Gypsy T and the Amazing Veil

Gypsy T and the Amazing Veil

Jacqui K Spencer

Published by Jacqui K. Spencer 2015

Copyright © 2015 Jacqui K. Spencer

www.WisdomFrontier.com

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission from the publisher.

A catalogue record for this book is available from the National Library of Australia.

Book cover design and formatting services by BookCoverCafe.com

ISBN:

978-0-9943860-1-4 (pbk)

978-0-9943860-0-7 (e-bk)

This book is dedicated to my wonderful family and friends.

I have truly appreciated your love and support through this fabulous adventure.

Table of Contents

WEEKEND OF WOE AND WONDER

1 Misfortune, misery and moving on

2 Aargh to aha

3 Access all areas

4 Overtures

5 Stretching the boundaries

6 Spiralling into spirit

7 Meditating on the future

MONDAY

8 Making it count

TUESDAY

9 The veil and betrayal

10 The nightmare of guilt

WEDNESDAY

11 Isobelle’s ugliness

12 Forgiveness leads to ancient Egypt

13 Connections

THURSDAY

14 Going with the flow

15 Drama-rama

16 Rhythms, resentment and refocus

FRIDAY

17 Dawn delivers the dance

18 Petty theft, partying and pain

19 Friendship fog

SATURDAY

20 Remorse and rebuilding

21 Creativity combined

22 Krishnan and a play for the future

23 Jumped tracks

24 Reflections

SUNDAY

25 Lipstick lips sink the ship

26 Revelations and regeneration

CHAPTER 1

Weekend of woe and wonder

Misfortune, misery and moving on

Gypsy gazed past the heads of her classmates, mesmerised for a moment by the pulsing waves of the Friday afternoon heat. She grinned as Hester, her golden retriever, wandered into view and flopped at the gate; artist’s paintbrush hanging from her mouth. Oh my God,that dog is obsessed! It’s okay, Hester, I’ve finished my folio.

She was about to refocus on class when a woman caught her attention. Gypsy felt her senses tingle, as if something important was about to happen. She’d noticed this woman before, on the banks of the river, painting. There was something about her; something otherworldly that roused Gypsy’s curiosity. The sun hat she wore was draped with a long, shimmering veil that concealed most of her face; yet she seemed mysteriously familiar.

The aura of the woman with the fascinating veil intrigued Gypsy; she felt strangely drawn to her. I wonder if I’ll ever find out.

A tribal roar shattered Gypsy’s dream-like stillness. Every face turned to the sound of frenzied yelling and feet belting along the corridor. The door smashed into their classroom wall. Three guys tumbled in, wrestling. One hurled a bucket of water, dousing everything in its path. Everyone gasped.

My paintings! shrieked Gypsy, bolting off her chair. She stared in disbelief at her precious art folio, now drenched. My paintings! Her legs buckled and she collapsed on her knees. She grabbed the dripping cardboard folio, peered inside at the sodden work and flung it across the floor.

She didn’t see the boys being escorted from the room. The spitting and crackling of the school’s media system heralded the arrival of a bitter message for her.

All students entering the Shire’s Art Quest are reminded that folios are due in next Friday.

Gypsy slumped onto the floor, cradling her forehead in one hand as she felt her head spin and the ground shift under her. No! This can’t be happening. The greatest opportunity of her fourteen years was being cruelly wrenched away.

The bell rang. Her Year Ten classmates raced for the door, chattering about the incident, and she was left totally alone.

Go on then; just leave me, she seethed, shoving the closest chair. She snatched her folio, shook it, sank into her chair and sobbed.

Why is this happening?

Minutes later, she blew her nose; rested her cheek on her fist and stared out of the window. Her dog was still sitting at the gate. It’s all over, Hester; it’s all ruined.

Come on, Gypsy T, the teacher said as he picked up her folio and school bag and waved her towards the office.

* * *

Gypsy sighed as she sat outside the principal’s office and watched the hands of the clock strike four. Why is no one around when I need them? Where’s Natalie? Why wasn’t she at school today? A creaking noise, a shaft of bright sunlight across the floor and a high-pitched whine brought a weak smile to her face.

