Short story: Wendy’s workshop

It had been years since she’d last held a paintbrush – could she really create something special enough?

It was a lovely bright day at Barham Lake. The clear water sparkled in the sunlight. Here and there, a sudden plop showed the presence of a fish jumping to catch a fly.

As my husband Russell and I unpacked the picnic basket, Josie, our six-year-old daughter, pointed across to a bank of reeds on our left. ‘Oh, look, a butterfly.’

A beautiful creature with iridescent greenish wings fluttered above the reeds.

‘That’s a damselfly,’ Russell said. ‘It’s really a dragonfly. You can see a lot of them round water at this time of year.’

‘Hmm, it doesn’t look like a dragon,’ said Josie. ‘I like it better as a damselfly.’

I unpacked the picnic basket carefully – sandwiches, crisps, bananas, white wine for us and tea for Josie.

I had packed Josie’s special cup and saucer, a souvenir brought back from Brittany. The design was of a woman dressed in traditional costume. Josie loved it.

When the picnic was over, Josie handed her cup and saucer to Russell, who put it in the picnic basket along with the other things. He rolled up the ground sheet, and everything was stowed back in the boot of the car.

When we arrived home, I put the basket on the draining board and started to unpack. To my horror, I found Josie’s favourite cup smashed into pieces. I called Russell over and pointed to it, then I held up the biggest bit by the handle and said to Josie, ‘I’m sorry, my love, there has been an accident.’

‘My cup!’ she cried, when she saw it. ‘Can you mend it?’

Russell took the piece from my hand and looked at the shards lying in the basket. ‘I’m afraid not, darling, we’ll have to get you another one.’

‘I don’t want another one!’ she wailed, snatching the piece from his hand, ‘I want this one.’

She started to cry and ran off to her room.

I turned to Russell, ‘You ought to have been more careful when you packed.’

He poked in the basket and brought out the saucer with the remaining fragments lying in it.

‘Look, the saucer is still in one piece,’ he said to me hopefully.

‘That’s not the point,’ I replied. ‘You know we can’t replace the cup unless we go back to Brittany, and there’s fat chance of that.’

‘It wasn’t my fault,’ he murmured.

‘Yes, it was,’ I said. ‘You’re just careless. I often have to tell you about things like this.’

Red-faced, he stamped out of the room and slammed the door.

I sighed. I knew he had gone to his shed at the bottom of the garden.

I had no time to try and put things right, as I had to comfort Josie, make the evening meal and get her to bed. It was all I could do to persuade her to put the remains of the cup on her dresser, rather than clutching the jagged pieces in her hand while she slept.

Russell came back in and we spent a silent evening in front of the television.

The next morning after breakfast, Russell went off to work with hardly a word. Josie was very quiet, as I got her ready for school. I knew how deeply she felt about her special cup. As she went through the school gates, she turned to me and asked, ‘Are you sure you can’t mend my cup, Mummy?’

Her plea stayed with me for the rest of the morning.

Then I had an idea as I did my weekly shop. I often passed the door of one particular place that always caught my eye. It was called Wendy’s Workshop. I had thought of popping in, but never had. The attractive window had a display of painted crockery and a large notice that suggested that anyone could decorate a plate or a cup and saucer. ‘Just come in and try your skill,’ it said.

Now I had a good reason to go. As I walked inside, a bell tinkled and I could see a well-dressed woman wearing a blue smock bending over a young girl engaged in painting a plate. She straightened up as I entered. ‘Can I help?’ she asked, smiling. I looked around the shop. It was well

‘It wasn’t my fault,’ he murmured

set out with tables and chairs. Each table had a set of paints and brushes on it, and round the walls were racks of all kinds of unglazed pottery. Several people were seated at the tables painting plates, cups and bowls.

I explained the problem. ‘My little girl’s special cup was broken. I wondered if it’s possible to make a new one.’

‘We have a number of cups and saucers so I’m sure we can help, but you realise you will have to paint it yourself?’

‘I didn’t know that,’ I said in alarm. ‘I’m not sure I could.’ ‘Have you ever tried?’ she asked. ‘Well, I used to paint at school. In fact, I was quite good with watercolours.’

