by Kate Field
‘I didn’t think the café was open.’
‘It’s not. We can go back to my house. I’ll make something.’ He laughed when Helen hesitated. ‘I promise I won’t poison you. It wouldn’t be in my interests, would it?’
Food poisoning seemed the least of the dangers in this situation.
‘Worried about losing your rent?’ she asked, trying to make light of it.
‘I wasn’t, but that’s another good point. Are you coming?’
Of course she was. Her arm was already in her coat, and she pulled it on and wound the scarf round her neck. Joel watched.
‘Great scarf.’
‘Isn’t it?’
‘You really like it? You’re not just keeping it here to throw on if I ever appear?’
‘Didn’t you believe the thank-you text?’ She had sent him a text on Christmas morning, thanking him for the presents. It would have been rude not to, especially when he had already sent a message gushing over hers. Several more had followed. ‘I love it.’
His smile was so wide it almost fell off the edges of his face. Helen locked the shop and followed him to his car, and he drove the short distance to Pleasant View Cottage. Helen stared at her cottage in excitement. She couldn’t wait to live here.
‘When are you moving in, neighbour?’ Joel asked, reading her thoughts easily. Helen shrugged.
‘Your mum’s been lovely. She said I can move in anytime, and she won’t officially start charging rent until I stop paying it on my current house.’ Helen suspected Joel’s hand behind that. ‘Now I’m working at Church Farm, it would be much easier to live here, but I need to wait for Adam to have a free weekend and then I’ll hire a van. I’m sure I can persuade Ben to help, and I hope we can manage between us. Proper removal firms are too expensive.’
‘Is Adam the only hold up?’ Joel asked, as he unlocked his door and stood back to let Helen in. ‘I know where we can get a van, and my friends can provide the muscle.’
‘Why would they do that?’ Helen followed Joel into a living room with a solid oak floor, two squashy brown leather sofas and a TV. She longed to throw some crazy patchwork at it to brighten it up.
‘Does friendship mean something different down south?’ Joel took off his jacket and threw it on the sofa. ‘If I ask them to help, they’ll do it for me. They don’t need any other reason.’ And he would do it for her, continued the unspoken line. ‘How about Saturday?’ Joel continued, taking Helen’s coat and scarf and dumping them on top of his. ‘Some friends are coming round anyway for New Year’s Eve, so they may as well work for their supper. Kirsty runs your shop on Saturday, doesn’t she?’
‘I’ve no boxes,’ Helen said, wondering if it was possible to pack the house by weekend.
‘You’ll have loads by the time we finish unpacking the shop this afternoon.’
Joel slid open the wall at the end of the living room to reveal the most incredible kitchen. The outside wall was formed from glass folding doors, as Helen had seen from the garden next door when she had viewed her house. Even on a winter’s day, light drenched the room. A modern cherrywood kitchen filled one end, a long table stood in the centre and, at the other end, where the kitchen had been knocked through into what was her sewing room in the neighbouring cottage, a large L-shaped sofa in front of a log-burner begged to be sat on. Helen promptly sat down, gazing down the garden and to the view beyond.
‘I could live in this room,’ she said. By the looks of it, Joel did. There were more signs of life here than in the living room: pictures, a scattered newspaper, an abandoned mug, quirky pots which she guessed must be his mother’s work.
‘Glad you like it.’ He grinned as he opened the fridge. ‘But perhaps we should at least try one date before you move in… Joke,’ he added, as Helen’s face froze. ‘Wow, I don’t think you could look more horrified if you practised for a month. That hurt. I might have to poison your lunch after all now.’ He pulled things out of the fridge: eggs, cheese, and a carton of orange juice. Helen went over to the kitchen. He looked at her and smiled, but there was a distinct horizon to the smile.
‘It wasn’t horror. You touched a nerve.’ She hadn’t planned to tell him this; she only knew she had to make the smile as bright as it was before. ‘I met Daniel at a party, and pretty much moved in with him the same night.’
‘Wow again. That must have been quite some connection. Or one hell of a party.’ He laughed, and picked up a baguette from the worktop. ‘I don’t know whether to ask you to slice this, or leave it whole in case I need a weapon to force you out of the house after lunch.’
