Pre-Arranged

Chapter-24

Amelia sighed. This must have been the thirteenth sigh in the last half an hour alone. The blank canvas stared back at her, innocently mocking her. Today she had not even bothered to pick up a paintbrush; the last three and a half weeks had taught her that paint dribbling to the floor from the tip of the brush while she held it up in midair, the white surface untouched by it, did not make a painting. Plus, her hand ached from the posture.

The door to the little room was opened and Amelia automatically straightened her back, turning on her heels to smile and greet Mrs. Holden.

"Hi, Mrs. Holden. Did the class begin already?"

The old lady shook her head. "There's still ten minutes, dear." Her eyes landed on the empty canvas and one of her eyebrows shot up. "I see you're stuck even now."

Amelia groaned and rubbed her eyes with the heels of her palms. "I don't get it. When I was in school, it used to be so easy. Now I am out of ideas or something."

Mrs. Holden settled down into the only armchair present in the room, positioned against the wall right beside the door. "You know, I started these classes only five years ago. It was the loneliness and more than that, after the kids left and Graham passed on, there was the lack of everyday routine. Believe it or not, I was the happiest when I cooked for my family and one day, my perky little grandson suggested I start teaching what I love. Quite some pondering later, this place came into being."

"So... I should wait till I'm seventy-three?"

Mrs. Holden roared out in laughter and pulled her spectacles down the bridge of her nose. Poring over its rim, she stared in amusement at her young help, who was grinning now. "I like your sense of humour. I'm surprised your husband isn't lost in your charm yet."

"I believe that to be the consequence of our non-conversation pact," Amelia replied slowly.

The old lady chuckled, shook her head and pulled herself off the chair. She nodded towards the door and asked, "Would you mind helping me out then? The class will be in soon."

"Of course."

While the students were busy chopping their ingredients and sparing their already bandaged fingers the reliving of the trauma for most of the time, Amelia would sit beside Mrs. Holden and engage her in small talk. In one of these talks, she asked the older lady, "Um, Mrs. Holden?"

"Yes, dear?"

"Say, I want to...um..." Her voice choked on the words and she fidgeted with her fingers. "How...how do you...start, uh, a conversation?"

"With your husband or with anybody in general?" Mrs. Holden asked kindly, placing a reassuring palm over her twitchy fingers.

Amelia smiled sheepishly and said in a low tone, "Anybody in general." Taking a deep breath, she added, "I've never had a proper talk with anyone, and I don't imagine people are as free-minded as Sarah because my cousins are all, well, judgemental. And, and I never liked talking with them, so I rarely initiated any form of conversation with them. You know, since they are sure to point fingers at me for nothing, why should I bother with the formalities? That's what I kept telling myself while I grew up. But, um," she paused and bit her lower lip, "I'm supposed to meet some people tomorrow and I would love to know how not to upset someone with my words or my behaviour."

Mrs. Holden waved her free hand and peered at her over her spectacles. "Amelia, dear, please stop beating yourself up about it. If at all the people you are meeting tomorrow are as narrow-minded as your cousins seem to be to me, it absolutely would not matter how proper you behave or put up an act of the same. You are still young, which is perhaps why others' opinions weigh on you so much. Take it from an old lady – in the end, their words matter not, because you will meet and interact with others for only a part of your life, but you will have to live with yourself for all your life. Whose thoughts on you would matter more in that case, do you think?"