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And unlike her own painting, this one depicted a laughing young girl, perhaps in her mid-teens, sitting on the platform between the boughs of the great oak, her hair reddish gold, eyes shining like topaz. ‘Is that–is that really supposed to be me?’ she breathed at last. The girl looked altogether too carefree, too relaxed for it to seem possible. From behind her, Paula gave a soft snort. ‘Supposed to be?’ she said, the amusement evident in her voice. ‘Of course it is. You don’t look any different at all. A little older, maybe.’ Aware of Matt standing mutely at her side, Melissa found she couldn’t drag her gaze from the picture. There were so many questions racing through her head, she didn’t know which one to ask first–or indeed, whether she could bring herself to ask any of them. ‘It’s amazing, isn’t it?’ she heard Paula say. ‘Would you believe he had that hidden away for years? Greg only saw it when he helped him to move into the flat upstairs. He practically had to beg him to put. Jane had taken two days off from work, and that Thursday they drove to the Black Mountains for a long ramble. When they had their lunch Ian eventually ventured to ask Jane what had happened to make her decide to go it alone. She looked at him pensively and said, after a long time, that she would tell him, but that she did not really know how and where to start, and that she needed a little time to think. They went back home, a little drowsy, and had a drink together in the garden before they called it a day. The next morning Jane was very quiet. After lunch she said, ‘You know, do you think a woman should mould herself according to her friend’s demands?’ ‘I don’t think so,’ Ian said. ‘It sounds terribly unemancipated to me.’ ‘So you wouldn’t ask your friend to have breast implants?’ ‘Certainly not,’ Ian said. ‘Did anyone ask you?’ ‘Er, yes,’ Jane said. ‘Curt, my one time husband to be, insisted I should have much larger breasts, so I contacted a plastic surgeon and made.
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