by Alex Brown
Back home, and Bella had barely said a word in the van on the way and had now stomped off upstairs to her bedroom, which was nothing new. She had been like this for months now, withdrawn and sullen and touchy over the slightest thing. Hormones, his mother had said. And periods had a lot to answer for as far as Matt was concerned; his little girl had changed almost overnight when they had kicked in, and it scared the hell out of him.
Matt went straight into the kitchen and flicked the kettle on to make himself a coffee. On second thoughts, sod that, he needed something stronger. So after pulling open the fridge and locating a bottle of fancy cider that Harvey had given him, Matt pulled the cork out with his teeth and took a big swig. Ugh, it tasted like sweet shandy. Matt marvelled at the idiots who paid over the odds for this stuff as he tipped the liquid down the plughole in the kitchen sink. Moving into the lounge, he opened the cabinet and poured himself a whisky instead. This was more like it. He downed the single measure in one, and went to pour another, but stopped, hand in mid-air. What was going on? Matt lifted a dusty old bottle of Asti Spumante out of the cupboard and saw that it was nearly empty! He hated Asti, so who had drunk it? And three guesses, he knew. Matt looked up at the ceiling and shook his head, wondering if he should go up there and confront her. Bella, his little girl. Only she wasn’t his little girl any more. And she hated him! She was growing up fast and he had been doing his best to keep up. And what was all that about earlier? How come he didn’t know she was being bullied? And how come she’d told April Lovell … of all people? And what was Harvey playing at? Muscling in on April like that. There was something going on between them – Harvey couldn’t wait to get rid of him earlier, which was bang out of order given his track record, but so typical of him, he just couldn’t help himself.
Matt took a deep breath and puffed out his cheeks as he inhaled, wondering how everything had changed so much. Bella had been such a sweet, lovely little girl, a daddy’s girl some might say, which had made it easier in a way for his ex, Zoe, to abandon her … he guessed. Of course, none of it was Bella’s fault things had gone wrong in their marriage, no the cracks had been there long before Bella came along. He and Zoe had been kids themselves when they got together just a few years after that lovely summer he had with April. And they had been happy for a long time … until Zoe was pregnant – because unlike him, she hadn’t been over the moon at the prospect of being a parent. She’d always had a wild, rebellious streak, and had felt stifled being a mum. Ruined her life, she had said, having no freedom, and she’d felt trapped and angry with Matt as he’d always wanted to be a dad. And then when Bella was a toddler, the flings had started, the staying out all night, drinking, clubbing weekends up in London with her mates who weren’t ‘saddled with a baby’. He’d tried to make the marriage work for Bella’s sake, sometimes turning a blind eye to Zoe’s antics, but in the end a child together just hadn’t been enough.
After pouring more whisky, Matt swirled it around the glass and let his mind mess with his head for a bit, wondering how things might have turned out if he had gone on to date April, properly got together with her instead. She’d taken his breath away the other day by the roadside, and then this afternoon in the orchard, with her hair all loose around her shoulders and her cheeks flushed from being outside in the country air. He hadn’t dared to look at her in case he couldn’t tear his eyes away again. And she had looked so concerned for Bella, kind and comforting, and quite possibly a miracle worker, seeing as Bella had actually talked to her, confided in her – which was more than he had managed to do with his own daughter in absolutely bloody ages.
Matt stood up, resolute. He’d go upstairs and try again. He’d never give up on Bella, he loved her more than life itself, but he was worried. What if she took after her mother? These signs of rebellion – bunking off and hiding out in a gypsy wagon – weren’t good. And what next? He eyed the bottle of Asti that he’d put on the coffee table. Drunken tattoos after clubbing weekends in London, like Zoe? Choose Life. Only the tattooist must have been dyslexic as Zoe had ended up with Choose Live wrapped around her bicep. No, he needed to look after Bella, try to be a better dad, and somehow fill the gap created by her missing mum too.
After tipping the last of the Asti away, and dumping the bottle in the recycling box, figuring the matter was best left alone in the current circumstances – he didn’t want to put even more distance between him and Bella by bawling her out over helping herself to the fizzy wine – Matt walked upstairs and tapped on his daughter’s bedroom door.
