The hall was filling up nicely with a mixture of parents, grandparents, aunts, uncles and assorted local business owners. Rex had even managed to persuade his manager to come along to place a bid on behalf of the National Park, and a representative from the hospital in Abergavenny had also promised to attend.
‘Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen,’ he began, waiting for the noise to die down. With forty to fifty children here ranging in age from seven to nine, the hall was never going to be totally silent, so when he thought he had most people’s attention, he dived right in.
‘Mums, dads and grandparents, I know you’re going to want to put your hands in your pockets for your own child’s beautiful work of art, but please give everyone else a chance. This auction is to raise money for two worthwhile causes, and I know in an ideal world we shouldn’t have to rely on events like this to help protect our natural heritage, or to ensure all pupils are able to take part in the end-of-year school trip, but unfortunately this is reality. So dig deep, bid high and display whichever wonderful painting you manage to acquire with pride.’ He caught the eye of the hospital trust’s manager. ‘Mr Probert, we expect to see a whole wall of paintings in your main waiting area,’ he joked.
‘I’ll see what I can do,’ Mr Probert replied with a grin. He clearly wasn’t expecting to have to pay more than a few pence for any of the children’s work. Rex hoped to surprise him.
‘First up is this delightful depiction of a sheep grazing among the reed beds.’ He felt the need to explain, because it wasn’t entirely clear what the painting actually was. ‘Tamara has an abstract style and a bold use of colour,’ he added, wondering why the sheep’s nose was purple. ‘Who will start the bidding off at five pounds?’
Tamara wriggled excitedly in her seat, her pigtails swinging about her face. ‘Go on, Mummy, this one is mine!’ she cried, and everyone laughed at her enthusiasm.
Her mother dutifully put her hand up.
‘Five I’m bid. Who’ll give me six?’ Rex asked.
Tamara’s hand shot up.
‘You haven’t got six pounds,’ her mother said.
‘I’m bidding for you, Mummy,’ the little girl announced. ‘Mr McMillan wanted six pounds, and you were only going to give him five.’
More laughter, and Tamara bounced up and down on her chair, her whole face alight with excitement.
‘I think we’re going to have to have another lesson on how auctions work on Monday,’ Miss Harding called out with a smile.
‘I’ll disregard Tamara’s bid, shall I?’ Rex said with a wide grin on his face. This was so much fun, and the kids were absolutely delightful. A thought flashed across his mind but was gone again almost before he’d had a chance to grasp it – would he be attending things like this with his own son in the future?
That was when he saw Leanne. She hadn’t been there earlier – he knew, because he’d been watching out for her – but she was there now, at the back near the door. His heart did a slow roll and his stomach lurched.
She looked gorgeous, if a little pale and tired. No wonder, what with having to charge off to London every week, and that was without all the work involved in preparing for the competition. He wondered if she’d had any applications for a manager yet.
He cleared his throat. ‘Do I have six pounds?’ he asked, and Sid the butcher put his hand up.
‘A picture of a sheep will look good in my shop,’ he said. ‘A sort of before and after.’
Rex blinked. He wondered if having her picture in a shop that sold bits of the animal she had so painstakingly painted would upset Tamara, and he gave the child a concerned look.
Tamara was still bouncing.
With relief, Rex called, ‘Seven?’ and Tamara’s mum put her hand up.
After that, the bidding took off briskly, with Sid winning the picture for a respectable £23.50. Tamara looked as though she was about to burst into tears at not being able to take her painting home with her, despite all the children being told repeatedly that they might not be able to buy their own pictures, and that they would be able to paint as many more as they wanted in school next week. Miss Harding crouched on the floor beside the little girl’s chair and whispered in her ear. She soon had her smiling again, although the child had lost a little of her bounce now that she was no longer the centre of attention.
Twice Rex nodded at Stevie and twice she bid on his behalf, until Rex became the proud, if anonymous, owner of a picture of a blue sky, clouds and what was supposed to be a raven but looked more like an inkblot. He thought it was wonderful. He intended to have it framed and hung on the wall of the visitors’ centre.
