by Jules Wake
Nate eyed her and I was glad I wasn’t on the other end of that look, his mouth tightened but what he was about to say was swallowed as Grace appeared in the doorway, clutching a piece of silver tinsel and the blue snow boots I’d bought her to her chest, looking with suspicious distrust at her mother.
‘Oh, Grace!’ Elaine moved forward to take them from Grace’s hands. ‘They’re to go to the charity shop.’
‘But they’re mine.’
Like some small street urchin from a musical film, Grace ducked under her arms and ran to the other side of the room.
‘They’re mine,’ she yelled. ‘You can’t have them.’
Elaine frowned and looked over at Nate in confusion. ‘But you have lovely new ones. From Joules.’
‘They’re mine.’ Grace’s mouth folded into an implacable, mutinous line and she held the boots and the froth of tinsel tight to her chest.
‘Grace, I bought you beautiful brand-new boots. Those are horrible, ugly things. They need to go.’ She turned her back on Grace and was about to say something to Nate when Grace burst out, ‘They keep my feet warm. And this is my decoration for my tree. You can’t take them away. You’re horrible and I hate you.’
‘Grace Anna Williams. Don’t you speak to me like that. Go to your room. Now!’ snapped Elaine.
Even I jumped at her furious bark.
‘They’re mine and you’re just mean. You’re not having them,’ said Grace, so furious herself that she was unfazed by Elaine’s bristling, ugly anger.
‘I don’t want them, you stupid ch—’
‘Enough!’ barked Nate, glaring at both Elaine and Grace. Then, gentling his tone, he said, ‘Grace I’d like you to go up to your room. I know you’re upset but that’s no excuse for being rude.’
Grace stood still and looked up at her father, her face working with mutinous calculation as she figured out whether it was worth doing as she was told.
With a shuddery in-drawn breath, Grace plunked down on the floor, rammed her feet into the boots and wrapped the tinsel around her neck with Miss Piggy bravura that would have made me want to cheer if it wasn’t all so sad, before getting to her feet and sticking her nose up in the air as she stalked out of the kitchen.
I shouldn’t be witness to this; it was private family business.
‘I think I’d better go,’ I said hurriedly.
‘Yes,’ agreed Elaine, her face crumpling, her eyes shining with tears. ‘I think you probably should.’
Nate’s expression was thoughtful and as I gathered up my coat he stopped me. ‘Wait. Actually, Viola, I’ve got a massive favour to ask you.’
‘Oh?’ I glanced at Elaine.
‘Would you stay and babysit so that I can take Elaine out for dinner? I think we need some time to … to talk on our own.’ His brown eyes were unblinking as he held my startled gaze.
What? He wanted to fix his marriage on my time? I started to shake my head. I wanted out of here.
‘Please.’ The quiet heartfelt word scored a direct hit and I felt the hopeless flutter in my chest. ‘I need your help.’
I narrowed my eyes: need. He knew I couldn’t resist that word. We’d talked about it. Bastard.
‘This will be the last time,’ I said, lifting my chin and staring back at him. ‘There’ll be no more needing me.’
‘Thank you,’ he said again, holding my gaze as if he wanted to say something else. I could kill him for using my Achilles heel, especially in front of his wife. ‘Elaine, we’ll go in five minutes. I just want to talk to Grace.’
‘Good luck with that. I think she needs a firm hand and some proper discipline. Things have slipped while I’ve been away.’ Her voice was tight and angry. She’d dabbed away those brief tears but the upset had left her looking strained and subdued.
‘Why don’t you go and get ready, Elaine?’ Nate’s even, patient tone drew my gaze. There was something different about him. ‘We’ll leave in five minutes.’
‘Five minutes.’ She snatched up her handbag and with a return of her usual confidence stalked across the kitchen. ‘See you later, Viole-la.’
Nate waited until she’d gone and then came over to me. I wanted to step back but couldn’t.
‘Sorry about that. Are you OK?’ His face softened.
‘I’m fine.’ Inside I seized up, stiff and unyielding. I couldn’t let him affect me. We were done.
