by Melissa Hill
Nicola’s heart leapt as Barney dropped whatever he had been carrying in his mouth out onto her lap. She stared in disbelief at the small, navy, velvet . . . was it?
She looked up and saw Ken watching her, his expression now no longer sullen. Instead it was . . . expectant.
“Well done, Barney!” he said, and then to Nicola, “We’ve been practising that trick for a while.”
“Ken?” she said breathlessly, almost afraid to ask. “Is this . . . is this what I think it is?”
“Well, why don’t you open it and see?” he asked, coming closer.
Barney flopped down on the floor and put his head on his paws, his dark eyes rising upwards with curiosity as his mistress opened the – admittedly sticky – velvet box to find an unusual and stunningly beautiful, ornate diamond ring.
Nicola’s hand flew to her mouth and, for a long moment, she was unable to think – let alone say anything. Was this really . . . ?
“Well?” Ken urged gently, his eyes full of emotion. “Will you?”
Nicola looked from the ring, to Barney, to Ken and then back again to the ring. At this the Labrador groaned loudly, apparently frustrated by her lack of response.
“I’m just so shocked . . . I don’t know what to . . .” She looked at him, still unsure that this was actually happening. “But I thought you wanted to break up with me – you were so angry with me . . .”
“I was being an idiot. Immediately after I saw Dan at your house I was annoyed and angry with you. Then afterwards when you denied you’d seen him, I thought –”
“Oh, Ken.” She knew she was stupid to deny it on the phone then, but he had put her on the spot and she hadn’t been thinking straight. And she really had no idea he would have seen Dan at the house. But afterwards, he wouldn’t let her explain.
“So, what changed your mind?” Nicola asked him.
“Well, I went off and sulked for a while, deciding that I wasn’t going to speak to you until I was good and ready. To be honest, I was also a little bit afraid that you had gone back to Hunt. Then I met Helen in town at the weekend and she told me what had happened, how you were just getting the thick bastard to come clean with his poor girlfriend.”
“But I could have told you that, if you had let me.”
“I know, and I was being an idiot. I’m sorry, Nicola. I should have given you the chance to explain, but, as I said, I was also terrified that you’d tell me you were going back to Hunt. I was willing to delay that possibility for as long as I could.”
“But then why . . . today?”
Ken shrugged easily, his eyes twinkling “Well, after days of not speaking, and then stupidly giving you your key back, I had no other way of getting Barney here.” He shrugged. “And I figured we might as well get our first decent argument over and done with,” he said mischievously. “You’re really great to watch when you’re angry. Your face kinda gets screwed up and your eyes are –”
“Ken Harris! You don’t mean to tell me that you came in here today and set out to make me mad on purpose!”
He shrugged again. “As I said, I couldn’t think of any other way to get your house key off you. But bringing Barney here to the office wasn’t in the original plan. I had planned to ask you before now . . . actually, I had planned to ask you that night.”
Nicola sat back, shocked. Now she really understood why he was so angry, why he had reacted so badly to seeing Dan at the house. But arranging all this and Barney too . . . Tears sprang to her eyes. Was this really happening?
“Look, you haven’t answered yet, and you seem a little confused, so just in case you haven’t yet got the picture, I suppose I’d better make myself clear.” Ken crouched down beside her and took both of her hands in his. “Nicola, I love you and I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Will you marry me?”
Nicola looked at Ken, looked at his kind, uncomplicated face, his expressive, honest brown eyes and didn’t have to think too hard about the answer.
“Yes! Yes, Ken . . . of course, I’d love to marry you!” Nicola threw her arms around him and kissed him hungrily.
Barney watched them both for a moment, and then, realising they would be busy for some time, gave a loud groan and rolled over onto his back.
Chapter 38
IT WAS A glorious afternoon, the air was cold and crisp, and there was barely a cloud in the sky.
