by Kate Field
‘It’s okay,’ Helen laughed, though it was always thrilling to hear her work admired, when it had taken her years to believe it was good enough to sell. ‘You can cut down on the extravagant praise now. I’ve agreed to come to Church Farm. I’m not going to change my mind.’
‘It’s genuine praise.’ He certainly looked serious, for once. ‘And it’s not just my opinion. I emailed some of the photos to my sister last night. She works for a magazine in London, and sets up photoshoots of interiors that we’re all meant to aspire to. She loved it. She said I should snap you up.’ He grinned. ‘In a business sense, of course.’
‘Consider me snapped. Professionally speaking.’ Helen grinned back. She was enjoying herself, and her whole body felt lighter with the novelty of it. When had she last chatted like this, had fun like this, with a man? Not since the early days with Daniel. And then a slug of guilt kicked in.
Joel must have noticed the shadows drift across her face.
‘Is everything okay? Am I pushing too much? Aren’t you ready for all this?’
Helen began to shake her head, then realised he was talking about work.
‘It’s what I’ve wanted for ages,’ she gabbled, covering her embarrassment. ‘I’ve all sorts of ideas about new projects. I’d love to open a shop on Etsy and to be able to take on commissions beyond the north-west. But I didn’t have the time when Megan was younger. Or the computer skills,’ she added, with a smile.
‘Lucky you know someone who does.’
‘Oh, I wasn’t suggesting…’
‘I know you weren’t, but I’m offering. Seriously, it will be a doddle to set you up with a new website.’
‘I can’t afford to pay you,’ she admitted, sliding her glass around the table until some wine sloshed onto her hand. She licked it off, but became conscious of Joel watching her and stopped.
‘I was never planning to charge you.’
‘Then what do you get out of it?’
‘Interesting question.’ She watched as he opened his notebook and wrote down ETSY??? Then he looked up, dimples dancing in his cheeks. ‘What are you offering?’
Her stomach somersaulted in a way she remembered from long ago.
‘I’ll barter you for any three items from the shop. You can get started on your Christmas presents! And,’ she added, laughing at his disappointed expression, ‘I’ll buy you a drink now. I think I can stretch to that.’
‘If that’s the best offer I’m going to get…’ He held out his hand. ‘I accept.’
Helen took his hand and they shook on the deal. His hand was strong, but smaller than Daniel’s; his long fingers wrapped comfortably round hers. It felt a good fit. She felt suddenly hot. She let go.
‘I’ll fetch those drinks.’
When she came back to the table, with a large glass of iced water for herself, Joel was poring over the iPad again.
‘This is a website I created a couple of years ago for an independent bookshop near Bristol. It has a link for online sales.’
He passed over the iPad and Helen spent a few minutes flicking through the pages.
‘It’s fantastic,’ she said, looking up at last. ‘Now I think you’re even cleverer. But you’ve made a very stupid deal with me. This is worth a lot more than three pieces of crazy patchwork.’
‘And a drink,’ he replied, raising his glass to her. ‘Don’t forget that.’
‘Even with the drink it’s a wholly uneven deal. I’ll let you out of it.’
‘Too late, we’ve shaken on it. And look,’ he added, leaning across the table and pointing to the bottom of the webpage. ‘I’m not so stupid. My name will be on the website, too, so it’s all good advertising.’
Helen looked where he was pointing.
‘But that’s not you. I thought you were JAM Design.’
‘I am now. That was the name of the company I had before.’
‘So you’re not getting any benefit now from designing this site?’
‘No.’ He sat back, his upper arm resting on the back of the settle, and teased a strand of hair above his ear. ‘It can’t be helped. I couldn’t carry on with the old company.’
‘Couldn’t you?’ The unexpected chink of vulnerability was fascinating. ‘Why not?’
Joel made a slight grimace.
‘Do I have to go there?’
