by Kate Field
‘Yes. Give me a ring when you’re free.’
‘You’d better let me have your number.’
Helen eased Megan onto the other sofa cushion, stood up and found a scrap of paper to write her number on. She handed it to him, then went over to the cupboard under the stairs and opened the door. She pulled out a wicker basket and held it out to Daniel.
‘What’s this? A picnic?’
‘It’s things I’ve saved for you.’ She peered over at Megan; her eyes were closed, and her head had drooped onto her chest. ‘A hospital name tag, first shoe, a lock of hair from the first cut, photos and DVDs of every birthday and Christmas…’
He took the basket. ‘And you think this makes up for missing all those things?’
‘Nothing can do that.’
‘No, it can’t.’ He looked over at Megan, and his face hardened. ‘I won’t miss anything else.’
Helen’s phone rang late that evening. It was after eleven; Megan had been in bed for hours, but Helen would be working into the early morning to meet the deadline for the family-tree patchwork she was creating.
‘Why is my name not on the birth certificate?’
So much for the entente cordiale of the afternoon: the hostility was loud and clear in Daniel’s voice again.
‘I couldn’t put you on.’
‘Couldn’t or wouldn’t? Is this all part of the plan to keep me out of Megan’s life? Pretend I don’t even exist? You thought of everything, didn’t you?’
‘It wasn’t like that.’ Her voice was husky with tiredness, and with the pressure of a sob caught in her throat. How could he think she would act so vindictively? Did he not know her at all? ‘When I went to register the birth, I wanted to name you as the father, but I couldn’t because you weren’t there and we weren’t married.’
‘And whose fault was that?’ He didn’t wait for an answer, not that there was any she could give. ‘Can we go back now? Get the birth certificate changed?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘I’ll ask Craig. He might be able to tell us the procedure. You will agree to change it, won’t you?’
‘If it’s possible.’ Helen hoped it was. She hated the sight of the birth certificate, the empty space taunting her where the father’s name should be. She didn’t want Megan to have a blank father. She had been created in love. It mattered that she should know that. ‘So you looked through the box.’
‘Yes.’ Even over the phone she heard the tremble in his breath. ‘I’ve watched all the DVDs. She’s fantastic. It looks like she’s been happy.’
‘I think she has.’ She soaked up his words, and squeezed them out so that every last drop could quench the pain of the last four years. She had tried so hard to make Megan happy, and to show Daniel in films he might never have seen, that she was happy. His words unravelled the knot of anxiety she had carried for so long. ‘I’ve done my best.’
‘And…’ He stopped, but the silence still screamed his apprehension. ‘Has she ever asked about me? About her father?’
‘She’s never needed to. I’ve always told her that you love her a great deal, but have to work in another country. You’ve sent her cards and presents every Christmas and birthday.’ Always the biggest and best present: the thing that Megan wanted most, or would love the best, had come from Daddy. It had been one of the ways in which Helen had tried to ease her guilt. It had been no more successful than the others.
‘Am I supposed to say thank you?’
‘No.’ Helen still had her needle in her hand. Without even realising what she was doing, she jabbed the end into her knee, tiny pricks of discomfort hardly registering against the scale of the pain in his voice.
‘I want her to meet my family.’
‘What?’ Distracted, the needle poked too far into Helen’s knee. ‘It’s too soon.’
‘Is it?’ he replied. ‘I’d say it was four years too late.’
‘I mean it’s too soon to tell her who you are.’
‘I want to spend more time with her. I want to get to know her. What did you think, that you might work up to telling her in six months’ time?’
Six? Helen hadn’t thought about timescales, but if she did, six months wasn’t unreasonable, was it? And twelve months would be even better. It would give them all time to adapt, and for her to be sure that Daniel was serious about wanting to be involved. His anger was spurring him on now, his pride demanding that his position be acknowledged. He couldn’t understand about the responsibility that came with it, or have any idea of the unwavering worry that went hand in hand with being a parent.