Helen wrapped her scarf tightly around her neck, and savoured the sharp breeze on her cheeks and the sun in her face. Talking these long walks with Kerry had become a habit of hers lately and, not for the first time, Helen wondered why she hadn’t done this before. Just ahead of her, she heard Kerry call happily after the newest member of the family – a white and tan floppy-eared beagle called Fuzzy.
Kerry was a different child these days, Helen thought, watching her daughter racing along in the grass. While she had made no major inroads with her speech problems in general, Helen could see it in her eyes that she was becoming that little bit more confident, especially around her mother. Kerry hardly stuttered at all in front of Helen now, sensing her support, and the fact that she wouldn’t be annoyed if Kerry didn’t speak properly.
The taunts at school hadn’t stopped, but the physical side of the bullying had – Mrs Clancy had taken steps to give the culprits little excuse as possible for jeering, by moving them to another class and away from Kerry. In the meantime, Kerry had made a friend, a tiny little thing called Fiona, who – according to Mrs Clancy – had also been given a hard time in class because of the fact that she was adopted, and sometimes had to wear glasses. If it weren’t so serious, Helen would have laughed. Who would have thought that the daughter of self-assured, confident Helen Jackson would end up as one of the class nerds?
But apparently, Fiona was anything but nerdy – rather a tough little cookie who had one day stood up to one of her tormentors, a bulky brat called Dean. Arms folded and chin out, Fiona had informed Dean that at least her mammy had chosen her ‘especially’ out of lots of other babies, but like it or not poor Dean’s mammy was stuck with him. Apparently, it worked, as that same evening Dean was heard asking his mammy in panicked tones, whether or not she ‘wanted to give him back and swap him for someone better’.
Some of Fiona’s daring had begun to rub off on Kerry, Mrs Clancy having told her that only the other day Kerry had an answer for a brat that made fun of her by imitating her stutter.
“If you call that a s-s-stutter,” she said, “I think I’ll h-h-have to give you l-l-l-lessons.” The young fella, surprised by her humour and bravado, began to view Kerry through changed eyes.
But the change in her daughter, Helen believed, was mainly due to the change in their mother/daughter relationship. These days, Helen not only spoke to her daughter, she actually listened to her. Helen had to admit that Kerry was quite good fun, and she had lately begun to see her more as a person, rather than an inconvenience. She was bright, quick-witted and easily amused. Helen now regretted the years she had missed with Kerry as a result of her self-absorption. She could have done her child serious damage. After all, look at Laura’s situation, where the desire to please and make her mother proud of her had resulted in her friend’s unbelievable lack of confidence and self-belief.
Helen felt a familiar hole in the depths of her stomach when she thought about the part that she too had played in damaging Laura’s self-belief. Who would have blamed her for feeling inadequate and lowly beside Helen? But Laura had begun coming to terms with her mother now, and this new contract she had to design for Amanda Verveen – well, that was just incredible! This time round, Helen was genuinely thrilled for her friend, and it was certainly a much better feeling than the jealousy and envy she had felt that time she tried to seduce Neil.
Amazingly, Laura was still sticking by her – was still calling Helen a friend. She had berated Helen for blaming herself for Kerry’s situation, suggesting that perhaps this might have been the best thing that could have happened.
“Think of i
t as not quite a wake-up call,” Laura had said, “but more of a gentle nudge out of a daydream.”
Helen knew what she meant. There was still time to make amends where Kerry was concerned.
As for everything else, Helen wasn’t so sure. She was going to stay out of Laura’s hair for a while, and let her friend decide whether or not the friendship was worth continuing. Helen hoped it would continue because, over the last few months, she had come to finally appreciate that Laura was, and always had been, one of her greatest friends – stalwart and supportive, if only in the background. She had had a chat with Nicola too, apologising for her behaviour immediately after the accident.
“Helen, give yourself a break – it was years ago!” Nicola had said, astonished, and not in the least bit bothered about it. There was little that could bother Nicola these days, Helen thought smiling, now that she had her forthcoming wedding to plan. News of her engagement to Ken, despite their little tiff, wasn’t in the least bit surprising and Helen was delighted that for once, she had actually played a small part in sorting out the lovelife of one of her friends.
