by Kate Field
‘When do you have to move out?’
‘A couple of weeks after Christmas.’
‘So soon?’ Daniel frowned. ‘Surely you need more notice than that? Have you spoken to Craig? He could take a look at the tenancy agreement.’
‘No, there’s no need to bother him.’
‘He won’t mind.’ Daniel already had his phone out. ‘I’ll call him now.’
‘Don’t.’ Helen reached out and put her hand over his. He stared at her, shocked either by her touch or her sternness, or a combination of both.
‘Why not?’
‘I’ve tried. He won’t help.’
‘Rubbish. Of course he will. I’ll speak to him now.’
She tightened her hand on his.
‘Don’t ring. I don’t want you begging for me. Sally made it perfectly plain…’
‘Sally?’ Daniel’s lips narrowed.
‘What did Sally say?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Nell.’ He twisted his hand so he was holding hers. ‘Tell me.’
Helen shrugged, pretending she was entirely unaffected by his touch, and by the concern in his eyes.
‘I’ve not to contact her or Anita again,’ she blurted out, unable to stop herself when he was acting like her old Daniel. ‘They don’t approve of the way I’ve treated you. It’s fine.’ She puffed out a tiny smile. ‘It’s not as if she’s the first to think what she said, is it? It’s not as if I don’t deserve it.’
He squeezed her hand, fleetingly.
‘Come and stay with me.’
‘With you?’ Helen pulled her hand away. ‘With you and Tasha?’
‘There’s plenty of room. We have three bedrooms we never go in.’
Helen backed away and gave the carrots a quite unnecessary stir. She didn’t want to hear anything that involved Daniel, Tasha and bedrooms.
‘You can’t have discussed this with Tasha.’
‘She won’t mind.’
Tasha wouldn’t mind? Wouldn’t mind Daniel inviting his ex-girlfriend and their child to live in the house she had crossed the world to share with him? Of course Tasha would mind, and Daniel’s drumming fingers confirmed that he knew it too.
‘It would never work.’
‘It would. I’d be able to see Megan every day.’
Oh, that hurt. Once again he’d prodded the wound that shouldn’t even still exist. He wanted Megan to move in with him. Helen was simply a necessary appendage, the handle on the teapot. When would she ever learn? She shook her head, as the words were stuck in her throat.
‘Think about it, at least as a temporary solution, if you can’t find another house in time.’
‘Why do you want another house?’ Megan had come in without either of them noticing, and her face was already puckered, expecting to be upset. Helen had no choice but to tell her that they needed to move, and despite her best efforts to turn it into an adventure, Megan cried, screamed, and refused to go anywhere. Daniel hadn’t seen this side of childhood before and watched helplessly as Helen soothed Megan until the tantrum passed away. Helen wondered if he would be quite so keen for them to move in now he’d seen that parenting wasn’t all bedtime stories and giggles.
Lunch was delayed, and not as perfect as Helen had hoped, although Daniel managed two bowls of jam sponge. While Helen was making coffee, he took his phone out again. For an awful moment she hesitated, milk bottle in hand, fearing that he had decided to contact Craig after all.
‘Princesses on Ice is in Liverpool next Sunday afternoon. I’ve found tickets on the Internet. Shall I book them?’
‘No,’ Helen replied, pouring the milk and trying to ignore Megan’s excited face. ‘There’s a Christmas market on next Sunday.’
Daniel looked up, frowning.
‘There are hundreds of Christmas markets on at this time of year. Surely you can go to another one? This is more important than shopping.’
Helen slapped a coffee mug down in front of him.
‘It’s not shopping, it’s working. I’ve taken a stall there.’
Daniel’s frown deepened, and his index finger tapped a steady beat against the back of his phone. Helen could guess what was coming.
‘Who’s looking after Megan while you work?’
‘Kirsty is helping out on the stall, so between us and Ben we can…’
‘You’ll pass her round between you? No. I’ll look after her. You can spend the day with me, can’t you, Megan?’ He smiled at her. Who could resist that smile? Megan nodded. ‘We’ll go to visit Gr…’ He stopped short. ‘Valerie and Alex. You remember them, don’t you?’
