I'm Normally Perfect (re-upload)

Chapter Twenty

'One, he's very bright...writing his thesis on the effect of the Victorian mentality on Freud's work.'

I nodded, 'Huh. I'd be interested in reading that.'

She nodded, 'When he told me, I thought it sounded like something to your taste, but it won't be ready for quite some time.'

'That's all right, I'm not dying for something else to read, I have loads of organising to do in the library. I'll meet you in the car park at five. Do you need anything from Blackwell's?'

'No. Thank you, though.'

This was our usual routine after school: Alex either went to the studio or read in the sitting room whilst I sat in the study banging away on the typewriter or pottered round the house, stacking and gathering books. Bedtime didn't change, we alternated first baths and she took Clem out for the last loo break of the night, returning to put out my light and say goodnight. We retained our Monday tea, but our Thursday chess meetings had to switch to Wednesday due to timetable differences. At weekends Alex usually spent most of Saturday in her studio and I read and worked on the even-slower-going-than-I-originally-expected library project. Saturday mornings Alex was at the studio before I woke up, but one weekend I got up early (or she was running behind schedule) and she took me with her. It was on the second floor of a building in the middle of the village. There were three large windows facing two different directions, a sharply vaulted ceiling, bare wood everywhere. Rather rustic and garret-like, I could see how it would be conducive to creativity. She had an easel set up with a painting in the early stages; so early, in fact, I couldn't figure out what it was to be. There were horizontal gradations of blue: darker at the top, growing lighter in the centre and becoming dark again at the bottom, but that was it so far. She saw me studying it, 'What do you think?'

'It looks like the ocean and the sky.'

She smiled, 'That's what it's supposed to be.'

I was proud I'd been able to see that. 'Of course it's not nearly finished. That's the backdrop for the subject of the piece.'

'What's the subject?'

'I was going to do a modern version of Botticelli's "Birth of Venus".'

I nodded, 'Oh. I like his portrayals of the Madonna, though I always thought it odd that a Hebrew was depicted as being pale with blonde or red hair.'

She chuckled, 'Have you been to the Uffizi?'

'The what?'

'The gallery in Florence where a bit of Botticelli's work is kept?'

I shook my head, embarrassed by my lack of culture, 'Have you? Of course you have.' She nodded, 'It's beautiful. Perhaps we'll go some day.'

I nodded, not believing it would happen, but enjoying the thought and adding it to my list of things to think about before going to sleep. I gestured at a stack of paintings leaning against the wall, 'May I?'

'Please.' She removed her greatcoat and hung it up before pulling on something paint-smeared that looked like a peasant top over her clothes.

'That's interesting, does it work better than your paint smock at Tillington?'

'It performs adequately well, I simply think it's a fun outfit, but would never wear it otherwise.' She flapped her arms out to the side, making the cloth billow.

'Yeah, you're not really a "peasant top" sort of woman.'

She cocked her head to the side, 'What are you implying?' I couldn't be sure if she was upset or only pretending.