by Jules Wake
‘Want to go and change and put some warm socks on?’ I asked. ‘While I make a hot chocolate?’
She gave me a mutinous glare and shook her head.
‘You want to leave your wet tights on?’ I mustn’t smile at her stubbornness. ‘Or you don’t want hot chocolate?’
That made her pause. She shook her head, her mouth pressed tight.
At an impasse, I stared down at her wet feet. ‘Grace, why don’t you go and change? Then you can come downstairs and tell me what’s wrong.’ I gave her a wink. ‘I’ll get the squirty cream out.’
‘I hate you.’ Her face screwed up as the words burst out like a balloon popping.
Then she turned tail and ran up the stairs, stopping halfway up to yell, ‘I hate you. I hate you,’ before carrying on and slamming her bedroom door with such force that the house shook.
Too shocked to move, I stared at the stairs, the hairs on my arms standing on end. The silence of the house rang in my ears and I crept forward to sink down onto the third step. Where had that come from? What did I do now? I knew she didn’t mean it. I’d seen outbursts like this with my cousins’ girls over the years, although something had always triggered it.
I couldn’t think of anything that had happened this morning. Grace had insisted on following me to the front door, granted a bit put out that I wasn’t taking her to school, but she’d given me a big smacking kiss on the cheek and hugged me around the waist. If anything, she’d been anxious about me picking up from school. I couldn’t think of any way I’d let her down.
After racking my brains, listening anxiously for any sound, I crept upstairs. Now I could hear her sobbing. I carefully opened the door. Grace was face down on her bed, crying as if her heart would break.
I carefully eased down onto the bed, sitting beside her, and reached a hand out to touch her shoulder.
She stiffened and hauled in a sharp breath, releasing it into a juddery burst of sobs.
‘Grace, sweetie. I’m sorry you’re so upset but I can’t do anything about it if you don’t tell me. Has someone upset you?’
Her whole body had gone ramrod-straight.
I rubbed her back in soothing circles. She didn’t say anything and I could feel the tension in her small body.
‘Sweet pea, I want to help. Is there anything I can do? You can talk to me.’
She shook her head, with her face still buried in the pillow, her hands shielding her face.
I stayed there rubbing her back and gradually I felt her relax but she didn’t turn around. What else could I say? I felt helpless and frustrated. She was right, I wasn’t her mum but I cared. Surely she knew that much.
With a sigh, I leaned over and placed a gentle kiss on the back of her head. ‘I love you, Grace Williams. I might not be your mum –’ I paused before saying fiercely ‘– but I’ll always be your friend.’
I felt her tense again but she didn’t move. I’d said as much as I could. With one final regretful rub of her back, I stood up. ‘I’ll be downstairs.’
My heart felt heavy and full as I took each step down to the kitchen. Nate would be home soon; perhaps he could tease out of her what was wrong. Blindly, I made a beeline for my viola, which was in the dining room area which, now I’d moved the dining table, had become a redundant space. It seemed a good place to keep my instrument while I was here. This part of the room, thanks to the toasty under-floor heating, was always warm but not too dry and didn’t suffer big variations in temperature, whereas Nate’s study upstairs did get very cold at night.
Taking my viola out of the case, I tucked it under my chin in a familiar and soothing automatic move born of years of muscle memory. Taking a slow calming breath, I lifted the bow, tightening my fingers to hold it just so and with the significant, almost meditative pause that had become habit before I touched the strings, I took another breath and then, as I breathed out, I stroked the bow with sure, coming home confidence. My heart bumped as the first notes, low and melodic, filled the room. I played a medley of familiar pieces for ten minutes before I settled on one of my favourites, the 1st movement from Beethoven’s String Quartet No.14, its haunting, subtle melancholic arrangement, soaring and diving, mirroring my heartache. I was lost to everything but my bow teasing and releasing the notes, my fingers working the strings, drawing the notes into existence. There was no feeling like it, the power to make the music happen, to choose how it sounded: the speed, the intensity of the notes, the vibrato, the pressure of the bow; there were so many variables and I was the captain of this ship. The knowledge had always held a unique power that filled me with both intense happiness and a curious calm. I was meant for this.
