by Kate Field
‘Megan loves playing with Adam’s boys. It’s good for her to spend Christmas with other children.’
‘Fine. I’ll come with you to your parents’ house.’
‘You can’t do that!’
‘Why not? They’re hardly short of space, and I don’t think they’ll mind, do you?’
Of course they wouldn’t. They had adored Daniel. When Helen started a relationship with him they had been proud of her for probably the first time in her life. They would be thrilled to hear that he was back, and to learn that he hadn’t abandoned Helen when she was pregnant, as she had let them believe.
‘What about presents?’ Daniel pressed on. ‘We may as well sort it out now. What can we get for Megan?’
‘I’ve been saving for a bicycle.’
‘Great idea. Let me know how much it is and I’ll send you half.’
Why was she finding this so difficult, Helen wondered? Christmas was always a financial minefield, and now this year half of it was being paid for by someone else. She should be relieved, pleased even. But it was one thing for her to write ‘love from Daddy’ on a few presents, and quite another for Daddy to be here, asserting his will in every aspect of their lives. She began to see what she had never appreciated at the time: how entirely Daniel had led their past relationship. She had been a spoiled rich girl when they met, idly drifting through life, and she had let him sweep her along the road he chose. Now he seemed to assume they would fall into those roles again. And though she had found her own feet, and had no intention of being swept off them again, when he tried to push through his own way, echoes of the past and her feelings of guilt made it hard to withstand him.
Helen picked up a magazine again and turned the pages blindly, to stop the conversation. After a while she felt a nudge against her arm, and realised drowsily that she was nodding off.
‘Go to bed,’ Daniel said. ‘Make the most of the unexpected night off.’
Helen nodded, grabbed her Tesco pile and headed to the bathroom. She changed into her pyjamas, thankful, even though they were rather tight, that he had bought any nightwear at all: she hadn’t wasted time with it when they had lived together, given how quickly it would have come off. She wiped away her make-up with some reluctance, wincing at the thought of Daniel seeing her naked older face tomorrow, brushed her teeth, and hurried back to the bedroom. She dashed into bed almost before Daniel could raise his head from the newspaper, lying as near to the edge as she could without risking falling out.
After what seemed like a momentous pause, Daniel rose from the bed and went to the bathroom. Helen hadn’t known how thin the wall was: she could hear every sound he made, and the familiarity of it made her throat burn with suppressed tears. He came back into the room, and though she was clutching the duvet tightly so that it covered most of her head, she heard him as he stripped off his clothes, item by item. And then, what she had never expected to happen again: Daniel Blake climbed into bed with her.
CHAPTER 21
As Helen waded back into consciousness, she became aware of a persistent niggle that something wasn’t right. She was too comfortable to pursue it at first, until at last her eyes opened and she noticed three things. The first was Megan, standing at the side of the bed.
‘Mummy! Mummy!’ she repeated crossly. ‘I’m talking to you!’
The second thing Helen noticed was that she wasn’t at home: the bright light shining in through the thin floral curtains on the opposite wall reminded her where she was, and who she was with. And that led on to the third thing, which should probably have been the first, if she’d been alert enough to process it. The duvet was now pushed down as far as her waist; and Daniel, who should have been on the far side of the bed, was right up behind her, his chest pressed against her back, his legs knotted with hers. His breath was warm in her hair, and his arm was slung across her body. His hand had found its way inside her pyjama top, and was resting on her skin, no more than a finger’s width away from her breast. She hoped he hadn’t noticed her saggy stomach; and then decided that perhaps that was the least of her concerns.
She tried to sit up, but was too firmly pinned down. Her movement roused Daniel, and his hand slid speculatively over her, in a way she knew so well. She rolled onto her back to try to dislodge him, and saw the moment his eyes opened. He looked at his arm, still on Helen, as if wondering whether it really belonged to him, and if so, why it was there. He looked at Helen, as if somehow she had enticed his arm to lie over her. And only then, when they had recognised the incomprehension in each other’s eyes, did he at last draw his hand away.
‘Danny had his arm on you.’ Helen sat up and faced Megan. Her expression revealed nothing: she was stating a fact, that was all.