She raced after Kerry and the ever-hyper Fuzzy. He wasn’t quite a pup, but he was easily as silly and playful as any young dog Helen had ever come across. There he was barking and racing after birds that he hadn’t a hope in hell of catching, Kerry trying her best to keep up with him.
“Look, Mummy, F-F-F–” Kerry struggled, and Helen wondered again if she had made a mistake calling the dog something that was difficult for her to pronounce, but her speech therapist had advised that this could be most beneficial. That way, Kerry couldn’t avoid difficult consonants. So, when one day Helen brought the young dog home from the local animal shelter, and had declared he already had a name, Kerry had no choice but to work on her f’s and z’s.
“Fuzzy w-w-wants to play in the match!” she cried, pointing happily to where the dog was now hijacking the football from a game of soccer already in full swing.
“Fuzzy, come here!” Helen ordered, mortified. The game wasn’t exactly a kick-around – both teams were in full gear and there were plenty of spectators.
The dog continued wrestling the ball from the corner-forward, acting as though Helen wasn’t even there.
“I’m so, so sorry.” Helen was all apologies to the other players as, lead in hand, she ran out onto the pitch.
“Fuzzy, come here!” she repeated in a tone that this time had the desired effect on her daughter’s errant pet. Fuzzy dropped the ball and – with what Helen could have sworn was one last mournful look towards goal – allowed her to lead him away to the sidelines. Kerry stood there, hand over her mouth, tittering.
“Bad dog, Fuzzy!” Kerry said with no conviction whatsoever, while at the same time reaching down and tickling him under the ears.
A spectator standing immediately beside them looked on in amusement.
“That dog might play for Ireland, yet!” he said, and Kerry giggled.
Helen, embarrassed and more than a little out of breath from running, stood quietly for a moment and watched the play continue. The game, judging by the age of the players, was an Under-15’s match of some kind – possibly a Sunday league game. Both teams seemed pretty good. The passing was quick and accurate, and the play flowed easily from one half of the pitch to the other.
One player in particular though caught her eye. He seemed to be playing just above midfield in a sort of floating role – and when necessary, tracked back to defend – but in the few minutes Helen had seen him play, she knew he was something special. At that moment he won the ball in his own penalty area, and raced up along the wing, fast as lightning. The spectators rippled with excitement as, easily stepping past three defenders, he moved towards goal. Because he was so far wide, Helen was sure he was about to cross the ball to his forward-moving teammate – but no – this kid checked his man, did a little shimmy and within seconds of striking it, the ball was in the back of the net. The crowd roared with applause, Helen included. It was one of the most skilful and spectacular goals she had ever seen.
Kerry too, clapped her hands excitedly. “He’s good, Mommy,” she shouted over the crowd, “like M-M-Michael Owen.”
“Well, it’s a long time since we’ve seen Michael Owen do anything like that,” Helen said with a wry smile, “but he is very good.”
“Spoken like two women who know their football” I think.” Kerry looked up at the man standing beside them and smiled shyly, amused – and more than a little pleased – to be referred to as ‘a woman’.
Helen smiled at this. “My daughter certainly knows her stuff,” she said easily to him. “She’s been following Michael Owen since she was barely out of nappies, haven’t you, hon?” Then she turned slightly towards him and dropped her voice conspiratorially. “Although I can’t say I’m pleased that my four-year-old is not only already having crushes – but crushes on millionaire footballers.”
The man laughed, a slow easy laugh. “Well, you never know,” he said. “She could end up marrying your man yet – stranger things have happened, I’m sure.”
“Will you stop!” Helen feigned horror. “Anyway, I only have myself to blame for getting her into football in the first place. Don’t tell me I’ve created a monster!”