‘Thanks for staying, Viola.’ He cupped my elbow and looked into my eyes as if he were trying to say a lot more.
I stepped back, frightened by the sudden hungry leap of my pulse. I wanted to do something dangerous like kiss him.
He was standing so close I could hear his breathing, smell his cologne and see the black pepper bristles shadowing his chin. Hopeless longing gripped me. I shouldn’t be here. It was made worse by the answering hunger mirrored on his face. I couldn’t do this again. After today, this really was it.
‘Viola,’ he said softly, the timbre of his voice playing across my skin, ‘I won’t be long. Can you put Grace to bed? Look after her for me.’
I nodded, my heart twisting in my chest as his eyes sought mine, a strange urgency in them.
‘Thank you for being there for her.’
He ran a barely-there finger across the tops of my knuckles, a gesture that echoed one less than a week ago on my last night here, reminding me of all that we had lost. I pulled my hand away.
‘Don’t,’ I whispered, feeling the familiar clouds of despair start to gather, black, rain-filled and full of misery, but I couldn’t move away.
His eyes glimmered and he leaned forward, pressing a kiss onto my lips, coaxing them with infinite gentleness to move beneath his. I closed my eyes, the kiss like coming home, before wrenching back. This was wrong. His wife was upstairs.
He touched my lips with his finger and whispered, ‘Thank you, Viola.’
I watched as he walked away, just like he had at my flat. Then he’d moved like an old man. Now … weirdly, there was almost a spring in his step. He looked back over his shoulder and smiled.
Turning away, unable to bear the pain, I watched his reflection in the patio windows disappear up the stairs and then closed my eyes, an uneasy feeling in my chest.
Chapter 31
After Nate and Elaine had left, I went upstairs to find Grace. Tearstained and subdued, she was lying on her bed staring up at the ceiling, holding onto the blue boots and the tinsel.
‘You OK?’ I asked, coming to sit on the side of her bed.
With a half-hearted nod she sat up, drawing her knees to her chest, still hanging onto the boots.
‘Want to come downstairs and watch some television?’
She shook her head. It was quite restful in the dark cocoon of her bedroom, lit by the fairy lights around the bed head.
‘Tell you what? Why don’t you pop your PJs on, I’ll go and make a hot chocolate and I’ll read you some more Harry Potter?’
‘Yes, please,’ she said, so quickly that I felt quite pleased with my child whispering skills.
‘OK, you got yourself a deal. Be back in two ticks.’
When I returned with two mugs of hot chocolate, she was already tucked beneath the covers, one of the boots poking out of the duvet by her pillow.
With a bit of juggling and wriggling, the two of us managed to accommodate the boots, the tinsel and our hot chocolates without spilling a drop, and settle into a comfortable position just under the little reading lamp attached to the bedstead.
Determined to cheer Grace up, I went to town on the voices with a performance worthy of my own audio book contract, although I suspected I probably wasn’t a patch on Stephen Fry.
Before long I could feel her body, nestled in next to mine, start to soften, and her breathing deepen. I kept reading for another minute but I knew from the weight of her head now slumped against my ribs that she was fast asleep. With a delicate bit of manoeuvring I wriggled my way out of the bed without disturbing her. I pulled the boots out and laid them neatl
y by the bed and slid the tinsel from beneath her pillows and draped it along the top of her bookshelf.
Touching my lips to her cheek, I backed out of the room, standing at the doorway watching her sleep for a long, long time, tears shimmering in my eyes. I had to face it, this might be the last time I saw her.
It hurt too much to see her and Nate.
At last I tore myself away and picked my way down the stairs. The insipid Christmas tree was level with the top of the stairs and as I came down each step, I looked at it with greater and greater pity, as if the tree were a real entity and knew that it had been short-changed.
Back in the kitchen, I tidied up, even though it wasn’t my house. It was like a farewell tour as I put the tea towels back on their hooks, straightened the chopping block and turned off the dripping tap. Things I’d done so many times before. I ran a hand over the Roberts radio, still plugged in by the draining board. It had managed a stay of execution and retained its place on the worktop, although I noticed sadly that the chicken tablecloth had gone and so had the ugly placemats.