Megan nodded again. Daniel picked up his coffee, and looked at Helen with cast-iron determination. Dare to deny me now, he was saying: and how could she, when Megan thought she would be spending the day with him? He had broken a promise yesterday. How could she force him into breaking another? But the idea of him taking Megan to his house, of him playing families with Tasha… It turned her blood cold.
‘You can bring her to the market,’ Helen countered, cradling her coffee mug between her hands. ‘There are activities for children and a Santa’s grotto. She’ll enjoy it.’
They glared at each other, until eventually he nodded. Helen was unclear which of them had won, if either of them. Daniel turned his attention to his phone again.
‘Birmingham, in two weeks’ time, on the Saturday. You don’t work then, do you?’
‘No. But it’s a long way…’
‘Good.’ He tapped the phone. ‘I’ve bought the tickets.’ He smiled at Megan. ‘We’re going.’
CHAPTER 19
The Christmas market at Church Farm was magical: Helen could think of no other word for it. Even early in the morning, with stalls and gazebos being erected in the courtyard, and manic people rushing round carrying bags and boxes of goods to sell, Helen felt a buzz of excitement at being part of this. There was a genuine sense of community between everyone working there, like there had been at St Andrew’s but on a much larger scale. Each time she came, she felt more certain that this was going to work. Perhaps, after all, she was ready to leave St Andrew’s, however much she had loved it there, ready to try something new, something bigger and brighter. She felt she belonged here.
Each building had been decorated with miniature Christmas trees, high up near the roofline, and their tiny white lights were already sparkling, and would look even better as the afternoon darkened. One large tree stood in the centre of the first courtyard, and the florist who owned one of the shops had produced huge garlands and displays of holly and ivy which marked a path, drawing visitors round the whole of Church Farm. Catering stalls were being set up in the space between the offices and the Feed Store and already the air was suffused with the aroma of mulled wine and roasting chestnuts. All it needed was snow to make it picture perfect but, thankfully from the point of view of sales, none was forecast and the sky was a crisp winter blue with not a cloud to be seen.
Tables had been set up in the Hay Barn for the St Andrew’s group. Helen had persuaded the others that to make a good first impression they should decorate their stalls in a subtle and sophisticated Christmas style. Tinsel and plastic ornaments were banned, to Fiona’s disappointment. Helen had brought matching crisp white cloths to cover every table, and on each one she stood a white ceramic pitcher in which she’d arranged some branches dripping with lush red berries. With Kirsty’s help, she strung rows of bright white fairy lights from beam to beam over the top of the stalls. It was her own contribution to the magic, and even Malcolm agreed when she’d finished that it ‘didn’t look too shabby’.
Helen left Kirsty to start setting up the stall, and helped Ron and Malcolm carry in their items, as they were by far the biggest. Ron had one exquisite Victorian townhouse left to sell, which had to be wheeled in on a trolley. By the time he had arranged furniture and figures in every room, it looked worthy of a museum, never mind a Christmas market. Malcolm had brought a couple of his usual landscapes, but his stall m
ainly featured the new abstract pieces he had produced recently.
‘These are fantastic,’ Helen said, as she unwrapped a group of pictures labelled New Beginnings I, II and III, all based around different shades of red. ‘Red is absolutely my favourite colour.’
‘Well, we’ll see if they sell, that will be the test of how good they are,’ Malcolm replied, but another shade of red was creeping up his neck, confirming Helen’s suspicion that he was secretly pleased with his work.
‘I’m sure they will. I can’t believe you didn’t try this style before.’
Malcolm shrugged.
‘I dabbled, but I could never find the pluck to bring them into St Andrew’s. I’ve done the landscapes for so long. It’s what I know best, and it was easy to get to thinking that’s all I know. Moving here has given me a leg up out of the rut I was in. It’s a new beginning for all of us, isn’t it?’