‘He was keeping warm, like you do when you cuddle Mr Cat,’ Helen replied, then wondered if it might have been better to say nothing. Cuddling was quite the wrong image.
‘I’m hot.’ Megan did look hot: her hair was sticking round the edges of her face. The heating must be on full, to compensate for the cold outside. ‘You need pyjamas if you’re cold.’
Helen was momentarily confused, until she saw that Megan’s gaze was directed at Daniel. Helen turned back to him. He was sitting up in bed, his chest bare, the sheets pooled – thank goodness – below his waist. How had she not noticed his lack of clothes before? Had he been in bed like that all night? Was he naked? Helen wasn’t waiting to find out. She leapt from the bed – taking care not to disturb the sheets – picked up their clothes, and whisked Megan off to get dressed.
The dining room was set out for breakfast, with Tupperware boxes of muesli and cereal, and jugs of fruit juice laid out on a table along one wall. A menu on the table offered a selection of hot food cooked to order, and Mrs Kirkbride soon bustled in to offer tea or coffee.
‘Did you all sleep well?’ she asked, notebook poised to write down the order. ‘I knew you’d be cosy up there in the eaves.’
Cosy? That was one word for it. Helen’s eyes flickered over Daniel, noting the stubble darkening his chin. His eyes were fixed firmly on his muesli. He’d hardly spoken to her since they’d woken up, and they hadn’t managed to make eye contact yet. Perhaps he was feeling guilty about Tasha – not that there was any reason why he should. Anyway, if he was feeling guilty, it was entirely his own fault, and there was no need to take it out on her. Her arms had stayed exactly where they should.
Lost in thought, Helen wasn’t aware how much time had passed until Mrs Kirkbride placed a plate of scrambled eggs under her nose.
‘That’s no protection against this cold weather,’ she laughed. ‘You should all be on the full English.’ She placed an overflowing plate in front of Daniel, and walked round to Megan, with a small plate of eggs, sausage and bacon. She ruffled Megan’s hair. ‘You be a good girl now, and eat all that up for your mummy and daddy, won’t you?’
She walked away with a jaunty stride. Helen froze, fork in her hand, watching Megan. They had got away with it once before. Was there any chance that she hadn’t heard again? Daniel put down his knife and fork, waiting.
‘Are you my daddy?’
Helen exchanged a look with Daniel, but the helplessness was evident in every line of his face. This wasn’t the way he had planned it, and now he didn’t know what to do. It was down to Helen to sort this out. She put her arm round Megan and pulled her close, kissing the top of her hair.
‘Yes, he is, sweetheart. Daniel is your daddy. Is that okay?’
She didn’t know why she asked that. What if Megan said no? But she didn’t. Megan nodded, and picked up her fork. She looked across the table at Daniel. Helen wasn’t sure if he was still breathing, as he waited for some reaction.
‘I don’t want a sausage. Do you want it?’
And that was it. Megan reacted to the biggest news of her life by offering her newly found father a sausage. Daniel’s gaze slid over to Helen in wary confusion. She gave a shrug, and carried on with her breakfast. Though she watched Megan carefully
throughout the meal, there was no sign that she was bothered by the revelation at all.
After breakfast Daniel went out to meet the breakdown company who had arrived to free his car. Helen packed up their belongings and sat on the bed with Megan until he came back. Megan was lying stretched out on her tummy, colouring a frog in a vivid shade of pink.
‘Where will Danny live?’ she suddenly asked.
Helen looked down at her anxiously. Megan hadn’t paused in her colouring, and the tip of her tongue was poking out between her lips as she concentrated.
‘What do you mean, sweetheart?’
‘Now he’s my daddy, will he be going away again?’
‘No, he won’t.’ Helen wriggled down the bed and lay next to Megan, giving her a cuddle. It had never crossed her mind that Megan might be so used to ‘Daddy’ living in another country, she would assume that was normal. ‘He’ll be staying here, so you’ll be able to see him just like you do now.’
‘We don’t have a bedroom for him.’