Hester, come on, said Gypsy, patting her knees. Gypsy’s dog padded up the corridor and dropped the paintbrush into her lap.

The door of the principal’s office opened and Mr Johnson stood sternly as the three boys slunk out.

Ah, Miss Williams, said the principal, rolling his eyes at the dog, I’ll see you now, but I think Mr James, Mr Carter and Mr Lorenzo have something to say to you before they leave.

I’m truly sorry, GT, said Joey Lorenzo, his face turning bright red. It wasn’t intentional.

Gypsy held her face in her hands and shook her head. What do I do? I like him; well, I thought I did. She found herself going to say that’s okay, but stopped herself. She barely heard the other two apologise and blurted, "It’s not okay; my life is ruined!" She slashed the air with one arm and swivelled to face the wall. Now what am I going to do? Huh? she turned and glared at Brendan, her arms gripped tightly to her chest. Did you think about that before you started your stupid game? You’ve wrecked my paintings!

She snapped back to attention with Mr Johnson dismissing the boys and inviting her into his office.

Mr Johnson, the Art Quest. Those paintings were for the Art Quest. Now I can’t compete for the scholarship! How am I going to get to Shelton next year?

Yes, I understand how upsetting this is. I can inform the judges of what’s happened but I doubt if anything can be done. Do you think you can prepare other pieces in a week?

How can I? She grabbed the edge of the desk, her knuckles tense and white. That was my best work. And those guys just say sorry and walk away. She pushed herself away from the desk.

I realise nothing can replace your art, Gypsy; or are you Tucker Williams today? The principal shoved his hands into his pockets as he tried, unsuccessfully, to diffuse the stress. I am taking this incident seriously, he said. Carter, James and Lorenzo are meeting with me at nine-thirty on Monday. Will you see me at nine o’clock for a preliminary mediation?

I suppose, but what’s that?

Well, while nothing can restore your paintings, it will be a meeting where we try to bring about a satisfactory outcome; where the boys make amends. Over the weekend, have a think about anything that may help you to produce another folio.

Gypsy stared at the ceiling and shook her head as she closed the principal’s door behind her, patted Hester and scuttled out of the school grounds and into the park. What will help me produce another folio? A bloody miracle, that’s what–

Hey, sister, smile, a guy on a bike yelled out as he whizzed past.

Jerk! Just because he’s on top of the world and I’m on the bottom.

Gypsy’s mobile rang and her hands shook as she answered it.

I’m soooo sorry to hear about your paintings, said Isobelle. What a disaster!

Gypsy leant on a tree and crumpled the hem of her skirt in her hands. How much more can I take? Obviously you don’t mean that, she said, so what do you want?

Oh, just to hear your sad little voice and to wonder how a goody-goody like you could possibly have anything bad happen. Ha! Bring it on.

Gypsy gulped, That’s really nasty. You know you’re only building up bad karma.

Oh for God’s sake, save your self-righteous, insufferable lifestyle for somebody else, will you!

At least I’m not a slave to popular culture like you. You wouldn’t even know what to think unless you read it on Facebook or heard it on a soap.

Yeah? Well, your life is boring, you’re so not cool.

No, my life is what I make of it, not what someone else tells me to.

Oh, what! You know what your problem is? You’re such a pain, Gypsy– a–

Look, you’re wasting my time. Right now I know exactly what my problem is. You, on the other hand, have no idea that your problem is you!

Oh, really? Well at least I’m enjoying my life, not wasting it on some stupid spiritual quest.

You know what, Isobelle? A wise man once said not to bother casting pearls before swine. You just don’t get it. Wake up Issy, you’re sleep-walking!

Gypsy chucked her phone in her bag and cried. No one understands and nothing can be done. It’s hopeless.

Lost in her thoughts she picked her way through the long grass, bushes and trees. Dazzled by the glaring sunshine that marked the edge of the bush and the park, she walked right into a gossamer veil draped over a branch. Through the veil she recognised the woman. It was her; the woman she’d seen twice before.

