by Kate Field
‘Not him, you! You were all over him!’
‘No I wasn’t!’ Saskia had this all wrong. How could she have been flirting with him, when her heart still longed for Daniel? ‘I was being charming to a customer, that’s all.’
‘Next time you feel like not flirting with a totally gorgeous man, can you please send him my way? The only decent men to ever come to my shop are buying presents for wives or girlfriends. It’s so depressing.’
The afternoon was quiet, which suited Helen. She was expecting a lady at the end of the day, who wanted her to sew a family tree, inset with photographs, for her mother’s eightieth birthday. Helen loved the idea, and had already drawn a few sketches and gathered together some fabric samples. She was making further small improvements when she heard the click of purposeful heels across the wooden church floor. Thinking her customer might have arrived early, Helen glanced up and saw Valerie Blake.
It certainly looked as if Valerie meant business. She was wearing an immaculate navy wool coat, buttoned to the neck, polished navy court shoes, and her handbag swung from her arm as if she were the Queen. The outfit was formidable enough; the expression of grim determination on her face was terrifying.
Valerie stalked up to Helen, who waited in her shop, paralysed by foreboding, a tug of war raging in her stomach.
‘May we have a word?’
‘Of course.’
Valerie looked round.
‘Is there anywhere private we can speak?’
‘No, here’s fine.’
‘Very well. It’s about these lies you’ve been telling my son.’
Helen flinched, and tightened her grip on the counter in front of her. But what had she expected? An eager request to meet her granddaughter?
‘I haven’t told him any lies. I didn’t want to tell him anything.’
‘And what about this child?’
‘Megan,’ Helen snapped. ‘Her name is Megan.’
Valerie shook her head, as if the name was irrelevant.
‘Haven’t you done him enough damage without this? Why did you have to tell him such a thing?’
‘Because he saw her. And because it’s true.’
‘I can see why it would suit you to say so. You’ve had plenty of time to rue what you gave up with him. And now you see him return, handsome as ever, rich and successful, and you think you can snare him in this stale old trap.’ Valerie paused for breath, a flush of pink showing through her powdered cheeks. ‘I will not let you do it.’ She enunciated every word with cold clarity. ‘How much do you want?’
‘What?’ Helen thought she must have misheard. Surely Valerie wasn’t offering her money? But yes – she opened the clasp of her handbag, and pulled out her chequebook.
‘How much will it take to convince you to tell him the truth? Hundreds? Thousands?’ Valerie put the chequebook down on the counter, and uncapped a fountain pen. She stood poised, ready to write. ‘You must have a price. Whatever it is, I’ll pay it. Nothing is more important than Daniel. I want you to leave him alone.’
The hand gripping the fountain pen was trembling. The sight took away the offence of Valerie’s words, and left Helen feeling nothing but pity. Valerie was a mother, protecting her child in the only way she knew how. Helen understood all too well, and she couldn’t hate her for it.
‘I don’t want your money,’ she said. She reached behind the curtain at the back of the shop, and grabbed her handbag. She drew out an envelope and handed it to Valerie. ‘Here. It’s the cheque Dan gave me. I’ve torn it into pieces.’ Valerie glanced inside the envelope, frowning. ‘I don’t want anything, from either of you. If I had wanted to trap him, I’d have done it a long time ago, not now, not when I’ve struggled for four years on my own. I would have been quite happy to keep Megan a secret from him for ever, if he hadn’t come back. But he saw her, and he asked, and I wasn’t going to lie. He is her father.’
‘We’ll see about that.’ Valerie opened her handbag again, and withdrew a Waitrose sandwich bag. There was a dark sliver of hair inside it. She placed it down on the counter. ‘If you’re so confident about who the father is, you won’t mind agreeing to a DNA test, will you?’
‘Yes, I will mind! I’m not putting Megan through a DNA test to prove that she is part of a family I’d rather she had nothing to do with!’
‘It’s a non-invasive test. All we need is a sample of her hair. Or are you having second thoughts now about your paternity claim?’
