Beauty is in the eye

Nadine looked at the horse. It was cross-eyed – and an odd shade of mauve.

‘Oh, Dad,’ she sighed, stepping closer to the animal’s distorted face hanging in its frame above the fireplace.

It really was dreadful.

Her father, Bill, had painted it and then proudly hung it in his tiny living room.

It had terrified and amused friends and members of the family for years. Children would cry when confronted with its toothy grin and adults sniggered when Bill boasted of his artistic talents.

‘The eyes follow you around the room,’ he’d grin.

And Nadine would think, well, one of them does!

Now Bill had passed away, and she was sorting through his things, deciding on what to throw out and what should go to the charity shop.

Would anyone really want to look at that ugly painting?

Tears came to her eyes as she