The Truth About You, Me and Us

by Kate Field

  ‘What you’ve done is unforgivable,’ he said, when she didn’t speak. That stirred her to life. She’d thought the same thing, many times, but the familiarity of the accusation didn’t make it any easier to hear from him.

  ‘I’m not asking your forgiveness. I haven’t done anything I need you to forgive me for.’

  One eyebrow raised slowly. He had always done it, when he thought Helen had said something particularly stupid. How had she forgotten that?

  ‘You’ve kept my child from me for four years!’

  ‘I could have had an abortion and you would never have known anything about it!’

  ‘Yes, of course, and you have form for that, don’t you?’

  Helen sank down, her hand covering her mouth. She couldn’t believe he had thrown that at her. She’d had an abortion before, when she was nineteen. The pregnancy had been an accident, in a relationship that barely lasted a month, and it had been the hardest decision of her life – at the time. Daniel was the only person she had ever told about it. Though she had tried to put it out of her mind, it had been impossible to put it out of her heart. It was the one regret which dwarfed all others. Every day with Megan had shown her what she had lost.

  ‘So why didn’t you?’ Daniel ploughed on, relentlessly prodding at the wound he had opened. ‘What was so different this time?’

  Did he really need to ask? She must have been very convincing at Craig’s party when she’d denied her feelings. But she couldn’t do it now. She didn’t have the energy left to dissemble.

  ‘Everything was different,’ she replied, gazing at him though she knew he would see the tears threatening to spill. ‘The baby was yours. Ours. I could never have got rid of it.’

  ‘So now you’re claiming you did love me, after all? I can’t believe anything you say, can I? Because if you had truly loved me, you couldn’t have done this to me. Keeping the fact I had a daughter a secret could never be described as an act of love.’

  ‘Letting you have Hong Kong was. You adored it there. I could tell that every time we spoke. And then you sent me that email…’ It had arrived, with fateful timing, two days before Helen had discovered she was pregnant. ‘You said how lucky we were to have this second chance, after having to leave London when your father died. You said that part of you dreaded that there would be another phone call dragging you home, but surely lightning couldn’t strike twice.’ Helen still had the email, though she knew it off by heart. ‘There was no way I was going to be that second bolt of lightning.’

  He slammed back in his chair.

  ‘How is any of that relevant? You can’t compare the situations. You could have had the baby in Hong Kong.’

  ‘On a six–month visa?’

  ‘You could have stayed permanently if we’d married. I told you it would make the arrangements easier.’

  ‘Yes, you were very thorough in pointing out the practical advantages.’ There was a bitter taste in Helen’s mouth all over again. It had been the least romantic proposal she could have imagined. He hadn’t mentioned one word of love. When she was so deeply in love with him, how could she ever have accepted that? ‘You had every detail worked out. Five years in Hong Kong, then back home ready to have a family. How can you deny it? You didn’t want a baby four years ago.’

  ‘It would have been different once it had actually happened.’

  ‘Would it?’ Helen drank some vodka, and smiled at him sadly. ‘Are you sure about that? Because I have a very clear memory of the scare we had, not long after we left London. The relief on your face when the pregnancy test proved negative…’ She took a deep breath, fighting to disguise her feelings, just as she had had to do at the time. Because his relief wasn’t all she remembered. She also had a clear recollection, as vivid as the sensation of the smooth glass now in her hand, of how unexpectedly, and unequivocally disappointed she had felt. That absent blue line had changed everything.

  ‘You said that any other result would have been a disaster, and that we had been spared having to make a tricky decision,’ she continued, not stumbling over a single word as she knew them so well. ‘As far as I could see, nothing had changed a year later. With the job in Hong Kong, it would have been a bigger disaster. So I spared you the tricky decision, and let you have the life you’d planned.’

  And let herself have the life she’d begun to crave. The truth stabbed her in the gut, so sharply she could no longer ignore it.

  ‘You think I would have wanted you to get rid of the baby, one that actually existed?’

  ‘Yes. I think you would have considered it.’ And that had been enough. She couldn’t have taken the risk of what he might have asked her to do – or what he might, ultimately, have persuaded her to do.