‘No. But as my business is now linked to one of yours, I’d like to know if there’s anything I should be worried about. You didn’t go bust, did you?’
‘The business didn’t. The relationship behind it did.’
‘Oh!’ This was even more fascinating. Helen leaned forward. ‘What happened?’
‘Nothing that you need be worried about on that score either,’ he said, with a quick smile, which disappeared as fast as it arrived.
‘So you’re divorced?’
‘Never married.’ His eyes, usually so bright, seemed to dull. ‘I came close, but there turned out to be a large impediment which I’d known nothing about. Our relationship was based on lies. She wasn’t the person I thought she was.’
Helen was dying to know more, but it was clear from his expression that he wasn’t going to tell her.
‘What about you? You’re not with Megan’s dad?’
‘No. We’ll always be connected, because of Megan. But we haven’t been romantically involved for a long time. He has a new partner.’ She sat back and crossed her legs. ‘Beautiful, blonde, Australian. The dream girlfriend.’
‘Not mine.’ His smile was like a floodlight again, shining on Helen and brightening her darkest corners. She felt a fizzing sensation, immediately flattened by a surge of panic. What was happening? Why did her lips keep smiling at him whether she wanted them to or not? She reached across the table and grabbed his notebook and pen.
‘Back to business,’ she said, wagging the pen at him. ‘Stop distracting me.’
‘Me?’ He tried an innocent expression, but couldn’t hide the laughter in his eyes. ‘What have I done?’
Helen wished she knew. Because she couldn’t deny that he did something to her; but it was a something she simply wasn’t ready to face.
CHAPTER 16
Helen let herself in at the front door, and stopped dead. It wasn’t the sight of Daniel that sent shock racing through her nerves – his car was outside, after all – it was the familiarity of coming home from a night out and seeing him: the footprints of their past lingering in the sand, that the tide hadn’t quite washed away.
He was sprawled in her chair, his shoes off, watching Newsnight with the volume turned down so low he must barely be able to hear it. One of her mugs was sitting on the table at his side, evidence that he’d been through her kitchen. This house had always been a Daniel-free zone; there had been no memories of him here to plague her. Now it felt as if he’d sprayed his presence in every corner.
She closed the door and unzipped her boots, conscious of his silent scrutiny as she padded across to the sofa and sat down.
‘Did Megan get off to sleep?’
His face softened at once.
‘Yes. I’ve checked her a few times and she’s fine.’
‘Did Ben not stay?’
‘For a while, but he didn’t want to be out late when his son was ill.’
Perhaps she was feeling overly sensitive, but his words slapped her like a rebuke.
‘I’m sorry I’m later than I expected. Don’t let me keep you.’
He didn’t move.
‘Where have you been?’
‘The Thresher’s Arms. It’s a pub about five miles away.’
Daniel’s eyebrows slowly rose.
‘I thought it was a business meeting.’
‘It was.’ Helen refused to say any more. He had never quizzed her like a possessive husband in the past, and he certainly had no right to do so now. And yet, absurdly, she felt another spasm of guilt, as if she had been cheating on him. Which was ridiculous, because all she’d done was have a drink with Joel – a drink stretching fro
m one hour to two without her noticing – and been kissed on the cheek by Joel when he’d walked her back to her car… She curled her legs underneath her, wondering how just the memory of a chaste kiss could make her heart skitter. She flicked a glance at Daniel. He was staring at her, a frown darkening his brow.
‘I’ve been thinking about what the solicitor said, about my right to a say in Megan’s education,’ he said, when it became clear that Helen wasn’t going to volunteer any more information about her evening. ‘I want her to be privately educated. It’s what would have happened under normal circumstances. There’s a private school about thirty minutes from here which has great inspection reports and exam results. It’s called Broadholme.’
Helen knew the one. It was the school she was designing the crazy-patchwork mural for. It was a beautiful school, and of course it had crossed her mind how lovely it would be to see Megan there. But it wasn’t an option, and he must realise that. So why did he have to embarrass her by making her spell it out?
