This Other Eden (Skimmerdale Book 1)

by Sharon Booth

  'In that case, why don't you concentrate on looking after your father and leave this family to me.' She smiled sweetly, but Daisy wasn't to be fobbed off.

  'I can do both, and I don't mind at all. I enjoy looking after them. I've known Eliot all my life, and he knows I'd do anything for him, don't you, Eliot?'

  Eliot shifted in his seat, looking uncomfortable. 'You've been a good friend.'

  'And that's very sweet of you, I'm sure,' Eden said. 'Although, at your age, shouldn't you have other things to fill your time? Friends, family, a boyfriend even?'

  As Daisy turned scarlet, Eliot pushed his chair back. 'I think I'll bath George,' he announced, collecting the little boy from his highchair.

  'You don't have to. I said I would,' said Eden.

  'It's all right. I'll do it. You stay and make our guest welcome,' he said, nodding at Daisy. 'Thanks again for the cake. You really shouldn't have. You've got more than enough on your plate.'

  'More than enough,' Eden agreed, looking meaningfully at the plate in front of the poor woman, which contained a fat slice of chocolate cake and another bun.

  As soon as Eliot had carried George out of the room, Daisy stood. 'I think I'll be going now,' she said, shrugging on her damp coat.

  'Really? Are you sure? Would you like a doggy bag to take that home with you?'

  'No, thank you.' Daisy glared at Eden, who was left in no doubt that she could cheerfully have strangled her. 'Enough's as good as a feast.'

  She smiled at the girls. 'I'll see you soon.' As Eden showed her to the door, she murmured, 'I know what you're trying to do. It won't work.'

  'I'm sorry?'

  Daisy's eyes were cold. 'I can see it all over your face. You've fallen for him. Well, you can forget it. He's been down that road once before. He's not daft enough to go there again. You're not what he needs. He needs someone who understands this way of life, someone who will look after him, look after his kids.'

  'You mean, someone like you?'

  'I never said that.'

  'You didn't have to. Look, I have no idea what you're talking about. Eliot is my second cousin's widower, that's all. I have no designs on him, whatsoever. Good heavens, why would I? Who in their right mind would want to be tied down to a sheep farmer in a wilderness like this?'

  The colour drained from her face, as Eliot's voice came from behind her. 'I can't find George's special towel. Do you know where it is?'

  She spun round, to find him standing there, George in his arms, his face expressionless. 'In the dryer. I washed it this afternoon,' she croaked. Feeling suddenly sick, she turned back to see Daisy smirking at her. 'Goodbye,' she said, and, opening the door, she practically pushed the other woman out into the yard.

  After one last, satisfied look, Daisy walked away.

  Eden closed the door and leaned against it, her heart hammering in her chest. What was she so upset about? She had done what she was supposed to do. She had shown Eliot that Honey Carmichael was a spoilt brat, with no interest whatsoever in him or his family. The heart-breaking thing was, she would never be able to show him the truth about Eden Robinson.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Cain would never have believed he could feel so lonely in his own home. He'd been looking forward to the peace and quiet; a few weeks without Honey giving him grief about something, or other, had sounded like paradise to him. In reality it was boring. He missed her. Wild horses wouldn't make him admit it to her, of course, even if he could speak to her, and there seemed to be no chance of that. Spoilt brat still wouldn't take his calls. How long did she intend to punish him for, for God's sake? She didn't even reply to his texts.

  He got frequent updates from Old MacDonald, but, truth to tell, he couldn't make out half of what the bloke was saying. He'd thought he'd be able to understand him, no problem. After all, he sometimes watched Emmerdale with no trouble. That fella was on a different scale, though. Cain had to concentrate so hard on what he was saying that when he ended the calls he invariably had a headache.

  He wondered how Honey was managing without a translator. Eliot had been pretty scathing about her at first, and Cain had bristled with indignation on her behalf, even though he knew that, in all fairness, Eliot was probably underplaying her bad behaviour. He knew what Honey was like when she was forced to do something she didn't want to do. He'd bet his last quid that she was giving the poor sod hell.

