sorcerer, who is the master?

“This piece… there's an aura of love—not just between the man and child, but, I dare say, between the subjects and painter.”

Violet blushed.

The thing about Harry was that he was so damn hard to not fall in love with.

His terrible jokes (and the shit-eating grin that came after), the thoughtful little gestures, the way he was always pushing her to take better care of herself…

Maybe it was just that she’d been denied that sort of nurturing care for so long. A starved dog always comes back to the hand that feeds it, after all.

But then… there was that feeling. The one that had been forbidden for so long. She thought of that book, the one with the children locked away just as she had so often been, denied the chance to learn and grow and love.

Now, when he came back from his morning run and tugged his shirt off, bronzed skin slick with a thin sheen of sweat, she didn't know what to do with the fluttering in her stomach, the heat that rushed through her veins. After everything that had happened, she’d thought she would never be able to feel that kind of desire.

Of course, she knew he would never feel the same way about her. She could never compete with supermodels and actresses, people who were well-traveled, interesting, gorgeous—people who the universe looked favorably upon.

All of these thoughts ran through Violet’s mind as she stood back, allowing her professor and the man to examine the painting.

“Th- thank you, Mr. Gladstone.”

He turned, a jovial smile on his plump face. “You were right, Melinda. This young woman has an incredible talent.”

Violet blushed.

“I was very happy to see she’d be returning this year,” Professor Collins said fondly. “Miss Warren, you said that this is your daughter?”

“Oh, um, yes. My little girl and… a friend.”

The friend in question, of course, was Harry. His back was turned to the viewer, and he was lifting Gwen up in a manner not dissimilar to Simba in The Lion King, standing in a field of flowers. It was based on a picture she’d taken of them in the garden, where they’d been playing airplane—a game which involved Harry holding the little girl aloft and making various sounds that were, admittedly, much closer to those of a helicopter.

“Miss Warren, I’d like to ask a favor of you,” Mr. Gladstone said.

“Oh?”

He chuckled. “I assume you’re aware of the Gladstone Gallery and our annual exhibition of up-and-coming artists?”

She was—had been since before she’d come to London, had always hoped she might be able to attend some day.

“Of course.”

“We've had an exhibitor drop out. If you're amicable, I'd like to ask you to fill in his spot. It needn't be much, three to five pieces—and you'll be compensated, of course.”

“I… I'd be honored, but shouldn't someone more experienced-”

“Frankly my dear, I've met artists twice your age with not even half your skill—not to mention heart. Don't forget, this exhibition is for new artists, fresh faces in London's creative scene. Please.” He extended a hand, palm up, simultaneously offering and begging.

“O- okay.”

Mr. Gladstone beamed as he shook her hand. “Here, my card. I'll have my assistant email you this afternoon. Thank you, Miss Warren. You've done me a great service today.”

Violet thought she was going to faint.

She gathered her things in a daze, still trying to process what had just happened. When Professor Collins had asked her to stay for a moment after dismissing the rest of her crit, she'd expected, well, critique. This was almost unbelievable.

She stepped out of the studio to find Courtney, a girl who was in a few of her classes and with whom she'd become friends, waiting for her.

“What was that all about?”

“Nothing. Just, you know. Some advice.” She couldn't explain it, but she wanted to tell Harry before anyone else.

Courtney raised an eyebrow. “Okaaay… so, like, you missed the bus, but I can give you a lift. Do you want to get a coffee, or do you just want to go home?”

“Honestly, I'm sort of tired. Winnie kept me up half the night—I think she gets anxious when it's stormy.”

“Uh-huh.” She pursed her lips as they made their way to the car park. “I'm absolutely never going to have children. The last thing I want is a smelly, sticky little creature keeping me awake at night. And it ruins your body. I don't know why you decided to have one, especially so young. Oh, do you, like, need a ride? Or is your totally-not-your-boyfriend picking you up?”

Violet held her tongue. Courtney meant well, she knew. She was just lacked a filter sometimes. “He’s at home with the baby, as far as I know. And he's not my boyfriend.”

“Right, he's just your friend—who happens to be a guy—who you live with and who's helping you raise your kid. Actually, I think you're right. That's closer to a husband.” She opened the passenger door of her car with a flourish. “M'lady.”

“Dork.”

