Glimmer and other Stories by Nicola McDonagh

precious purchase on the passenger seat of the car and drove through the narrow streets to her house. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the print gradually uncurl, and put her left hand on top to prevent any further movement. The car, still in third gear, juddered when she turned off the engine, causing Esther to stumble as she got out.
    She clutched the picture to her breast and walked stiffly up the garden path. Without relinquishing her hold upon the print, she flicked out the chain around her neck with her thumb. She took the key between her fingers, leaned towards the lock, put it in and opened the front door.
    Once inside the high-ceilinged, darkened hallway, Esther relaxed a little. She walked to the bottom of the stairs, listened for a few seconds then turned left past the stair cupboard, and went into the kitchen.
    Brightness from the room attacked her pale grey eyes. She blinked and headed blearily towards the large metal table in the centre. Laying her walking stick against the leg, she smoothed out the print on the surface. Once it was flattened, she stared at it like a mother seeing her newborn baby. Smiling, Esther moved her fingers across the thick paper feeling the shapes of colour as though they were painted in Braille.  
    Placing both palms on the picture, she closed her eyes and imagined herself as the girl in the painting, sitting on the back of the strolling lion; thighs clenched into its ribs, the short fur tickling her flesh as the beast ambled through the trees and ferns. Esther lifted her head and behind her lowered lids saw the hovering bird.She felt the wind from its beating wings brush against her flushed face and breathed in its smell. A mixture of pungent jungle earth and clean blue sky that filled her lungs with the breath of freedom.
    She let the imagined air leave her body in one long sigh, opened her eyes and stared around the brightly lit kitchen. It was painted white with cream cupboards. Thin fluorescent strip lights buzzed below the large wall cabinets, and round spotlights sunk into the ceiling illuminated work areas and the cream cooker. It looked as though someone had spray painted the room with buttermilk.  
    Esther searched the place for a spot of colour to break up the even tones, but found none. Not even a speck of dirt, or a blob of last night’s pasta sauce on the grey speckled worktop. The decor had a dullness that was almost tangible. It gave Esther a headache. She massaged her throbbing temples, and with one hand on the table to support her, grabbed the pink striped walking stick that Peter had named ‘Her candy bar’ and hobbled towards her studio.
    She paused at the staircase; waited for a moment then walked through the hall to a room with a brown-varnished door. She pushed it open, stood at the entrance and stared at the jumble of card, cloth, paints, and books that were scattered around the floor and shelves.
    To the casual onlooker, the place was chaotic. But Esther knew where everything was. She went over to a stack of watercolour sketches propped up against the far wall, and rummaged through them until she found the one she was looking for. It was an early piece in the style of Rousseau’s ‘Eve and The Serpent’. Child-like in its simplicity, the drawing held a special fondness to her. It was the first picture she had shown Peter.
    The russet sunset behind the woman’s ear was the colour she’d wanted for the walls in the kitchen. But Peter said, ‘No. What are you thinking? It’s small as it is. You introduce dark colours and it’ll shrink even more. Keep it white, keep it light.’
    Peter transformed the small space into a bright soulless room devoid of hue. After a month of this sterile scene, Esther hung some Chagall’s on the one cupboard-free wall next to the window. All blues and reds and energetic brush strokes, they seemed to laugh at the lack of colour that surrounded them. Peter shook his head when he saw the pictures.
    ‘They don’t