This Other Eden (Skimmerdale Book 1)

by Sharon Booth

  Eden tutted impatiently. 'Are you forgetting that you didn't go? You got away with it. Stop being so horrible. He's really upset, and he needs to talk to you. He's had a bit of a blow.'

  'Regular occurrence,' she said coolly. 'Have you seen Roxy's collagen mouth? I'll bet it's not a bit of a blow.'

  'Honey! That's your father!' Honestly, thought Eden, she was impossible. Fancy thinking that about your dad. 'He's been left out of the charity gig.'

  'What bloody charity gig?'

  'Rex Scotman is having a massive fundraising concert for his school in Africa, and he's invited just about every pop and rock star of the last five decades to take part. Everyone, except your father.'

  She actually laughed. Eden wondered if she had even an ounce of compassion in her. 'Priceless! Serves the old goat right.'

  'Honey, he's really upset about it. He wants to talk to you,' she said, although she couldn't imagine why. One of Honey's little chats might finish him off. 'He says if you won't talk to him on the phone, he's going to come up to the farm and talk to you in person.'

  'He wouldn't,' she said confidently. 'He thinks he needs a passport for anywhere farther north than Birmingham. He's bluffing.'

  'I don't think he is,' Eden assured her. 'You didn't hear him. He means it. You have to talk to him.'

  'Oh, bollocks. One way or another, he always manages to spoil things,' she said. 'All right, I'll bloody call him. But I'll make it perfectly clear that he's to stop pestering me in future. And you can stop pestering me, too, come to that.'

  'Well, I'm very sorry, I'm sure,' Eden said. 'It's going well, then?'

  She tutted. 'I wouldn't go that far. It's boring as hell here, and can you believe it, Crispin's left me twice now, to go to his constituency and deal with political business? He's supposed to be on holiday.'

  'He still has duties to do,' Eden said. 'Just because Parliament's in recess doesn't mean he doesn't have —'

  'Oh, shut up, Eden. You sound just like him. And he has to report to bloody Lavinia every day, too, as if he was some sort of naughty child. Honestly, how can I respect him, when he behaves like that? So much for a powerful man.'

  'Well, I'll leave you to it,' Eden said, thinking it sounded as if the novelty was well and truly wearing off with Crispin, thank God. 'You will ring Cain?'

  'I said so, didn't I? Now bugger off.'

  'Spoilt little madam,' Eden muttered as she hung up.

  Shoving the phone in her pocket, she turned around … and froze in her tracks.

  Eliot and Beth stood near the entrance to the tent. Eliot had George in his arms, and judging by the dark expression on his face, he was about as angry as Eden had seen him yet, despite Beth's efforts to placate him.

  Eden swallowed. She was in huge trouble.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Eliot was trembling and couldn't seem to stop. He held George tightly to him while glaring at Beth. 'So, where is she?'

  Beth looked alarmed. 'Just over there. She got a phone call. Eliot calm down.'

  'Calm down? You can say that to me, of all people?' He held her gaze, until she looked away, biting her lip.

  'It was a long time ago. We've all moved on. You have to let this go.'

  He knew she had tears in her eyes, and a part of him longed to reach out and comfort her. 'Beth ...' His voice trailed off. There was nothing he could say that could possibly bring her any comfort, and she didn't need to hear it all again. 'I'm sorry, but I'll never let it go.' He kissed the top of George's head.

  'Jam,' said George, pointing vaguely in the direction of the table.

  Eliot glanced round. Evidently, they'd all been having a marvellous time eating scones, as if nothing he said made any difference. He would throttle Honey. How dare she go against his wishes like this? She'd lied to him, deceived him. He wondered why he was so disappointed.

  'Eliot.' She was beside him suddenly, her face scarlet with embarrassment. At least she knew she was in the wrong, which was more than some people. 'What are you doing here? I thought you'd be busy all day.'

  'Evidently,' he said. She held her arms out for George, but he half turned away, moving George out of her reach. 'I distinctly told you the children couldn't come to this damn open day. You knew how I felt. I couldn't have made it any plainer.'

