Would it be easier just to tell her the truth? Here, in her own home, Dawn seemed softer and more approachable. She was always swan-like during their photography classes, never allowing herself to be ruffled by Derek’s brusque manner. When she contrasted it with her own internal upheaval, Helen felt abashed. She envied Dawn her serenity and wondered if she would ever be able to emulate it.
Helen became aware that she had been chattering away for twenty minutes without conscious thought. Pausing mid-sentence, her mind went completely blank.
What have I been waffling on about? Dawn must think I’m crazy. I may as well tell her about the baby, she can’t think any worse of me. Besides, I can’t lie to her when she’s been so lovely.
Inhaling deeply as if preparing to speak in front of the Board, rather than a friend, Helen paused, then blurted out, “I left Daniel because he, because I, well, because I’m pregnant and he doesn’t want it.” The words tumbled out into silence. No matter how many times she told people it didn’t get any easier.
Dawn was quiet. Helen wondered if she was imagining one of her own daughters saying something similar.
She mentioned Florence has two kids, Helen tried to reassure herself, twisting her fingers around the handle of her mug while she waited. So she’s a grandmother already. Maybe it isn’t so shocking. Maybe it’s worse? Florence is married after all. Oh god, why did I tell her?
Tearing her eyes from the steam gently curling above her bone china mug Helen looked up at Dawn, waiting for judgement to be passed.
“You poor thing,” Dawn said eventually. “I assumed Daniel must have been having an affair.” Helen bristled visibly. “Not because I knew anything of course, just why else does someone leave weeks before the wedding? But I see now that there are many possible reasons. You do want the child?”
“Yes, though it terrifies me.”
“Of course it does. Motherhood is terrifying,” she paused, “and wonderful and, oh, a whole heap of other things that it’s impossible to describe until you are there.”
They sat in companionable silence until Dawn spoke again.
“How are you feeling, I mean really? You must be exhausted. I don’t really remember - the body forgets or you wouldn’t have more than one - but I do recall that Florence was sick as anything with her first.”
Helen smiled weakly, relief rendering her mute.
Dawn sat back, her demeanour changing from friend to mother-hen. “Have you eaten? Let me make you something to eat then show you to your room. I’m sorry, I’ve been gossiping on since you arrived and haven’t even taken your bag upstairs.”
She rose from the table and went to the enormous fridge that dominated one corner of the kitchen. As she opened it, Helen could see that it was mostly empty. She guessed that the house, bought for a large family, was more than Dawn and her husband needed now.
Returning to the table with a club sandwich, Dawn made sure Helen had all she needed then silently departed with Helen’s bag, leaving her to eat in silence.
Staring at the neatly square sandwich, Helen’s emotions tumbled out into the silence like a puppy released from its cage.
My life is getting more bizarre by the minute. A month ago I was a normal bride-to-be worrying about RSVPs and fitting into my dress, looking after my fiancé and dabbling in my new hobby. Now I’m homeless, jobless, staying with a woman I hardly know, I haven’t taken a photograph in weeks. To top it all, I’m creating new life inside me. I don’t know whether to laugh or weep.
As she forced herself to eat the sandwich, Helen tried to bring her scattered thoughts to bear on what she was going to do once her apartment was empty again. Living with Daniel had been so easy. He was the kind of man who managed all the finances, expecting Helen to take care of the domestic stuff. It had irked her initially but she had soon got used to it. Now she was going to have to work it all out for herself again. Not just herself but a tiny helpless baby too.
The enormity of it all was only just starting to emerge, like a photograph in the dark room. Whilst she was in Devon it had been easy to pretend she was home on a visit; that nothing much had happened. Sitting now in Dawn’s beautiful, immaculate kitchen, she was transported back to Daniel’s apartment, back to their lives together. A flood of memories and images galloped through her mind.
God I miss him, the bastard.
Darkness crashed over her as she realised she would never lie in Daniel’s arms again, never laugh with him over some idiotic thing said at one of their dinner parties, never ache with need waiting for him to come home and ravish her. The world contracted to a tiny point of light in a sea of black and her body felt numb with the weight of it.
When Dawn returned, brightly informing Helen her room was all ready for her to take a nap, she found her guest slumped over the table with her fingers curled tightly into her copper hair. The sobs were all the more terrible for their silence, as Helen’s slim shoulders shook with the force of the emotion.
Wordlessly, Dawn put her arm around Helen’s shoulder. When the tears had subsided she gently led the girl from the room and up two flights of stairs to the attic.
The top floor bedroom was flooded with light from a window set in the sloping roof, but Helen’s sight was obscured by tears. Dawn steered the still-hiccupping girl towards the bed and helped her lie down. Covering her in a light eiderdown, she pulled the blind until the room was dim.
“I’ll wake you for dinner.” Dawn’s voice was soft and she brushed Helen’s hair away from her face as she might a small child. “You let the sorrow out, my dear. You need to grieve. Strength will come, you’ll see. Everything will be okay, I promise. You’re safe here, as long as you need to stay.”
Then she crept from the room, quietly pulling the door closed behind her.
