by Fiona Gibson
Nick smiles. ‘You really do seem amazingly fine about it all.’
‘Oh, I wasn’t at first,’ I say quickly. ‘For months, I was in quite a state, and I still have my moments sometimes. But there’s definitely been, well … a power shift, I suppose. I mean, I don’t feel particularly angry or sad anymore. I look at him and feel … well, nothing very much, really. Apart from noting that his hair could do with a better cut and his jeans are a bit saggy.’
‘That sounds like a pretty healthy way to be,’ Nick remarks.
‘Yes, I guess it is. It suggests I’m recovering, at least. And, you know, it feels like my life is opening up again. The museum project’s helping.’
‘I’m surprised you’ve had time for anything else,’ he jokes, and it’s true that it’s been all-encompassing, having gathered momentum faster than I could have imagined. Upstairs, away from Penny’s gaze, I have already amassed quite a collection of pieces, and each day seems to bring a new lead to assist with my search, or even the arrival of a Girl Friday piece. I am no longer simply surviving day to day. I am actually living again. And even although Andy showed up today, skulking about and bothering my friends, Izzy’s party was a huge success, and it was all down to me, with a little help from Nick and Jules. I’m proud of Izzy – and myself – for managing this new situation.
‘I’m really glad you were here to help,’ I tell Nick, getting up to fetch slices of birthday cake, which we both pick at.
He smiles warmly and meets my gaze. ‘I enjoyed it, especially the marshmallow toasting.’
‘You’re clearly an expert,’ I tease him.
‘Hey, there’s a lot of skill involved!’ He laughs. ‘It took me back to being a Scout.’
I peel a strip of icing off the cake. ‘Did you love all that outdoorsy stuff?’
‘Oh, yeah. I didn’t get to do a huge amount of it – Mum pretty much had her hands full with everyday life – so the camps were brilliant. It was great to get out of the city, up in the Highlands and have the chance to run wild. And, as an only child, all I wanted was to be with a big pile of mates really.’
‘Yes, I can imagine.’ I smile, trying to picture him as a mussed-haired kid. ‘My parents were pretty set in their ways when it came to holidays – year after year it was a week at Mrs Wilkie’s B&B on Arran. Dad was a keen fisherman so we’d borrow a boat and end up with an all-you-can-eat mackerel sizzle on the beach.’
‘Now that sounds idyllic,’ Nick says with a smile.
‘Now I realise it was. At the time, I was probably a bit eye-rolly about it, especially when I reached my teens and all my friends seemed to be jetting off to Spain or Greece, and then school would start again and it’d be all, “What did you do on your holidays, Viv?” And I’d be like, “Gutted a load of fish!”’ Nick laughs. ‘Of course,’ I add, ‘after Mum and Dad had both gone, I’d have given anything to be sitting on Lamlash beach with them, in the drizzle, covered in scales and bit of fishy insides.’
Nick nods. ‘Mum mentioned that they both passed away fairly young. That must’ve been hard.’
I look at him, surprised but pleased that she’s shared some details about me with him. ‘It did seem terribly unfair,’ I concede. ‘They hadn’t even retired. Mum worked as a science teacher and Dad had a wedding photography business. They’d talked endlessly about leaving Glasgow and buying a little cottage at North Berwick, and enjoying their later years by the coast. Mum was going to start painting and they’d planned to get a dog. Dad wanted to buy a little sailing dinghy …’
‘So they were full of plans,’ he says gently.
‘Yes, they were.’ I drain my mug. ‘What about your dad?’ I ask adding quickly, ‘I hope you don’t mind me asking—’
‘Not at all,’ he assures me, ‘although there’s not an awful lot to tell. You know he moved to Canada?’
‘Yes, Penny mentioned that.’
‘So I saw very little of him when I was growing up.’ He smiles wryly. ‘He wasn’t exactly a family man, by all accounts, although Mum tried to protect me from all of that … I mean, the details of what he’d got up to when they were still together. But let’s put it this way, I don’t quite know how many half-brothers and sisters I have—’ He breaks off as Izzy appears, in her new birthday pyjamas, and stares at him.
‘You don’t know how many brothers and sisters you have?’
Nick looks at me, then back at her, and laughs. ‘It’s a bit complicated, Izzy.’