“Rude. You're going to have to actually show me a picture or introduce me one of these days, because if he lives in a posh neighborhood like that and you're not jumping his bones, then either there's something wrong with him, or something deeply, deeply wrong with you. What's his name, anyway? I don't think you've ever told me.”

Violet squirmed, holding onto the door for dear life as Courtney peeled out of the car park like a bat out of hell. “Harry.”

“Harry? Oh my god, what is he, eighty? That's such an old man name. Oh my god, Vi, is he your sugar daddy?”

“No! Christ, no. We grew up together, he's only a little bit older than me.”

“Define ‘a little bit older.’”

“Two years.”

“Okaaay… so, he's, what, twenty four, and you grew up together, but now he lives in a house that easily could have cost a few million pounds?”

“He has a good job.”

Courtney still looked skeptical, but she seemed willing to drop the topic for the moment.

“I am so not excited about our stretcher workshop next week. I don't get why we have to make them ourselves, you can buy pre-made ones for peanuts.”

She turned so sharply that Violet was thrown into the door.

“If you make them yourself, you can make them whatever size or shape you need.”

“Anyone who needs bespoke canvases needs to get a life.”

It was Violet’s turn to look skeptical. “Do you actually enjoy art?”

“I like making pretty things. Some people need to find meaning in anything—it's ridiculous. Like that one Van Gogh, it's just some sunflowers in a vase. It doesn't mean anything other than ‘here's a vase of flowers.’ It’s not even pretty.”

“I think it’s beautiful. To me, it's sort of about finding beauty and happiness in the little things. Y’know, the stuff we take for granted.”

Courtney rolled her eyes so dramatically, Violet was certain she'd miss the turn onto Harry's street, but she whipped the steering wheel to the left at the last possible second, coming to a screeching halt in front of the house.

“You are such a precocious hipster.”

“You mean pretentious?”

“You say ‘tomato,’ I say ‘snob.’ But we all have to be snobby about something, I guess. Which reminds me, there's a party on Saturday. Megan—the girl with the teeth? She's throwing this insane rager at her parents’ guest house. Bring your little boy-toy along. Drinks will be on the house—among other things.”

Violet’s stomach turned. “I don't… I don’t drink. Or do ‘other things.’ I have to take care of Winnie, and I have work to do for the- for school. Harry wouldn't be interested, anyway.”

“God, you and that baby. It's like kids are sponges for fun. I get that you're a little older than most of us, but you don't have to act like you're thirty. Come on, live a little.”

“Maybe next time. I’ve got some things I need to do,” she mumbled, gathering her things.

“What, you're not even going to introduce me to Mister Mystery? Oh my god, is he, like, heinously ugly? He is, isn't he? Like Frankenstein?”

“A real modern Prometheus,” Violet said dryly, clambering out of the car with her bag over her shoulder and the canvas under her arm. “I'll see you Monday. Thanks for the ride.”

“Any time, babe.” Courtney waggled her fingers in a wave as she took off, tyres screeching.

Violet shook her head, watching her speed away. Maybe, in a sort of roundabout way, Courtney had a point.

***

Harry had propped Gwen up with some pillows on the living room floor, and was in the middle of an elaborate stuffed animal puppet show when Violet came home.

He saw her out of the corner of his eye, hovering in the doorway, her curls mussed and her face streaked with a bit of blue paint. She was absolutely radiant.

“And Mister Mittens and Miss Duckie played with little Gwennie and Mummy and Uncle Harry all day, and we all lived happily ever after.”

Gwen squealed as he tickled her belly and scooped her up into his arms.

“Look who's home, little bug.” He couldn't help thinking how natural it would feel to slip his arm around Violet’s waist and press a kiss to her cheek as he deposited the baby in her outstretched arms.

“Hello, my love! Did you have a nice day?”

“Aaa!” Gwen patted her mother’s cheeks happily, babbling on as if she actually were describing her adventures.

“We played with blocks all morning, and then we had tea at Nan’s. Little Miss has become quite the cat lady, she’s charmed the whiskers off Dusty and Dotty.” Harry smiled. “I was starting to worry, you’re usually back by now.”

Violet was practically vibrating with excitement, her brilliant smile on full display. “Sorry. Professor Collins asked me to stay after our crit.”

“Oh?”