Out of the corner of my eye I saw a movement and I shifted slightly. I’d been playing for nearly an hour and now Grace had crept into the room. She was sitting on the line that demarcated the dining area from the kitchen, her ankles crossed, her knees up to her chin and her head buried in her arms. I didn’t acknowledge that I’d seen her, just carried on playing.
A few bars later and I noticed that her head lifted. Now she was watching me, her eyes following my bow.
Planning carefully, I segued into a new tune, Vivaldi, full of sunshine and joy, lifting the mood and taking a step towards Grace. I strung it out, a tiny step at a time until I was almost upon her and her head was tilted up to look at me. Moving into a sprightly polka, the exaggerated strokes and slashes of my bow were filled with gay energy. Coming to the end, I finished with a flourish and stood in front of Grace and dropped into a deep curtsy.
Grace looked up with solemn eyes. ‘Cassie says you’re Daddy’s girlfriend.’ Her lip quivered. ‘And if Daddy has a girlfriend, Mummy will never come back.’ Accusation filled her eyes.
My heart sank, properly sank like a heavy weight anchor. Bloody Zoe De Marco. Out of the mouths of babes and their bloody mother. I remembered Cassie’s whisperings and nudgings this morning.
‘Oh, sweet pea.’ I dropped to the floor in front of her, resting my viola across my knees. ‘Daddy and I are friends.’ I sighed. Was honesty the best policy? I didn’t feel I could say anything more without Nate’s permission or agreement. We hadn’t discussed talking to Grace. Everything was too new and all we’d done is agree a date.
‘Grace, the most important thing is you. I am friends with Daddy but I’m friends with you too. I wouldn’t do anything to hurt you.’
She narrowed her eyes. ‘I don’t want you to be Daddy’s girlfriend.’
Ouch. I couldn’t lie to her but I didn’t know what to say. I had no idea what the situation between Nate and Elaine was. It suddenly occurred to me that I’d been looking at this all wrong. Elaine was Grace’s mother; she was all she’d ever known. Just because I had found Elaine wanting, didn’t mean that Grace did. I’d got too carried away, imagining how Grace must feel, putting my emotions on her and my experience of my own parents’ indifference and preoccupation with their careers.
Shame washed over me. And I reached out and touched her hand. ‘I’m sorry, Grace. You must miss your mum.’
She nodded, her eyes filled with tears. ‘Do you think she’ll ever come back?’
‘I don’t know,’ I said.
‘I’ve been trying to be a really good girl. I was naughty today. My teacher told me off.’
I smiled at her. ‘We all have off days,’ I said. ‘It’s difficult to be perfect all the time.’
‘Where did you learn to do that?’ She pointed at my viola. ‘It sounds like real music. Like on the radio or the television or in a film.’ She looked curiously at the instrument lying across my lap.
‘I started playing when I was your age. I practise every day.’
‘Can you teach me?’
‘I could but you would be better learning the violin first, which is a bit smaller and would be easier for you to hold. This is a viola, which is bigger and heavier, which is funny really because it sounds as if it should be smaller. But I can find you a teacher if you really want to learn.’
&n
bsp; She nodded and then whispered, ‘I’m sorry I was mean to you.’
I shuffled closer to her and put an arm around her shoulder. ‘I can’t say it’s OK because it’s not OK to hurt people’s feelings, but I understand that you were upset and hurting.’
‘I’m a bad person,’ she said, looking heartbroken.
I smiled. ‘No … no, you’re not. You were sad and cross and upset.’ There’d been a lot of emotional upset in her little life; she was entitled to let rip every now and then. ‘And you’ve said sorry and that’s the most important thing. Thank you.’
‘I don’t hate you. I really, really like you.’ Her expression faltered. ‘And if I do, then Daddy probably does too.’ She scrunched up her eyes and I could see the conflict. ‘But you can’t be his girlfriend.’ Something I was starting to realise myself.