‘He won’t live with us.’ Helen leaned over and kissed Megan’s cheek, glad that Daniel wasn’t around to hear and interfere with this. ‘Dan… Daddy –’ she corrected herself, the word feeling foreign on her tongue – ‘has his own house, where he lives with Tasha. You went there last weekend, remember?’ Megan nodded. Helen forced herself to go on. ‘And you’ll visit him there again, and sometimes you might sleep there too.’
‘With you?’
Helen hesitated, and Megan glanced up. Her eyes were wide and trusting.
‘No,’ Helen admitted, tightening her squeeze, as unhappiness tightened its squeeze on her heart. She forced her lips to smile though it was the last thing they wanted to do. ‘It will just be you, and Daddy and Tasha, but only if you want to.’
‘Will he have the swing then?’
‘I’m sure he will if we ask him.’
‘Okay.’ Megan smiled and turned back to her colouring. Helen watched, biting her lip until it hurt, and wondered how she could ever bear to let her go.
‘So he’s never mentioned the groping?’ Kirsty asked.
‘No. And it wasn’t groping.’
‘It was the closest you’ve come to a good grope for years, so I’d make the most of the memory if I were you.’
Helen laughed, and started constructing another cardboard box. Kirsty had come over to St Andrew’s for the afternoon to help Helen go through the stock to decide what was worth taking to Church Farm. Anything too old was going to go in a pre-Christmas sale. The sale pile was already looking alarmingly large.
‘Honestly, you’re making it sound much more thrilling than it was.’
‘Seriously? No thrill? Has he lost his touch?’
Helen turned away from Kirsty’s sceptical expression, and taped the bottom of the box for extra support. Her first concern after the weekend’s drama had been Megan and how she was reacting to Daniel’s new status. It had been a couple of days before Helen had been reassured enough to let her mind dwell on other events, and particularly how she had felt to have Daniel’s hand on her again. She couldn’t deny it any longer. The truth was that she had felt nothing. Perhaps it was because she knew he had a girlfriend; although there had been enough evidence in her past to establish that her body and her brain didn’t always see eye to eye in those circumstances. Perhaps it was simply that she was older, and less susceptible to desire; perhaps it had been a response to Megan’s presence in the room. She couldn’t explain it. Once Daniel had only needed to look at her to lure her into bed; last weekend his hand on her naked skin had elicited no reaction. Could it be her? Had it been so long since she’d felt the touch of a man that her body had forgotten what to do?
‘Has he avoided you this week, so he can’t be tempted again?’ Kirsty carried on, when Helen refused to answer her last question.
‘He took us out for a pizza last night.’ Helen looked up. ‘Megan has been offered a place at Broadholme. Daniel is delighted.’
‘Oh, that’s brilliant. Well done.’
‘It has nothing to do with me.’ Helen laughed. ‘She didn’t inherit her brains from me, and it won’t be my money paying for her to go.’
‘But you do want her to go, don’t you? You’re not letting him bully you?’
‘Of course not.’ Helen threw some cotton bobbins into the basket, ready for the sale. Why had she ever bought so much emerald green? ‘I know Megan will love it there. And Olivia from nursery has been offered a place too, so there’ll be a familiar face. It’s more than she would have had at St Brendan’s.’
‘Did Tasha join you for the pizza?’
‘No, she was busy.’
‘On a Wednesday night? Doing what? Did he not invite her?’
‘I didn’t ask.’
‘Wanted him all to yourself, did you?’ Kirsty grinned and waved her hands at Helen. ‘Hoping for a bit more wandering hand action…’
Helen smiled, but that wasn’t the reason at all. It was almost the opposite: she hadn’t asked, because she hadn’t wanted Daniel to think she had any interest in the state of his relationship, or that she was imagining that one accidental grope was going to lead somewhere. And it suited her for Tasha to be absent. She had no choice but to share Megan with Daniel; it was much harder to share her with another woman. What if Daniel married Tasha, and Megan called her Mummy too? The very idea filled Helen with such jealousy that she hardly recognised herself.
‘Didn’t you go viewing a house this week?’ Kirsty asked, as she lifted down a plastic box full of sewing patterns. She pulled a face as she picked out the first one. Helen could hardly blame her. In her first rush of enthusiasm for opening a shop, she had made some shocking decisions on stock purchases, desperate to fill the shelves. Their failure to sell had proved an expensive education.
