Sunshine and Sweet Peas in Nightingale Square

by Heidi Swain

  ‘Oh,’ said Lisa, looking back at the newsprint.

  ‘He told me that when he left his career behind he thought – he hoped – it would be the end of seeing his face in print, but if Candice gets her way, it will be in there even more than before.’

  ‘You might be more right about that than you realise,’ Lisa agreed. ‘I heard her chatting to the TV guy just before we left and from what I could make out she was hoping to set up a meeting.’

  ‘What sort of meeting?’

  ‘Apparently she’s very taken with that Normal for Norfolk documentary. And if what she put on the note about yesterday is anything to go by, I reckon she fancies having some sort of docu-soap made about Prosperous Place and its restoration.’

  ‘I can’t see Luke agreeing to that,’ I said. ‘But if she does go ahead then that’ll be the garden gone for sure.’

  ‘How do you work that out?’

  ‘Well, she’s hardly going to want to share the limelight with you lot, is she?’

  I didn’t include myself in the scenario. If the cameras moved in then I would definitely be moving out, from the garden at least. I couldn’t believe for one second that Candice’s interest in televising the restoration of the house would lead to her sharing the details of the Wentworth legacy or any local history for that matter. This latest stunt was going to be all about keeping her face on the front page and on the TV screen. I shuddered at the thought.

  ‘It would be good publicity though,’ said Lisa, seemingly still not taking on board the implications for everyone else.

  ‘But for who?’ I snapped.

  Candice would get plenty, I was sure, but Luke neither wanted it nor needed it.

  ‘And what would be the point in it? It isn’t as if Luke’s planning to open the place up to the public, is it?’

  ‘Who knows,’ Lisa shrugged. ‘But from here on in I reckon that what Luke wants might not matter if Candice has anything to do with it.’

  It was a horrid thought, but she was right.

  The second I closed the front door behind my friend I raced back to the kitchen and snatched the calendar from its hook on the wall next to the sink. My heart was hammering as I realised I wasn’t just a couple of days late; I had now more than missed my period. I had made an appointment to have a health check-up but thoughts of a potential pregnancy hadn’t even entered my head. I was ‘fertility challenged’. It was practically impossible that I would fall pregnant through properly trying, so a one-night stand resulting in a quick conception had to be an absolute impossibility.

  I slumped at the table with my hands in my hair thinking about all the novels I had read, all of the television programmes I had watched where women had ended up pregnant and then acted as if it had taken them completely by surprise. I used to hate scenarios like that. I didn’t think anyone could be that naive, or that irresponsible or that stupid, and yet here I was, potentially pregnant and completely and utterly shocked.

  I glanced up at the clock. I was catching the train to Peterborough soon, but I still had time to buy a test, or perhaps I should wait until I was back in Wynbridge and do it there, safe in the nurturing embrace of kith and kin, with my mother and Jemma crowding around to see the result before I did and then spending hours quizzing me about the father when it was confirmed that I was with child.

  With child . . .

  ‘That’ll be seventeen ninety-nine, please,’ said the young girl behind the counter in the chemist.

  ‘Thanks,’ I said, tapping my card on the screen and bundling my random selection of purchases into my bag.

  I don’t think I’d ever raced to the shops and back so fast, but now I knew there was a possibility that I was having a baby there was no way I could wait another day to find out. Once inside the bathroom, I tore the cellophane wrapping off the box with shaking hands and skimmed the instructions.

  ‘Pee on the stick,’ I muttered to myself. ‘One line not pregnant, two lines . . .’

  Those two minutes were without doubt the longest of my life. How many lines was I hoping for? That was the fifty-million-dollar question. During the one hundred and twenty seconds I forced myself not to look, I think I talked myself in and out of the pleasures and pitfalls of single parenthood at least fifty million times.

  This was not how I had always imagined this moment would be. When, so long ago, I had been thinking about how I could convince David that starting a family wasn’t the nightmare he had it pinned as, I never, not once, imagined that I would be crouching on a bathroom floor, on my own, without a wedding band and feeling . . .

  The timer on my phone buzzed and I forced myself to my feet.