Chapter 24
Nate was already there when I arrived at the restaurant. He’d chosen well; Pietro’s was one of those tiny Italian restaurants owned by generation after generation of the same family. As soon as I walked in I was greeted with ‘Bella, bella, welcome,’ and a big wide smile from under the bushiest moustache I’d ever seen. ‘I am Pietro. You must be the bella signorina the gentleman is waiting for.’
Taking my coat like some royal courtier, he ushered me through the restaurant past small booths offering privacy and intimacy with rich purple velvet banquettes. Heavy brocade curtains in gold, lilac and black between each booth created clever screens. They were attached to the ceiling on brass poles, putting me in mind of old-fashioned curtained four-poster beds.
As I drew closer, Pietro gestured to the final booth and with a charming bow left me. Nate was sitting waiting for me and the second our eyes met there was an instant charge of sexual attraction between us. This was a date, a proper grown-up man, woman date in an intimate and rather sexy restaurant.
Nate watched my every step across the dimly lit restaurant with dark hawk-like eyes, his stern gaze never leaving mine as I took the final few steps to reach him, by which time I was almost breathless, anticipation and sheer downright lust thudding through me at the unwavering look in his eyes. Nate rose and took a step towards me. Taller than me, solid and broad, he stood without saying anything, those dark eyes still locked on mine, and then his face softened into a small intimate smile that made me ache with want and my sore heart quicken a little. I managed a tremulous smile up at him, drinking in the sight of his handsome, almost too-gorgeous-to-be-true face.
He leaned forward, I felt his warm breath on my neck as he kissed the juncture of my jaw and neck, an unbelievably private and tender gesture that almost made my knees buckle. ‘I can’t decide whether to cancel the reservation for lunch and just take you straight to a hotel or close these curtains and ravish you right here,’ he whispered as his lips feathered across my skin.
I swallowed and gazed up at him, blinking uncertainly, my nipples suddenly on alert and my nerve endings on fire.
This was not how I’d imagined our first proper date.
Over the weekend I’d got used to the stubbled, casual man with infinite depths of kindness and tenderness to his daughter. That version of Nate had completely overshadowed the man I’d first glimpsed across a crowded tube that had given a new lease of life to my dormant hormones. Said hormones which were now springing to action with attached super hero powers and urging me to do the unthinkable. That hotel room sounded so tempting, as did the idea of sinking back on the soft velvet, and I so wasn’t that sort of girl … not normally.
Then Nate smiled, a million-dollar, heart-shivering smile of such sexiness that there was a strong possibility I might dissolve into a puddle at his feet as he said in a low tone, ‘But you deserve better.’
Oh, boy, he had all the lines and all I could do was grin stupidly up at him as he took my hand and pulled me down onto the seat next to him. As soon as we sat down, cocooned in the sumptuous booth, it felt as if we were the only people in the restaurant; the sounds of the other diners seemed muted and distant. For a moment we sat looking at each other like a pair of complete idiots and I imagined that his heart was probably beating as hard as mine. I could see the pulse in his neck pumping furiously.
It was all the hearts and flowers sappy stuff that you see in a film, down to the bowl of overblown roses on the table, scenting the air with their delicate perfume … and it should have seemed weird in public, in a restaurant, but it didn’t. It felt romantic and wonderful. Then he moved forward and slid his mouth over my lips, taking them in a kiss that went from hot to lift-off in seconds. I knew exactly why Nate had chosen this restaurant and this booth tucked away at the back. His lips eased all the hurt I’d been nurturing and I let him lead, the kiss deepening as his hands lifted to stroke my jawline, threading their way into my hair to hold the back of my head.
I sighed into his mouth and relaxed into the simple pleasure of being kissed and kissing. I adored the way his mouth moved over mine and the way his nose just tucked neatly next to mine. Sometimes kissing can be messy and awkward, nothing fits right, but, kissing Nate, everything just worked.
It was heaven and hell because, much as I let myself be led by the emotion, at the back of my head my conscience nagged. I had to talk to him.
Eventually we pulled apart and he stared into my face with a satisfied smile on his face.
‘I missed you.’
I couldn’t help but smile at that. ‘You saw me this morning. I’m practically living with you. You can’t have missed me.’