  'I know, and I'm sorry. It's just that the girls really wanted to come, and their friends were going to be here, and I thought —'

  'You thought, what I didn't know wouldn't hurt me? Why doesn't that surprise me?'

  'Eliot,' murmured Beth.

  He turned back to her, seeing and hearing her pain and feeling helpless. 'I'm sorry, Beth. I really can't do this.'

  'You can't punish the children,' she said. 'And you have to stop punishing yourself. What we did —'

  'What we did was a big mistake and look what it led to. Oh, aye, I know. You're right. What's done is done, and I can't turn the clock back, but it doesn't mean I can carry on as if nowt happened. What do you want me to do?'

  He swallowed, suddenly aware that Honey was standing there, looking baffled.

  'Take George home,' he said. 'I'll get the lasses.'

  'But you can't,' Honey protested. 'They're trying to win some prizes, and they're having a good time. You can't show them up in front of all their friends. You take George home, if you must, and I'll wait.'

  He leaned towards her, his face determined. 'I said, take George home. Now.'

  She looked shocked for a moment, then her face hardened. 'Don't come over all Heathcliff with me, Eliot Harland. I'll take George home, but only because I actually care enough about him to avoid a scene.'

  'Don't even start on that,' he said. 'Seriously.'

  'Well, if you cared anything about him, you —'

  'I'd what? Go on, what would I do?' He was aware he'd raised his voice. Several heads turned to look at him, and Honey took a step back. He felt Beth's hand on his arm and shrugged it off. 'Never, ever tell me that I don't care about George. Never try to tell me how I should be raising my own bloody kids, and don't contradict me when I tell you what they can and can't do. Do you understand? They're my kids. Do you hear me? You do anything like this again, and I swear, I don't care what your father says, I'll send you packing and look after them myself. Now, take George and go.'

  She hesitated, but only for a moment before she reached out and took a wriggling George from his arms and headed over to the buggy, where she proceeded to strap him in. Even from where he was standing, he could see her hands trembling and felt ashamed.

  Beth folded her arms. She was shivering. 'I think we need to talk.'

  'We've said it all, Beth,' he said flatly. 'There's nothing left to say.'

  'Isn't there?' Her eyes were wide, scared.

  They could talk all day, but what good would it do? Besides, he didn't want to discuss it, to actually put it into words. Knowing it was one thing, admitting it out loud was quite another. 'I'm sorry, I really am. What happened — we have to live with it. I don't see how talking about it will help anything now.'

  'But it wasn't our fault, Eliot. Not really. Please —'

  'Beth, I care about you, I really do, and I'm sorry for everything. More sorry than you could ever possibly know. But I want to keep my life, and my children's lives, separate from yours now. You have your life here. It's best for everyone if we keep things distant. Please try to understand.'

  He couldn't bring himself to explain further. Impulsively, he bent over and kissed her gently on the cheek, then straightened, flushing slightly as he realised Honey was staring at the two of them in astonishment.

  Beth squeezed his hand, saying nothing, then nodded and walked away, and he turned to face Honey, who was leaning on the buggy, obviously shocked.

  'You still here? Go home.'

  She opened her mouth, as if she was going to make some sharp retort, but then seemingly thought better of it. She began to push the buggy away, and Eliot let out his breath and sank onto the nearest chair. He would let the gi
rls win their prizes. It wouldn't make much difference now, and Honey had been right in a way. They wanted to do what their friends did. He could hardly blame them. Let them at least have that much.

  What was he going to do? He never had enough time for anything, and the fear gnawed away at him constantly — fear of losing the children, fear that one day they'd know the truth. How would that change things? Would they ever be able to forgive and forget? It was all such a mess.

  Not for the first time, he wondered if it was all worth it. Fleetsthorpe had been in the Harland family for generations, and it was the only life he knew, or wanted. Yet, if he had a safe, nine-to-five job, he could be there for his children more. In a town, there would be childcare facilities, nurseries. Yet, he felt he would go mad, living in a town. Was he already mad? If not, it was a miracle. Besides, what did he know, but farming?

  Of course, there was an easy option. A way out. He could take it any time he wanted and be assured his children would be looked after and cared for, the house kept neat and tidy, and no social worker or court would say the kids were being failed. It wouldn't be so difficult, would it? Couldn't he make that sacrifice?