The woman looked up from her sketchbook, wisps of long, auburn hair framing her face. Smiling quizzically she said, You look like the child in Frederick McCubbin’s ‘Lost’.

Oh. Hello, sorry, actually that’s one of my favourite paintings.

No need to apologise. I’m Janna. You seem a bit distracted or upset, maybe.

Yeah. She flicked her eyes around the scene. People were walking close by and children were playing. It seemed safe. I mean, I’m Gypsy, I mean Tucker, er, actually, it’s Gypsy and Tucker’s my middle name which I like a lot and this is my dog, Hester. And yes, I’ve got a lot on my mind. I’ve had the worst day anyone could ever imagine! I swear you just couldn’t make it up!

Tucker and Hester, they’re famous names in the art world, said Janna, glancing at Gypsy’s folio. Are you an artist?

Er, yes, well that’s what I wanted to be, but now my pieces are ruined and so is my life. Gypsy blushed. Not many people know who Hester and I are named after, she said, trying to change the subject. Um, my middle name, that is.

Well, it looks like you make a great duo, said Janna, laughing at the dog that flopped on the grass next to her and dropped the paintbrush at her feet. But I’m sorry to hear you’re upset. Do you want to show me your work? It always helps to talk about disappointments and catastrophes.

Gypsy sat and looked into Janna’s calm, crystal blue eyes. This feels so weird and so right at the same time. I suppose there’s no harm in talking to her and Hester seems very relaxed.

She recounted the events of the afternoon. Once started she just kept going, blurting out everything about her dream of going to college, the scholarship she hoped to win at the Art Quest, the boys throwing water over her paintings…

CHAPTER 2

Weekend of woe and wonder

Aargh to aha

Gypsy smoothed out the creases she’d made as she fiddled with her skirt. The moments were dragging on and Janna still hadn’t complimented her paintings, even though they were wrecked. She sat on the grass looking out at the river, going over the scenes that culminated in her folio being drenched.

This one would have made a pretty chocolate-box cover, said Janna, shooting a glance towards her.

Gypsy’s jaw dropped. She didn’t know where to look or what to say. Her cheeks blazed as she lowered her eyes and fixed her gaze onto her prized painting of Hester, now rippled and smudged.

People use the term ‘chocolate-box’ to describe boring stuff, she said, tugging furiously at clumps of grass around her. I don’t think I like you, how dare you, what do you know anyway? She flung the grass towards the river.

Well how do these paintings reflect you and your life?

I hadn’t really thought about it.

Then why did you paint them?

Now I know I don’t like you. She pulled her legs tightly into her chest. Dunno, she said, looking sideways.

Then tell me what is so significant about this body of work that you are mourning so dramatically.

At last Gypsy thought she had an edge. She wanted to scream, ‘I’ve just gone through all this you dozy nuff-nuff’. Instead she plunged her hands into her hair and snapped, I told you before. This was my submission for the Art Quest. It’s due in seven days. It means, or rather it meant, a place at Shelton College. Covering her eyes with her hands, she sobbed, Why don’t you listen?

Hester whined and nuzzled her nose into Gypsy’s hands. Flinging her arms around her dog, Gypsy cried as she hid her face from the world.

Do you feel better now? Janna’s disarmingly tranquil tone soothed and surprised her. She was expecting to be asked to leave.

I guess, she said, brushing away her tears.

Look, Gypsy, it’s not my intention to be hurtful but may I speak truthfully?

In the surrounding trees the cicadas struck up a shrilling monologue as if they were all discussing the outcome. Gypsy bit her nail. Without taking her gaze off Hester, she nodded.

Maybe this was meant to happen. Maybe those pieces wouldn’t have won you a scholarship to Shelton.

What?

Well, you’ve heard of fate haven’t you?

I suppose.

Perhaps this is an opportunity for you to extend your skills and imagination. Like it or not, these paintings are now worthless. What if it happened for a reason? A very important reason. For you to produce a winning portfolio.

