Richard’s glass was halfway to his mouth when he suddenly stopped, sloshing lemonade onto his hand. His eyes bulged as he leaned forward and hissed, “Don’t turn around too obviously, but there’s a sight you have to see, by the door.”
Helena nodded and bent down, pretending to scratch her ankle, allowing her to twist and peep in the right direction. She grinned to herself and sat up, and turned around quite openly.
“Steady on!” Richard whispered.
She got an eyeful of the guy at the doorway, and he saw her watching, and grinned triumphantly at her. The man was dressed in an extravagant fur coat, layers of chunky gold chain, and a wife-beater vest and very baggy blue jeans. He had two women curled around him, one on each side, both a good few inches taller than he was. He was whiter than the average snowstorm.
Helena was still grinning when she turned back to Richard. “That’s a magnificent sight for a place like Ingholme.”
“You looked! He knew you were looking.”
“No one dresses like that unless they expect - well, want - to be looked at. It’s a game, really. I like it. I think it cheers people up when they see someone dressed so fabulously. That’s why I love drag queens and goths.”
“Really? You don’t get many drag queens in Ingholme. There are a handful of moody teenagers, though.”
“Fantastic. I tried the goth look myself once, but couldn’t really pull it off.”
“I’m trying to imagine it! Did you dye your hair black?”
“Yeah. Mum went batshit. She kept on giving me make-up so I thought, well, let’s use this stuff. I don’t think the full Addams-family look was what she’d had in mind, though.” Helena was surprised to find she was talking about this. She’d meant to avoid the topic completely, but now, with the anaesthetising effects of two glasses of wine, she could see the funny side. Richard was laughing too.
“There must be photos. Please tell me there are photos.”
“God, no. This was pre-camera phone days, remember. Kids these days have pretty much a day by day record of everything they do, but back then, we had things called memories.”
They laughed again, sharing disparaging remarks about social media and the curses and blessings thereof. Helena allowed herself to be persuaded into another glass of wine, and Richard swapped onto coke for the caffeine hit.
The third glass of wine was taking hold. Helena could feel the fuzziness encroach at the sides of her vision. Don’t say anything stupid, she instructed herself, and promptly asked, “So tell me about your mother.”
“You sound like a dodgy Freudian analyst.”
“No, that would be, tell me about penises.”
“I beg your pardon!” Richard spluttered in surprise. “That wine’s gone right to your head.”
“Sorry. I mean, for asking. Not for penises.”
Her blundering took the sting out of her words. Richard sighed and it was his turn now to spin the glass between his fingers as he sought the right words. “It’s funny, now, visiting her in the care home. She gets quite angry sometimes, and usually doesn’t know who I am, so in a way there’s really no point in going. But I do.”
“I think I would, too.”
“Really?”
“Well, of course, she’s my mum.”
“But I thought…” he tailed off, and she shook her head.
“Mums and daughters, you know,” she slurred in explanation, her head increasingly muzzy. “How strong is this wine?”
“Too strong by the looks of it!”
“I’m not drunk. Just, tispy. Tipsy. You know.” She swallowed the remains of it and looked at her glass in surprise. “All gone?”
“All gone!” he repeated and she blinked at him.
“You’re laughing at me.”
“Yes,” he admitted, grinning in a way that made her want to bite his lips. “Do you want another?”
Enough self-preservation tore through her haze to propel her to say, “No, thanks. Better not.”
“You’re a cheap date.”
“Charming. I don’t get out much.”
“They are big glasses.”
“Good.”
He drained the last of his coke and looked at his watch. “God. It’s quite late.”
Helena swallowed some deep breaths of air and straightened up. “Sorry, it’s probably no fun for you if you’re sober and I get legless. I’m okay. I’m not so pissed, I’m really not.” She knew she wasn’t too far gone and could probably stay rational if she put the effort in. Half of people’s drunken behaviour was socially determined, anyway.