  ‘No. We would have made it work.’ That was exactly what Helen didn’t want to hear. If she didn’t have the conviction of her own decision, where did that leave her? She glanced at her watch. It was already a couple of minutes after two. She finished her drink quickly and stood up.

  ‘I have to go. If you want to meet Megan, you can come for coffee, Sunday afternoon, on strict condition that there’s no fuss and no mention of her father.’

  ‘We haven’t finished.’

  ‘Yes we have.’ She picked up her bag. ‘There’s no point going over the same ground. You know what I did, and why I did it. It’s up to you what you decide to do now. But make sure you’re certain what you want. Because this isn’t one of your business deals, where you can take a punt and sell up if it doesn’t work out. Megan is the most precious thing in the world. So if you start this, and then get fed up of playing daddy, then I will never forgive you.’

  Helen left the pub, and half ran down the road to St Andrew’s, still trembling from the encounter with Daniel, and the fact she had stood up to him in a way she had never managed in the past. She burst through the door, for all the world like a late bride, and hurried down the aisle to where she could see the others huddled round a laptop set on a table in Joan’s coffee shop. But she slowed as she drew nearer to them. She’d expected to see a stranger with them. She’d expected to see Joel Markham. But the only person with them was a handsome man wearing her scarf.

  CHAPTER 9

  ‘At last!’ Saskia grumbled, as Helen halted in confusion at the sight of the scarf man. What was he doing here? And where was Joel Markham? ‘Thanks for tearing yourself away from lunch with your boyfriend. Talk about priorities…’

  ‘He’s not my boyfriend, he’s…’ She stopped. She didn’t want to get into all that right now, especially not with the scarf man smiling at her and listening to every word. She smoothed her hair, taming the wind-tousled strands. ‘I’m only a few minutes late, and this Markham guy isn’t here yet, is he? Do I have time to pop to the loo first?’

  ‘Helen!’ Saskia was sending Helen a frown so deep she could have used it to grow potatoes. ‘This is Joel Markham.’ Saskia pointed at scarf man. He was still smiling at Helen, with a smile so warm it produced a melting sensation deep in her bones.

  ‘Feel free to go to the loo,’ he said, his smile broadening into a grin which lured out the dimples. ‘I wouldn’t want to be responsible for any accidents. This parquet floor looks original.’

  ‘How can you be Joel Markham?’ Helen stared at him, thoroughly bewildered. He had told her that he was a web designer when they met on Saturday night. She hadn’t been so drunk – or so distracted by the unusual attention of a handsome man – to have got that wrong. How had he become the owner of a craft gallery since then? The melting sensation stopped, replaced by an embarrassed flush creeping over her chest as she realised how badly she might have misinterpreted this situation.

  ‘My parents are Mr and Mrs Markham, and they named me Joel.’ He laughed. ‘Isn’t that the normal way?’

  ‘But you came in here last week and bought my scarf.’

  ‘I did.’ He touched the scarf round his neck, a gentle stroke with two fingers that Helen could have sworn she felt herself. ‘Wouldn’t you h
ave sold it to me if you’d known my name? Don’t you serve Joels? I’m sure there must be an -ism against that.’

  ‘Can we get on now you’ve eventually shown up?’ Saskia asked. ‘Joel was showing us a virtual tour of Church Farm. It looks fantastic,’ she gushed, her irritated frown at Helen transposing seamlessly into a flirtatious smile as she turned to Joel. Everyone switched their attention back to the laptop. Helen didn’t move.

  ‘How did you find out St Andrew’s was closing?’ she said, her brain still stubbornly refusing to take this in. ‘It hasn’t been publicised yet. I didn’t tell you last week.’

  Joel looked up from the laptop and regarded Helen. He let go of the mouse and pushed a curl back behind his ear. It immediately sprang back, though he appeared not to notice.

  ‘I already knew.’ His eyes moved away from her too quickly. He was hiding something. Just like he had been hiding something last week, Helen suddenly realised. How stupid was she? All those questions he’d asked about her work, and how busy she was. He hadn’t been interested in her. It had been about the business after all, and how many customers she might bring to his gallery if she moved there. On Saturday night too, had he been trying to soften her up, so she would be more likely to agree? Her stomach sank into her shoes, and she took a step back, as if to distance herself from Joel, and from what, egged on by Kirsty, she had allowed herself to believe. She had thought he found her attractive and, though she wanted nothing from it, she hadn’t understood until this moment how great a boost that had given her confidence. That boost had just been punctured, and humiliation crawled over her skin. How could she have been such an idiot?