I never really thought of it like that before.

Smoothing her hair back under her hat, Janna said, Do you have visions of yourself in the future, what you’ll achieve and, more importantly, how you’ll feel?

Yeah, I want to paint. I want my work to be an inspiration! A revelation– especially for young people. I’d like my work to provide that sudden shock– that single heartbeat where people connect with their soul and higher consciousness. Gypsy lay on the blanket, stretched out and smiled.

Aiming high, eh? That’s great, Janna said. I would like to help you. I do see talent in your work and I don’t ever say that without meaning it. I once taught at Shelton, you know.

Really?

Yes, and assessed many hopeful artists. Maybe I can coach you through this dilemma.

Really! I’d like that. Maybe we were destined to meet.

Maybe. Now tell me, what inspires your art? Where does your motivation come from? Why do you paint what you paint? What is it that screams, yes, this is it? Or needles at you until you pay it some attention and bring it to life? I’m going to leave you with those thoughts.

You’re going now?

Yep, I’ve got to get back, Janna said as she picked up her things. Besides, you should talk to your parents about me if we’re going to paint together. Here’s my card; tell them I’d be happy to meet them.

Gypsy deliberated on each ruined painting as she slid them back into her folio. You know, it’s weird. This morning these paintings meant so much to me. Now they seem, I dunno, stuffy. It’s not just because they’re trashed. It’s as if my view has expanded. I can honestly see that something is missing. I think it’s passion. Yeah, there’s definitely no edge to these. When will we… Gypsy looked up but Janna had disappeared.

In the distance, golden rays of sunshine shimmered and swirled around the artist’s veil. Captivated, Gypsy watched as Janna reached the crest of the hill, turned and waved to her, then wafted through the gate.

Wow, Hester, today has certainly been over the top.

Maybe it was meant to happen, like Janna said. I asked myself why it was happening only an hour ago. Huh, maybe she’s right. I’ll have to think about it…

* * *

Ouch, yelped Gypsy, stopping dead in her tracks. A climbing rose hanging over the fence had latched onto her wavy, golden-brown hair. She dropped the shopping bag onto the pavement and bent her neck backwards as she wrestled with her hair and the thorn. What’s going on now?

Carefully she freed her hair, picked up the shopping and looked along the tree-lined street towards home.

A few houses up, Lily Barton, her elderly neighbour, was sitting on the swing seat on her porch. Gypsy saw her suspended deep in thought, as though reliving a scene from years ago. A halo of light crowned her hair, lit up her eyes and framed a glorious composition.

Without warning a strange clicking crackled in Gypsy’s ear and an imaginary camera lens focused her field of vision. Her skin prickled and time seemed to unwind as she took in the view with all of her senses.

That’s an awesome scene. One moment that captures a lifetime. Gypsy thought as she captured the shot on her phone. There’s my first painting, Hester. Janna said I’d know it immediately. Come on.

* * *

She’s so mysterious, Lily, I don’t really know what to make of her. But I need some serious coaching right now. Gypsy pulled all of the groceries out of the bag and put them away in the antique dresser.

And I do have a problem. I’ve got to conjure up five pieces of art. A whisper of air came from nowhere, ruffled the net curtains, and puffed past her ear. Gypsy shivered.

Are you cold, dear?

No. Far from it. I dunno; something just felt spooky. It doesn’t matter. What was I saying?

You said you had to conjure up five pieces of art.

Yeah, right and I’ve only got the weekend and after school and it takes me an hour to help out here.

Lily filled the kettle and said, Well, what about the boys? Do they get off scot-free?

Dunno. I suppose they’ll get detention. I have to see the principal on Monday morning for, um, mediation he called it.

Fat lot of good that’ll do. Getting detention, I mean. If you could imagine something better, what would you like to happen?

Well, that’s what the principal said and I don’t know what to think. I can’t change it now, can I?

No, but didn’t you say you were pressed for time, especially helping me?

Gypsy halted and looked up from arranging biscuits on