When Helen was twelve, her parents whitewashed the walls of her bedroom and bought her a new set of paintbrushes. The walls were filled with colour in under a week, her senses uniting and spilling across her new canvas.
Sometimes as she painted she’d hear her mother on the piano – Moonlight Sonata, C# minor in deep burgundy. Her father’s jacket hanging in the hallway had a rich mossy green smell, leather and cigarette smoke from the pub every Sunday; her bare feet on the kitchen lino felt like bright, clear blue as she went to wash the paint from her hands.
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