‘It’s too soon,’ she repeated more firmly, determined that she had to stand up to him on this. ‘I’ve said you can see her again. I’ll let you know when I think it’s the right time to tell her. I know her. It has to be my decision, Dan.’
‘It’s not my fault I don’t know her, is it?’ But he sounded resigned. ‘She has a grandmother and an aunt who want to see her. Can they not meet her – as my family, if you won’t let her know they’re hers?’
‘Perhaps we can talk about it in a few weeks…’
She thought she’d been vague enough to put him off. She should have known better. He grabbed that word ‘weeks’ as soon as it left Helen’s mouth, as if he had been waiting for it.
‘Two weeks. Bring Megan for Sunday lunch at Mum’s.’
‘I…’
‘Christ, Nell, I’m asking for one lunch with my daughter in four years. How can you deny me that?’ And then, quiet but clear, she caught the words that she’d been dreading. ‘It’s not as if I’m asking for her to stay. Not yet.’
CHAPTER 11
Church Farm was set on the edge of the pretty Lancashire village of Crofters Fold, about twenty minutes’ drive from Helen’s house, and in character about as far away from her suburban estate as it was possible to be. At the heart of the village was a mismatched collection of old stone houses, much of the stone darkened by the effect of weather, time and industry. Green fields rolled away behind the clusters of buildings.
Helen paused at the crossroads in the centre of the village, taking in the butcher, the pub and the general store with post office. There were plenty of people about even in the middle of the morning, and a queue of mixed ages waited at the bus stop. The sunshine made anywhere appear cheerful, but Helen felt a definite sense of quiet prosperity and contentment here. First impressions were good, she acknowledged to herself, with a smile of growing anticipation.
At one corner of the crossroads, an old-fashioned black-and-white sign pointed the way to the nearest market towns. On another, a smart new tourist sign showed the direction of Church Farm. Helen turned that way and, after a few hundred metres, opposite a striking stone church with a pinnacle tower, drove into Church Farm and parked the car.
She hardly recognised the place from when she had last visited. Far from being rundown, it had the appearance of somewhere that was being continually spruced up. The car park was large, well laid out, and softened by trees and immaculate flowerbeds, still full of life and interest in October. If the car park was so well looked after, Helen could hardly wait to see the rest of it.
She led Megan past what was clearly the original farmhouse, a solid Georgian building, and entered a cobbled courtyard that was still bursting with colour from late-flowering dahlias and chrysanthemums. Former stable buildings and a vast barn formed the courtyard, and plaques outside provided a list of the shops that could be discovered inside each building. There was an eclectic mix of ladies’ clothing, christening gowns, homemade toiletries, kitchen equipment, quirky gifts, children’s toys…
‘Helen!’
She spun round and saw Joel strolling round the corner of the stables into the courtyard. He was wearing jeans, a heathery brown jumper, and a wide smile. No scarf, she noticed, although perhaps it was unreasonable to expect him to wear it all the time.
‘Sorry,’ she said, though the smile which had sprung unbidden to her lips might have contradi
cted the word. ‘Am I very late?’
‘Yes, if you listen to Saskia.’ Those cheeky dimples flashed up. ‘I was glad to offer to look for you. But I don’t mind if you were held up by admiring the shops. That’s promising. What do you think? Not so rundown as you were expecting?’
‘Not this area,’ Helen conceded.
‘So the shopping centre hasn’t won yet?’
‘No, I’ll give you a chance to impress me.’
The dimples melted into a warm smile, and a warm look which went on for long enough for Helen to wonder if he had interpreted her words more flirtatiously than she had intended. Before she could decide how best to back pedal, she felt a tug on her hand. She looked down into a little face that was puckering into a frown scarily like her father’s. It wasn’t a good sign in either of them.
‘Where are the animals?’ Megan demanded. ‘This isn’t a farm.’
‘I did try to tell you, sweetie, that it wasn’t that sort of a farm.’ Helen pulled an apologetic face at Joel. He crouched down in front of Megan.