Helen snatched the baguette and hit him with it. It broke in two and flopped limply in its plastic packet.
‘Oh God,’ Joel cried, raising his arms and backing away. ‘I’ve invited a mad baguette murderer home with me…’
Helen hadn’t laughed so much for years. Lunch was over far too soon, and Joel drove her back to Church Farm, where they continued to unpack and fill the shelves ready for the morning. Even with his help, the job took longer than expected, and Helen had to ring Daniel to ask him to hold on to Megan for another hour.
‘Does Megan ever stay with her dad overnight?’ Joel asked, when at last the shop looked ready and they were loading flattened boxes into Helen’s car. A flutter of anxiety attacked her. She’d had a great day. He wasn’t going to spoil it by asking her on a date, was he?
‘She hasn’t done yet,’ she replied, giving a box a wholly unnecessary shove. ‘We’ve agreed she’ll stay over on alternate Saturdays, starting the weekend after next.’ She gave Joel a look of such unfeigned bleakness that he reached out his arm and pulled her into a brief, comforting hug. It ended too soon.
‘Liz has been an absolute star, and managed to blag a stand for Church Farm at a new craft and design show in London,’ Joel explained. ‘It’s the first weekend in February, Friday to Sunday. I thought the fairest thing would be for different artists to exhibit each day. How would you and the rest of the Hay Barn feel about taking the Saturday?’
Even with the excitement of this news, Helen recognised a perverse flash of disappointment that he wasn’t actually asking her on a date. It didn’t last. A chance to exhibit in London! It was something she could only have dreamed of. Joel laughed.
‘Can I assume by the size of your smile that you’re interested?’
‘Interested? Are you serious? I would love it. Are you sure?’ she asked, her enthusiasm deflating. ‘Other people have been at Church Farm longer than me. Don’t they deserve the chance?’
‘You deserve the chance,’ he said. ‘And it makes sense to push the Hay Barn as a unit, especially as it will have recently opened. I’ll talk to the others this week, but can I count you in?’
‘Definitely. Will we need to stay overnight, though, if we’re only exhibiting on Saturday?’
‘You’ll have to catch the first train down, so it will be a long day. And there is something else as well.’
‘What is it?’ Was this the date? How could she refuse after what he’d just given her? And – the thought took her by surprise, as she regarded his smiling face – would she truly want to refuse?
‘You know I mentioned that Liz works for magazines, setting up mock living rooms for celebrities to be interviewed in, or arranging rooms that we should all be aspiring to copy? She thinks some of your crazy patchwork would fit in perfectly. She’d like to see you…’
Helen couldn’t wait for the end of the sentence.
‘My patchwork could be in magazines? Proper glossies? With national circulation? Seriously?’ Helen simply couldn’t help herself. She stepped forward and threw her arms round Joel in a hug. A friendly hug, she thought, before his arms came up round her, and all thought disintegrated.
The launch of the Hay Barn was a great success. Helen had been focussed on Crazy Little Things and the transition from St Andrew’s, and it had never crossed her mind how much work Joel was putting in behind the scenes. He had advertised on the website, on Fac
ebook and Twitter, by leaflet dropping, and in the local newspapers, and the result was a turn out hardly less than they had seen at the Christmas market. It helped that so many people were off work for Christmas, and that many of the other stall holders had started a winter sale, but there was no doubt that Joel had made the day the success it proved to be.
Daniel brought Megan in to say hello, but Helen was too busy to do anything but show him the way to the soft-play area and the animals.
‘Was that Megan’s dad?’ Saskia asked, as Helen returned to her shop.
‘Yes, it was.’ Helen hesitated in the doorway, reluctant so say more.
‘We’ve seen a lot of him lately. I don’t remember him calling at St Andrew’s.’
‘He’s been working abroad.’
‘You must be glad to have him back.’ Saskia smiled in such a friendly way that Helen pushed down on the shoots of suspicion that had threatened to rise.
‘For Megan, yes.’
‘You make such a sweet family. He does that stern, sexy look to perfection, doesn’t he? Don’t your knees tremble with every frown?’
