.” her voice was like rumbling velvet, gentle, but deep for a woman, and maybe this time I detected a hint of Scottish or Gaelic. “I like this one, Indie,” she turned away from me, and then she let out a low chuckle as she walked away through a little door on the other side of the room.
We could just see Lindisfarne Castle from the little kitchen table. Just. If I wriggled a little closer to Indie and peeped over his mother’s shoulder, I could just see the castle jutted out on the rock.
“I like a girl who appreciates a good view,” Grace broke through my thoughts as I sat staring out through the cottage windows. She tipped the teapot, sloshing the dark brown liquid into the chintzy cup, a drop or two spilling out onto the saucer underneath.
The crockery was an eclectic mix, no one piece matching another, so that the table was a mass of colours, patterns and textures. There was no tablecloth, only placemats on the round oak and the seats were as random as the cups and saucers, different shapes and styles, as if any attempt to comply withorder was intentionally thwarted. I fished around the pot of sugar cubes, trying to pick out one just the right size that looked like it would deliver a teaspoon of sweetness to tame the overly strong tea. Beside me, Indie turned a saucer round in front of him, inspecting the pattern with a frown before depositing his unmatched cup back on top of it.
“Indie hates this house and everything in it,” Grace said, her voice full of amusement.
“Not everything, Ma. I just don’t know why you can’t have something that is part of a set.”
“Belonging to a set doesn’t protect you, Indie.” She picked up her own cup, holding it up in front of her eyes, thumbing over the rim, to where there was a huge chunk missing. “This one was part of a set once, and now it’s the only one left, tired and used, and broken.” She put the cup back on a saucer with a chink, the smile she had worn since we had arrived, gone.
Indie shook his head, and I glanced between them, confused.
“How’s your father?” she asked suddenly, a new smile plastered back on her face, but it lacked conviction.
“Still alive,” Indie grunted, his eyes suddenly seeking something on the plate in front of him.
“Stubborn bastard.” Grace shook her head, rising to her feet and sliding the plate out from underneath her.
I stood too, knocking the little wooden chair so that it landed backwards on the floor, the flowery cushioned pad slipping and now hanging from the only string that attached it to the back. Picking up my plate, I tipped the fallen chair upright.
“Leave the dishes, pet. Indie will sort them,” Grace ordered, and I watched him nod, getting to his feet immediately and stacking what was left of the dishes on top of each other before dropping them into the sink.
“He’s well trained, my lad.” Grace winked at me. “Got good manners, despite that stupid emblem he wears on his back.”
*****
Fresh sea air rushed at us from every side as we walked, our backs to the castle on the mound. The narrow streets of elderly houses were crammed full of people, even mid-week.
“It’s a beautiful place,” I said out loud, gazing at the thick stone walls of the properties we passed, everyone different from the last.