‘Why?’ she asks.
He pauses, clearly wondering how best to put it. ‘My dad, erm, had other girlfriends, after he and Mum split up …’
She frowns and looks at me. ‘But why don’t you ask him—’
‘We only speak occasionally,’ he says quickly, ‘at Christmas, his birthday, occasions like that. And it never quite seems the right time to ask, “Hey, Dad, how many kids d’you have?”’
I chuckle and turn to Izzy. ‘I’d ask,’ she says.
‘I know you would, darling,’ I say, ‘but c’mon now – stop grilling Nick. Bed, please. It’s very late.’
I usher her back to camp, and when I return, Nick explains – as I’d suspected – that not even his father is entirely sure of the precise number of offspring, ‘although there were already two more when he took me over to Vancouver with him …’
‘You went to Canada?’ I exclaim.
‘Yes, just the once, when I was four years old. He seemed to have a sudden burst of wanting to be a great dad, or at least to give that impression to his new partner. It was short-lived, thankfully. Just a rush of blood to the head.’ He smiles, and as those grey-blue eyes seem to fix on mine, something seems to happen to, I don’t know – my heart perhaps? It kind of … turns, making me aware of its presence, reminding me that it is still a fully functioning thing.
Oh, but he is extremely attractive. Even I – a woman who’ll never be concerned with such matters ever again – can’t dispute the fact that his eyes radiate kindness, and are quite lovely. I’m regretting the fact that my face is undoubtedly shiny and pink, and my hair a state from running around after the kids for hours on end. I haven’t looked in a mirror since around 8 a.m. and, although I am wearing a decent dress, neatly fitted with a tiny black and red check, I’ve now noticed a smear of creamy cake icing on the front.
I wonder what happened in Canada, and why Penny has never mentioned Nick’s trip to visit his dad. However, after Izzy’s quizzing I decide to leave asking for now. Instead, I say, ‘I know it’s late, but would you like to come upstairs?’ I catch myself immediately and silently curse my sizzling face. ‘To see the Girl Friday collection,’ I add quickly. ‘I’m storing it all in Spencer’s room.’
Nick grins and gets up. Did he catch my blustering just then? ‘Yes, of course,’ he says, cool as anything. ‘I’d love to see it.’
Chapter Thirty-One
Early hours of Sunday, November 3
Over an hour, we’ve been up here, examining his mother’s designs which, bizarrely, have colonised my son’s bedroom. I have hung up as many of the garments as possible: bright, block-coloured trouser suits, jaunty jackets and print dresses emblazoned with oversized flowers and graphic prints. Despite my rather workaday approach to dressing these past few years, as these pieces have arrived I’ve remembered how much I used to love to dress up for a special night out, and how uplifting and unashamedly fun fashion can be.
A cluster of patent leather shoulder bags hangs from a hook on the door like a bouquet of cartoon flowers. There are embroidered corduroy flares, brightly patched denim hot pants and rainbow-striped skinny-ribbed sweaters. A flurry of hippie dresses arrived a few days ago, with prints varying from swirling Paisley patterns to oversized daisies. On Spencer’s bed lies an array of accessories: stripy knee-high socks, suede belts, patterned headbands and all manner of headwear from a pink peaked cap to a lime green floppy hat with fake poppies attached.
On the floor, the footwear is neatly paired up in rows: boots, sandals and platform shoes, the
latter of which fascinated Izzy when they arrived by courier. I let her try them on and have a clomp about, but playing with the rest of the pieces is not allowed, which she accepted with only a minor sulk. I can’t face trying to keep track of it all, on top of everything else. I know from past experience that a simple dressing-up session in Izzy’s bedroom can quickly morph into feather boas and capes being discovered, weeks later, rain-sodden and smeared by slugs at the bottom of the garden.
‘How have you managed to get so much stuff?’ Nick marvels, studying each item in turn.
‘With an enormous amount of phoning and emailing,’ I explain. ‘Isla helped with that. We worked our way through my list of vintage shops, starting with Glasgow, then radiating out until we’d covered pretty much the whole of Scotland. Then, gradually, we worked our way across the north of England.’
‘Amazing,’ he murmurs.
‘We still have a long way to go,’ I add. ‘I have the Midlands to cover next, then Wales, London, the South-East, the South-West …’
‘I can help too. I’m around for a good while yet, so please give me lists and instructions. Tell me what to do.’