Chapter Eleven
London felt cold after Barcelona. Marcio wondered if it was the ancient buildings that hemmed him in, blocking the sun. He knew it wasn’t true; London was normally stifling in the summer. He tried to spend as much time in Spain in the summer months as possible, out on the boat if he could wangle it.
Will I ever be able to go there again? The thought was acrid. She had tarnished it now, his home. He had suffered the ultimate humiliation, in front of everyone who knew him, in his own town, in his own church.
Bitch.
It was satisfyingly wrong to think of Mia as a bitch. All his love turned to bitterness and bile in an instant. How could she? And why then? Did she choose that exact moment for maximum effect? All that meticulous planning just to leave him looking like the world’s greatest idiot for not realising what was under his nose?
Marcio strode along Oxford Street angrily dodging dawdling tourists, glaring at anyone who dared think about asking him the time or for directions to the nearest underground station.
His feet took him on autopilot while his mind churned with the scattered thoughts and emotions that had flooded it for weeks, ever since he’d fled back to London. He thought the misery and rage would subside eventually but the feelings seemed to intensify with each passing day.
As he arrived at his destination Marcio tried to still his thoughts and bring his mind into focus. It would not do to go into a work meeting obsessing about his failed love-life. He knew he was a poor poker player, unable to shield the thoughts dancing behind his eyes. He didn’t want the publisher to realise his mind wasn’t fully on the here and now. He needed this assignment. God only knew how much he needed work now.
Bitch.
The word slipped out again, like a frisky colt making a break for freedom. Pushing the unruly thought back inside his head, Marcio practised smiling and pushed open the glass door.
As he entered the foyer he was greeted by the sight of a dozen identical women looking him directly in the eye with the sexiest, most impish look imaginable. Marcio stopped, temporarily flummoxed, and then grinned for the first time since his wedding day.
“Holy cow!”
“Great, isn’t it? Who knew Rosa co
uld look like that.”
“That’s Rosa? Fuck me, so it is. Doesn’t she look hot to trot?”
“Marcio!”
Marcio looked up at the receptionist, realised what he’d just said, and gave a sheepish smile like a child caught stealing cookies.
“Laura, I’m sorry, please forgive me. I’ve not been in company for a while. What I meant to say, of course, was ‘Gracious me, is that indeed Rosa? What an amazing photograph, she normally looks so pure and innocent.’”
“It’s okay, I’m just teasing you. Your reaction is pretty much verbatim to what the editor said when he saw it. Taken by a rookie too, can you believe it?”
“Jammy bugger. How did he get her to look at him like that? Wish she’d look at me like that!” All thoughts of the perfidy of womankind, and his desire to have nothing to do with them ever again, vanished at the sight of demure Rosa mentally undressing him from the cover of the magazine.
“She.”
Marcio tore his gaze from Rosa’s and looked up at Laura.
“Sorry?”
“The photographer was a woman. Well, girl really. Some twenty-something student of Derek Vilney’s.”
The name rang a bell but Marcio was a writer, not a photographer.
“He used to be a fashion photographer, one of the best. Married a model; ended in a nasty divorce. Now he teaches. Asked Saul if he could run a competition for his students, the winner to get the front cover. Saul wasn’t convinced, but, you know, it’s Derek, so of course he said yes. Figured if it was awful he could fill the cover with text.”
Marcio let the chatty receptionist’s words wash over him as he kept his eyes on Rosa’s face. There was something about the photograph, the contrast with Rosa’s usual image, which struck a chord with him. As well as making him horny as hell, the photograph seemed to speak to him at a different, less carnal, level. It seemed to say, Look at me, I can be something different. I am many people. Life isn’t just about one path, one destiny. It seemed fanciful but the image gave him hope where he never thought to feel such a positive emotion again.
“Can I take one?”
Laura grinned, clearly delighted that one of her publisher’s magazines was having such an impact on the attractive writer.
“Sure, they only arrived from the printers today, I have stacks. Do you actually want the magazine or just the picture of Rosa? I have some loose covers here that Rosa has signed. Saul thought it might make good promotional material. You can have one, if you like, seeing as you’re such a fan.”
She gave him an arch look that, together with her slight sarcasm, was entirely lost on him. Smiling affectionately at his distracted face she popped a picture of Rosa into an envelope and held it out to him.
“Here you go. You’d better tear yourself away now and head up, otherwise Saul will have you whipped. He hates tardiness.”
Bile rose up Marcio’s throat as he remembered he was meant to be meeting the editor to discuss the assignment.
“Christ, thanks Laura. I need this job.”
“Why so desperate, I thought you were fairly relaxed about your freelance work?”
Marcio wondered how it was that receptionists seemed to know way too much about everything. “I’ve got a wedding to pay for,” he flung out through gritted teeth.
Before she could ask what he meant Marcio had disappeared into the stairwell, not wanting to risk waiting for the lift.
“Are you really sure you want this assignment, Marcio?”
Saul looked troubled. Marcio was a gifted freelancer, not a jobbing writer. He had certainly never shown an interest in writing a regular feature before. Saul was glad to have him of course. Talented writers, whatever their disposition, were an asset to any magazine.