‘I haven’t kissed you properly since Sunday night.’ We both blushed. Sunday night had been a close call, heated kisses that had threatened to get out of hand until Nate had heard – thankfully, he had bat ears or perhaps just finely tuned dad instincts – Grace’s pitiful call of, ‘Daddy,’ before she’d appeared in the doorway of the lounge saying she’d had a bad dream. Luckily she’d still been too sleepy to notice my hastily rearranged clothes.
Thank goodness she hadn’t seen anything. I winced. She really would have hated me then. I had to tell Nate what was going on in her little head.
He leaned in to kiss me again and I pulled back, wincing at his surprised expression.
‘Nate, there’s something I need to tell you. I didn’t get chance last night or this morning.’
Circumstances had conspired against me. He’d been late in from work and I’d had to dash straight off to the theatre. There’d been a tragic incident on the line on my way home, so I’d missed him late evening. And this morning Grace had clung like a limpet to him, alternating between shooting dagger glares my way and sunny smiles. Poor kid was very confused. Adults could be shitty sometimes. I could have strangled Zoe De Marco and her vicious whisperings. What had she hoped to gain? Had she any idea the pain she was causing Grace?
‘What?’ he asked warily, just as the young waiter arrived to hand over the menus and offer us a glass of Prosecco each on the house.
I felt slightly sick as our drinks order was taken but as soon as the waiter left I looked at him, putting my elbow on the table.
‘It’s Grace.’ I sighed, still feeling the kick of hurt from yesterday evening.
‘What about Grace? I’ve never seen her so happy. This weekend she was … like a proper little girl. I’d got used to her being so adult and mature, which isn’t right for someone her age. You’ve brought something into our lives, Viola.’ He reached out and took my hand. ‘She’s been a different child this last week. Happy, relaxed, not so fearful of doing things wrong. You’re a good influence.’ He smiled and lifted my hand to his mouth. ‘And you make me very happy.’
I leaned back in my chair. ‘You’re not supposed to say those things. You’re supposed to warn me off again. Remember how you did when I first met you? The I’m-not-ready-for-a-relationship speech, the one you do so well.’
Nate looked a little bemused but still had that life’s good smile on his face. ‘I was wrong. I am ready. I want a relationship with you.’
I sighed and rubbed
a hand across my eyes before looking up at him. ‘You can’t. It’s not fair on Grace.’
I paused as the waiter handed us our fizzing glasses and a set of menus.
‘Can you recommend anything?’ I asked Nate, assuming he’d been here before.
‘No,’ said Nate. ‘But the restaurant and food came highly recommended. They have my favourite on the menu.’
‘What’s that?’ I asked, realising there was still so little I knew about him, even though I felt I’d known him for ever.
‘Pasta, in particular spaghetti, which, according to Pietro –’ he pointed to the menu ‘– is the food of lovers.’
‘Is it?’
‘Haven’t you ever seen Lady and the Tramp?’ demanded Nate with mock severity.
I almost choked on my Prosecco. ‘I have but … I always think of spaghetti being too messy to be romantic.’
‘Not the way I eat it,’ he said with a teasing lift of his eyebrows as the waiter arrived to take our orders. Conscious of the burden nagging at me, as soon as we’d given our orders I snapped the menu shut, took Nate’s and handed them both to him.
‘Poor man –’ Nate lifted his glass in toast, chinking it against mine ‘– I think you terrified him with your ordering competence.’
‘I still need to talk to you about Grace.’ I heaved out a sigh. ‘People have been talking … she’s very upset.’
‘She didn’t say anything to me.’ He looked worried.
Tears pricked at my eyes. ‘She was … tricky with me when I picked her up from school yesterday.’ I wasn’t going to tell him exactly what she’d said to me; that would be mean and unfair. I had to keep reminding myself she was the child, I was the adult. ‘Someone intimated that I might be your girlfriend.’ I was, however, going to dob that harpy Zoe De Marco in. ‘Cassie’s mum. Apparently Cassie suggested to Grace that I’m your girlfriend.’
