He picks up a puppy wearing a scarf and inspects it. ‘I’ll do my best to make sure the other dogs don’t laugh at you,’ he promises.
‘Seriously – a puppy? I expected you to choose something far more ...’
‘There’s no good end to that sentence,’ he says. ‘Far more what?’
‘I don’t know. Macho, perhaps?’
‘You told me I could choose,’ he says. ‘And I choose Cuthbert. How about you? I don’t see any toads or water rats on display. A distressing omission. I’ll have to talk to the management.’
‘I think I’ll paint this castle,’ I say, picking it up and bringing it back to the table.
‘I expected you to choose something a little more challenging,’ he says.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Everything’s marked out for you. It’s symmetrical, and the bricks are already stamped on it. It doesn’t seem particularly challenging for someone with your artistic talent.’
I pick up a paintbrush. ‘That’s what you think. This is the bare bones of the structure. I can add as little or as much as I want. That’s the beauty of creativity.’
‘Interesting.’ He selects a pot of lilac paint. ‘I’m going to start with the collar. Don’t talk, or you’ll distract me, and Cuthbert will be the laughing stock of the dog population of Little Mickton.’
We paint in silence for a while. At last, Alex lays down the puppy and scrutinises my handiwork. ‘That’s beautiful. Is it any particular castle?’
‘Not intentionally,’ I say. ‘I just liked the shape.’
‘Square?’ he says with a teasing glint in his eye.
I flush. Is that what he thinks of me? ‘I don’t mean the shape of the castle. And most castles are square, aren’t they?’
He reaches out to pick it up, but I stop him. ‘It isn’t dry yet. You’ll smudge it.’
‘Is it the symmetry you like or the feeling of being safe?’ he asks.
‘I don’t know. It’s exactly the right proportions. It feels right.’
I pick up a tiny paint brush and dip it into the green paint. ‘Don’t distract me or the rose leaves will go everywhere.’
‘Roses?’ he says. ‘You’re being very thorough.’
‘Of course. You didn’t think I was going to paint the entire thing grey and brown?’
‘It seems appropriate for a castle,’ he says.
I squeeze a little pink paint onto the pallet. ‘But that’s only the beginning. You have to get the foundations right or none of it will work. Once you’ve done that, it’s up to you what you want to do next. Everyone who paints these castles will do something different.’
‘Like these puppies,’ he says, picking up Cuthbert and inspecting him.
‘I can safely say he’s one of a kind,’ I say, laughing at the orange and pink checked scarf.’
‘So is your castle. I like the ivy.’
I don’t look up from my rosebud. ‘Castles have to have ivy.’
‘But not all castles have roses.’
‘Climbing roses are my favourite,’ I say. ‘I’m having them anyway.’
‘Your rules,’ he says. ‘You can paint a zombie looking out of one of the turrets if you like.’