Three Years Old

Chapter Twenty-Two

Hey guys, I've finished my exams!! Whoooo! From today onwards I am going to be uploading as frequently as possible, hopefully every day, and occasionally twice a day :O I really want to finish this trilogy before 2013. Unfortunately on Christmas Day I'll be going to my family home where we don't have internet, which means I'll get loads of writing done, but I won't be able to upload the last two or three chapters until the 31st or maybe even the first of January :S

Anyways, this capter and the next are long ones and I'm really proud of them :D So tell me what you think. The picture on the side shows Blake and her outfit, her painting in in the top right corner and the sign for their gallery :)

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      ‘So you’re completely finished with the mural then?’ Blake checked with me the next morning. We were crossing the town square on our way to the gallery, to spend the morning working away as we always did. I had my hands on Flick’s pushchair, wheeling her along in front of me as she’d decided today that she did not feel like walking. I nodded to Blake without looking at her, but keeping in step with her even though pushing Flick was an extra effort.

     ‘Yep. I mean, I’ll probably touch it up at some point, but yeah,’ I confirmed. ‘It’s finished for now.’ I glanced to her now, turning my head and asked, ‘Why?’

     ‘Well it’s just, there’s some exciting news, that I haven’t mentioned to you yet,’ she said, slowly and slyly as if something was up. I stopped walking suddenly, just as we reached the turn into the street with our gallery. Flick looked up, surprised at the halt, twisting around in her seat to get a good view of us.

     ‘What?’ I asked, staring Blake down. She had her hair loose today, but she hadn’t washed it in a couple of days, so it was straighter than usual, and looked a deeper gold. She was wearing a summer dress, a peachy beige colour, pulling in nicely at the waist. On her right wrist she was wearing several bright bracelets, half of which were actually mine.

     She just stared back at me and chuckled, nudging me out of the way to take hold of the handles of the pushchair and started walking again. ‘You’ll see,’ she called back to me over her shoulder. I let out a little sigh and ran after her, my sandals slapping the pavement, as we drew closer to the building.

     It was a street with several little shops: an ice cream shop that made the best ice cream in the world, a bakery, a shop selling everything you might ever need for going to the beach and a touristy shop, that mostly sold rip off key rings and magnets with pictures of the St. David’s Cathedral on them. Our one was a third of the way down the street, a modest building with two floors. The top one wasn’t ours, but instead was a flat owned by a company that rented out places to stay in the area. On the far right of the building there was a door that opened onto the stairs to access it.

      The bottom level was made of the same bricks as the top one, looking exactly like a house rather than a shop. The only thing that gave it away was the sign dangling to the left of the door hand-painted by Blake saying The Gallery with a View and in small print at the bottom “…one of a kind artwork, perfect for any home.”

     ‘I’m still not sure about that name,’ I muttered as we made our way down the street towards it. ‘The Gallery with a View… I’m just not sure.’

     ‘Shut up,’ Blake ordered me jokily. ‘We decided, "the view" is your mural. People will like it. Let’s not get back into that discussion again.’ I let out a chuckle at this, sharing her wish not to start debating about names again. We’d started trying to decide on a name for the gallery as soon as we’d concluded that we would be opening one, and even though it had been months, we’d only decided about a month ago. We’d spent too long arguing about it to go back now.