Helen laughed and went back into the shop. With a combination of loyal customers from St Andrew’s and new visitors, by the time she put up the ‘closed’ sign she could count the day a huge success: she had taken as much money through the till as she’d sometimes done in a month at St Andrew’s. It wouldn’t last every day, and January and February were bound to be tough, especially if snow came, but she’d already filled up the first course she was planning to run, and had half the names she needed for the second. If Joel found time to help her set up online sales on her new website, and if she could maintain a steady number of crazy patchwork commissions, her income would comfortably improve on what she was used to. She wouldn’t need any maintenance from Daniel. She would prove to him that her life wasn’t the mess he thought it was.
Joel popped in as they were closing up to see if the day had gone well. Everyone was enthusiastic, in their own way, and Joel was showered with gratitude for giving them a new start after St Andrew’s.
‘But I miss Ron,’ Malcolm said, always reluctant to sound too happy. ‘There’s no escape from female conversation now. I even overheard a conversation today about frowns that make the knees tremble – whatever that means.’ He gave a wry smile in Helen’s direction.
‘Oh yes?’ Joel followed the direction of Malcolm’s smile and looked at Helen. His face wore the usual open smile, not a hint of a frown. ‘Did I miss something interesting?’
‘We were talking about Hel…’
‘Did I see you sell some paintings today, Malcolm?’ Helen asked, raising her voice and cutting off Saskia. ‘That’s a fantastic start, isn’t it, with the one you sold at the Christmas market as well?’
‘Better than expected,’ he had to concede, ‘although the sale at the Christmas market was different, because…’ Joel dropped an enormous bunch of keys, and Malcolm stopped. ‘Ah,’ he murmured, having apparently lost his thread. ‘We’ll be snookered if we have another bad winter. I bet we won’t see hide nor hair of anyone round here then.’
‘Of course we will,’ Helen replied, hearing that she was using her cheery Megan voice but unable to stop it. ‘My classes are proving popular. Why don’t you do the same? What about lessons in watercolour painting?’ she continued, warming to her theme. ‘Art classes are always in demand. You could run them in the evenings, too, as I can’t use the free space then. I had loads of enquiries about after-work activities. If Joel doesn’t mind late-night opening.’ Belatedly she glanced at Joel, to see what he made of the plan. He was smiling at her in amusement.
‘You simply can’t stop, can you? I think it’s a great idea. And if your helpfulness stretches to volunteering as a life model,’ he added, the cheeky grin targeted straight at Helen, ‘you can sign me up as the first student.’
‘How did the move go?’ Kirsty asked, as Helen dropped her overnight bag in the hall late in the afternoon on New Year’s Eve, and Megan raced off to play with Jenny.
‘Exhausting,’ Helen replied, kicking off her shoes and sinking onto the sofa. ‘I’m in no hurry to do it again.’
‘Aren’t you?’ Kirsty grinned. ‘Did the sight of some hunky men rippling their muscles to your order not make it all worthwhile?’
‘That’s why it was so exhausting. My neck aches with swivelling from one side to the other, deciding which way to look.’ Helen laughed. Four of Joel’s male friends had come along to help in the end, to join him in the heavy work, and one had brought his girlfriend, who had helped Helen unpack and try to keep Megan out of the way. They had all been lovely, and didn’t seem to mind giving up their Saturday to assist a stranger move house. They had laughed and joked all day, treated Joel with obvious affection, and teased him with a secret that somehow involved Helen but which no one chose to explain to her.
‘Everything has worked out brilliantly, hasn’t it?’ Kirsty smiled. ‘Santa’s little helper does have the magic touch, doesn’t he? Or haven’t you found out yet?’ she finished, with a dirty cackle.
‘Is it safe to come in?’ Ben asked, peering round the kitchen door. ‘When I hear that filthy laugh I worry what might assault these delicate ears.’
‘Nothing worse than you’ve heard before, I’m sure,’ Helen said, rising and kissing him on the cheek. ‘Is that a bottle of wine I can see behind you? I’ve two in my bag as well, so shall we make a start?’
‘We wouldn’t have minded if you’d decided to stay in your new house tonight,’ Kirsty said, several hours and bottles later, when they’d eaten and sent the children up to bed. ‘It sounds like you love the place already. You must have been tempted.’