‘Come in,’ Bella said after keeping him waiting for a good few minutes.
‘Chicken curry for tea?’ he said to break the ice, knowing it was her favourite, as he stuck his head round the door. Bella was sitting cross-legged on her bed, knitting, her face all blotchy from crying. And there was a small mountain of balled-up loo roll piled up on the carpet. But she managed a nod.
‘Garlic naan bread?’ she asked, not looking up.
‘Onion bhaji,’ Matt ventured, wondering if she was up for the silly old game they had played ever since he’d taken her for her first curry night at the Indian restaurant in Market Briar. It had been his birthday and Bella had only been about eight at the time, but the babysitter had cancelled at the last minute so there was nothing else for it. Bella had joined him, Harvey and few of the other blokes for a slap-up Indian banquet. They didn’t have to go so far now though, since the new curry house had opened overlooking the village green, which was a result, as they did a cracking balti including naan bread for a lot cheaper than the old place.
‘Pilau rice,’ Bella said solemnly, clicking her needles together as she carried on knitting, pretending not to be properly interested, but he persevered.
‘Poppadums.’
‘Prawn puri.’
‘Sag alooooooo,’ he said in the obligatory daft voice and was sure he spotted the start of a smile at the corner of her lips. And then.
‘Yuk!’ they said in unison, both sticking their fingers in their mouths to imitate a gagging noise before laughing. Matt let out a sigh of relief as he sat on Bella’s bed beside her.
‘So, you going to tell me what’s been going on before I go and get the grub?’ Matt started, carefully moving a ball of bright red wool out of the way, knowing it would be more than his life was worth if he accidentally sat on it and squashed it.
Silence followed.
Matt waited.
‘Nothing,’ Bella huffed the word out in a sigh.
‘OK, how about we start with the gypsy wagon. How did you find it?’ Matt asked, mustering up as much patience as he possibly could, knowing if he pushed her she’d shut right down and most likely shout at him, or worse still, call him a selfish pig … That’s what happened last time, when he had refused to give her a fiver to buy sweets, which it turned out a few days later was actually so she could get some sanitary towels, only she hadn’t wanted to tell him, because, ‘You just don’t get it,’ she had yelled when he caught her rifling through his wallet. Since then, Matt had set her up with an allowance … twenty quid, left on the kitchen table once a month to buy whatever personal stuff she needed. The rest she could earn like everyone else, doing chores around the house and suchlike. He had thought he was doing his best, but apparently all of the other kids got at least double that amount for doing absolutely bugger all! He wondered if he’d ever get it right …
‘I dunno.’ She shrugged.
‘How about I tell you how I found the wagon then!’ Matt said, trying to hide the weariness from his voice.
‘Well, I know already. That grass,’ she paused for maximum emphasis, ‘Harvey. He told you where it was!’
‘Not today,’ Matt said, marshalling the patience of a saint. ‘I’m talking about years ago when I was a kid, much younger than you are now.’
‘What do you mean?’ Bella’s interest was piqued.
‘The wagon has been there for donkey’s years …’ Matt started slowly, pleased to have found a hook to en
gage his daughter, it was a start at least. And first thing tomorrow morning he’d phone the school and find out the rest. And then he’d hunt down the little shits that were bullying his girl and clump them one … Just joking, Matt knew he’d never really do that, but it sure did make him feel better to fantasise about doing so. ‘Me and Uncle Jack used to go to the orchard after school and dare each other to run through the apple and pear trees and go inside the wagon, but we always chickened out and went to the woods instead.’
‘Wimps!’ Bella sniffed, not missing a beat.
‘Fair enough. Not like you though, eh? Fearless. Practically setting up home inside it.’ Matt did a half smile. ‘Tell me something …’ He paused and ran a hand over his stubbly chin.
‘What’s that then?’