  Why did she have to go and shag a Tory MP, for God's sake? And not any old Tory MP, but Golden Boy himself. Crispin Cavendish was destined for great things, and his pals in the ranks of blue would never forgive him if it was down to Cain's daughter that his career was flushed down the toilet. Why couldn't the stupid git keep it in his pants, anyway? It was all his fault. Cain had quite gone off him. He just had to hold on 'til the beginning of September, then Parliament would reconvene, Lavinia would come home from Portugal, and Crispin would be so buried in work and keeping the wife happy, he'd forget all about Honey. Please, God.

  He paced up and down his den. Snarler was having a couple of days off. No doubt he'd got pissed the night before and was sleeping it off in his hovel of a house in the village. He briefly contemplated going round there to wake him up, just for the hell of it, but he couldn't really be bothered.

  He glanced at his phone, ever hopeful, although he knew, in his heart of hearts, she wouldn't have rung him. He'd spoken to his other kids the previous day, out of sheer desperation. Scarlet and Jed were busy, busy, busy, or so they said. Scarlet was planning her wedding. She gushed about how much it was costing, and how her stepfather, Clint, (bleeding Clint!) was paying for it all and had insisted she go all out and get the best of everything. She'd met her fiancé on the set of some two-bit soap opera she was appearing in, and, apparently, he was the perfect man. Cain had managed to stop himself making a sarcastic comment. Perfect man? If Clint was her role model, she'd set herself a pretty low benchmark.

  His smirk dropped when he realised he'd hardly been a shining example to her himself. He rarely saw her after Lowri took the kids back to the States. He should have made more of an effort, but things had been pretty bitter with his first wife, and it had all seemed like such a drag. Now he wished he'd risen above the petty arguing and kept in touch with Scarlet, and also with Jed, who was at least into music and played in a band. Mind you, it was a pretty shit band, from what he'd heard. Kind of embarrassing that Cain Carmichael's son couldn't even get a proper recording contract.

  Scarlet had invited him to the wedding, more as an afterthought than anything. He'd told her he'd have loved to attend, but he was busy that day. She hadn't believed him, he could tell, but she hadn't pushed it.

  Jed had barely managed five minutes on the phone with him. After confirming he still hadn't got a deal and was still working part-time in a bar and playing gigs whenever he could get them, there had been a deathly silence that seemed to stretch on forever. Cain had started sweating. His mind went blank. Luckily, Jed had told him he had to go, as his girlfriend had turned up. Relieved, Cain had told him to get stuck in and ended the call.

  Emerald had only answered the phone because she hadn't realised it was him calling. When she recognised his voice, she said, 'For fuck's sake, Dad, I'm busy right now. You pick your fucking moments, don't you?'

  'I'm sorry, darls. Didn't realise. Where are you?'

  'I'm in Provence at the moment. As you'd know, if you ever took the slightest bit of interest in my life, but that would be too much to ask, wouldn't it? How's the blonde bitch?'

  'Don't be 'orrible. Roxy's all right.'

  'Who the fuck's Roxy? I meant that spoilt little cow of a daughter. Is Roxy your latest shag? Jesus, you never give up, do you? You're a fucking embarrassment.'

  'Well, thanks for that. What are you doing in Provence, anyway?'

  'Finding myself. I had my chakras aligned this morning, and I'm getting myself centred. I'm focusing on positivity, love and light, so I don't need you getting in my pissing way, okay?'

  'Messa
ge received.' He'd hung up, wondering how much it was costing Cassandra to help their daughter find herself. If she'd had any sense, she'd have left her well and truly lost.

  Marcus was out, so he'd had to content himself with a brief conversation with Janette, who bored him to tears telling him all about Justin's recent recorder recital at nursery school, and how they were about to go to the Isle of Wight for a fortnight's holiday, where they were looking forward to visiting Osborne House and taking Justin to a donkey sanctuary.

  After that little lot, he was missing Honey even more. He gave a big sigh and switched on the television. There must be something that would take his mind off this miserable situation.

  The news was on. Great. Just what he needed to cheer himself up. He grabbed the remote again and was about to flick channels, when something on the screen made him sit up.

  'What the—' He pushed the volume button and leaned forward in his chair, his face creasing into a scowl as he stared at the image of his nemesis, Rex Scotman.