There was an anxious wait for customers after the official opening time. As the Hay Barn was at the furthest point of Church Farm, there was bound to be a delay before anyone reached them, even if crowds had flooded in on the dot of opening. After fifteen minutes of staring at each other, unnecessarily tweaking their stalls, and exchanging smiles that tried to hide apprehension, Kirsty was sent out to recce the situation and see if there were any visitors at all. She was soon back, bathed in a smile of relief, to report that the crowds were pouring in, and hot on her heels came the first visitors to the Hay Barn.
It was the start of a busy morning, helped by the fact that a small choir had been booked to perform Christmas carols and songs right outside the entrance to the Hay Barn. They drew visitors to the barn, and each time a performance ended, there was a surge inside. By the end of the first two hours, Helen had already seen Malcolm sell one of his paintings, and had restocked her own stall: the fabric Christmas tree decorations were selling brilliantly well. She had also acquired some names on her contact list for people who might be interested in classes and workshops to be held in the tantalising empty space at the head of the barn. It was going better than she had ever hoped.
Ben and the children arrived not long after the market opened, and whisked Kirsty away to explore. She came back bursting with enthusiasm.
‘I’m going to be as fat as a pig when we’re working here,’ she said. ‘Have you seen those shops inside the Feed Store? Any extra money I make from working on Mondays will be spent in there before I can make it home.’
Kirsty had agreed to work in the shop on Monday as well as Saturday when they moved, for a trial period; Helen needed to be sure that there were enough sales to justify the extra wages that she could barely afford.
‘How is it going round the rest of the market?’ Helen asked. She hadn’t managed to pop out for so much as a loo break yet. ‘Are people still arriving?’
‘Loads,’ Kirsty nodded. ‘Although it’s reached that time where the catering stalls are distracting a lot of people.’
Having said that, they were then distracted themselves by a group of ladies who were flatteringly impressed with Helen’s work and between them bought a cushion, two Kindle sleeves and a crazy patchwork clutch bag.
‘You’re going to be opening branches of Crazy Little Things all across the country if this rate of sales continues,’ Kirsty said, as Helen rummaged under the table for more items to fill the gaps. ‘You’ll have to employ a team of seamstresses to keep up with demand.’
‘I hardly think I need to put an advert in the Job Centre just yet.’ It was a lovely thought, but also a slightly worrying one. The idea of someone else carrying out sewing for her was as strange as someone else looking after Megan. Which reminded her – as if she could have forgotten – where was Megan?
‘Have you seen Megan wandering round?’ she asked Kirsty.
‘No, but it is very busy at the moment. I’m not sure I would have spotted her, especially as I’ve never met Daniel.’
‘You’d definitely know him if you saw him. Surely Ben told you how similar they are? You’ll see for yourself at the wedding, if you don’t meet him today.’
‘Oh yes, the wedding.’ There was no mistaking Kirsty’s awkward tone, or the shifty expression on her face. ‘I meant to have a word with you about that.’
‘Don’t tell me you’re standing me up?’ Helen plastered on a smile as a couple stopped to browse at the stall. She had received an unexpected invitation to Alex’s wedding, and Kirsty had agreed to be her plus one. She’d already sent back the RSVP with her name on. How embarrassing was it going to be if she had to retract that, admit that she couldn’t even convince a friend to accompany her, never mind a date? How humiliating was that going to look in front of Daniel? And oh, how she hated herself for even caring what he thought.
‘I really am sorry.’ Kirsty looked it too: if she bit her lip much more she’d make a hole in it. ‘I know what an ordeal this is going to be for you, but I’ve no choice. Ben’s mum has invited herself up for that weekend, for turkey and tinsel. Apparently it’s the only weekend she can fit us in.’
‘Don’t worry,’ Helen replied, squeezing Kirsty’s arm. ‘Family first, even if they are outlaws, that’s the way it goes. I’m sure I can manage to attend a wedding on my own. And I’ll have Megan there, anyway.’
‘No, you need to have a date.’ Kirsty’s face brightened in a way that made Helen’s heart sink. ‘Leave it with me. I made this mess so it’s the least I can do to sort it out.’
‘Please not a blind date,’ Helen said, but she was interrupted by a customer and by the time she had made the sale, Kirsty seemed to have forgotten the subject.