‘I can’t afford it.’
‘Really? Then I’ll pay.’
Helen sighed, and shook her head.
‘You say that now. Have you any idea how much we’re talking about for fourteen years’ education? It’s not only the school fees: there’s the uniform, the equipment, the trips… You can’t promise to pay for it all. What if you have more children in the future? I can’t start Megan at a school that she may have to leave when the money runs out.’
Daniel’s fingers were drumming with a steady thud on his knee.
‘My bonus in the last year alone could pay for her entire school career, and any other children.’
‘Well, aren’t you the lucky one?’ Helen replied, with ill-disguised bitterness. She knew he had hoped to make serious money in Hong Kong, but hadn’t realised it was on the scale this suggested. He had never consulted her over financial arrangements. ‘To have all that money – money you wouldn’t have had if I’d held you back here with a baby.’
‘Maybe. But it should have been my choice which I wanted most, shouldn’t it?’
It was too much, it really was: for him to sit there in the chair she was still paying for, boasting about how rich he was, and fooling himself that he would have been happy to live like this. She dashed away a tear.
‘And you would have wanted this, would you?’ she asked, waving her hand around. ‘The shoe-box house on the family-friendly estate? You’ll have noticed the shortage of space, the lack of designer furniture and top of the range conveniences.’
‘We wouldn’t have lived here.’ He shrugged. ‘And even if we had, it wouldn’t have mattered. Because we would have been together. I would have had Megan.’
They were never going to agree: not when she had made her decision at the time, based on love, and he was making his in hindsight, based on grievance. Helen stood up.
‘I think you’d better go. It’s getting late.’
‘There’s an Open Morning at Broadholme tomorrow. Will you come and look?’
He gripped the chair as if he had no intention of moving until she agreed. She didn’t have the strength to challenge him. She never had done.
‘Fine. But no pressure, okay?’
Daniel nodded, and rose. He took his coat off the post at the foot of the stairs, and Helen hovered, ready to open the front door.
‘Thanks for tonight,’ he said, and a smile paid a brief visit to his lips. Then, before she could guess what he planned, he leaned across and kissed her cheek, the opposite one to the cheek Joel had chosen. She breathed in, expecting the familiar smell of Daniel, but it wasn’t there; he was wearing that new aftershave again, and it jarred rather than soothed. He left, and she leaned against the front door, listening to his car drive away. Two kisses in one night, both from handsome men, both entirely unexpected; and one had made her heart dance, the other had left it aching.
Daniel turned up to collect them early on Saturday morning. He looked the perfect affluent father, but it was irritating the way his eyes skimmed over Helen and Megan as if checking they were appropriately dressed. What had he expected, that they’d be wearing something run up from an old pair of curtains? And why would it matter if they were? But he had nothing to worry about. Not even Valerie could have made any criticism of how respectable they appeared. After last night’s revelation of how much money he’d made in their years apart, Helen had been determined to make an effort today. She wasn’t having him look down on her, or think she was too poor to dress Megan well.
‘Is Tasha not coming?’ she asked, as he led them out to his car. She was thankful for her coat given the chill of the look he threw at her.
‘It’s none of her business.’
She’d hit a nerve there, clearly. She hoped he hadn’t used that line on Tasha. What relationship could thrive after a snub like that? And it wouldn’t make Tasha any fonder of Helen and Megan either, would it? She didn’t particularly care what Tasha thought of her; but if Megan was ever going to stay with Daniel – and her heart still reared at the very idea – she didn’t want Tasha to be unpleasant to her. If she was honest, she didn’t want Tasha and Megan to be close, either: but there had to be a happy medium, hadn’t there?
Daniel’s shiny new BMW was immaculately clean inside and out, and still had the new car smell. Megan stared at it wide eyed, and it was hardly surprising; in comparison, Helen’s red Renault Clio, unwashed for months inside or out and with the lingering smell of travel sick defying the best efforts of the air freshener, was about as appealing as a ride in a wheelie bin. A brand new childseat was fastened in the back of the BMW.