  I pressed my forehead against the train window and closed my eyes, hoping the cool glass would temper the heat which was coursing through me and making my face look like an overripe tomato.

  There had been two lines. Two very distinct, bright pink lines, although the packaging stressed that the ‘presence of pink’ did not denote the sex of the child, just that I was pregnant.

  I was pregnant.

  I had the wand wrapped in my handbag and the rest of the test stowed away in my suitcase so I could double check tomorrow. Like I needed to check. There was no way it could be wrong. I glanced around at the faces of my fellow passengers and wondered if any of them could guess just from looking at me. I wondered if any of them were carrying such an enormous secret.

  There weren’t many things in my life that I was obsessive about, but this had been one of them – I had always clung to the belief (ignoring the ridicule of my neighbours, who alleged that they were my friends in spite of our differences) that falling in love and the things that followed in relationships as a result, were meant to happen in a certain order.

  In my head, life had to be neat and tidy and regimented. First, along came Mr or Mrs Right, then love, engagement, marriage, children and the HEA. However, given that I now found myself pregnant by a man I barely knew, in spite of the fact that I had been left challenged in the fertility stakes courtesy of the STD I had contracted from my so-called one true love, I couldn’t help thinking that my idealistic theory was actually a little off kilter.

  Perhaps Lisa had been right after all. Perhaps I did have to accept that life was a mess and a muddle where things sometimes happened out of order, but that the most important thing was to be happy and celebrate the fact that they had happened at all.

  ‘Tickets, please,’ called the guard.

  I rifled through my bag for my phone and opened the app, wondering if I was going to have to invest in a car for future trips back to Wynbridge. I didn’t think I’d ever seen anyone travelling by train with a tiny baby.

  ‘Thank you,’ said the guard, tapping the screen, ‘enjoy your journey.’

  ‘Thanks,’ I responded, shoving the phone away again.

  But how was I going to afford to run a car if I wasn’t working and how was I going to work if I had an infant in tow? I closed my eyes again and tried to block out the questions and scenarios which seemed determined to stamp all over the joyful moment I had waited so long for.

  It was late afternoon by the time the train pulled into the station at Peterborough and it was a comfort to see Tom and Ella, my niece, waiting just beyond the platform barrier to welcome me home. I hoped they wouldn’t be able to guess my news, or that I wouldn’t break down and blurt it out, because I had no intention of telling anyone for a while yet. There were so many things to think about and I knew the announcement would be met with a barrage of questions. Questions I was determined to have answers to before I started picking out names and nursery colour schemes.

  ‘Auntie Kate,’ beamed Ella, squeezing me tight. ‘It’s so good to see you.’

  I kissed the top of her head, barely having to bend to do so.

  ‘However much have you grown?’ I asked her. ‘You weren’t this tall when I left you at Christmas.’

  Suddenly I remembered the manner of my departure post-Christmas, thanks to Mum’s interference,
and changed the subject.

  ‘And how are you, Tom?’ I asked. ‘Still knackered?’

  ‘Better than you by the looks of it,’ he teased.

  Did I really look that bad?

  ‘No wonder you didn’t want to get your face in the paper or on the news.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ I frowned.

  ‘That house called Prosperous Place,’ Ella gushed. ‘Mum said it’s just at the end of your road. It’s been all over the telly.’

  Given everything else I had going on, I had completely forgotten that Wynbridge and Norwich shared the same East Anglian newspaper and television news channels, and that everyone had no doubt seen the Prosperous Place coverage in all its glory.

  ‘And Jemma wants to know why you’ve never mentioned the owner before,’ added Tom meaningfully.

  He didn’t sound particularly impressed, and I guessed the reports and coverage had caused quite a stir in my home town once the connection to where I lived had been made. I shrugged, trying to convey that the presence of someone like Luke in your life was an ordinary everyday occurrence. Which, I supposed, for the last few months it had been.

  I felt myself going hot again as I thought about the very different bombardment of questions I was now going to have to face, along with how on earth Luke was going to react when he found out I was pregnant. He had already had one ready-made family turn up since his arrival and I was fairly certain he wouldn’t want another camping out on his doorstep. Was I going to have to leave Nightingale Square and my lovely little home so soon?