“I guess she's friends with a gallery owner—William Gladstone. He hosts an exhibition every year, and on of this year's artists dropped out at the last minute. Mr. Gladstone wants me to take the open spot.”

“You’re joking! Vi, that's incredible!”

“It’s not a huge thing, mind. But it's something.” She pressed a kiss to Gwen’s forehead. “My little muse. This is all for you, baby love. Everything I've been working for is for you.”

She looked up, slipping her free arm around Harry and standing on tip-toe to kiss his cheek. “Thank you, Haz. For everything. Er… there is one thing… He wants this one.”

Harry glanced at the painting she'd leaned against the doorway. “Is that a problem?”

“Well… it's you.”

“It's the back of my head. Everyone will be too busy looking at this little bug to pay attention to me,” he said, tickling the bottom of Gwen’s foot.

She let out a sigh of relief. “Well, that's one down. He said three to five. I was thinking the one with the three rabbits would be good, and maybe-”

“The creepy cats?”

Violet nodded. “Anything to get it out of the house, I suppose. Maybe I'll see what I can crank out before everything has to be submitted.”

“I really am proud of you, Vi. You deserve this more than anyone.”

“Oh… I don’t know about that.”

“’M serious. I've seen how hard you've been working, and not just at school. You're an amazing artist, a wonderful mum, and, I think, one of the bravest people I know. You deserve some recognition.”

She ducked to press a kiss to Gwen’s forehead, only half hiding the way she blushed at his praise.

***

That evening, they sat, as they frequently did, in the living room. Harry had long since melted into his armchair, engrossed in his book, and Violet sat on the sofa, feet tucked under her, absorbed in a mystery thriller.

This had become a sort of evening ritual. Violet would put Gwen to bed, and she and Harry would both have some reading time. The only difference tonight was that they each had a slice of sinfully rich chocolate cake (to celebrate), and, instead of her usual chamomile tea, she'd accepted his offer of a glass of whatever he was drinking.

She wanted to pretend it was a small thing, that it didn't matter. She was a grown woman, after all, and why shouldn't she have a glass of wine after dinner?

But the truth was that she trusted Harry. Trusted him not to take advantage, trusted him to watch her back, trusted him, ultimately, to be the family she'd so desperately needed.

“Y’know, I've sort of been thinking…”

“Oh?” He looked up from his book.

“I, um, well… there's this mum and baby group that meets at the library on Friday afternoons. It might be good for Winnie, playing with other little ones. Probably wouldn't hurt for me to make some mum friends, too. Plus, it'll get us out of the house a bit. I'm sure you have things you'd like to be doing other than looking after us.”

“I wouldn't put it like that.” He set his book on the side table. “But I think you're right. It's good to see you… stepping out of your comfort zone, I guess.”

She looked down, swirling the deep, ruby liquid in her glass. “Not too far.”

“Baby steps.” Harry paused, studying her for a moment before asking, “What's on your mind?”

“It's silly… this girl that I've sort of made friends with invited me—well, us—to this ‘insane rager.’ Obviously I'm not going to go, but it did put things into perspective, I think. That's what normal people my age are doing. And it's not that I, y’know, regret… I love Winnie with all my heart. She's my whole world, and I wouldn't trade her for anything. I just sort of wonder sometimes…”

“What it would be like if things had worked out differently?”

“Yeah,” she sighed, sipped the last of her Merlot, and stood to gather their plates and glasses. “I guess it doesn't matter, really. Christ, it's been a long day. Think I'll clean up and get to bed.”

“You wash and I'll dry.”

***

As she stood beside Gwen’s cot, stroking the sleeping girl's curls, Violet whispered, “I think everything's going to be okay, baby love. You're going to have the safe, happy life you deserve, I promise. Sleep well, my darling.”

She sighed and settled down in her bed, vaguely wondering what Gwen dreamed about. Probably milk and Mister Mittens and her and Harry’s voices.

As for herself, tonight, Violet dreamed of one of the pieces she planned to submit to the exhibition—Three Rabbits in Marbury Park—but instead of standing at her easel, painting the scene, she was one of the rabbits, bounding through the grass in the golden sunlight, frolicking with her companions amongst the wildflowers.

Tags: @indierockgirrl @sassamanda77

Sorry this took so long!!! (,,>﹏<,,)

Things have been a bit hectic around here, but hopefully I'll be getting back to regular updates soon.