‘With a wild party going on next door? I can think of better introductions.’
‘Wild party? Tell me again how to get there?’ Kirsty laughed. ‘I’m surprised you weren’t invited.’
Helen drank some wine and didn’t reply. Of course she’d been invited. Joel had it all worked out, offering to make up a camp bed for Megan in his spare room. Quite where Helen was supposed to sleep hadn’t been discussed. His friends had tried almost as hard to persuade her to stay, but the plan to spend New Year’s Eve at Kirsty’s had been in place so long that Helen had been firm in her refusal.
Her resolution had almost wavered when Joel had carried round a moving-in present for her. She hadn’t expected anything: he had done more than enough in arranging the move. She certainly would never have expected what the gift turned out to be: Malcolm’s painting, New Beginnings I. She had stared at it in silence, appreciating again the rich warm swirls of colour.
‘Don’t you like it?’ Joel had asked, sudden uncertainty clouding his face. ‘I thought red was your favourite colour. And Malcolm assured me…’
‘I love it. I loved it as soon as he showed it to me. But he said a woman bought it.’
‘Liz.’ A faint flush of consciousness rose in Joel’s cheeks. ‘I sent her as my envoy so you didn’t see me buy it.’
Helen had thought back.
‘You didn’t know I was going to move in here at the time of the Christmas market. You can’t have bought it as a new house present then.’
‘No. But that’s not the only new beginning is it?’ He had paused, a warm smile on his lips, and she had wondered what he was going to say. ‘It’s a new start for you at Church Farm. I want you to remember it. I hope it’s the start of something special.’
As Helen had given him a thank-you kiss on the cheek, his hand had rested briefly on her waist, and…
‘Ben, could you fetch one of Tommy’s bibs?’ Kirsty’s loud voice shattered the memory. ‘Helen is practically drooling. Who exactly are you thinking of right now?’
The bongs of Big Ben on the television saved Helen from having to reply. Amidst the kissing and the sound of fireworks exploding all around, Helen’s phone beeped twice in quick succession. Champagne in one hand, Helen reached for her phone with the other.
‘Someone’
s popular,’ Kirsty said, trying to peer over Helen’s shoulder. ‘Two messages within seconds of midnight. Who got in first?’
‘Joel,’ Helen replied, smiling as she read his text. ‘Closely followed by Daniel.’
‘And does that reflect your order of preference?’
‘Kirsty!’ Helen laughed. ‘Don’t think because you’ve plied me with champagne I’m going to answer that.’
‘Come on,’ Kirsty replied, filling up Helen’s glass. ‘I’ve been waiting four long years to gossip about your love life. Give me something. I know,’ she said, collapsing onto the sofa beside Helen. ‘Imagine they’d both been here for dinner, and their car keys were in that bowl on the coffee table…’
Helen spluttered over her champagne.
‘Dare I ask what sort of dinner parties you two have?’
‘It’s her favourite fantasy,’ Ben said. ‘Why do you think she’s been trying to fix you up for four years? And she’s only asking now out of pure self-interest, to see if you prefer the same man she does. On the up side,’ he added, winking at Helen, ‘in exchange you get all this.’ He gestured up and down his body, and Helen burbled with laughter.
‘To get back to the point,’ Kirsty said, poking Ben to shut him up, ‘we have both their car keys in the bowl. What does Daniel drive?’
‘A BMW.’
‘Smooth and rich,’ Kirsty commented, not without a wrinkle of the nose. ‘And Joel?’
‘A Land Rover.’
‘Rugged action man…’
‘That’s utter rubbish,’ Ben protested. ‘What does it say about me that I drive a crumb-filled Citroen Xsara?’
‘Tell you later,’ Kirsty murmured, squeezing his knee. ‘Can we return to the question? Two sets of keys in the bowl. Which do you pick up?’
‘Daniel has a girlfriend,’ Helen protested, knocking back the champagne and half wishing she hadn’t been so determined to come here tonight. Kirsty rolled her eyes.
‘Okay, let’s pretend that neither of them has a girlfriend, there’s no other conceivable objection, and they both want you. Who do you choose?’