“It’s fine. I knew when I invited you out that I wasn’t going to be drinking, in spite of the reputation I ought to maintain.”
“I think that reputation is rapidly changing, you know. You’re becoming a local hero.”
“You are kidding me. Seriously, tell me that’s not true.”
“Well, okay, not quite hero,” she admitted, feeling a sly grin creep over her face. “But not so much of the demon mad drunk that you were before.”
“Er… thanks, I think.”
“You’re welcome.”
He slithered off the bar stool and extended his arm to her. “Come on, you. I think we ought to make a move home. We can take a walk round town first if you like.”
“Ingholme at night? What’s it like?”
“Just slightly darker than Ingholme by day, to be honest. And fewer parking wardens, but that’s it.”
She nestled into his side as they strolled through Ingholme. The pubs were kicking out for the night, but Mimi’s had a late licence so they were walking against the flow of people as they flooded to the wine bar. With her pashmina around her shoulders, and Richard’s arm holding her close, she was warm and comfortable.
Except for her feet, which were killing her in the unfamiliar and previously unworn heels. After stumbling for a third time, she had to stop and kick them off, resorting to walking in her stockinged feet back to where they had parked up.
Their conversation had faded but not in an awkward way. Like when she’d been curled up in his kitchen, she found him an easy person to be quiet around, and she liked it. He helped her into the passenger seat and she tucked herself in, letting the dark fingers of sleep creep towards her as he drove her through the night back to Arkthwaite.
She awoke, briefly, as he pulled up outside her cottage. He came around and lifted her down, carrying her to her door with her shoes still clutched in her hand, depositing her gently on her front step.
She fell against him, her brain and her body conspiring to send a wave of signals directly to the pit of her belly as he wrapped his arms around her to hold her upright. She tipped her head back and gazed into his face, willing him to bend and kiss her.
He did. She did cartwheels in her mind as his lips touched hers, and she abandoned herself to the sensation, letting her lips part as their tongues lightly darted here and there. He nibbled along her lower lip and she felt herself melt, her heart hammering loud in her ears.
When he pulled away, she clung on, pressing her pelvis forward, making her feelings plain. “Come inside?”
For a moment, he wavered. Then he kissed her again, but on the tip of her nose. “No. Not tonight. Let’s take things slowly.”
She could have gasped. She quivered, and looked at him in surprise. “Really?”
He shook his head ruefully and lifted one hand, running it from the small of her back, up to cup the back of her head, plunging his fingers through her hair. “Yes, really. I have too much… respect, and care, for you. Go and get a good night’s sleep, Helena. I’ll see you soon.”
She opened her mouth and closed it again, like a fish, then bent her head. She let go of him and fumbled in her clutch bag for her door keys, as her drunken self wanted to cry in self-pity and her rational, sober side sighed in exasperation. He was a good man, and he was right.
* * *
“A whole week late.” Helena lifted the box of flyers onto the desk in the c
ommunity project headquarters, and pulled the brown packing tape off with a satisfying tearing noise. “I should have taken our business elsewhere. I’m quite pissed off with myself that I let him get away with it.”
Vicky peered into the box and picked up a leaflet to examine it. “But who, though? It’s not like there are streets packed with printers around here. If we want to keep it local, our hands are tied.”
“That’s definitely the downside to all this. Mind you, they’re not bad quality. And he did give me a discount in the end.”
“He had no choice.”
Helena started to take the flyers out of the box and make more manageable piles of them. “It looks like we’ve got far too many.”
“Don’t panic. I’ve done this kind of thing before. It was a learning curve for me, the first time I did any promotional stuff for events at the school. You always need far more than you think you do.”
“Things seem to take far longer than I’d thought, too. It’s August now and the local exchange trading programme just isn’t happening. The broadband has stalled, half-dug, just waiting on the surveyor to finish, and God only knows about the cables we need to buy, and the equipment for the connections, and have we found anyone with the expertise to do it?” Helena sank onto the chair and put her head in her hands. “Oh Vicky, it’s all too much. What have we done?”