  ‘My god,’ tutted Tom, snatching at my suitcase and pulling up the handle so he could wheel it out of the station. ‘You’ve gone bright red just thinking about him, Kate. Personally, I can’t see what all the fuss is about.’

  Ella looked at me and winked mischievously.

  ‘Mum says that’s because you’re jealous.’

  I bit my lip, but was in no position to wind him up. It was a shame because this was just the sort of fodder siblings thrived on as a rule.

  ‘Come on, Auntie Kate,’ giggled Ella conspiratorially as she linked her arm through mine. ‘Mum told Dad we have to hurry up because she can’t wait to hear all about him.’

  Chapter 28

  The shock of discovering that practically the whole town knew about the presence of famous Luke Lonsdale in our tiny corner of the world was fortunately enough to stave off the nausea which had been plaguing me for longer than I had initially realised.

  During the brief journey back to Wynbridge Tom readily accepted my pallor was the result of the neighbourhood sick bug and told me that half the employees in the council department where he worked had succumbed to something similar. I only hoped that Jemma would be so easy to fool, and held my bag with the pregnancy test wand wrapped inside closer to my chest.

  ‘Here she is at last,’ she squealed the second I crossed the threshold. ‘Neighbour of the most handsome man in the world.’

  ‘Thanks,’ said Tom, dumping my case.

  ‘You know what I mean,’ Jemma laughed, planting a consolation kiss squarely on his lips.

  ‘Unfortunately, I do,’ he said, a smile gently tugging at the corners of his mouth. ‘And while you get it off your chest and have a good gossip, I’m going to the pub for a pint.’

  ‘All right,’ she beamed, pecking him briefly on the cheek this time. ‘Dinner will be ready in a couple of hours.’

  ‘Just make sure you’ve exhausted the topic by the time I get back,’ said my brother as he headed towards the front door, ‘and then we can go back to bloody normal around here.’

  I sighed and bent to pull off my shoes. I didn’t want to have to talk about Luke for two minutes, let alone two hours, but there was a glint in Jemma’s eye and an open bottle of wine on the kitchen counter which suggested I wasn’t going to have much say in the matter.

  ‘Is it too early?’ she asked, pouring herself a small glass. ‘I opened this to cook with and thought, why not?’

  ‘It’s a bit early for me,’ I said lightly, ‘especially after that journey.’

  ‘Coffee, then,’ she suggested, reaching for the kettle.

  I still couldn’t face tea or coffee either, but I knew I had to drink something.

  ‘Have you got anything chilled?’ I asked. ‘My taste buds,’ I cleverly added, ‘have been all over the place since I’ve had this bug.’

  She found some fruit cordial in the fridge, poured me a glass and then beckoned me over to the kitchen table where the newspaper was spread out in all its glory.

  ‘I just can’t believe this,’ she said, pointing at the photograph of Luke, Candice and Jasmine, which Lisa had shown me earlier. ‘Why ever didn’t you say anything when you came home at Christmas?’

  ‘He wasn’t living there then,’ I said honestly. ‘As far as I knew in December the place had been sold to some development consortium and was going to be ripped apart.’

  ‘No way,’ Jemma gasped, looking back at the photograph of the impressive Prosperous Place.

  ‘And you’ll laugh at this,’ I said, rolling my eyes and deciding that hamming it up might help get me off the hook. ‘When he did arrive and I first met him, I didn’t even know who he was!’

  ‘You’re kidding,’ Jemma spluttered, choking on her wine. ‘You’re not being serious.’

  ‘I am,’ I told her. ‘Straight up, I didn’t have a clue.’

  Jemma shook her head.

  ‘It wasn’t until he invited us all to dinner on Valentine’s Day that—’

  ‘Hang on,’ she said, holding up a hand to stop me, ‘are you telling me that on Valentine’s Day evening, when I was stuck in the pub for the umpteenth year on the trot, you were being wined and dined by Mr Beautiful.’

  ‘It wasn’t an intimate meal for two, Jem,’ I said, giving the suggestion the tut it deserved. ‘I was there along with everyone else from the Square and it was then that some friends realised who he was.’

