while I ⦠Iâm up here being the greatest talent of the age.â
âWhile youâre up here being an arty farty wanker , you mean!â
âIsnât it fantastic!â
âWeâll be able to plan stuff!â
âWe can nick off and go to the movies!â
âWe can sip gin out on the balcony!â
âAnd chuck stuff down at people we hate!â
âDet, this place is fantastic.â I throw my arms around her. âItâs just what you need and you deserve it. Iâm so happy for you. Youâre going to do some great painting here.â
âPerfect, isnât it?â She smiles.
âYouâve already started.â I point to the big canvas.
âYeah.â Det pulls away from us and takes off her work shirt. Underneath is a tattered T-shirt over the red skirt. âLetâs eat. Iâm completely famished.â
Cassie pulls a small grainy photo of a man standing against a wall and squinting into the sun from the pin-board. âWhoâs this?â
âThat is my old man,â Det says dispassionately.
Cassie and I are quiet as we stare at the photo, but Det takes it back and pins it up where it was. âI found it in my stuff months ago.â
She has her thongs on now and is wandering around her studio frowning. She suddenly seems edgy and out of sorts.
âWhat are you looking for?â
âCiggies.â
âHow old was he in the photo?â
âAbout thirty.â She smiles when she spots her tobacco under some screwed-up paper in the corner. âCome on, girls! Got me fags; Iâm starving.â
âDo you remember him?â I risk asking.
âYeah.â
âSo how old were you when he died?â
âTwelve.â
âWhat was his name?â
âMartin. But everyone called him Marty.â
âSo what was he like?â I ask curiously.
âWhat can I say?â She shrugs. âHe was ⦠my dad.â
Cassie pulls the baguettes from her bag along with the drinks.
âI got freebies!â
âNo shit? Oh man!â Det yelps in delight, grabs one and takes a couple of huge ravenous bites before putting it back in the bag. With a guilty laugh she wipes her mouth with one paint-splattered hand. âSorry, but I just had to do that! Weâll eat them downstairs then?â She runs back and opens the window wider. âThis place needs air too. Letâs get out of here.â
At the door, Det takes a moment to stare at her canvas. âIâve been working on this fucker all night,â she mumbles, âand Iâve hardly got anywhere.â
âDid you have any sleep?â
She points ruefully at the corner. Two grimy sheets and a rumpled doona.
âYou slept here?â Cassie is appalled.
âWell, I did last night.â Det is defensive. âI have a key. Weâre allowed in to work at any time of the day or night. How would they know if I sleep here? It was actually good. I had some sleep then got up and worked like a maniac all morning.â
âItâs good, Det,â I say, looking at the painting again. âAt least, it will be.â
âYou think?â Her face brightens momentarily. âIâm not sure yet.â
âAre all the rooms here the same size?â
âI got a big one,â Det replies. âMost of them are half this size. Apparently the painters get a choice if one comes up.â
âSo, back when it was a convent would a more senior nun have had this room?â
âNo, half a dozen postulants would have shared this one,â Det says.
Cassie and I look at each other. âWhat the fuck is a postulant?â
âWhen they first went into the convent they were called postulants. They had a year or two to try it out.â
âHow do you know all this stuff?â
Det pokes me in the chest. âOld Peach hates not to know, eh?â
âWell?â
âMy dadâs
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