  ‘How could you know?’ she pressed him, blind to anything but herself, Joel, and an overwhelming sense of disappointment. ‘The only people who knew were us, the new buyers, and the council.’ Her eyes widened. ‘That’s it, isn’t it? You were tipped off by the council. What do you do, give them a bung in a brown paper bag in return for details of failing businesses?’ She swung her handbag down onto the nearest table, vaguely aware that she was being irrational, and that it wasn’t his fault she had read too much into his behaviour, but unable to stop. ‘What are you, some kind of retail ambulance-chaser?’

  ‘It’s not like that at all,’ Joel replied. He wasn’t smiling now, but his eyes were on Helen’s and he spoke with slow deliberation. ‘I heard St Andrew’s was closing down, and that some talented people were looking for a new place to show their work. I’ve got four new units to fill, and so it seemed a perfect…’

  ‘Four?’ Helen interrupted, hands on hips. ‘There are five of us who need new shops, plus Joan and her café. Is that why you’ve been snooping round, asking so many questions? What’s the plan, that you cherrypick the most profitable and offer them your new units? That’s not going to work. I wouldn’t leave one or two of us behind, and I don’t think anyone else would either.’

  ‘Speak for yourself,’ Saskia muttered, glancing round, eyes narrowed, until she gave a nod of satisfaction. After Helen’s, her jewellery shop and Fiona’s stationery were probably the busiest. The men were the weakest links at St Andrew’s.

  ‘But I thought Ron was retiring.’ Joel turned to Joan with a puzzled expression.

  ‘Of course he’s not!’ Helen snapped. ‘Did you think you could get rid of him because he’s the eldest? And you’re pensioning off Joan as well, are you?’

  ‘Helen…’ Joan began, but Helen didn’t let her finish.

  ‘I’m having no part in this,’ she carried on. ‘I don’t like your style of doing business. I won’t take one of your units.’

  There was a shocked silence, and then everyone started speaking at once.

  ‘Perhaps you need some time to think about it?’ Fiona suggested.

  ‘You can’t do this!’ Saskia hissed. ‘What about us?’

  ‘We’re snookered, then,’ Malcolm concluded with grim relish.

  ‘No, we’re not,’ Helen said, and reaching into her bag she pulled out the plans she had worked on overnight for the space in the shopping centre. She spread the paper out on the table, pinned down by a sugar bowl and a bud vase holding a single carnation. ‘We still have this option. It’s one large shop, and we won’t have the money to make individual units, but I’ve worked out how we might divide it up.’ She pointed down at the graph paper, where groups of squares had been coloured in to represent each artist. Below that, she’d sketched an impression of how it might look. ‘I’ve given you one of the window spaces, Malcolm, because your paintings will have more visual pull than our small pieces. And Ron, you can have the other window for your dolls’ houses…’

  Helen stopped, struggling to maintain any degree of enthusiasm when no one was showing interest. Or rather, no one from St Andrew’s was showing interest. Joel had somehow found his way next to her and was leaning forward, his hands resting on the table, studying the plans. The pose emphasised his strong shoulders. He twisted his head and grinned up at Helen.

  ‘This is great.’ One long finger pointed to a trail of footprints she’d drawn on the plan, leading to another unit. ‘What do the footprints mean?’

  ‘It’s the route to the nearest available space that could be used as a café,’ Helen said, her anger faltering under his apparent appreciation of her hard work. She turned to Joan. ‘I’m sorry, there’s no permission to use the main space for catering. This is the best I could do. It’s only five shops away, so we’d be practically neighbours still. Don’t think I’m trying to push you out,’ she added, with a swift glance at Joel, who was still standing beside her, watching her with amusement. ‘It may not sound as appealing as a barn conversion, but this way we can all stay together.’

  ‘You’re a good girl,’ Ron said, squeezing Helen’s hand. ‘But you don’t need to worry about me. I decided a while ago to retire at the end of the year. My hands aren’t as nimble as they were, and the fine detail in the dolls’ houses is too much for me now. I discussed it with Joan, and we decided to retire together.’