Vicky’s warm hand rested on her shoulder and gave a reassuring squeeze. “The LETS programme is going to explode as soon as we get these flyers out, and people start signing up to it. The surveyor will be done by tomorrow, and I am sure Henderson is right when he says his son knows someone who will do a foreigner for us.”
“Do a what?” Helena sat upright in horror. “How do you mean?”
Vicky patted her. “Have you not heard that expression? Someone who works in telecoms has agreed to come out and do the techie stuff for us, unofficially, that’s all. What did you think I meant?”
“I’d better not say.” Helena relaxed once more. “And, that’s good news, about the telecoms guy.”
“But…?”
“I think we’ve taken on too much.”
Vicky moved her hand, and turned around, hitching herself up onto the desk so that she sat facing Helena but off to one side, her chunky bare legs dangling. She leaned her hands on the edge of the desk and swung her feet idly. “I think you’re burned out.”
“No,” Helena said stubbornly. “I’ve done nothing on the project this week. I’ve been working, and then coming home, and slumping in front of the television, or spending hours in the bath with a book.”
“And…?”
She shrugged. “You mean Richard - no, we haven’t had time to see each other much this week.”
“You’ve just said you’ve been spending hours in the bath.”
“No. Yes. I know. I mean, I’ve been too pooped. And he’s been busy doing maintenance on his tenants’ houses while the weather’s still good.”
“Right.”
Helena leaned back in the wooden chair and folded her arms. “Why do I feel like you’re challenging me?”
“Cos I am, cos you need challenging. Look, I’m telling you, you’re burned out. It’s not like you think it is. You can be burned out from thinking too much, just as much as you can be burned out from working sixteen-hour days or whatever.”
“No.”
“You’ve moved here, taken on a new job with more responsibility, taken on a massive community project which, incidentally, is going very well, and you’ve entered a new relationship. Apparently in spite of yourself. Of course you’re going to feel exhausted! Have you even thought about booking a holiday?”
“And go where, and who with?”
“Anywhere, with anyone. I’d go somewhere with you. Or go and have some time on your own. Get away from here. Reconnect, recharge.”
“No,” Helena insisted. “That all feels just too self-indulgent.”
Vicky spluttered with incredulous laughter. “Taking time for yourself is self-indulgent? What kind of protestant martyr are you? Oh, Helena. That Richard has got his work cut out.”
Helena felt irritated and tired, and her first impulse was to snap at her friend. But she bit her words back and forced herself to consider Vicky’s advice for a moment.
“Okay, perhaps you have a point. I’m grumpy and that’s not like me. I did just assume it was PMT.”
“Get to a doctor, love. PMT never lasts this long.”
“Have I been a cow for a while?”
“Yes.”
“Shit. Sorry.”
It was Vicky’s turn to shrug. “You’re hell of a perfectionist, you know. You get quite wrapped up in your own world when you’re focused on something.”
“That’s a good thing.” Helena kept her arms folded, and felt her hands begin to clench on her biceps, her fingers digging in to her flesh. “Isn’t it?”
“Not always.”
“Well. No.”
Vicky didn’t say anything else and for a while Helena looked at the cardboard box on the desk in front of her. Instead of thinking about the project, or work, or Richard, or her own tiredness, or her stresses with her mother, she thought about Vicky. When she looked up at her friend, Vicky was staring at the map on the wall behind the desk, but her eyes were looking beyond it; beyond the wall, far away at something intangible. Her usually lively face seemed drawn, her cheeks sagging down as if gravity was conquering her and draining her bouncy enthusiasm.
“Vicky, is anything the matter?” Helena asked slowly, feeling like the shittiest friend in the world.
Vicky’s vision cleared and her face lifted as she turned and met Helena’s worried look. She smiled and shook her head. “No, of course not. I’m just worried for you, that’s all.”