As the auction carried on, he found it more and more difficult not to look at Leanne. He was very conscious of her standing at the back, and when she raised a hand to bid on a lovely picture of wild primroses, he had no choice but to acknowledge her.
He was surprised how much it hurt as he nodded to her and said, ‘Seven pounds I’m bid, from the lady at the back.’
Her expression was unreadable, and he would have given anything to know what she was thinking right now.
‘Mister, can you please say yes to my daddy’s bid?’ A little voice cut into his thoughts and brought him sharply back to the task in hand.
‘Oh yes, sorry.’ He smiled at the boy who had spoken. ‘Where were we?’
‘Daddy says eight pounds and he wishes you’d get on with it.’
Rex gave the audience a rueful smile. ‘Your daddy is right; I should get on with it. Eight pounds it is. Any advance on eight?’
Leanne raised her hand.
‘Nine pounds. Back to you, sir.’ He turned his attention to the little boy’s father, who nodded. ‘Ten pounds, thank you.’
He was just about to steel himself to look in Leanne’s direction again when his phone rang. ‘Sorry,’ he said to the audience, with a grimace. ‘I would normally turn it off, but I’m on call for the Mountain Rescue this weekend so I’ve had to leave it on. Let me just check it’s not them. Miss Harding, could you take over for a second?’
He stepped off the makeshift podium and dragged his phone out of his pocket.
The call wasn’t from the Mountain Rescue coordinator. It was from his mother.
He was about to ignore it when he saw he’d had several texts from her, and a sudden feeling of dread washed over him.
‘I’ve got to take this,’ he mouthed to the teacher, and briskly stepped through the side door and into the little kitchen area.
Keeping his voice down and trying not to let panic gain the upper hand, he said, ‘Mum? What’s up? Is it Dad?’
‘No, Rex, it’s Jules.’
Oh, Jules. Although she and the baby should have been the first thing to come to mind, the whole situation didn’t seem real to him yet.
‘Is she OK?’ he asked.
‘That’s why I’m calling. She’s had the baby.’
‘What?’ he cried, then realised that everyone in the hall could probably hear him. He lowered his voice. ‘She’s not due for another few weeks.’
‘Babies arrive when babies feel like it,’ his mother stated, then paused.
‘What aren’t you telling me?’ Rex asked into the silence.
‘The thing is…’
‘Oh my God, is the baby all right?’ He felt sick, and his heart missed a beat then made up for it with an uncomfortable thump.
‘The baby is fine, if a little early. He’s in an incubator, but he’s healthy. It’s…’ She paused again, and Rex waited, relief making his fingers tingle. He sagged against the wall and took a deep breath.
He knew what she was going to say: that the baby was his. He realised she had been hoping all along that it would turn out to be Dean’s and that was why she was sounding so odd now. He wasn’t sure how he felt about the news himself – excited, terrified, despondent, overwhelmed? How was he supposed to feel?
‘It’s Jules,’ his mother was saying.
‘What about her?’ Rex wondered if his son had
auburn hair like him, or whether he favoured his mother. What about his eyes? Were they blue like his, or hazel like Jules’s? He hoped the poor kid didn’t have his toes, because—
‘She’s in intensive care,’ his mum said.
‘Oh, right.’ He blinked. Was that normal for a woman who had just given birth? He had no idea. Actually, it astounded him how little he knew about the process of pregnancy, labour and birth. He did have an excuse, though, kind of, because he’d come to the party quite late. He made a note to buy a book on what to expect as a new father, because he didn’t have the foggiest idea.
‘Something went wrong,’ his mother was saying. ‘I’m not sure what, I don’t have the details, but she lost a lot of blood, too much blood, and she’s had a couple of transfusions, but now she’s in a coma and the doctors don’t know if she’s going to come out of it, or if she does, what state she’d be in.’ She took a breath and Rex jumped in.
‘Jules? You’re saying there’s something wrong with Jules?’ He didn’t understand.
‘Yes, love. She’s in intensive care, in a coma.’