  'The Scotman Foundation is very proud of its achievements to date, but there's no doubt we have more to do,' he was saying. 'We've brought a lot of joy to the children of the region, who would otherwise never have had the opportunity to learn to play instruments. Currently, we employ four local staff, who teach the children traditional African music.'

  'You sound very passionate about this project, Rex,' said the gullible reporter. 'You've been involved in this mission to bring music to the poor little children of East Africa for a few years now. What keeps you interested?'

  'Oh, believe me, it's a privilege,' said Rex. 'If you could only see their little faces, and, of course, we're also providing a living for some local adults. My staff live and breathe music. They're only happy when they're blowing and banging away.'

  Cain almost choked. Was Rex taking the piss, or what?

  'My son, Theodore, has been working over there for three years now. He has devoted all that time to helping build our new school and overseeing the development of the project. We're now keen to expand and introduce drama classes and art classes.'

  'Really? How wonderful.'

  Well, you can't underestimate the importance of the arts to a child's development. It's become my focus in life. Music saved me, and I want to make sure as many children as possible get the chance to develop their skills in the creative arts. Who knows what talent we may uncover?'

  'Is your son still over there?'

  'No, no. He came back a month ago. He's working with me now, developing the project from home.'

  'Yeah, from the comfort of your armchair, while a load of mugs do the work for you,' muttered Cain.

  'We intend to start a fund to aid in the expansion of the school, and hopefully, one day, open schools in other areas of Africa. To that end, we are currently planning a charity festival, which will be held in my own back garden.'

  The reporter laughed. 'That's a sizeable garden!'

  'Oh, yeah. Lark Court is plenty big enough, and we've secured permission from the powers that be, who recognise the importance of this occasion and the cause it's supporting.'

  'And who will be taking part in this festival?'

  'I'll be contacting all my old mates in the music industry. I'm sure they'll all be eager to help out.'

  'You can stick it where the monkey sticks its nuts, mate,' muttered Cain.

  'Well, I think it's wonderful,' said the reporter, who was clearly star-struck and a bit dim.

  Cain turned the television off in disgust. As if an OBE wasn't enough, that prat was obviously wangling for a knighthood. And after that little performance, he was bound to get one. Worse still, when Rex contacted him to ask him to take part, he would hardly be able to say no, would he? There was no doubt that if he did, Rex would make damn sure the press got to hear about Cain Carmichael's lack of compassion for the little African children. Bugger it. The old git had got him over a barrel. As if things weren't bad enough already.

  He leaned back in his chair and thought for a moment, then he picked up his phone. Roxy was away with her best friend, having a girlie weekend, whatever the hell that entailed. Luckily, her sister Suki would be at home, and she was a very obliging girl. All it took was a takeaway, a bunch of flowers, and an assurance that she was far prettier than Roxy, and she was up for anything. It wasn't the greatest way to spend an evening, but it was better than sitting here, waiting for a phone call from Honey, which probably wouldn't come. Or a phone call from Rex, which probably would and would be as welcome as a fart in church. He couldn't imagine what he'd done to deserve it all.

  Chapter Fifteen

  'I'm not happy about you going.' Eliot's face was pinched with worry. 'You don't know these roads. And I don't see why you have to go all the way into town, any road.'

  Eden wondered what his problem was. She was only going to Kirkby Skimmer for a couple of hours. She'd thought it would be a treat for the children, getting them off the farm for a short while. Eliot, Adey and Mickey were going to be busy harvesting all day. The farm was on high ground and unsuitable for growing crops, but there was plenty of hay in the lower meadows to cut for the sheep's winter feed, and, having had a week of dry weather, they wanted to get on with it while it held.

  She'd intended to put the girls in some decent clothes, for a change. Usually, they seemed to live in shorts and T-shirts. It all hinged on whether she could dig out some stuff that Eliot hadn't ruined in the washing machine. The girls' hair had been neatly washed, brushed and tied back, and they could be made to look quite presentable. It would do them good to have a wander round the shops, and a drink at one of the many teashops in the town — and possibly a small gift to bring home with them. She'd had it all planned, and she wasn't going to let Eliot spoil it.