  A pink flush lit up his wrinkled cheeks; a matching shade lay on Joan’s face. If Helen had any doubts over what he meant, their expressions removed them. How had she failed to notice the most exciting thing ever to have happened at St Andrew’s?

  ‘I can’t believe you’ve managed to keep this secret.’ Helen smiled, and gave Ron a hug. ‘I’m so happy for you both.’ She kissed Joan, though it meant having to lean closer to Joel Markham, so close that for a moment she imagined she felt his breath whisper across her cheek. ‘I should have known all those delicious cakes would be winning some man’s heart.’

  ‘The offer to teach you to make them still stands!’ Joan laughed. The happy sparkle in her eye made her look twenty years younger. Helen strained to keep her smile in place, while her stomach writhed with unstoppable envy. Everything in her life was changing, but none of it was for the better, or not for her. She thought she’d been doing good, fighting to save what they had at St Andrew’s, but all the time people had been quietly working out their own happiness without her.

  ‘This is all very convenient for you, isn’t it?’ Helen said, tossing a bitter look in the direction of Joel Markham. It wasn’t his fault, she knew that very well, but her lingering sense of humiliation made him a natural target. ‘Or are you going to claim that you knew about this development as well?’

  ‘Yes, I did.’ The grin was back, the dimples in all their glory. It was mesmerising, and all the more infuriating because of that.

  ‘How could you possibly have known? I work here and hadn’t spotted it. Do you have a mole here or something?’

  ‘It’s me,’ Joan said. ‘I told him.’

  ‘Last week? I didn’t see him go to the café. And why would you tell a stranger before us?’

  ‘He’s not a stranger,’ Joan said. ‘Maybe sometimes a little strange…’ She looked at Joel with obvious affection. ‘Joel is my nephew. My sister’s youngest.’

  ‘How can he be your nephew?’ Helen caught Joel’s
eyes laughing at her. ‘And I don’t need another genealogy lesson from you, before you offer. Why did you keep it a secret? Why all the mystery with the letters and this meeting?’

  ‘That was my fault,’ Joan admitted. ‘I hoped you would feel that he was inviting you to Church Farm on merit, not as a favour to me. And I wanted you to judge the offer objectively, not look kindly on him because he’s my nephew.’ She smiled at Helen. ‘I seem to have got it wrong. I never thought that you would look on him so unkindly.’

  ‘Not all of us have,’ Saskia pointed out, edging closer to Joel. He was still watching Helen, his hands in his pockets, shoulders tensed forward.

  ‘You told me you were a web designer,’ she said.

  ‘I am. I had my own business in Bristol for five years.’

  ‘So what are you doing in charge of a rundown craft gallery? Did the business fail?’

  ‘No. I sold my stake in it twelve months ago and moved back up here. For personal reasons,’ he added, a cloud blowing over his face. Helen waited, but he didn’t elaborate. ‘I’ve taken over Church Farm for my dad. It was left to him by my uncle. And it isn’t rundown.’ Joel smiled, and his shoulders relaxed. ‘It’s up and coming. Let me show you the video and you can see for yourself. Then you can compare it to the place you’ve found.’

  Helen hesitated. Everyone was watching her expectantly.

  ‘It’s only a few minutes long,’ Fiona encouraged her. ‘You’ll be pleasantly surprised. I think it must have changed a lot since you were there.’

  ‘For the better, I hope,’ Helen muttered, but she let herself be pushed forward until she was standing in front of the laptop. Joel bent down to click the mouse, brushing against Helen’s arm as he did. An unexpected shiver ran through her. She kept her eyes firmly on the computer screen, watching what was undoubtedly a very slick advert for Church Farm. Joel commentated as it played, showing how the gallery had looked a year ago, when he’d taken over, and all the work he had done since then, repairing the buildings that had been allowed to decay, sprucing up the communal areas, and finally showing the extra barn that he’d renovated and in which he had the four spare units that could be taken by the St Andrew’s residents. The barn looked fantastic, with exposed stone walls, a flagged floor, and huge oak doors and beams. Helen felt a prickle of excitement that had nothing to do with Joel’s continued presence beside her. The barn had character and warmth. It was the sort of place she would love to work, and she knew her customers would enjoy visiting. It was a million times better than the shopping centre option. But still…