‘This is no different. If you come in tomorrow with the design, I can help you. Or if you can’t come during the day, we are open in the evening when a lot of people come in after work. I’m Wendy, by the way.’ ‘I’m Sally,’ I said, smiling. I was encouraged and thought if I could paint a replacement cup and saucer, I’d give it to Josie as a surprise.

An old gentleman looked up from the vase he was decorating and gave me a friendly wave as I left.

I decided to go the next day and, within minutes of arriving, Wendy had got me working on a cup and saucer that would hopefully be just like the one that had been broken.

There were two other people in the shop that morning. Wendy was very good. She came round to each of us, giving advice and encouragement. She even went to the trouble of giving us coffee. In the break, we all sat around her large table and introduced ourselves.

The old gentleman who had waved was there. ‘I’m Fred. Making a present for my wife,’ he said proudly, holding up his half-painted flower vase. ‘It’s our 50th anniversary in two weeks’ time, and I wanted to give her a special present.’

I looked carefully at the work he’d done. It was very rough, and for a moment, my heart went out to him. He wanted to give his wife something special but hadn’t got the skill. I looked at Wendy and could see that she thought the same and was watching my reaction.

Think before you speak, I said to myself. Then I realised that if Russell had given me a vase like that – whatever his skill in painting – I would have treasured it.

‘She will love it,’ I said, lightly touching his arm.

‘I hope so,’ he replied. ‘I’ve never painted anything before but Wendy encouraged me.’ Wendy smiled at him.

The other person at the table was a young woman with long, untidy hair half across her face. She was holding her coffee in one hand and a small plate in the other, as though she was trying to hide it from our view.

‘I’m doing this as a gift to myself,’ she said. ‘I don’t have many friends but…’ She stopped and looked as though she was going to cry.

Wendy put her arm round the girl’s shoulder. ‘Sarah, show them what you’ve painted,’ she said.

Slowly, Sarah held up her plate. It was really delicately done – with the design of a dove soaring in the air. She turned away quickly.

I almost cried for her. It was so lovely, but she had no friend to give it to.

Then it was my turn. ‘I’m Sally,’ I said and told the story of the broken cup. Wendy smiled warmly, as I explained to the others I wanted to give my daughter a copy of her favourite cup.

In the end, I felt pleased with myself when I produced a pretty good copy of Josie’s cup and saucer. Wendy told me to be patient for a few days, while she fired the kiln and then did the final glaze.

On Saturday morning, I received a phone call from Wendy to say that the cup and saucer were ready to collect. I sneaked out of the house on the excuse of wanting to go to the shops.

There, on the table in the shop, was the finished article. It looked great. I lifted it and gazed it at with pride, then I turned to give it back to Wendy – but it slipped from my hand and crashed to the floor. Not again! This was unbelievable! As I wept, Wendy put her arm round my shoulder. ‘These things happen, Sally,’ she said. ‘You can make another.’

‘No, I can’t, not in time!’ I sobbed. ‘I planned to give Josie her present this evening with a chocolate cake I had baked specially.’

Fred and Sarah were also in the shop to collect their work. They gathered round me sympathetically, looking at the remains of my cup and saucer.

‘Give Josie the cake and don’t mention this, Sally,’ Sarah said softly. ‘You can make another one next week.’

‘Good thinking,’ added Fred, pressing my hand in his. ‘And it means that we can see more of you.’

They were so supportive – I’d made some good friends.

At home, Russell, Josie and I sat around the table at teatime and I cut the cake.

‘Chocolate! My favourite!’ Josie whooped. ‘Is it a special day?’

‘Yes, it is,’ Russell replied, bringing out a small package and giving it to Josie, who tore at the wrapping paper.

‘Careful, darling, you don’t want to break it,’ he cautioned.

There, inside the paper, was a copy of her cup and saucer.

Russell took my hand. ‘I’ve been going to Wendy’s Workshop,’ he grinned. ‘She gave me a cup and saucer and the paints to take home. I’ve been working on them in the shed and took them back to Wendy a few days ago to fire.’

‘Lovely, it’s just like my other one,’ Josie said, examining the cup. ‘Thank you so much, Daddy!’

I gave a sigh of contentment as I gazed at my lovely little girl and caring husband. And I thought of Sarah and Fred back at Wendy’s Workshop. There really was nothing that a little love couldn’t fix.

THE END

Pippa Newnton, 2021

For a moment, my heart went out to him