I looked at my watch. The silence in the house, heavy and still, felt oppressive but I didn’t feel like watching television or putting any music on. Why, oh why, couldn’t I have said no to Nate? With a heavy sigh, regret writhing through me with sinuous spite, reminding me with unkind persistence of what I’d lost, I walked up the stairs to the entrance hall. The despised Christmas tree gloated down at me. Turning away, I picked up my viola from the hall table where I’d left it earlier, a defiant thought making me smile. Even if it was only momentary, at least with my music I could leave an echo of myself on the silent house.
I’m not sure how long I played for, but my body had relaxed and I’d breathed into the rhythm of the music, my muscles supple and responsive. I finished the particularly tricky piece I’d been practising off and on for the last few weeks, feeling happier with it than I had to date when I heard enthusiastic clapping.
Whirling round, I realised that I’d been so absorbed I hadn’t heard Grace come downstairs. I was a terrible babysitter. She had curled up on the end of the sofa in the living room.
‘You should be in bed,’ I said quietly. ‘Did I disturb you?’
‘No.’ She shook her head, sounding wide awake. ‘I needed a wee. And then I heard you and wanted to listen.’ She sighed. ‘You’re very good.’
‘Thank you but it is bedtime.’
‘I don’t have school tomorrow.’ She folded her hands on her lap and looked far too innocent. ‘And I’m not tired now.’
I tutted. ‘What are you like? You can stay up for half an hour. Do you want me to read some more Harry Potter to you?’
‘No.’ She shuffled off the sofa and came towards me. With a careful hand she touched the bridge of my viola. ‘Will you teach me something?’
I was about to say no, the viola really wasn’t the instrument to start learning with, but she’d been said no to a lot in her short life.
‘OK,’ I said, sitting her down on the armchair, standing in front of her. ‘I’ll teach you how to make the sounds with the bow.’
Carefully, I placed the viola under her chin and arranged her hand to support the neck, holding my hand over hers. The room felt cold for an instant as I checked that she was holding my precious instrument.
‘Now, hold the bow in this hand. And draw it very gently over the strings.’ I stood back to watch as she tentatively moved the bow.
Her eyes widened at the horrible screech and she tensed. I almost stepped forward, worried she might drop the viola, but forced myself to stand still. Instead I smiled reassuringly at her.
‘That’s fine,’ I said, fighting the urge to take it back. Grace needed to learn that not everything in life had to be perfect. ‘Everyone makes that noise when they start.’ Her brow furrowed with instant suspicion.
‘Everyone,’ I reiterated. ‘How will you know if you’ve got it right? You have to make mistakes first. You have to get it wrong to know what that feels like, so you’ll know what it feels like when it’s right.’
She frowned again.
‘Honest.’ I held up my hands in mock surrender. I took the viola and bow from her. ‘Watch.’ I played, not quite sawing at the strings but certainly abandoning years of training and technique to make the point and added a little jig to further make the point. ‘How bad is this?’
She giggled, so I played louder and added a few hip wriggles and shook my booty in time to the raucous noise. ‘Can you be this bad?’ I asked, still dancing. Her eyes lit up and she nodded, putting her hands over her ears.
‘That’s horrible, Viola.’
‘I know.’ I gave her a broad smile and stopped. ‘Now, you try. Be as bad as you can, be really, really bad,’ I teased before adding a little cautiously, ‘but gently.’
She got up from the sofa and I arranged the viola in her hands and stepped back. She stood a little straighter and with a lot more confidence lifted the bow, flashing me a quick naughty grin. There were several more awful screeches and she faltered, looking anxiously at me. ‘Keep going,’ I encouraged.
She managed to wreak some truly horrible sounds out of my poor viola before I said, ‘OK, now, feel it with me.’ I sat down opposite her and stretched my legs out. ‘Come sit here between my legs with your back to me.’
She nestled in front of me, her back to my chest. I helped her support the viola with one hand, conscious it was quite heavy for her, and then covered her bow hand with mine. Very gently I helped guide her hand over the strings, showing her the correct positioning.
