8 The Rooftop

With the items she bought from the market, she had collected a flower-dyeing workstation that all neatly fit into her large pot. Grunting, she picked up the pot and hurriedly carried it upstairs to the third floor. Sweating, and red in the face she plunked the heavy pot down outside Mrs. Quim's door. She mustered her strength and proceeded with the pot to the end of the hall, where a small dingy set of stairs led to the roof. Huffing and puffing she managed to move the pot, step by step, until she emerged on the roof triumphant.

Living in this crumbly building that seemed to reject all light and fresh air, it was always a shock to go outside and see how bright it was.

A warm wind wafted off of the gentle waves that tickled the boats anchored to the harbour. The sea air carried the taste of salt and the smell of fish, a scent that had taken many months to get used to. Sea gulls busied themselves in the air while humans busied themselves on the land and sea. It was by all means a normal day, but from high up on the roof, the city somehow looked so full and beautiful. But then a chilly wind blowing from a different direction snatched away Eva's brief joy. She turned around. The great hill in the distance loomed over her, silent and cruel. It was beyond Falkirk and other common suburbs, further still from where her family used to live in Lochmere Heights, along with the other nouveau rich who could afford to live better than some nobles. Near the foot of that hill was where she watched her father's head roll off the podium, where her mother's fragile heart stopped beating, where her fifteen year old brother Gabriel was dragged away to fight a meaningless war on the northern islands; it was a place that reeked of blood and sorrow, the place where she learned what pain really was.

Forcing herself to look away, she unpacked her flower dyeing station behind a piece of protruding wall that would provide cover from the wind. She didn't have to worry about her belongings getting stolen because none of the residents of this building ever came up here. All of them worked during the day, and didn't have time to waste on views. If the residents did social then it would be at the courtyard in the center of the building.

Thinking about Earth, she remembered that Katherine used to visit a psychologist to talk through her emotional problems, although Eva thought it was dangerous to tell a stranger all ones secrets and intimate details, therapy helped Katherine through her parents divorce. Of course, there was no such thing in Ardenshore, but implementing some of the things Katherine had learnt in her own life might help.

Due to Mrs. Quim's antics all of the pigeons sat inside her room instead of on the roof, so Eva was free from dealing with the pesky birds. Only a couple of seagulls stopped by to rest while she was busy dying flowers.

Her purchasing cheap wildflowers was all so that she could experiment with dyeing. For the first three poppies she cut the stems and let them rest in a jar of diluted squid ink. With another three poppies she used her finger to swipe the ink across the edges of the petals, giving the flowers a black lining, however once she left those to dry, the ink started to smudge and seep down the petals. She would need a rack to hang them upside down, but where would she find such a rack. How much would it cost?

While she worked, she went over her fianances in her head.

Eva started the day with 1 mark and 75 shills, the most money she'd had in six months. She earned a stunning 40 shills selling her roses to Miss Gwendolyn, and spent 6 shills buying equipment for her work station. That rounded out to 2 marks and 9 shills, or 209 shills in total. This was good, but not for long. Since Charlotte's treatment required at least 15 shills a week for a checkup with the doctor, not to mention the price of the medicines which could raise the total fee to 20 shills a week, her situation was not secure. Her job at the pub could not cover the medical costs with the measly pay of 7 shills a week. If she and Charlotte continued to live frugally and only spent 6 shills a month on food, the money would still run out in less than a year. That time could be stretched out by selling flowers to different vendors and on the streets but not by much. In that case, they could forget about moving to a better area. Eva couldn't help but be bitter thinking about how Charlotte spent one mark on new clothes and perfume...

However, if she managed to sell flowers to Gwendolyn on a weekly basis and earn in the realm of 40 shills a week, her money problems would be solved. At the very least she needed to sell Miss Gwendolyn 35 shills worth of roses. She would know her fate at the end of the week. But she couldn't just sit around and do nothing in that time.

Eva suddenly felt eyes on her. She turned to find a young man on the adjacent roof who was wearing a paint-stained apron, staring at her.

When he noticed Eva was looking back at him, his eyes immediately lowered to his feet. He gave Eva an apologetic bow before hurriedly going back to setting up his art supplies. Now that he'd been caught staring at Eva, his movements of setting up the space become awkward causing him to knock over a jar of paintbrushes.