‘When were you going to half-inch the sofa so you could properly kit it out? And do I need to keep an eye on the fridge? And what about the TV, I’ll be gutted if that goes … I don’t want to miss the cricket, or the rugby, or that new car programme. Please tell me you won’t make me.’ Matt shook his head and held it in his hands in mock desperation, risking a peek between his thumb and index finger to see her reaction.
‘Daaaaaaad!’ Bella clearly couldn’t help herself any longer, and started laughing, nudging Matt with her arm. ‘You’re such a tool.’
‘Now, that is charming.’ Matt pretended to be put out, but inside he felt relieved that she was talking to him, having a joke at least. He wasn’t stupid though, he knew this was just the start, but if he could maintain it somehow, then maybe he could keep her close. Because if the truth be told, he was petrified of losing her, of the bond they had breaking for ever; he couldn’t handle that. Or what if she upped and went off to the bright lights of London like her mother had? It didn’t bear thinking about. ‘Seriously though, love, you can’t be bunking off school and hiding out in an orchard …’ Matt ventured.
‘Why not?’
‘Because you won’t learn anything for starters, and then where will you be?’
‘But I already know how to read and write …’
Matt grinned and shook his head, wondering what to say to that. ‘It’s not as easy as all that, Bells …’ his daughter glared at him, ‘sorry, Bella.’
‘But April said I can go to the wagon whenever I like …’ Bella said, studying him, as if gauging his reaction, daring, or was it pleading? He couldn’t tell, but either way, she just wanted him to agree.
‘Not during school time though. I’ll be in trouble if you don’t go to school. And there’s only a week or so before the holidays start so you can go then.’
‘Please don’t make me go back to school!’ Bella’s voice faltered and Matt instinctively pulled her into him for a cuddle, but was then shocked again by how bony she was – he’d noticed it in the orchard earlier too. Oh God. He suddenly felt seriously out of his depth. His mum helped out when she could, with advice, but it wasn’t easy with her living in Wales – she’d moved there years ago, before Zoe left, and had offered to come back to Tindledale to help Matt with Bella, but like an idiot he had said he’d be fine. He hadn’t wanted to uproot her, and if truth be told, he’d been stubborn too … wanting to prove he could be a good parent on his own. But now look at the mess he’d made of it. His daughter was wasting away before his eyes and he hadn’t even noticed. What if she was starving herself on purpose, dieting, and all that rubbish? Zoe had always been on a diet, complaining that her stomach or thighs were too big, when they looked perfectly fine to him.
Matt stood up and shoved his hands into his jean pockets, determined to go and get the biggest curry he could find, and with all the trimmings. Sod diets, he wasn’t having his daughter getting hooked into all that money-making, brainwashing bullshit those slimming companies spewed out. And those glossy magazines would have to go, too, with their airbrushed pictures making Bella think it was normal to look like you’d had your innards sucked out.
‘You have to go to school, love. I’m sorry, but we’ll get it sorted, I promise …’
‘Just tomorrow then? Can I stay at home? Or come to work with you? I can help with the horses … please Dad.’ Bella looked at him, motionless, her knitting hanging from the needles as if waiting for an answer too.
Matt hesitated. He could take a day off, he only had one job on, a shoe-fitting for a mare over in Market Briar, but he’d known Howard, the horse’s owner, for years, so he was sure he wouldn’t mind pushing it back a day. And he’d need to call the school, go down there even, and that might take ages to sort out, and surely one day wouldn’t hurt … it might be an opportunity for him to spend some time with her and really get to the bottom of it all.
‘Oh go on then!’
Bella threw her knitting down and leapt from the bed to fling her arms around Matt, nearly winding him, just as she had used to do when she was much younger.
‘Brilliant. And can we go to see April? I should say sorry, I guess …’
‘Um.’ Matt inhaled; he hadn’t figured this into the ‘day off school’ deal. ‘Maybe,’ he settled on.
‘That means yes! I’m going to take a big bag of grated carrots for the horses, they won’t eat anything else, Dad. And you can say hello to April … she’s sooooo nice.’
‘Ahh, here we are!’ Molly said. ‘Just park by the lamppost.’
April looked to her left and saw an old, ramshackle wooden bus shelter, but where was the haberdashery shop?