It was new, and very unusual for Helen to be chatting simply without being flirty with a male stranger like this – but she thought she knew exactly why. For once, it wasn’t all about whether or not he was a potential boyfriend, or even whether he was checking her out. Helen was finished with that kind of thing. From now on, if it happened, it happened, but Helen had made a promise to herself that Kerry was the most important thing in her life. Men could come second.
Which is why she and Kerry found themselves chatting easily to this other man, who eventually introduced himself as Cormac. He was tall and wiry and, as Nicola would say, ‘certainly no oil painting’. But he had striking green eyes, eyes that sparkled when he laughed and somehow instinctively made you warm to him. That was how Helen felt anyway, but Kerry must have felt the same way as, normally shy, she was now chatting merrily to him with little sign of her stutter.
“I wouldn’t worry about that kind of thing anyway,” he said to Helen, referring to her earlier remark about Kerry’s crush on Michael Owen. “My wife had a life-long crush on Gary Lineker.”
“Had?” Helen laughed. “So, why did she go off him? Oh, let me guess, it was the ears, right – she finally noticed the ears?”
Cormac shook his head. “No, she died,” he answered simply.
Helen was horrified she had been so flippant. “I’m so sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to –”
“Sure, how would you know?” he said, waving her away with a wry grin. “Anyway, I was the one who brought it up.” He gave a tiny smile, as if remembering. “Yeah, she was mad about him – thought he was the greatest goal-scorer ever. I hadn’t the heart to tell her he hardly ever made a goal in his life.”
Helen smiled. “Best goal-poacher, maybe.”
Cormac looked at her with new respect. “You do know your stuff.”
“Don’t look so surprised!”
“Well, I am – most women’s eyes glaze over at that kind of talk, and there’s no way they would stand here watching the game for as long as you did.”
“Some people would call that a sexist comment,” she said, feigning affront, but at the same time trying to bite back a smile.
“Sexist it might be, but it’s true.”
Helen looked back towards the pitch. “That young lad, the winger – he’s terrific.”
“Greg?” he said in a tone that suggested the lad was local. “He certainly is. And,” he bent down towards Kerry, “if you promise you won’t tell anyone, I’ll tell you a secret about Greg – well, you can tell your mommy if you like, but that’s all.”
Helen smiled, watching Kerry’s eyes widen as Cormac whispered in her ear. Then Kerry motioned for Helen to bend down, and when she did she said, “He’s goin to play in Pwem
iership, Mommy!”
“Ooooh!” Helen said breathlessly, then she fixed Cormac with a questioning look. “Is that true?”
“True as I’m standing here. Newcastle signed him right after his first trial.”
“Wow, although I can’t say I’m surprised he’s been scouted. When he is going over?”
“After this season ends – June possibly.”
“Will he settle there, do you think?” Helen knew that a lot of Irish footballers sometimes had problems being away from home so young.
“Oh, I’d be almost positive of it,” he said knowledgably, as the referee blew for full time.
“So, how do you know so much about him – is he a friend of yours or something?” Helen asked over the applause, and then watched astonished as match-winning Greg began to approach them.
Cormac was smiling. “Actually – he’s my son,” he replied proudly.
Chapter 39
ON A COLD afternoon in January, and dressed in full snow-queen regalia, Chloe prepared to walk up the aisle of St Anthony’s Church.
Her father, dressed handsomely in top-hat and tails stood back to let the photographer get some shots of the bride on her own.
“Such a shame we don’t have the snow,” the photographer was saying and if Chloe didn’t know better she’d have sworn there was mockery behind his words.
She turned slightly to the side and gave him a beaming smile. At least it was supposed to be a beaming smile. Chloe wondered if the lens would pick up on her nervousness, capturing it on film forever. Yet it didn’t feel quite the same as nervousness, she decided, it was more like . . . like uncertainty.
Why was she feeling like this? Chloe wasn’t quite sure. She had been looking forward to this day for so long, and despite all the setbacks and the chopping and changing, her wedding day was finally happening.