  His stomach churned in protest, and he sat up straight, shaking his head as if shrugging the whole idea off. Unbidden, the image of Honey came into his mind. Honey stirring a pot of stew and looking so proud as she tasted it; laughingly mopping up George's mess as half of his dinner inevitably landed on the tray of his highchair; coming home from town with bags full of new clothes and books for the children, bought and paid for with her own money. He tried to remember the sarcasm and the arrogance, but funnily enough, he could only remember the smiles and the kindness.

  His stomach flipped again, and he was gripped with sudden panic. He was an idiot. More than an idiot. Once was idiotic, twice was sheer lunacy. He stood up, pushing his way out of the tent and making his way towards the stalls.

  Several villagers nodded and smiled at him, while others raised eyebrows, evidently surprised that he'd turned up. He focused on getting to the hoopla stall, where Ophelia was being handed a coconut by the vicar, who was valiantly manning the attraction for the afternoon.

  'Very well done,' he was saying, as Eliot approached. 'You're one of the very few to have won. Have you been practising? Fond of coconuts, are you?'

  'Not really,' said Ophelia. 'But Libby said I couldn't do it, so I had to prove I could.'

  'Ah, well, perhaps you can give it to your father. I'm sure he'd appreciate the gift, and the level of skill that went into winning it for him.'

  Ophelia and Libby exchanged glances and shrugged. Eliot hated himself in that moment. 'I most certainly will,' he heard himself saying. 'Very impressive, Ophelia. And I love coconut.'

  'Splendid,' said Mr Edwards. 'Nice to see you here, Eliot. Good to have a break, sometimes.'

  The vicar moved round the other side of the stall, to take money from some other children, leaving the girls staring at Eliot in obvious horror.

  'I'm sorry, Dad,' said Libby, but Ophelia seemed to have decided it was best to act as if this was all perfectly normal.

  She waved the coconut in the air and shrieked at him, 'Look, Dad! Hardly anyone wins a coconut on these stalls, and Libby said I had no chance, but I knew I could do it.'

  He raised an eyebrow and tapped his foot on the ground, waiting.

  Libby hung her head.

  Ophelia, on the other hand, brazened it out. 'What are you doing here, anyway? Wish I'd known, I'd have looked out for you. You could have a go, if you like. See if you can beat me. Bet you can't.'

  'Shut up, Ophelia,' muttered Libby.

  Ophelia scowled. 'Are we in trouble?'

  'What do you think?' he said, trying to suppress a smile.

  'I don't see why we should be,' she protested.

  'Did I tell you not to come here today?' he asked.

  'Well, yes.'

  'So, I'm sure you know why you should be in trouble,' he replied.

  She tutted. 'Well, it's not fair. Loads of our friends are here, and their parents don't mind. They came with them. We only had Honey. Where is Honey, anyway?'

  Eliot straightened. 'I sent her home.'

  'Why?' demanded Ophelia, while Libby looked worried.

  'She knew you weren't to come here, and she went behind my back to bring you. Do you think that's right? Because I certainly don't. I told her to take George back, and I'll speak to her later.'

  'Oh, Dad, please don't blame Honey,' begged Libby. 'It really wasn't her fault.'

  'She's the adult, and she's supposed to be looking after you,' he began, but Libby moved to his side and pulled on his arm.

  'It was my fault,' she said. 'I begged her.'

  'No, you didn't,' said Ophelia, with an air of resignation. 'You said we should do as we were told. You know it were me who begged her. I wouldn't shut up. I right chewed her ear off, truth to tell.'

  Eliot bit his lip. She was a little madam, but he loved her honesty, as much as he loved Libby's kindness. They were wonderful girls and deserved so much better.

  'Nevertheless,' he said, 'she shouldn't have given in to you.'

  'Oh, come on, Dad,' said Ophelia. 'You know what I'm like. She just wanted to help us.'

  'She did, really,' said Libby. 'She's been that nice to us, and she tries to make things lovely at home, and she cooks our favourite things, and lets us help her bake and doesn't moan about the mess, and she let us try on as many clothes as we wanted, and she helped us choose those books and didn't mind that we took ages trying to decide, and she makes a cracking crumble, and ... Please don't be mad at her. We really like her.'