I chuckle. ‘I definitely will. The more help the better, really.’
He shakes his head in wonderment as he examines a fringed red suede waistcoat. ‘I still can’t imagine how you’ve managed to do all of this. It’s incredible.’
‘It sort of gathered momentum,’ I explain. ‘Maybe it’s because it’s been so long since I’ve been able to really throw myself into something creative, you know?’ He nods. ‘I mean, it’s been years really, since my theatre days. Although I am a little sleep-deprived,’ I add with a grin, indicating an eye bag. ‘Can you tell?’
‘No, I can’t,’ he says, laughing. ‘Not at all. So, when you tracked down the clothes, were the shop owners cooperative? About sending them to you, I mean?’
‘Mostly, yes. I managed to blag a small budget from Hannah at the museum, so we’ve been able to cover postage and courier costs. Some pieces, I’ve collected in person if they’ve just been across town.’
‘So they’re all on loan?’ Nick asks.
‘Yep. Returning them after the show will be the really fun part.’ I smile. ‘But we can hang on to some long-term, because the plan is to keep a small collection on display, once the show’s over.’
‘It’s amazing,’ Nick says, looking at me. ‘It really is. I wish we could show Mum now, don’t you?’
‘I’m nervous, Nick,’ I murmur. ‘What if she’s really not happy about all of this? If she’s annoyed because we kept it from her—’
‘Come on,’ he says firmly. ‘She’ll be overwhelmed and incredibly touched. Seeing it all now, I’m sure she will …’
‘Yes, but what if—’ I break off at the sound of raucous laughter coming from the camp. ‘They’re still awake!’ We head downstairs, and from the living room doorway I insist that they go to sleep.
‘We are asleep.’ That’s Ludo, giggling.
‘I don’t think you are, Ludo.’ I suppress a smile.
‘He is, Mum!’ Izzy insists, and there’s more laughter, and torches strobing inside the tents.
‘Can you handle this lot alone?’ Nick asks, jokingly, as he pulls on his jacket in the hallway, getting ready to leave.
‘I think so. But I’ll send up a flare if I need help.’
He smiles, and his eyes meet mine again. ‘I think you’re an amazing person,’ he says suddenly.
I look at him, not quite knowing how to respond. ‘Thanks,’ is all I can think of to say.
And then I realise he isn’t just referring to the Girl Friday project. He hasn’t stayed on after Izzy’s party because he had nothing better to do, or even to help with the publicity plans. He just wanted to be here, I decide, and I wanted him to be here too.
‘I mean it,’ he adds. I smile, catching a look in his kind eyes, and sense something stirring inside me; my heartbeat seems to quicken. It strikes me that I view Nick as a friend already, but perhaps there is more to it than that. Unless I am completely wrong, and have lost any ability to gauge these things, it feels like there is a spark of something between us.
Of course, the very thought of it is ridiculous. He doesn’t even live here – or even in the same hemisphere. He’ll be heading back to New Zealand in a few weeks’ time, to carry on with his life there, and I might never see him again. It’s not as if he comes over very often. It seems to be once a year, if that. But he seems happy to be here right now, and maybe that’s why he kisses me, quickly and lightly, on the cheek. Because he’s glad to be home.
Or maybe he just wanted to, I reflect, unable to dampen my ridiculous smile as I say goodnight. I watch him for a moment, tall and gangly, as he strides away down the street. Then, despite the fact that I am currently sharing it with thirteen children – who’ll expect pancakes first thing – I sort of float back into my house.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Saturday, November 9
Chrissie and I appear to be competing on the sleep-deprivation front: her with baby Lara, and me on my quest to amass more Girl Friday pieces, which involves more emailing late into the night. Because normal life must go on, and I can’t get away with working on the project at the office, beyond cramming in as many phone calls as possible at lunchtime.
Meanwhile, Nick has now joined in with the hunt, and a week since Izzy’s party a new clutch of goodies has arrived. We’ve now acquired a beautiful baby-blue jacket, a pair of outrageous silver boots, a crocheted waistcoat and a bunch of brightly beaded necklaces, chokers and belts. Still no poncho, though, and my hope of finding one is starting to wane.