‘Is it okay?’ Daniel asked as he opened the door. ‘It was recommended by Which? as the safest seat available.’
‘It’s fine, but you could have borrowed the one from my car. You didn’t need to buy one.’
‘I’ll need it in future though, won’t I?’
That threat – or so Helen felt it – hung over them for the entire ride to school. Broadholme was a magnificent stone stately home, which had been run as an increasingly successful independent school for the last thirty years. The main house was now solely occupied by the senior school, the boys’ division and girls’ division each having a wing, with communal facilities in the centre. A new home for the primary section of the school had opened in September, in a modern stone and glass building which both complemented and contrasted with the original house. Helen, Daniel and Megan joined the crowd of other parents heading towards the primary school, some with children who could barely walk, she was surprised to see.
Junior-school prefects were giving tours of the school to the visiting parents and prospective pupils. Helen had only seen a few of the rooms on her two previous visits, and it was hard now not to be impressed by the facilities available: spacious classrooms considering the small class sizes, dedicated music, art and ICT rooms, and a library that made Helen long to sink down onto a beanbag and revisit some childhood classics. And it was impossible to ignore Megan’s reaction. From the dressing-up and role-play areas in the Reception room, to the Lego tables in the older rooms, she was touching and joining in with everything with eager enthusiasm that was both a delight and despair to witness. How could Helen not want her to come to a school like this? And the satisfied look that Daniel kept shooting at her was asking exactly the same question.
Perhaps if she had enough money to pay for the entire school career of several children, it would be as easy a decision for her as it was for him. She might want to see Megan here, but the financial implications were terrifying. She fingered the school summer dress, which was hanging up in a display of uniform in the hall. Thirty-eight pounds for one dress, which would only be worn for one term! And it wasn’t even that well made, she noted with a critical eye, inspecting the wonky hem. She could do a better job herself for a fraction of the price.
‘Helen? I thought it was you.’ Helen turned and saw the junior school headmistress, Mrs King, smiling at her warmly. ‘I didn’t know you were
interested in Broadholme. Are you looking for your daughter?’
‘Yes, this is Megan,’ Helen replied, pulling Megan forward. ‘Megan, this is Mrs King, the headmistress. Say hello.’
‘Hello,’ Megan said, to Helen’s relief.
‘Have you enjoyed looking round the school, Megan?’ Mrs King asked. Megan nodded. ‘What did you like best?’
‘The princess dresses.’
‘Ah yes,’ Mrs King smiled. ‘The Reception class have a lot of fun with the dressing-up box.’ She looked up and her eyes fell on Daniel, standing behind Megan. ‘Goodness me,’ she said, holding out her hand. ‘You must be Megan’s father. The resemblance is remarkable.’
Helen stared at Daniel in silent horror, goosebumps raging up and down her skin, her lungs frozen so thickly she thought she might never breathe again. And the Daniel she had loved so much lifted her with an answering look of unequivocal support. He shook hands with Mrs King, and drew her to one side, leaving Helen to deal with Megan.
What should she say? She’d been thinking about how to break the news: she’d even Googled ‘how to tell a child who their father is’ and had been terrified by countless tales of children traumatised by not having been told the truth about their parentage. She had resolved that they would have to tell Megan soon. But here? Now? She wasn’t prepared for it.
But when she looked down at Megan, bracing herself for awkward questions, confusion, even a tantrum, there was nothing. Megan was busy picking her nose and watching some other children playing with percussion instruments at the far side of the hall. If she’d heard what Mrs King said, and if she’d understood it, she wasn’t showing any signs.
‘Are you okay?’ Helen asked, crouching down in front of her and gently extracting the finger from the nose.
Megan nodded.
‘Can I play with the drums?’
‘Perhaps later.’
