‘Yeah, I might,’ I said, too sleepy to object. ‘You coming with me?’
‘Nah, I thought I might take a wander to see the Namatjiras in the Araluen Arts Centre.’
‘Okay.’ I put the necessary dollars to cover the lunch on the table and stood up. ‘See you back at the ranch.’
*
I came to a couple of hours later and sat bolt upright.
Where’s the painting? I thought immediately as I shook myself into wakefulness. My mind searched its memory files, and I realised that we’d left it in the boot of the car when we’d gone to find lunch.
And the car was due back to the rental company at six this evening . . .
‘Shit!’ I swore as I looked at the time on the clock and saw it was nearing half past seven. What if Chrissie had forgotten about it? I pulled on my boots and ran down the stairs, which probably took me far longer than spending a few seconds patiently waiting for the lift. I reached reception and saw her through the glass doors, sitting on a sofa in the little residents’ lounge. She was reading a book on Namatjira and as I pushed open the doors and walked towards her, my panic increased. There was no sign of the painting beside her.
‘Sleeping Beauty awakes.’ She looked up and grinned at me. The grin faded as she saw my face. ‘What’s up?’
‘The painting,’ I panted. ‘Where is it? It was in the boot, remember? And the car was going back at six and it’s half past seven now and—’
‘Strewth, Cee! D’ya really think I’d have forgotten about it?’
‘No, but where is it?’ As I put my hands on my hips combatively, I realised just how much that painting meant to me. Brilliant or rubbish – or more likely somewhere in between – that wasn’t the point. The point was, it was a start.
‘Don’t worry, it’s perfectly safe, promise.’
‘Where?’ I asked again.
‘I said it’s safe.’ She stood up, glaring at me now. ‘You really have a problem with trust, don’t ya? I’m going out for a walk.’
‘Okay, sorry, but could you just tell me where it is?’
She shrugged silently and walked out of the lounge. By the time my legs had galvanised themselves into action and followed her into reception, she had left the hotel. I went outside and looked up and down the street, but she had vanished.
I went back upstairs to the room and lay on my bed, my heart beating like a tom-tom. Eventually, I calmed down and told myself that I’d overreacted, but surely it had been fair enough to expect a straightforward reply from her as to where my painting was? Because it signalled the return of something I’d seriously thought I might have lost forever. Something that was mine, that belonged to me, that no one could ever take away, except me.
Having given it away, both metaphorically and in real life, I needed it back. It wasn’t ‘safe’ unless it was with me. Couldn’t she understand that? I took a long hot shower to drown out my thoughts, then lay down on my bed to wait for her to come back.
‘Hi,’ she said as she walked into the room two hours later and threw her key down onto the desk.
‘Hi,’ I replied.
I watched her as she sat down and undid her boots, then stripped off her trousers to begin taking off half of her right leg. She didn’t speak to me, giving me the silent treatment like Star used to when I’d said or done something wrong. I lay back on my bed and closed my eyes.
‘Did you hear what I said when I left the hotel earlier?’ she asked me eventually.
‘Yeah, I might be stupid and dyslexic, but I’m not deaf,’ I said, my eyes still shut.
‘Jesus!’ Chrissie gave a long sigh of frustration, and I heard her manoeuvring herself towards the bathroom. The door slammed behind her and I heard the shower being turned on.
I hated these moments, the ones when everyone seemed to know what it was I’d done wrong, except for me. Like I was some alien who’d fallen to earth and didn’t get the rules of the game. It was really irritating and, after all the euphoria I’d felt earlier, a total downer.
Eventually, I heard Chrissie come out of the bathroom and the creak of the bed as she sat down on it.
‘Shall I turn out the light, or are you going to need it to get your clobber off?’ she asked me coldly.
‘Whatever you want. I’m fine either way.’
‘Okay. Night.’ She turned out the light.
I managed approximately five minutes – actually, probably less – before I had to speak.
‘What is your problem? I was just asking you where my painting was.’
There was silence from the bed next to me. Again, I held it as long as I could, but then blurted out, ‘Why is it such a big deal?’
The light was switched on and Chrissie glared down at me from her sitting position on the side of her bed.
‘All right! I’ll tell you where the friggin’ painting is! At the moment, it’s probably in the store at the back of the Tangetyele Gallery waiting to be framed, which by tomorrow, Mirrin has promised me it will be. And maybe by the day after, it’ll be hung on the wall of the gallery, with a selling price of six hundred dollars, which I negotiated. Okay?’
The light was snapped off again, and me and my agitation – with added astonishment – were plunged back into darkness.
‘You took it to the gallery?’ I said slowly, trying to breathe.
‘Yup. That was the deal, wasn’t it? I knew you’d never value my humble opinion on the work, so I took it to a professional. FYI,’ she spelt out through gritted teeth, ‘Mirrin loved it. Almost grabbed it outta my hand. Wants ta know when more are on the way.’
There was too much in those sentences for my brain to take in, so I said nothing. Just breathed as best I could.
‘She bought my painting?’ I managed eventually.
‘I wouldn’t say that – she didn’t hand over any money – but if some punter does buy it, then ya get three hundred an’ fifty dollars, and the gallery two hundred an’ fifty. She wanted to make it fifty-fifty, but I beat her down on the promise of more Celaeno D’Aplièses.’
Celaeno D’Aplièse . . . how many times had I dreamt about that name becoming famous in the art world? It certainly wasn’t a name anyone could forget, being such a mouthful.
‘Oh. Thanks.’
‘That’s okay.’
‘I mean,’ I added, beginning to see why she was so upset, ‘really, thanks.’
‘I said it’s okay,’ came the terse response from the blackness.
I closed my eyes and tried to think of sleep but it was impossible. I sat upright, feeling it was my turn to exit stage left. Groping for my shorts, and being as clumsy as I was, I tripped over Chrissie’s false leg, which stood like a booby trap between the beds.
‘Sorry,’ I said, fumbling for it in the darkness to stand it back upright.
The light was switched on again.
‘Thanks,’ I repeated as I looked for my shoes.
‘You running out on me?’ she asked.