Shortly afterwards, while Helen was explaining the details of some of the workshops she was planning to a pair of elderly sisters who appeared willing to join anything to get them out of the house, she noticed Joel enter the Hay Barn, an attractive woman at his side. It was clear Saskia had seen him too, as her face creased into a frown which flicked immediately to a smile as he made his way towards her stall near the entrance.
Helen was still engaged with the sisters when Joel approached her stall, and he started chatting to Kirsty. It took the old ladies forever to decide what their email address was so they could be added to the mailing list, and the debate over whether it was a ‘.com’ or ‘.co.uk’ could have gone on all afternoon if Helen hadn’t promised to try both. At last they shuffled off to inspect Fiona’s stall, and Helen was able to turn to Joel.
‘That sounded fun.’ He grinned, and Helen’s eyes were drawn from the very attractive scarf round his neck, to the very attractive set of his lips. She returned the smile.
‘I may need to consider streaming my classes like they do at school if they join, or they’ll hold everyone up.’ She laughed. ‘I always assume that elderly ladies can sew already, and darn socks and make proper pastry. Is that terribly ageist?’
‘Don’t forget knitting. They can all knit as well, can’t they? It’s practically the law.’ The woman at Joel’s side smiled and held out her hand to Helen. ‘Hi, I’m Joel’s sister, Liz. You can only be Helen. Good to meet you at last. I love your work.’
‘Thanks. I love people who love my work. I love people who buy my work even more. Can I tempt you?’
‘I think you can. You must be irresistible to my family.’ Liz laughed and tweaked the scarf round Joel’s neck, making his cheeks darken. ‘That wreath would look perfect in my flat. The colours are gorgeous. Did you make that as well?’
‘I made everything here.’ Helen pulled down the wreath and passed it to Liz for her to examine. ‘That was actually very simple. You know how you make pom-poms as a child, wrapping the wool round and round the cardboard circles? The wreath is the same idea, but on a larger scale, and without cutting it apart at the end. Then I sew the felt flowers on. It’s so simple even Megan helped with wrapping the wool round the card.’ Helen grinned. ‘I shouldn’t have admitted that, should I? Child labour is never a good advertising feature. But it is technically still a Walters creation.’
&nb
sp; ‘Where is Megan?’ Joel asked, as Liz admired the wreath. ‘I thought you’d have brought her.’
‘She’s coming later.’
‘Good. I thought I might have been too late, as I’ve not had chance to come round until now. I’ve brought her a special ticket for Santa’s Grotto.’
‘A special ticket?’ Helen took the piece of card Joel held out. ‘What does this do?’
‘It will mean she can avoid the queue. Hand it in at the side door, not at the front.’
‘I didn’t know there were VIP tickets available,’ Kirsty interrupted, peering at the ticket over Helen’s shoulder. ‘Is that a perk for stallholders?’
‘Well…’ Joel fiddled with his scarf. ‘I suppose it could be. I could get you one if you want…’
‘You’re alright, we’ve already done the grotto.’ Kirsty looked from Joel to Helen, and in an awful moment of clarity, Helen knew exactly what was coming next. She shook her head, but Kirsty paid her no notice whatsoever. ‘Joel, are you doing anything two weeks yesterday?’
‘I don’t think so.’ He appeared understandably confused at the way the conversation had jumped. Liz was standing by, wreath and purse in hand, looking fascinated.
‘Kirsty, don’t…’
But Kirsty took as little notice of Helen’s voice as she had of the shaking head.
‘Great! I was supposed to be Helen’s plus one at a wedding but my mother-in-law has screwed up the plan and now I can’t go. I promised Helen I’d find a replacement. You’d be perfect!’
‘Would I?’ Joel looked at Helen, eyebrows lightly raised, and a smile waltzing round his lips.
‘You don’t have to,’ Helen began, shifting slightly to dig her heel into Kirsty’s foot in what she hoped was a painful thrust.
‘I’d love to. Whose wedding is it?’
‘Ah…’ There was an awkward question. How could she tell Joel before Megan? ‘A family friend,’ she finished. That wasn’t entirely untrue, was it? ‘Have you decided to take the wreath?’ she asked Liz, trying to kill the conversation. Sadly it survived.