‘You want to glide the bow over the strings as if you were easing the music out of them. The strings and the bow are best friends; they love each other. Neither one is more important,’ I said as I steered her hand and the bow over the strings, eliciting a few scratchy notes, the resulting sound a distinct improvement. ‘Can you feel that?’
She nodded, her face screwed up in concentration. I eased my touch on her hand, letting her guide the bow herself. This time, although far from perfect, the sound was almost mellow and musical. I took my hand away completely from her bow hand. There were still a lot of screeches but in between there was the odd note.
She turned round and looked up at me, wonderment dawning on her delicate face. ‘I did it.’
‘You did, sweet pea.’
Lifting the bow, she tried again and I looked down at the blonde curls, resisting the urge to bury my noise in her soft clean hair and squidge her tight to me. My throat tightened at the thought of letting her go.
A movement caught my eye and I looked up to see Nate stepping out from the shadows in the hall into a beam of light coming in through the window from the outside street lights. He stood with his jacket hooked over one finger on his shoulder and leaned against the door jamb. How long had he been home? I’d not heard the front door.
A slow, tender smile lit his face as his eyes roved over my face. Mute, I stared back at him, taking in every feature. Those warm expressive eyes, the soft curve of his kind mouth and the shadowed jawline that I wanted to press soft kisses against. My throat tightened and I could feel tears rising. I loved him so much it hurt. It was impossible to tear my eyes away from his, from that intent solemn stare. The air between us felt heavy and silent; the rest of the world had stopped, leaving the three of us in a private tableau.
‘I love you,’ he mouthed. I felt hot and then cold and hot again as my heart stopped and stuttered.
My eyes flickered over his shoulder, beyond him to the hall.
He shook his head.
Elaine had gone.
With a swallow I blinked; a tear escaped and slid down my cheek as I stared back at him, my feelings reflected in every movement of my face.
Grace, sensing something stopped and looked up. ‘Daddy! You’re home. Viola’s teaching me.’
‘So I see,’ he said dryly, with a wink at me. ‘Or rather heard.’
‘Did you hear me being really baad?’ she asked, scrambling to her fee
t, the bow and viola still in her hands. I put my hands on her waist to steady her.
‘I did indeed. You were terrible.’
‘So was Viola,’ she said, flashing a look of mischief at me. She crossed to the nearby case and with reverent care laid the viola and bow into the lining. ‘I think I’ll go to bed now.’
Nate raised an eyebrow. I wiped a surreptitious hand at my face.
‘’Night, Viola.’
I rose to my feet and she hugged my waist before tugging at my sleeve to whisper something in my ear. Before I could say anything, she turned and went over to Nate, who bent down to kiss her.
‘’Night, Daddy.’
She shot me one beatific smile before she padded off to the stairs, leaving Nate and me staring at each other with bemusement.
We both stood perfectly still, listening to her as she climbed the stairs.
Then Nate took a step into the room. Fireflies of hope and excitement winked in and out, dancing low in my stomach.
I took a matching step forward, my knees suddenly not very sure of themselves. My heart thudded so hard I was sure he must be able to hear it and I could feel the throb of its urgent pulse in my ears, at my throat, my wrists.
Anticipation buzzed in the small space between us, almost as if we were savouring this final moment before the die was cast one way or the other. Then Nate took three quick strides to me, his hands reaching forward to grasp my wrists, his fingers pressing on the furious pulse there, pulling me to him to close the gap more quickly. With his arms encircling me, I let out a gasp of breath, not realising I’d been holding onto it so tightly.
‘Viola,’ he murmured, even as he lowered his head to kiss me. It was a desperate, possessive kiss, the like of which made my mouth curve into an involuntary smile under the delicious onslaught of his lips as my heart melted. My hands slid around his waist, relishing the solid feel of him and the delicious warmth of his skin through his shirt.
I laid my head against his chest, hearing the thud, thud, thud of his heart. My arms tightened around him as I felt a curious sense of contentment and ease. The sort that came from the touch of someone you know with bone-deep awareness is the other half of your soul.