‘But… how?’
‘We don’t know what happened, but from what Dean told us, the placenta was in the wrong place and Jules went into labour early and they had no chance to do a Caesarean…’
Rex let his mother talk, taking very little of it in. What did he know about placentas and Caesareans? Nothing, that was what, but he had a terrible feeling he was going to have to learn quickly if he was to have any chance of understanding what was going on.
‘How serious is it?’ he asked, hoping he hadn’t heard his mother correctly.
‘Very.’ Her voice caught, and she choked back a sob. ‘She might not pull through.’
‘I’ll leave now,’ he promised, his heart pounding and a dull ache settling in behind his eyes. He felt numb and surreal, as if this was happening to someone else.
Poor, poor Jules. How could it have come to this? He’d only seen her a couple of weeks ago and she’d looked so healthy and well. His heart went out to her, to Dean, and to her poor parents.
But most of all, his heart went out to the little newborn baby who might have to face life without his mother.
Chapter 38
Leanne hadn’t wanted to go to the auction, but it was for a couple of good causes and it wasn’t fair to boycott the event just because the man who had organised it had broken her heart. She sidled in late, hoping he wouldn’t notice her if the bidding was in full swing, but no such luck. He’d spotted her the second she walked in through the door.
His gaze hadn’t lingered, however, and he didn’t acknowledge her. Leanne actually thought that his mouth had tightened and his shoulders had stiffened, but it might have been her imagination, because after that he’d not glanced her way once. Except for when she’d bid on Dylan Plaister’s lovely little primrose painting. Leanne had been in school with Dylan’s dad, and they’d exchanged a smile. She was just about to raise her bid when a phone rang. Rex told the audience that he had to take the call, said something to the teacher, Miss Harding – who had been shooting him besotted looks, she noticed with a jealous pang – and stepped off the podium, taking his phone out of his pocket.
She wasn’t sure if anyone else noticed, but when he looked at the screen, his face blanched slightly, and she hoped it wasn’t bad news. She watched him walk briskly through the door leading to the little kitchen.
‘Excuse me? Did you want to carry on bidding, or are you done?’
‘Eh?’ Leanne dragged her attention back to the podium, where the teacher was waiting for an answer. ‘Um… yes.’
‘Which is it?’ the young woman asked politely.
‘The first one. I want to carry on bidding.’ She kept one ear on the open kitchen door while Miss Harding was speaking, and she could have sworn she heard Rex cry, ‘What!’ But no matter how hard she tried to listen, she didn’t hear another peep.
When he reappeared in the hall, he looked upset and distracted. Leanne studied him as he walked up to Miss Harding, leaned in close and whispered in her ear. The teacher nodded and placed a hand briefly on his arm, and Leanne wondered if she had been wrong about Rex’s reason for dumping her. Maybe it had nothing to do with his ex in Scotland and everything to do with a new love interest much nearer home, because she couldn’t help noticing the way the young woman’s eyes followed his retreating back.
She didn’t stay to pay for or collect her picture – she’d sort it out later – telling herself it was because she had a shop to run, even though Mabel was quite capable of holding the fort for an hour. As she headed off down the street, tears pricking and chin wobbling, she saw Rex behind the wheel of his Land Rover, his expression grim. He looked both ways as he pulled out of his road, and she could have sworn he had seen her, but if he had, he didn’t bother to acknowledge her.
She wouldn’t cry. She’d done enough of that recently, thank you very much. Anyway, she had nothing to cry about. She had a fantastic future ahead of her and a competition to win.
So why was it that she felt like she was desperately trying to convince herself?
Chapter 39
‘I’m sorry, it’s close family only. Who did you say you were?’
‘Rex McMillan. The baby’s father.’ Rex swallowed, and added, ‘Possibly.’
The nurse gave him a sharp look. ‘Are you related to the patient?’ The patient was Jules, and he couldn’t in all honesty say he was, so he shook his head.
‘Can you at least tell me how she is?’ he pleaded when he saw she was about to refuse to allow him in.