Oh, she was infuriating! That glint of anticipated triumph in her eyes was unbearable.
‘Your hair may not be a strong enough match,’ Helen said, pushing the Waitrose bag back across the counter to Valerie.
‘Probably not. But this is a sample of Daniel’s hair.’
Helen snatched up the bag and examined the clump of hair. There was no doubt about it, now she could see it up close. It was Daniel’s hair. So he was a party to this DNA plan. He had seen Megan, heard Helen tell him that he was Megan’s father, but he still didn’t believe it. He needed proof. And this dart, that he hadn’t even been brave enough to throw himself, plunged straight into her heart with a pain that flowed through her blood.
‘No,’ she said, hearing her voice come out as little more than a whisper. ‘No. I won’t agree to a DNA test. But not because there’s any doubt about Daniel being Megan’s father,’ she said, as a triumphant smile began to ascend Valerie’s face. ‘It’s because if he has to demand scientific proof, if the evidence of his eyes and his heart aren’t enough, he doesn’t deserve to have any part of her.’ Helen held the bag out to Valerie. ‘So you can give him this back, and tell him to stay away from us. I would rather Megan had no father at all than him.’
Valerie opened her mouth, but for once she was unable to find a suitable reply. She took her sandwich bag, folded it, and tucked it into her handbag.
‘We clearly have nothing more to say,’ she announced at last. ‘You’ll stay away from Daniel?’
‘Gladly.’
Valerie nodded, and fastening the clasp of her bag with a click of finality, she turned to leave. Helen hesitated, one thought chasing round her head. Should she do it? Would it seem vindictive? But she had to. Valerie had acted as a mother; but she was also a grandmother. She had to know.
‘Valerie?’ As she turned back, with an expression of surprised enquiry, Helen grabbed her phone. She scrolled through and found the picture she wanted. ‘Here. I took this picture of Megan last weekend.’
She held out her phone. Valerie stared at her, uncertain and unmoving. Then her eyes pulled away from Helen’s, and flicked down to the phone. She blinked, and her hand came forward and snatched it off Helen. She held it close to her face, studying the picture. At last she dropped the phone onto the counter, and her hand flew up to her chest.
‘Oh…’ she moaned. Her eyes met Helen’s again, and this time there was no hostility, no triumph, only recognition.
‘Are you okay?’ Helen touched Valerie’s arm. The last thing she needed was for her to have a heart attack in the shop. But the words seemed to shock her back into life. Valerie nodded, and with one last glance at the phone, turned and walked out of St Andrew’s.
CHAPTER 7
‘Admit it, you wanted to give her a slap, didn’t you?’
‘Surprisingly not.’ Helen laughed at Kirsty’s disbelieving expression.
‘Granny bashing isn’t my thing.’ She grimaced at her own words. Valerie Blake was possibly the world’s least granny-like granny. ‘Not even a verbal slapping.’
‘She would have deserved it. Spiteful old trout. Fancy offering to pay you to stay away!’
‘I know! As if I haven’t spent the last four years trying to do exactly that! Perhaps I should have asked for the arrears.’
Smiling, Helen poured the last of the wine between her glass and Kirsty’s. Their monthly night out, when Ben looked after all the children while they went for a meal and drinks, couldn’t have come at a more perfect time. Delicious Italian food, ac
companied by delectable Italian wine, had done a better job than another sleepless night in relieving the emotions stirred by Valerie’s visit the day before. Although seeing Valerie hadn’t been the worst of it. Valerie had never had a good opinion of her. It was the disbelief from Daniel that was so hard to stomach. Her smile faded.
‘Hey, come on,’ Kirsty said, squeezing Helen’s hand. ‘So Daniel’s proved himself an idiot. You warned me not to expect a happy-ever-after.’
‘I know. It seems I’m not great at taking my own advice.’
‘Seriously? You expected that one day you’d end up back together?’
‘I guess that makes me the bigger idiot, doesn’t it?’
Helen drank some more wine, wishing they could stretch to another bottle. But a dozen bottles wouldn’t drown out the pain of knowing that Daniel didn’t trust her. How could his feelings for her be so slight, that he could believe she would lie about something so serious?