  ‘Unbelievable,’ she laughed, taking another sip of wine and raising her eyebrows. ‘And tell me, is he every inch as gorgeous as he looks in the glossy ads?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ I tutted, banishing all thoughts of how honed his biceps looked covered with a thin sheen of sweat, ‘I can’t say that I’ve seen many of the glossy ads.’

  ‘You don’t sound all that bothered,’ she pouted.

  Clearly my reaction to having Luke Lonsdale as a neighbour wasn’t living up to my sister-in-law’s expectations at all. If only she knew the true story behind the façade. She’d fall over in a dead faint if I gave her all the delicious details.

  ‘I’m not all that bothered to be honest,’ I shrugged.

  ‘But still,’ she said, flicking through an old copy of Vogue until she found what she was looking for. ‘You can’t tell me that you aren’t even a little bit stirred by a sight like that?’

  She dropped the magazine on top of the newspaper and together we admired the image in silent awe.

  Reclining on a speedboat, amid a sparkling sea, with a cerulean sky above and wearing an almost indecent pair of swimming trunks, was the father of my unborn baby. His dark curls were slicked back from his face, his eyes were smouldering and his flawless physique glistened in the sun.

  The tiniest of sighs escaped my lips as I remembered the weight of that body on mine and Jemma pounced.

  ‘I knew it,’ she grinned.

  ‘Well, I am only human, I suppose,’ I joined in.

  What on earth would she say if I told her where I had celebrated Easter and how Luke had laid me down in front of the fire and his sperm had gone off on a very different kind of egg hunt?

  ‘What’s so funny?’ she asked, turning her attention back to the paper.

  ‘You,’ I lied, biting my lip, ‘and all this. I can’t believe it’s such a big deal.’

  ‘I live in a small town,’ she shrugged, ‘where there’s little scandal and even less crumpet.’

  ‘I’m sure my brother would be delighted to hear yo
u say that.’

  ‘You know what I mean,’ she nudged.

  I wondered how she would feel if Tom had been drooling over some glamorous, glossy goddess.

  ‘And besides,’ she added, lifting the lid on the slow cooker and releasing the most delicious smell from the stew within, ‘he spent a good long while taking in that Candice’s credentials before I got hold of the paper to see what all the fuss was about.’

  ‘Fair enough,’ I laughed, secretly pleased that my brother had been doing his bit to maintain equilibrium. ‘She is pretty, isn’t she?’

  ‘I suppose,’ said Jemma, replacing the lid and coming back to the table. ‘What’s she like? As a person I mean, is she a good match for Luke, do you think?’

  ‘I can’t think of anyone less suited,’ I told her and I really meant it.

  It was bad enough knowing that Candice had once captured Luke’s heart and was now poised to pin him down again, but the fact that they seemed to have absolutely nothing in common somehow made it all so much worse. Was she really what Luke wanted? Considering he had declared to me that I was his ‘one true love’, he hadn’t fought particularly hard for me since she’d arrived on the scene.

  ‘But credit to them both,’ I sighed, forcing myself to think of the bigger picture, ‘they seem determined to do the right thing by their daughter.’

  ‘That’s something, then,’ Jemma smiled.

  ‘Mmm,’ I agreed. ‘That little girl is an absolute sweetheart. She’s the one who really matters in all this.’

  ‘And how did David get in on the act?’ Jemma asked, her tone changing as she shook her head and pointed out a photograph which had him highlighted in the background. ‘Did you ask him to track down this painting Luke was so keen to get back?’

  ‘Certainly not,’ I insisted, skim-reading the paragraph which identified David as the magician who had conjured the portrait.

  I didn’t tell Jemma that I believed the painting was a fake and I was grateful that my name had been kept out of the newsprint.

  ‘I got in touch with an old friend on Luke’s behalf,’ I explained because I felt I had to say something. The likelihood of David popping up without me having had anything to do with it at all would have been too unbelievable a coincidence. ‘He was a mutual friend of mine and David’s and in spite of my best efforts,’ I sighed, ‘word got back to him and he couldn’t resist sticking his oar in.’