Words that can cause wounds

The cafè was full and Valerie had to struggle to manoeuvre the pushchair. She picked up Lily, her little granddaughter and gently placed her into the one remaining highchair. A young waitress came, over took their order and handed Valerie the toddler pack. Lily was soon scribbling away with all the colours she could use and then held up the drawing for Valerie to admire, her face alight with pride in her achievement, her beautiful dark  eyes sparkling with delight,

'Look Nana I'm an artist, you can put it on your kitchen wall.'

Valerie smiled back and carefully tucked a strand of Lily's curly hair back under her unicorn hairband.

'It's beautiful Lily, it will bring the sunshine into my kitchen with all those beautiful colours.'

She looked more closely at the drawing, it was indeed a perfect mix of colours, the blues and greens mingling together and then a huge bright yellow sun in the corner, its rays reaching into all the corners of the paper.

She strapped Lily back into the buggy and turned into the High Street.
A new art gallery had opened up and she slowed down in front of the window. She drew in her breath sharply, a deep pain going straight to her heart and felt faint as she saw the huge banner fluttering across the bay window, ' Art's a Tart'. She felt her cheeks redden and her heart beat furiously.
She looked down at Lily who was clutching her teddy and totally unaware of her grandmother's turmoil. It was that word 'tart', it still had the power to hurt her even after all these years.

 The memory of that summer so many years ago came back with a vengeance, the most wonderful summer of her life. She'd been studying Art at the local college, just seventeen, saving up money to have driving lessons, happy living at home with her mum and dad and brother and in no hurry to leave like her friends. It had been such a hot summer. It had caused a sort of euphoria to descend. He had been working at the local pub, working his way through college. The moment she saw him she was lost. She'd gone in to meet her dad for a quick drink on the way home.
The young man behind the bar smiled as he took their orders. She'd watched his strong arms pick up the glass and the way he held it and tipped it so the froth crept up the sides and formed a perfect layer on top. The way he'd smiled at her as he handed her the drinks, the way his hair curled over his collar, the way the cuffs of his shirt showed strong wrists with a light covering of blond hair, the way his top button was undone  and the way he smelt as he came closer. Even now the memory of that first sight of him made her feel weak with longing. He'd asked her out there and then and her dad had grinned and smiled his approval. He 'd turned to his friend Dennis and shrugged.

'Bees round a honeypot eh.'

Then followed two magical months. The sun shone all the time, the birds sang, their skin turned golden, his eyes shone even more blue, they went on picnics, just a bottle of orange juice, bread, cheese and plums, laying their rug under the shade of the willow trees near the stream, afterwards they would go to the village shop for an ice cream and sit outside talking and talking and just drinking in the sight of each other. Who could have imagined it would end like it did.


The door of the art gallery was open and a young girl who was sitting there came out and looked at her with concern.

'Are you alright? Would you like a glass of water? You look like you've seen a ghost.'

Valerie clutched the handles of the buggy and tried to smile her thanks.


'It's nothing, thank you for asking. Is there a painting exhibition on?

The young girl held out her hand,

'I'm Emma and this is my uncle's exhibition, well great uncle really but he doesn't like me to say that too much. He's really a photographer but then I suppose that is art too.
Of course it is, he'd be really cross if he heard me doubt it. Come on in, I'll get you a cool drink and you can look around.'

Emma bent down to help lift the buggy up the step into the shop and smiled at Lily
who smiled back and held out her teddy,

'This is Teddy he's my friend, he sleeps with me every night and stops bad things coming into my room. I'm nearly four. Here's my drawing, Nana says I'm an artist, would you like one.'

Emma threw her head back and laughed.

'I love the way children are so generous with their art. Just think of the art world and what paintings can be worth and here's a beautiful one for free, and look at it, it's just so full of joy and happiness.'

She turned to Valerie,

'Are you feeling better now? Would you like to look round?'

For a moment Valerie had forgotten and then she looked at the banner again,

'But why is it called 'Art's a tart?'

Emma shrugged her shoulders,

'You can ask my uncle, he'll be along in a minute. Go through that black curtain to look around the exhibition.'

Valerie hesitated, then looking straight at Emma, spoke clearly,

'It's just that I hate that word. It might sound stupid now, things have changed so much, but when my dad found out I was sleeping with my boyfriend that's what he called me and it was a knife going through my heart and it's stayed there ever since.'

She could see that Emma was surprised and confused but she looked so caring that Valerie continued, trying to make sense herself of how her life had turned out.

' My dad told him never to darken our door again and that was that, I never saw him, and now, now,  now I have a granddaughter..'

Her voice trailed off, it sounded like she was belittling her life, demeaning it somehow, it didn't seem fair on Lily. She bent down and spoke softly to the little girl,

'We'll quickly look at these photographs then go home for tea' ok?

Lily nodded and they passed through the curtain.

It was like a blinding flash of joy, a hurricane of warm feelings,  a tornado  of emotions, a dazzling display of all that was good in her, of all the wonderful possibilities that had been there all those years ago, of everything that had been within her, in the very depths of her, waiting to blossom and to yield and then had been stunted and cropped. All around the room were photographs of everything that she had ever loved, of everything that she could love and everything that she had hoped and dreamed of becoming. There were photographs of the fields and woods around her home, in all the seasons displaying their full richness and promise, the flowers and trees, the hedgerows, the corn fields, the cathedral like woods in the Autumn, the streams, the blackberry lanes, everything that had been a part of her and there in the distance was a cottage and children were playing in the garden and the sky was all the colours of her soul, that's it, she knew then and turned round as the curtain was pulled back and light came in. Silhouetted against the light, the years fell away, the shoulders, the arms, the shape of his head the movements were unchanged, time had cherished him as she had in her heart.

Emma stepped into the room, sensing something, an electricity, a warmth, she looked from one to the other and then turned to her uncle,

'This lady wants to know why Art's a tart.'

He stepped forward and opened his arms,

'Art's generous, warm, giving, life enhancing, alive…

Lily clapped her hands, "I love jam tarts!".