‘I didn’t expect to ever see him again. But it was always possible that I would. And so of course I thought about us getting back together. The idea was always there: every birthday and Christmas, every Mothers’ Day or Fathers’ Day…’ Every night, she could have added; in the early days at least.
‘Is that why you didn’t take it further with Simon? I always wondered.’
‘One of the reasons.’ Helen’s smile revived. Kirsty had persuaded her to go on a blind date with Simon about eighteen months after Megan’s arrival. It was the first and last date she had been on since Daniel: the attempt to move on had failed, as every second had felt like a betrayal. ‘But it was more that I simply didn’t fancy him.’
‘So if a seriously drop-dead gorgeous man showed you some interest, are you now open to offers?’
‘Like that’s ever going to happen!’ Helen laughed; though as she did, an image whisked through her mind of the man in her shop yesterday. She swept it away.
‘But what would you say if I told you that a gorgeous man has been staring at you for the last few minutes?’
‘I’d say you obviously had more than your half share of that bottle of wine.’
‘That scarf round his neck looks very familiar. Isn’t it one of yours?’
Helen spun round.
‘Seriously?’ Kirsty tutted in despair. ‘You turn for a scarf, but not for a hot man? We really must start going out more.’
Helen wasn’t listening. She was gazing across the restaurant, at a party who were taking their places at a large table. It was her scarf, and it was wrapped round the neck of the man who had bought it from her yesterday. In fact, he was unwrapping it, and smiling at her as he did. She couldn’t stop an answering smile springing to her lips. She’d suspected he had felt obliged to make a purchase, and had grabbed the nearest thing. But if that was the case, he would hardly have chosen to wear it in public, and when he could have had no way of knowing he would see her. He must genuinely have liked it. So she continued to smile, and as she did, he began to cross the room.
‘I think he’s heading this way!’ Kirsty hissed.
There was no doubt about it. He was heading their way, and his path brought him straight to their table.
‘Hello again,’ he said, the scarf still in his hand.
‘Hello. Great scarf.’
‘Isn’t it?’ The man laughed. Soft curls caressed the edge of his face. ‘It’s been admired all day. All my friends want one.’
‘I hope you told them where to find me. Or why don’t you give them all one for Christmas? I might consider a discount for a bulk order.’
Helen glanced across at the rest of his group. There were three or four other men, and two swishy long-haired girls. She ran her fingers through her own shoulder-length hair, wishing she could still rustle up a swish. It had made sense to cut it off when Megan was born and personal grooming had come well down on a long list of new priorities. She wondered if she should start growing it back. Perhaps she would ask Kirsty later.
‘I tried to look you up on the Internet, to see what other designs you had, but your website is very limited.’
‘Limited?’ Helen laughed. ‘It’s only one page, with the St Andrew’s address on. I set it up when I first opened there, and haven’t touched it since. It’s on my to-do list, to make more of it. I didn’t expect anyone to look at it.’
‘I promise I wasn’t looking in a stalkerish way.’ He grinned, revealing a flash of dimples. ‘I really did want to see more of your work. And I suppose I should admit I have a professional interest.’
‘You sew?’ Helen hadn’t expected that. A hollow feeling settled in her stomach, and her cheeks ached with the effort of keeping her smile in place. So his questions yesterday had been about her work, after all. Had he only been interested in stealing her designs?
He laughed.
‘No, I’m a web designer. You should have a better showcase for what you do.’
‘I know.’ Helen smiled with renewed brightness. ‘I’ve been thinking about that lately. Time and money have always been the issue, but I do need to look into it. I suppose a good website soon pays for itself.’
‘It should do. Perhaps I can help you out.’
A piercing whistle sliced through the restaurant.
‘Hey, birthday boy! Are you actually planning to join us tonight?’
The man half turned and waved a hand in acknowledgement. He brushed the curls from his face as he offered Helen a quick smile.
‘I’d better go…’
‘It’s your birthday?’