‘Sorry, I really can’t. I can let her partner know you’re here. If he chooses to share her condition with you, that’s up to him.’
Dean was here? Rex sighed. Of course he would be. Jules was his now, and the man had every right to be at her bedside. ‘Her parents?’
The nurse gave him a sympathetic smile. ‘They’ve stepped out to get a coffee and a sandwich. Do you want me to tell them you’re here when they come back? They won’t be long.’
She said this with certainty, and Rex wondered how many times she had seen this scene played out – frantic, terrified relatives sneaking off for a desperately needed break but feeling guilty about every second spent away from their loved one’s side, just in case something happened.
‘No, there’s no need. It’ll only be one more thing for them to worry about. You can ask Dean if he’ll speak to me, though. Please,’ he added.
He must look a sight. He’d only made one quick stop, and that was because poor Nell needed a pee. Seven hours door to door, more or less, with a swift detour to his parents’ house to drop Nell off. It was late, nearly ten p.m., and he was creased and travel-weary, and more than a little strung out. Still, he reasoned, the staff in intensive care were used to seeing people when they weren’t at their best. But that was no excuse for bad manners, and he’d remembered his just in time.
‘Come into the relatives’ room,’ she said. ‘It’s more comfortable there and you can grab yourself a coffee from the machine. It’s foul, but at least it’s hot.’
Rex took her advice. Anxiety combined with his headlong drive was taking its toll, and he could use the caffeine to perk him up. He even added sugar for good measure, reckoning that the calories would give him a bit of extra stamina to see him through the next few hours. He had no idea what he was going to do beyond finding out how Jules was, and persuading the staff to let him see the baby. After that, the future was a bit of a blur. Should he remain at the hospital until something happened (he shied away from what that something might be), or should he go back to his mum and dad’s house and wait for news?
Jules’s parents and Dean were clearly here for the duration, and he felt he should be too, but he wasn’t sure they would want him here, or if he had any right to stay.
He looked up as the door opened and Dean, his former best mate, walked through it. Rex hardly recognised him. The football-loving, pint-swilling life and soul o
f every party looked beaten and defeated, as if the spirit had been sucked out of him, leaving only an empty shell.
Without conscious thought, Rex strode across the room and enveloped him in a hug. Dean clutched at him like a drowning man gripping a lifebuoy, and Rex felt him shake and shudder. He patted him gently, letting his mate cry, tears welling up in his own eyes and trickling down his cheeks.
‘She’s not…?’ he asked, when Dean’s sobs subsided a little.
‘What? No! I mean, not yet.’ Dean pulled away and rubbed his sleeve across his face.
Rex swiped a hand at his own wet cheeks. ‘Not yet,’ he repeated woodenly. ‘Does that mean there isn’t any hope?’
Dean shrugged. He was a shrunken, older, frailer version of the man Rex had once known, his face drawn, his eyes sunken. He looked as though he hadn’t slept for a week, and Rex felt nothing but a deep sadness and pity for him. He’d briefly hated him when he’d imagined Dean bringing up his son and treating him like his own, and a wave of guilt struck him. It didn’t matter who played Lyall’s dad, just as long as the child’s mother was there. If Rex was indeed the baby’s father, then the child would have two loving, caring dads. He’d have double the love, double the attention… Just please let Jules pull through, he pleaded. Lyall needed his mother.
‘There’s always hope,’ Dean said, in a slow, dead voice, ‘but mate, she lost so much blood. They gave her five units and they still couldn’t stop the bleeding. They operated on her for nearly three hours. She’s in the ICU; they’ve got her on a ventilator and there are all these tubes and wires…’ He trailed off, and Rex bit his lip.
Dean sank into one of the threadbare sofas and put his head in his hands. Rex, feeling useless, got him a tea from the machine. If nothing else, it would keep his friend hydrated.
‘Ta,’ Dean said, without looking up, as Rex placed the plastic cup on the table next to the sofa. The surface was covered in leaflets for counselling and funeral advice.
The Tanglewood Flower Shop Page 18