  'You do?' He wondered how that had happened. How had Honey won them over so easily?

  Given her appalling reputation and her initial bad behaviour, it was staggering that she'd settled in so beautifully and done so much to make the children happy. George clearly adored her, too. He remembered the first couple of days after she'd arrived at the farm. She'd been so cutting, so sarcastic, and downright cruel, at times. She hadn't seemed interested in Fleetsthorpe, or the children, and had been pretty dismissive of their entire lives. What had caused her to change so thoroughly? How had she ended up being so important to them all and so well-liked?

  'It really matters that much?' he asked.

  They nodded. 'We don't want you to be narked with her,' Libby said. 'We don't want her to leave. It's been so much nicer at home with her there.'

  He pulled them both to him, his anger forgotten. 'All right. We'll leave it at that. But you have to promise me that when I tell you not do something in future, you'll do as you're told. It could be really important. You understand?'

  'We understand,' said Libby.

  'Promise,' said Ophelia.

  'And you do know, don't you, that Honey will be going home in a few weeks? When you go back to school, she'll be going back to the Cotswolds. You understand that?'

  They looked at each other. 'Does she have to?' asked Libby eventually.

  'You could ask her to stay,' suggested Ophelia. 'I bet she would. She likes you.'

  He laughed and shook his head. 'I think you're wrong there, sweetheart. She puts up with me. Liking might be stretching things a bit far.'

  'Oh, but she does,' insisted Libby. 'You can tell she likes you.'

  'Oh, aye? How's that, then?'

  'Well, Dad, have you seen the look in her eyes when you're in the room? She goes right funny, and all dreamy, like.'

  Ophelia giggled. 'Honey loves you, Dad.'

  'All right, all right, that's enough of that rubbish,' he said. 'Come on, let's get you home before I change my mind and decide to punish you after all.'

  They left Thwaite Park behind them, heading back in the Land Rover to the farm, and Eliot's mind replayed the conversation over and over again.

  She goes right funny and all dreamy.

  He couldn't say he'd noticed. Had he? Maybe he'd been too busy pushing away his own thoughts to notice hers. What was happening between
them?

  He clenched his fists, mentally berating himself. Nothing was happening, and nothing ever would. He'd finished with that kind of thing. In his experience, it came with a heavy price, and he was still paying it. There was no way he was walking into that trap again.

  Besides, what was he thinking? Honey Carmichael was rich, glamorous and spoilt. She lived the sort of life his girls would only ever read about in magazines. The idea that she would want to spend the rest of her life in a remote farmhouse in the Yorkshire Dales was ludicrous. God knows, he had proof that it was complete madness, didn't he? Absolute, physical proof.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Eden placed the bowl of cereal in front of George and sat down heavily in the chair beside him. It was going to be a difficult day. James Fuller had been on the phone, asking — very nicely of course — if she could bring the children to meet him at Kirkby Skimmer that afternoon.

  'I have to meet my accountant. It would be the perfect opportunity to have some lunch with you all before my appointment.'

  'I don't know. I don't think I can get away at such short notice.'

  'The Daffodil Café. One o'clock. You know it?'

  'No, I don't. And, like I said —'

  'It's easy to find. I'll see you then. Looking forward to it.'

  He'd rung off, leaving her in no doubt that he expected her to be there with the children. What would be his next demand? How far was this going to go?

  To make matters worse, Eliot had barely spoken two words to her since he'd got back from Thwaite Park. In fact, he'd avoided eye contact with her.

  In a way, she supposed, it was a good thing. At least he hadn't ranted and raved at her, as she'd suspected he would. He hadn't done anything much. It was like he was trying to pretend she wasn't there. God, he must really hate her. If she'd known how badly it would affect him, she would never have taken the girls to the damn event.

  Of course, it was her own fault. She should have known better. Now she'd really hacked him off, and that was upsetting her more than she cared to admit. She wondered, yet again, who had tipped him off that she'd taken the children to the open day. He'd refused to say, but she'd lay odds on it being Daisy. She must have been there and seen them. No one else would rush to cause so much trouble.