And then she saw it. On the other side of the bus shelter was the sweetest little yarn store that April had ever seen. With ‘Hettie’s House of Haberdashery’ in swirly gold lettering on a French-navy background above the door, it was set back from the road with a white picket fence leading up to the double-fronted shop attached to an oast house with a roundel at the far end. It was picturesque. A quintessential chocolate-box scene.
‘Oh, it’s amazing,’ April said, switching off the Beetle’s engine.
‘Come on, wait until you see inside,’ Molly grinned, grabbing a large flowery tote from the footwell. April was pleased that the ferret, which it turned out was aptly called Stinker, had been left at home in his cage. Molly’s youngest boy had come up with the name, she had told April on the drive over here.
After locking the door, April followed Molly up to the entrance of the shop, keen to get inside. The window display was amazing, a yarnbombed armchair next to a pile of cot mattresses draped in granny-patch blankets in a variety of bold, primary colours, one with a plump green pea balanced under an upturned corner, and all topped off with a knitted princess doll. Ahh, April got it! It was the Hans Christian Andersen fairytale, ‘The Princess and the Pea’. Marvellous. April had loved that story as a child. In fact, Aunt Edie had first introduced April to it after giving her a colourful hardback edition for her birthday. And April had treasured it. In fact, she was pretty certain she still had it somewhere at home in the loft. She filed a quick memo in her head to take a look when she went home.
Molly pushed open the door and April smiled on hearing the old-fashioned jangle of the bell. It was so cosy and welcoming, like stepping inside an olde worlde sweet shop as a child, which on looking around at the numerous display shelves housing the most exquisite mountains of multi-coloured yarn, was much the same feeling that April was experiencing now as an adult. This place was incredible. An Aladdin’s cave of crafting goodies. And her friends from the knitting group back home would love it. April wondered if it would be OK to take a picture to show them, so rummaged in her bag to locate her mobile.
‘Come in, come in. So lovely to meet you, April. Molly mentioned that you might be joining us for this afternoon’s knit and natter group.’ A woman with red curly hair and a warm smile came walking towards them and held out her hand to April. ‘I’m Sybs by the way.’
‘Oh, um, hi Sybs.’ April stopped rummaging and shook Sybs’ hand, and then suddenly felt panicky. She hadn’t realised. She thought they were just popping in to talk to Hettie. She didn’t know if she could knit again.
Not yet. What if she cried? Like she had the last time she picked up her unfinished project – a chunky Aran jumper for Gray, the one he had teased her over with the size 12 needles. The one she hadn’t finished in time for him to actually wear. And for an awful moment, April could feel her chin wobbling. She swallowed hard to stave off the tears that were pricking the corners of her eyes. Not now. But more importantly, why now? This precise moment when she felt so upbeat, happy to be here in this lovely little haberdashery shop. And it was well over a year. Eighteen months and … April wasn’t sure. And then it struck her … when had she last updated her diary? Crossed off another day since Gray had died? She didn’t know. Certainly not since she had arrived at Orchard Cottage. No, her morning routine was different here. Now it was all about getting up and putting the kettle on the Aga to boil before pulling on her wellies to wander outside to fetch fresh eggs for their breakfast. And she hadn’t even realised … Something had definitely shifted if she was no longer making the ‘diary of doom’ (as she sometimes felt about it) her focal exercise every morning. And April felt lighter for it. Calm. As if she had reached another milestone.
She took a big breath, put a smile on her face and came up with a quick excuse, because even though she had reached a significant milestone, she wasn’t entirely sure if she was ready to face another one head on just yet. Knitting. April’s friends from her knitting club had been very kind in visiting and keeping in touch since Gray’s death, but she hadn’t actually been out to the meetings, to knit in a group … or knitted at all, for that matter.
‘Oh, I didn’t realise. I haven’t got my knitting bag with me.’
‘No problem. I’m sure we can find you some spare wool and needles,’ Sybs laughed and cast a generous hand around the shop before adding, ‘take your pick.’ Molly, on seeing April’s discomfort, promptly intervened.