“Without question. Do you think I can’t do it? I can write about food and hotels as well as the next man.”
“Probably better,” Saul agreed, “but it’s not really your style. I thought you preferred work with more scope for your creative flair?”
“Beggars can’t be choosers.” Marcio shrugged, not wanting to get into it. He already regretted his hasty words to Laura and hoped she would show uncharacteristic discretion.
Saul sensed Marcio’s reticence and let it go. He was gaining a talented writer; it wasn’t his place to discover the man’s motivation.
“We’ll, if you’re sure, we’ll start you on a three-month trial. You’ll get a flat fee per review, plus any expenses. I assume you’re okay to travel?”
“Of course.”
“No commitments?” Saul realised he was fishing again and busied himself with some papers.
“No commitments,” Marcio confirmed flatly.
Saul had to be satisfied with that.
“Right. Great. Well, first off, there’s a new hotel opening in Bath. We’d like a review of the accommodation, food, that kind of thing. Feel free to have a look around other restaurants and things while you’re there. We put stuff on file and we’ll pay you if we use it.”
Marcio took a deep breath and tried to shake off the feeling that he’d just sold his soul to the devil. He forced a smile as he stood and gathered his things.
“Welcome aboard.” Saul also rose and held out his hand.
Marcio took the proffered handshake and said nothing.
Chapter Twelve
“A parcel arrived for you. It’s been redirected from your mum’s I think.”
Dawn gestured at the sideboard as Helen came cautiously into the kitchen. Although she’d been at Dawn’s for nearly a week, she still couldn’t quite feel at home. Never mind doing her utmost to avoid Terrance.
“Thanks. Sorry, I didn’t think she’d send stuff here.” She noticed with embarrassment that there was a large parcel sat between the china cat and the fruit bowl.
“It’s fine. The kids get stuff sent here all the time. Harry and Adam both still use this as their main address.”
She looked up from the morning papers. “You look peaky, bad night? There are some croissants if you can manage them? Or soda bread?”
Gingerly taking a seat at the table, as if sudden movements might cause her to start retching again, Helen paled at the thought of eating anything. She wasn’t ready to see it re-emerge, not after an hour already in the en-suite.
“Oh you are bad this morning, poor mite. It’ll pass in a week or two, just hang in there. How about a cup of Earl Grey and some hobnobs? I seem to remember they were the only thing Florence could eat first thing.”
Helen began to nod, thought better of it, and managed a small thumbs-up. It was hard enough having morning sickness without having to share it with a stranger. Not that Dawn felt like a stranger any more. The two women had shared much about themselves over dinner, as they’d eaten quietly on the patio every evening. It seemed John was away a lot, almost as much as when he had been in the Navy. Although used to his absences, Dawn clearly found it lonely without her children at home. She seemed genuinely glad to have Helen’s company. Helen wondered why she didn’t get a lodger.
The tea and biscuits revived her enough to be interested in the parcel. Part of her feared it was from Daniel, that he’d found more of her things to dispose of. It seemed unlikely, but it was with a certain amount of trepidation that Helen eventually slit the tape on the box and opened it.
As she saw the contents her mouth dropped and her face paled even more. From her vantage point near the kettle Dawn observed Helen’s reaction and wondered whether to offer assistance. She was trying not to intrude on the poor child’s space but Helen could so easily have been one of her daughters it was hard not to help.
Eventually she ventured a gentle, “Helen, is everything okay?”
“Holy crap!”
Concerned now, Dawn came back over to the dining table. As she came close she saw what Helen was looking at.
“Goodness. Helen, that’s amazing. May I?”
Helen nodded and continued to stare as Dawn took one of the magazines out of the box so they could both se
e the full glory of Rosa’s picture.
“She looks like she’s trying to seduce a saint. Gracious me, that’s some photo. It looks more powerful actually on the cover, compared with the computer screen, doesn’t it?”
All Helen could do was nod. That was her photograph. Hers. On a glossy magazine.
It’s probably already on the shelves. I hadn’t even thought, but of course it would be. Magazines always come out weeks before the actual month of issue. My photo, on a magazine on a shelf. In a shop.
She wanted to run out the door to the nearest newsagents, to see for herself. All thoughts of Daniel, all feelings of nausea, were forgotten in the exhilaration of seeing her image in glorious Technicolor.
“What next?” Dawn asked quietly. She was aware of some of what was going through Helen’s mind and was glad the girl had this distraction. They’d talked about Helen’s need to find work, to generate enough income to support herself and the baby, but she knew Helen lacked the confidence to search for freelance work. With this in her portfolio that search would be slightly easier.
Helen looked up questioningly at Dawn, tearing her eyes away from Rosa’s.
“Do you see now? You are talented. You can be a freelance photographer. You just need to get out there and sell yourself. This can be your calling card.”
“I don’t even know what kind of photography I want to do.” Helen was aware of the whine in her voice and didn’t like it.
“I should think you can do whatever you turn your mind to, my dear. Besides, Derek will help you. Goodness knows he wittered on enough in our lessons about how to sell ourselves. As if an old biddy like me is going to make a living from photography.”
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