  'People travel these roads all the time,' she said. 'I don't see what the big deal is. I have a SatNav and it's a fine, dry day. I'll be careful. Besides, I need to get to the supermarket. I want to start trying out some recipes. You, of all people, should be glad of that. Aren't you sick of chips?'

  She smiled at him, hoping he'd smile back, but he looked pretty grim. 'You go slowly, you understand? You make sure the kids have their seatbelts on at all times, and you bloody well crawl to Kirkby Skimmer.'

  'Heavens, you do fuss.' She was trying to be as flippant as she knew Honey would be, but she could see his face was lined with anxiety. 'I'll be careful, cross my heart. What a shame you're harvesting today, or I could have rung you later to check in.'

  She was being sarcastic, but he seized on her comment. 'There's usually a signal at Kirkby Skimmer. If you ring me, say at one o'clock, I'll be in the house, waiting. Will you?'

  Was he for real? 'Well, I suppose so.' She couldn't help feeling sorry for him, although she thought he was being a bit dramatic. 'Tell you what, I'll make you all a big lun — dinner — and leave it in the fridge. If you're coming back for the phone call, you may as well eat something while you're here. One o'clock. I promise.'

  He'd eventually hugged the children and headed out, leaving Eden to tidy up and get them ready for their journey as she mused over his odd behaviour.

  'Right, kids, who's up for a trip into town?'

  To her surprise, Libby and Ophelia looked less than enthusiastic. 'Do we have to?'

  'Don't you want to? I thought you'd love a trip out. What's wrong?'

  Libby said nothing, but Ophelia was more forthcoming. 'Will we have to go round the dress shops while you try stuff on?'

  Eden shook her head. 'Of course not. I don't want any clothes.'

  'Don't you?' They exchanged surprised glances. 'Oh.'

  'What about looking at vases and pictures, and stuff like that?' said Libby, suspiciously. 'Will you be spending hours choosing things for the house?'

  'No, promise.' Eden laughed, but then it occurred to her that was what trips into town with Jemima must have been like. 'I want to get some stuff to make your dad a nice tea, and I thought we could have a look in the shops and you could all choose a
present to take home. Maybe we could have something to eat in the teashop. What do you say?'

  They cheered up then, so Eden took them upstairs, and they began to rummage around in their wardrobes and drawers, trying to find something suitable to wear.

  'I really don't think your father understands the concept of separating colours and whites for the washing machine,' she said, holding up what had once been a white blouse. 'I think most of your clothes are only fit to be thrown away.'

  Libby quietly nibbled at her thumbnail as she sat on the bed, watching.

  'What's the matter, Libby?'

  Libby shook her head. 'Nothing.'

  'She's upset,' said Ophelia.

  'Upset about what?' Eden dropped the blouse and sat next to the little girl on the bed. 'What's wrong?'

  'She's upset about what Florence Taylor says.'

  'Who's Florence Taylor?'

  'She's in Libby's class.'

  'Shut up, Ophelia,' said her sister. 'I'm not upset.'

  'Yes, you are. You were crying in the playground. I saw you.'

  'Okay, okay. What's this about? What did this Florence Taylor say that upset you?'

  Libby shrugged, obviously unwilling to discuss the subject. Luckily, Ophelia was determined to finish what she'd started.

  'Florence says we get our clothes from the charity shop, and she says we're dirty little orphans.'

  'What!' Eden's hackles rose. 'Have you told the teacher this?'

  Libby shook her head.

  'Why not? She's bullying you. She shouldn't be allowed to get away with saying such horrible things.'

  'We're not orphans, are we?' said Libby suddenly. 'If we've still got a dad, we're not orphans. That's right isn't it?'

  'Yes, that's right. And you're very lucky, because you've got the best dad in the world, who works so hard for you and loves you so much.'

  Libby nodded. 'I know. That's what I think, too. I don't mind about the clothes. Not really. Dad gets very tired, and sometimes there's nobody to help at all, because everyone else is busy. Like when it were lambing time. It were full on, and there were no time to do things in the house or worry about clothes, but Florence doesn't believe me because she lives in Ravensbridge, just in an ordinary house, and she doesn't understand about lambing and stuff like that.'