‘Hi, I’m Joel, and you must be Megan.’ She gazed at him for a moment, then graciously nodded. ‘Do you want to know a secret?’ She hesitated, and nodded again. ‘We do have animals. You can’t have a farm without animals, can you?’ Megan shook her head. ‘And if your mummy agrees, we can have a look at some later. There’s something very special I can show you.’
‘Can we, Mummy?’ Megan’s voice had risen in excitement.
‘Of course we can. If you’re good while we look round the buildings first, okay?’
Joel led Helen out of the courtyard into a more open area of the original farmyard. On the right stood a substantial whitewashed building, with a sign over the door reading, ‘The Feed Store’. The building opposite was smaller, with full glass windows running all across the front length.
‘As you might guess, the Feed Store is where we have the café and the farm shop, and various small units selling artisan food and drink. Those are offices on the other side.’
A couple of young women with toddlers came round the corner from behind the offices.
‘You start them young, don’t you?’
Joel laughed.
‘The play area and the animals are that way. I’ll show you later.’ He turned to the right, behind the Feed Store. ‘This is the creative area. If you came before, you probably looked at a place in the Milking Parlour, here.’
They had reached an enormous, long building, painted a warm cream, with heritage green woodwork around the doors and windows. It didn’t look at all like when Helen had last seen it.
‘Wasn’t it yellow?’ she asked, trying to think back. The faded exterior had put her off before she’d even taken a step inside on her last visit. It hadn’t looked the sort of place where great work would be produced or sold.
‘Don’t knock it, I once spent my school holidays painting that on. And it wasn’t yellow, it was Sunshine Bouquet. Call yourself an artist, and you don’t even know your basic colours…’
He rolled his eyes, and Helen laughed.
‘So where is this fantastic new building you’re trying to sell us? I hope you’ve not been inspired to paint this one.’
Helen stopped. They had strolled behind the Milking Parlour, and in front of her stood a small stone barn. The traditional arched entrance was filled with an oak-framed glass door, with matching oak windows along the side. The stone looked freshly sandblasted, and glowed in the sun. The farmyard ended here, and beyond the barn lay nothing but green fields speckled with sheep.
‘Sheep!’ Megan squeaked, trying to drag Helen over to the fence running round the fields so she could get a better look.
‘This is the Hay Barn,’ Joel said, glancing at Helen with a look that wavered somewhere between anxiety and pride. ‘My first real contribution to Church Farm. And it’s not yellow.’
‘It’s beautiful.’ Helen felt a ripple of excitement. All thoughts of the shopping centre vanished. Imagine working here! Driving through the country lanes, taking inspiration from the colours of the seasons, being part of a growing community of artists… ‘Can I look inside?’
‘Of course.’ Helen wondered if she was grinning as broadly as Joel. She couldn’t help it. She loved St Andrew’s, but something here tugged her heart in a way she hadn’t expected.
Her grin faded as she followed Joel inside and saw Saskia’s scowling face. It was a temporary distraction from Saskia’s bulging cleavage, which seemed determined to inspect the Hay Barn all by itself. Helen was half inclined to cover Megan’s eyes.
‘You decided to turn up, then,’ Saskia said, her scowl deepening as she observed Joel standing close to Helen. Her gaze fell to Megan on Helen’s other side, and she bit back whatever else she was planning to say.
Fiona and Malcolm were standing behind Saskia, and Helen could tell from their faces that they loved the Hay Barn already. And who could blame them? It was even better inside than out. Stone flags covered the floor, and restored oak beams had been left exposed in the vaulted roof space. A combination of sunlight and cleverly placed spotlights made the building seem spacious and intimate at the same time. It was perfect.
Megan let go of Helen’s hand and ran over to hug Joan, who was hovering at the side of the barn with Ron.
‘I didn’t know you were going to be here,’ Helen said, smiling at Joan. ‘Have you changed your mind about retiring now you’ve seen this place?’
‘Tempting, isn’t it?’ Joan laughed. ‘Actually, I thought I’d better be here in case a peacekeeper was needed. I didn’t know if you were planning giving our Joel a hard time again.’