A few easels were already stationed around his large roof, they were only lacking canvasses.Almost tripping over his feet, he stumbled through a door, leaving Eva's view.

The corners of her mouth twitched into a smile, what a funny guy.

Eva went back to dyeing the flowers but she couldn't stop herself from taking glances at the opposite roof when the young man emerged with canvass paintings under his arms. She was close enough to see the paintings, but the angles they were placed at made it hard for her to get a good look. Alas, between glances she could only vaguely make out the landscape and still life paintings. At some point she forgot about her flowers and was plainly staring at him set up.

He was about Gabriel's age, quite slim, with soft shaggy pale brown hair. There was a smudge of paint on his dimpled chin, just below his thin lips. His spectacles sat low on his nose, framing his grey eyes in big round rims. She liked his soft handsomeness.

The boy suddenly looked up from his work and caught Eva staring at him. Eva's cheeks reddened in embarrassment, she hurriedly went back to her flowers.

To her relief, he didn't say anything either. The two just went about their business on their separate roofs, until the rare sound of horse shoes clopping against paving stones echoed up from the street below.

The young man's face flushed with colour as he ran to the edge of the roof to peer down at the arriving carriage. Eva also leaned over the edge, surprised to hear the arrival of a carriage this deep into Saltspindle.

He dashed back inside through the door and soon Eva heard his voice on the street below greeting the man who exited from the carriage.

"Grandfather, please come in." His gentle tone had a slight strain to it, Eva couldn't tell if it was because he was nervous, or if he was at the age where his voice was cracking.

As the two emerged back onto the roof, Eva tucked herself further into the corner, hoping that her presence there wouldn't be a problem. Thankfully, the pair of Grandfather and Grandson went about their own business without paying attention to her.

"How are you finding life in Saltspindle, Dylan?" The grandfather grinned as he strolled onto the roof.

Dylan nudge his round glasses up his nose and stared at his paint stained fingers, deep in thought.

"It's different." He finally said.

"Good, different is good." The grandfather came to a stop in front of the largest canvass.

It was a painting of the harbour, of the vast and deep blue sea and the humble men who encroached on it everyday to make a living by catching fish.

The grandfather silently examined it, his sharp eyes traversing very inch of the canvass without blinking or moving. And Dylan watched this old man, his eyes so obviously desperate for his grandfather's approval.

The older gentleman sighed and turned to face his grandson. He gently took Dylan's hands in his and cleared his throat. "You have good eyes, and an excellent hand — that much I've always known. But I want to see what's lies in your heart."

Dylan took a deep breath in, not sure what to make of this feedback. Seeing the confusion in his grandson's eyes, the elder man elaborated.

"An artist's skill is but half his worth. True genius lies in an artist's ability to make you feel. A real painting should bleed emotion and inspiration."

A faint smile touched Dylan's lips. "I think your colleagues would disagree."

The old man huffed. Angrily shaking his head he said, "Those imbeciles are up to their shoulders in commissioned betrothal portraits. They wouldn't recognise true art even if I cracked the painting over their heads."

He grasped Dylan's shoulders firmly. "Art is creation, not replication."

Dylan blinked up at his excited grandfather, still a little unsure about how to create this true art. He'd devoted considerable time to these paintings, only to find they failed to meet his grandfather's expectations, despite receiving top marks at the academy.

"You'll be staying here until you have enough life experience to put something substantial on your canvass." His grandfather cast a fond gaze toward the Saltspindle harbor, finding solace in its familiar vistas.

With that, he turned swiftly, exiting through the door while his voice lingered behind. "Inspiration is closer than you think."

Dylan exhaled heavily, fatigue creeping in. He glanced around at his rooftop filled with his recent paintings, none of which had pleased his grandfather. How long would he be confined to Saltspindle?

"Excuse me." A small voice called from the adjacent rooftop.

Eva could no longer hold back her curiosity. "May I look at your paintings?"

The gentle sea breeze swept over the rooftops, tousling both Eva's and Dylan's hair.

Eva reached forward, offering a black poppy in exchange for the chance to see his paintings up close. Dylan froze, his gaze fixed on Eva, his heart racing.