“Really? You know, you don’t really say a lot about your life.” Suddenly, Helena was struck by how little she really knew of Vicky. Headmistress, pagan, warm hearted, keen runner… she knew the stuff on the outside, but they’d only ever talked about the project, and about Arkthwaite, and about Helena and Richard.
Helena felt a crimson shame burn her skin.
Vicky said, “You’ve never actually asked.”
The shame grew hotter. “I didn’t want to pry,” Helena protested weakly. “It’s difficult to know what to ask, and after a certain point, I guess I just…”
“Forgot?”
“No, not really. Got used to being around you without needing to know stuff. But, um, tell me. Family? Or anything?”
Vicky snorted with laughter and pushed down hard with her arms, launched herself from the desk and landing with a heavy thump on the floor. “Come on. You and me, let’s go down to the White Hart, and start distributing these leaflets as we go.”
“Are you going to tell me stuff?”
“Might do. It’s not a song and dance, Helena. Just, that you’ve been so wrapped up in yourself, as I said, that you’ve kind of lost sight of other people, and what’s important.”
“You make me sound like a sulky teenager.”
“You have been. You should come to another moot with us, or a moon ritual.”
“No,” Helena said, shoving as many leaflets as she could into her bag before standing up. “I tried that, and remember I tried that ritual at home, too. I don’t think it’s really my thing.”
“Maybe, maybe not. But whatever you believe and however you believe it, I think it’s really important to have a sacred space or time of meditation or something, because it encourages you to think beyond yourself and your immediate problems.”
“Hmm. You sound like you could write informative posters.”
They locked up and walked down through the village. It was Friday tea-time and most people had reached home by now, and the commuter traffic had already died away. As they stumbled down the steep hill to the cottages and houses, thrusting leaflets through doors, Vicky carried on speaking, almost to herself.
“When I started teaching, it was manic. I went into teaching because
I love kids and education and I can see how important it is for a kid to get a good start in life. And it really doesn’t happen in so many homes. I was passionate about it, to the exclusion of everything else. Obsessed. I just wanted to change the world, you know?”
“You’re still passionate about it.”
“Yeah, but since the breakdown, I like to think I’m a bit more steady about things.”
“The breakdown?” Helena was amazed. The vibrant, chaotic at home, organised at work, powerhouse of a headmistress - a breakdown? “Good God, no.”
“Yeah, sure. Can happen to anyone. Don’t make me dig out statistics to send to you. I will if you want. But yeah, I never gave myself any space to be me, to recharge. It happened bit by bit. Breakdown sounds cataclysmic and I guess when it happened, it was a huge event, but it built up to it for a long, long time.”
“And that’s why you’re concerned for me.”
“Partly, though I would say you’re a very long way off any danger yet. No, mostly I’m just pissed off because you’re so selfish.”
The words dropped between them like a heavy paving slab and both women stopped. Vicky’s hand flew to her mouth, holding a bunch of leaflets over her face as if she could hide from her own words. Helena hugged her bag to her belly and tried to remember to breathe.
“Oh.” Helena felt she ought to speak, but that was all she could squeak out.
Vicky lowered the leaflets slightly and said, “Oh God, there’s nothing I can say to take that back.”
“You probably shouldn’t.”
“You’re right. I have said it. I don’t mean it as harshly as that sounds…”
“But you do mean it.” Helena looked up and down the street, suddenly fearful that every villager would be inexplicably walking along the pavement and eavesdropping. “I have been selfish.”
“But I understand.”
“I don’t.” Helena bit her lower lip for a moment, testing herself against the pain. “I don’t know what’s happened to me since I moved here.”
“You moved here under stress, after that awful experience at the wedding. Your wedding, I mean. Which wasn’t. So there’s that, I guess.”
Bad Boys and Billionaires (The Naughty List Bundles) Page 54
