Three Angry Women and a Baby by Kerrie Noor

Author:Kerrie Noor [Noor, Kerrie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Kerrie Noor

Helen, unaware of the political rumpus in the library, was emptying the van in the car park. I could see her through the window. We were fixing the roof of the community centre, which was next door to the library. Her job was to mend, from the outside, a leak in the roof, while mine was to make the mending invisible inside.

The hole was made by the accidental tumbling of the wall of gratitude by McFlaherty the Brave after a few too many.

McFlaherty was an artist who taught life drawing and was known as the brave for three reasons: his ability to take off his clothes at a moment’s notice, his ability to argue with the community centre’s board to allow nude drawing, and his habit of grabbing anyone who stood still long enough to model for his classes, including members of the board.

The wall of gratitude stood in the middle of the community centre, a square foyer which led to all the other rooms: a wall designed to celebrate “the good, the bad, and the ugly” (as Neff put it) in the community.

It had, in its time, exhibited photos and posters of the great yoga teachings of “Ida from the North” and “Sally from Lochgilphead”; vegan cookery classes (also from Sally); salsa classes (from Imogen, Neff’s nemesis and probably the main reason for Neff’s “the good, the bad, and the ugly” comment); the best of the Women’s Rural Institute cake and clothes hanger decorations contests; the Scout, Guide, and Beaver Christmas parties; and more, including the odd small photo of Nefertiti and her belly dancing troupe (another reason for the “good, bad, and ugly” comment) . . . until plans for the renovation of the community hall were made.

The plans were proposed, agreed on, changed, agreed on again, and finally, pending budget cuts, postponed, and the wall of gratitude remained.

No one listened to Lumpy the janitor, who pointed out that the wall was only a pop-up wall, attached to the ceiling like a set of chimes, even when McFlaherty planned the yearly art show.

Every wall in the community centre was covered with still lifes, portraits, landscapes, and seascapes, along with the odd nude from the life drawing class, tastefully picked so as not to give away the model’s appendage size or identity (which was mostly McFlaherty).

Every wall—including the wall of gratitude, a wall designed, as Lumpy put it, for paper-thin photographs, posters, and the odd business card.

Lumpy watched as the art group hung and rehung large framed pictures the weight of an elephant on the wall of gratitude.

“How about a nice light print?” he said. “Or a few posters . . .”

Nobody listened.

Finally, when McFlaherty hung a life-sized nude—oil on canvas, in a frame befitting a royal portrait—Lumpy “threw a wobbly.”

“Don’t be friggin’ stupid,” he shouted, pointing to the flimsy connections. When no one listened, he made a final “health and fucking safety” sermon, and when that didn’t work, he made plans to be unavailable for the week of the exhibition.

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