‘I can look after myself,’ he protested, but he gave Joan an affectionate grin. ‘Never mix business meetings and relatives,’ he murmured, an easy smile floating across everyone before settling on Helen.
‘We’re both breaking that rule.’ Helen smiled back, and stroked Megan’s hair. ‘But I promise I’m not planning to make any wild accusations against you today. Not unless you deserve them,’ she added, unable to stop smiling.
‘I think it’s probably safe to leave you to it then.’ Joan turned from Joel to Helen with a satisfied nod. ‘Shall we go to the café, Ron?’ He nodded. ‘Would you like us to take Megan for a drink while you have a look round here? Are you thirsty, Megan, love?’
Megan nodded and took hold of Joan’s hand before Helen could even open her mouth to answer.
‘And a biscuit?’ Megan asked hopefully.
‘Try the gingerbread sheep,’ Joel suggested. ‘They’re the best.’
Megan happily wandered off with Joan and Ron. Helen watched her go, and faced Joel again.
‘So what’s the plan? How are you going to divide the space?’
At the moment the interior of the barn lay empty, with no defined shops. Helen gazed round, her head buzzing with ideas about how it could be used. ‘Are you going to have glass partitions between the units?’ she asked, giving Joel no time to respond. ‘It would work brilliantly here, so none of the character of the barn is lost, and you can keep as much of this light as possible. It can help sales too, because while a customer is in one shop, something next door might catch their eye. Sorry, I’m rattling on, aren’t I?’
‘And I haven’t even pushed your button.’ Helen smiled at Joel’s reminder of their first meeting. ‘I haven’t decided what to do, but the glass partitions did look effective at St Andrew’s. I thought the space could probably be divided so that one shop ran along each wall, although the one next to the door would end up smaller.’
‘I’ll have that one.’ Saskia’s voice made Helen start; she had been so caught up in the barn, and Joel, that she had forgotten the others were there. ‘I only need a small shop. I don’t want to pay for dead space.’
‘My cards don’t take up much room either,’ Fiona said apologetically, as Helen began to pace round the barn. ‘Even half a wall might be too much for me.’
Helen reached the far end of the barn, where light flo
oded in through a huge round window. The long side wall was probably double the size of her current shop and though she would welcome more room, and had already mentally filled it with extra stock, three quarters of the space would easily be enough. She looked round the end space again, picturing how her idea might work, and walked back towards the others. Joel met her halfway.
‘I think you’re missing an opportunity,’ she said, the words tumbling out in her enthusiasm. ‘You could still have four good-sized shops in here without using that end wall under the porthole window. If you leave that empty, you could use the space for workshops, demonstrations, lectures, classes, temporary exhibitions… Anything!’ she concluded, waving her arms around as if to scoop up a thousand more ideas. ‘You could offer it to all the artists, not just those in the Hay Barn, and because it’s at the furthest end of the site, anyone who attends would have to pass all the other buildings first, and may be enticed in to buy something. It could be brilliant!’
She could see in her mind exactly how it could be – see herself holding workshops there, as she had always wanted to do – and her stomach fizzed with all the possibilities before her. And perhaps because of the man before her too: because Joel mirrored the enthusiasm she felt, and he was studying her with a look of wonder that was more flattering than any compliment she’d ever been given.
‘Will you do it?’ he asked.
‘Do what?’
‘Draw up a plan of how you think the Hay Barn should be divided, like the one you did for the shopping centre unit.’
‘But it’s your project…’
‘I know. But you have the vision for how to complete it. I need that. I need you.’
He needed her? When had anyone other than Megan needed her? When had anyone ever thought she could make a valuable contribution? Helen’s head swam; it was intoxicating.
‘I’d love to,’ she said, drinking in Joel’s delighted smile to sustain her high. Then she heard Malcolm cough, and the spell was broken. She took a step back. She couldn’t let herself be seduced; this had to be a decision of the head, not the heart. ‘It doesn’t mean I’ve decided to come here.’