‘It’s tomorrow, but Saturday was a better night to go out.’ He tossed the scarf about in his hands. ‘Are you here for a meal? Perhaps we could have a drink later?’
‘We came early. We’ve already finished. Sorry.’ The sorry was automatic; Helen wasn’t sure if it was genuine. She didn’t want to analyse her feelings, or explore why her lips wouldn’t stay down, or why when this man looked at her, heat spread from her scalp to her toes. She could sense that Kirsty was showering her with disapproving looks. Then came a disapproving kick under the table.
‘We can order another bottle,’ Kirsty said, when the looks and the kick failed to have the desired effect. ‘We’re not in any hurry.’
‘Yes, we are.’ Helen sent her a surreptitious glare. ‘Ben will be expecting you home soon.’
‘You can stay. We don’t mind keeping hold of…’
‘No need for that,’ Helen said decisively, and returned the kick under the table perhaps more forcibly than Kirsty deserved. ‘I need an early night. I’m going to have to work all day tomorrow.’ She smiled at the man, who was hovering by the table. ‘Have a great birthday. But please treat that scarf a little more gently, won’t you? All my work is a little piece of me. I can feel every one of those twists.’
‘Sorry!’ He laughed, straightened out the scarf and laid it over his upright palms. ‘There. From now on I’ll treat it like the rare and precious thing it is.’ Again, his eyes lingered on Helen’s. She kicked her shoes off under the table and wiggled her toes, trying to cool down. ‘It was great to see you again. Let me know if you decide you want help with your website.’
With a final smile, he disappeared to the far side of the restaurant to join his friends. Helen watched as he took a seat in the middle of them all, laughing and shaking his head at whatever they were saying to him. He hung the scarf carefully over the back of his chair.
‘Hello?’ Kirsty poked Helen’s arm. Helen pulled her attention back to her own table. ‘Who was that?’
‘It was…’ Helen laughed. ‘Do you know, I’ve no idea. He never told me his name.’ So he couldn’t have meant it about helping with the website, could he? How was she supposed to contact him if she was interested? Interested in the offer of website help, that was, not in anything else. Not in that offer of a drink. She wasn’t likely to ever see him again, was she?
‘You both seemed very pally for people who don’t know each other. Where did you meet him before? And how did he get your sca
rf?’
‘He bought it yesterday.’
‘In St Andrew’s?’ Kirsty shook her head. ‘Why don’t I ever get customers like that on a Saturday?’
‘You shouldn’t be looking,’ Helen pointed out. ‘You’re married.’
‘They don’t gouge your eyes out as you walk back down the aisle, you know.’ Kirsty looked at Helen, a big grin on her face. ‘I’ve never seen you flirt before.’
‘I wasn’t flirting!’
‘Oh no?’ Kirsty pretended to run her fingers through her hair, tilted her head and fluttered her eyelashes. ‘Oh, do be gentle with me,’ she fluted. ‘When you touch that scarf it’s like your hands are all over my body…’
Helen burst out laughing.
‘I don’t speak like that.’
‘Yes, you do, you posh Southerner.’
‘And I certainly didn’t say that.’
‘Your body language did.’
Helen shook her head, but it was harder to ignore Kirsty than Saskia. Had she been flirting? It had been second nature once, but in those days her confidence in how she looked, and who she was, had been watertight. That confidence had leaked away now. Even so, her skin tingled as fragments of her old self surfaced, stirring up a memory from the depths of the past. Fun. She had enjoyed the conversation with the man, and had felt invigorated in a way she hadn’t done for years. And at once she was swamped with guilt for having fun that didn’t include Megan, and for flirting with a man that wasn’t Daniel.
‘Do you think I should grow my hair again?’ She hunched her shoulders up to her ears and pulled her hair forward to show Kirsty what it would look like longer.
‘Stop that!’ Kirsty giggled. ‘He’s still looking over. You don’t want him to think you’re weird. I think he actually fancies you. You should contact him, ask him to work on your website.’ Kirsty winked. ‘There’s a euphemism if ever I’ve heard one.’