‘Does that matter?’ Chrissie asks as I show her the growing collection in Spencer’s room. She’s wearing her blonde hair in a wilted topknot, and Lara is asleep in a papoose against her chest.
‘It does to me,’ I say. ‘I’ll just keep looking. The show’s happening on the first of December so there’s still time.’ I look around as Izzy wanders in to see what we’re up to.
‘What’ll the show be like?’ she asks, gazing around in wonder.
‘Well, there’ll be models dressed up in all these clothes, with spotlights and music and loads of people watching. At least, I hope people will come.’ I take her hand in mine. ‘You do remember all this is a secret, don’t you?’ I add.
‘Yeah, ’course I do.’ She looks up and smiles. ‘Don’t worry, Mum. I won’t tell.’
I turn to Chrissie. ‘You too,’ I tease her. ‘Penny still knows nothing about this.’
‘Of course,’ she says firmly. ‘Oh, I wish I could come and see the show, Viv. It’s going to be amazing!’
I look at her, momentarily confused. ‘I was hoping you’d be there. Can’t you come?’
‘I doubt it,’ she says briskly, following Izzy and me back downstairs. ‘There’s the baby, you know. It’s kind of difficult.’
‘But … it’s only a few hours on a Sunday evening. Tim would be fine with the kids, wouldn’t he?’
‘Yes, well, he says so …’ Hmmm. Being their father, and generally responsible and capable and all that. ‘But it just feels too soon to leave her,’ she adds.
‘You wouldn’t be leaving her,’ I chastise her gently. ‘She’d be with her dad, and the show’s almost a month away. Please come, Chrissie. I’d really like you to be there.’
She shakes her head, and I recognise it now: that befuddled look, when day and night blur into one; I guess she’s edging ahead on the sleep-deprivation stakes. ‘I tell you what,’ I add, as she’s leaving, ‘never mind the show. I mean, I’d love you to come but I think, actually, a night out would be even better. Why don’t we go out?’
‘Me and you?’ She seems to brighten at the possibility, then her face falls again. ‘But I’m not drinking. Well, only the occasional small glass of wine.’ She pats Lara’s head gently. ‘Feeding this little one.’
‘Of course, yes, but we could still have a lovely evening. I mean,’ I add, smili
ng, ‘the drink part doesn’t matter. I don’t have to get trolleyed whenever I go out.’
Chrissie looks aghast. ‘Oh, I wasn’t suggesting—’
‘No, I know you weren’t. So, how about tonight?’
‘Tonight?’ she gasps. ‘That’s too soon.’
‘Come on, be spontaneous—’
‘I haven’t been spontaneous since 1996!’ My God, Chrissie can actually laugh at herself. ‘Sorry to be a wet blanket,’ she adds. ‘It’s just … it’d need some planning. I’d have to rev myself up for it, make arrangements, dig out something decent to wear …’
‘I’m not asking you to be my plus one at a wedding,’ I tease her. ‘I’m only talking a bite to eat at the Pig and Pint.’
She laughs again, and I realise I can’t remember the last time I saw her all giggly like this. ‘Well, that sounds—’
‘Look, there’s Tim,’ I say quickly, spotting him unloading shopping from the boot of their car, with Ludo loitering at his side. I stride towards them, and a few quick words are exchanged, with Chrissie still dredging up numerous reasons why she cannot possibly leave the house after dark, without an infant strapped to her person.
‘No, Chrissie,’ Tim says firmly, glancing at me, ‘that’s it settled. I’m looking after Ludo, Lara and Izzy tonight. And you’re going out with Viv.’
‘But how will you manage all three of them?’ She turns to me. ‘Isn’t Izzy with Andy right now? Could she stay with him overnight?’
The cheesy flat shimmers into my mind. ‘Not really. In fact, she’s due back any minute …’
‘Of course I can manage,’ Tim says, blowing out air as he smirks at me. ‘Izzy can stay over so you don’t need to worry about rushing back for her.’
‘But Tim—’ Chrissie breaks off as Ludo announces that Izzy must come over – ‘No one ever comes to play with me!’ – and together, we carry the shopping bags into their house.
‘I’m impressed, Viv,’ Tim murmurs with a smile. ‘You’re obviously more persuasive than I’ve ever managed to be.’