‘It wasn’t suitable,’ she replied, taking the pattern from Kirsty and adding it to the bargain pile, though she’d be amazed if she could give it away. ‘It had been freshly painted, but the damp was coming through already. I should have known there was a reason why I could afford something that size.’
‘How much longer have you got to find somewhere?’
‘Five weeks. It will fly by, won’t it? But now I’m wondering whether to try looking somewhere else. From next September, my life will be between Church Farm and Broadholme. Perhaps I should see what’s available over there?’
‘Worth a look,’ Kirsty agreed. She smiled. ‘And if you can’t find anywhere, you’ve always got the offer of a very interesting ménage à quatre!’
‘That’s never going to happen.’ Helen laughed. ‘Can you imagine? It would be like the whole house was carpeted with eggshells.’
‘I think you’ve been incredibly lucky the way it’s gone,’ Kirsty replied, sellotaping up a battered package. ‘Jenny says Megan is always talking about her daddy at nursery. She seems happy. And you must admit that Daniel could have been a lot madder about finding he had a daughter he didn’t know existed. His interference, I suppose, is better than indifference or worse.’
A noise in the shop made Helen spin round. Saskia was standing behind the curtain. Helen wondered how long she’d been there, and how much she had heard.
‘Sorry to interrupt,’ Saskia said, smiling. If she had heard any of the conversation, she wasn’t giving it away. ‘I wanted to check whether Kirsty is coming to the Christmas meal. I need to confirm numbers with the restaurant.’
‘Yes, Ben can babysit so I’m in. Can everyone else make it?’
‘Everyone except Malcolm. He’s wavering.’
‘Is he?’ Helen said. ‘He does this every year, but always turns up in the end. He can’t miss the meal this year. It’s supposed to be a special one to mark the end of St Andrew’s. I’ll go and speak to him.’
She checked that Malcolm had no customers, and went into his shop. He had marked down the price on many of his paintings, she noticed, and had put up a display of his new abstract pieces in one corner. New Beginnings II and III were ha
nging on the wall.
‘Have you sold New Beginnings I?’ Helen asked. It had been her favourite, and while she could never have afforded to buy it, she had selfishly hoped it would remain unsold so she could gaze at it across the Hay Barn.
‘Someone reserved it at that Christmas market,’ Malcolm replied, putting down his paintbrush. ‘A woman. She’s never been in here before.’
‘That’s fantastic! It shows moving to Church Farm will bring you a whole new group of customers.’
‘I’m snookered if it doesn’t. My regulars are getting on a bit. I’ve lost two good customers this year.’
‘Perhaps you could offer to visit them if they’re too old to get out,’ Helen suggested.
‘A door-to-door salesman? Not likely. Besides, they’re not too old, they’re too dead, and I’m not planning on visiting them there any time soon.’ Malcolm smiled, apparently cheered by his morbid joke. ‘Anyway, what’s Saskia said now to send you flying over here? Nothing offensive, was it? There seems to have been a bit of friction between you two lately.’
‘Has there?’ Helen hadn’t noticed anything, or not more than usual, and certainly didn’t think she’d been behaving differently with Saskia. Perhaps she had been distracted, and not paid Saskia enough attention? She knew Saskia could be insecure and had never quite got over being made redundant from a job at which she thought she’d excelled. Helen vowed to try harder, and glanced across to Crazy Little Things. Saskia and Kirsty were deep in conversation.
‘I’ve come to persuade you to join us for the Christmas meal,’ Helen said, turning back to Malcolm. ‘It’s our last St Andrew’s night out. You have to be there. And don’t forget,’ she added, as Malcolm opened his mouth to utter what she was sure would be an excuse, ‘that this year we’re also celebrating Ron’s and Joan’s retirement and their new life together. You’ve worked with them for years. You can’t miss out on giving them a good send off.’
‘Steady on,’ Malcolm replied, almost smiling. ‘I’ll have to check with the missus, but I daresay we’ll come. Anything to avoid another dose of the hard sell. Heaven help us all at Church Farm with you and that Joel fellow organising us. Once you two get together, there won’t be a moment’s peace…’
