One Small Step

by MA Binfield

  “Hey, Dad,” she called across to him. “When do we stop for that tea break you promised me an hour ago?”

  “Struggling, sweet pea?” He swiped his gloved hand across his brow, leaving behind a smear of mud.

  John Miller was nearly sixty, but he looked closer to fifty. He had aged well and kept himself in good shape. Despite the cold, he was stripped down to a T-shirt, now soaked in sweat, the hard work keeping him warmer than the jumper and rain jacket he had discarded. He put down his shovel and picked his way across the allotment toward the shed at the far end of the plot, its double doors wide open. He rummaged in a rucksack hanging on the back of one of two camping chairs, and fished out a flask and a large square Tupperware container.

  “I might even have something for us to eat.” He waved the container at Iris.

  Iris dropped her own shovel and came quickly to his side. She dropped into one of the chairs, glad to give her aching back a rest and more than happy to help eat whatever was in the container.

  “I reckon we’re about halfway.” He was an optimistic soul.

  “If you mean halfway to death, then yeah. When you asked me to help with planting, I was imagining scattering a few seeds, maybe plugging in some plants. I didn’t realize we’d have to dig the whole thing over first. And if I’d known your new allotment was this big, I’d have insisted we rent a couple of diggers.” Iris pulled a face at him.

  Her dad leaned over and ruffled Iris’s hair in that way that only he was allowed to do. She pretended to object, knowing his hands were covered in mud, but not really minding at all. He poured tea into two tin cups he had fetched from inside the shed.

  “It’s good for you. Better than a gym trip. Fresh air, exercise, time spent with your old dad.”

  “Your energy levels make me feel old,” Iris said.

  “But you are old, sweet pea. The big 3-0 isn’t too far away.”

  “Great, thanks for the reminder, Dad.” She grinned.

  He grinned back at her. The two of them were unmistakably related. Her dad had the same black hair, no sign of it thinning even at sixty, and the same brooding demeanor. But when he smiled, his open wide smile made him seem less surly, less intimidating.

  He passed Iris a thick slice of banana loaf. Homemade, of course. Iris’s dad was a carpenter by trade, but he was also a man who could cook, clean, and cry at soppy films.

  “I’m just glad you came. I wasn’t expecting the help on a weekday, and I knew turning it over the first time would be hard.”

  “Day off, I’m owed loads of flexitime, and I’m trying to take some of it back. I worked till eleven last night. I could probably take a month off and Cottoms would still owe me time.”

  He frowned. “Still working too hard?”

  “Maybe. I don’t know anymore. The long hours have just become so normal.” Iris paused. “Though I have been doing a bit more social stuff lately. It feels good.”

  “Oh yeah, like what?” He said it through a mouthful of cake.

  Iris put on the sweater she had tied around her waist; sitting down had let the cold back in.

  “Oh, this and that. Remember I said someone new joined the team? Cam. I mentioned her I think?”

  “The American?”

  “Yeah, we’ve been getting on well, hanging out a bit, y’know?”

  He nodded.

  “We have stuff in common. She likes poetry, she reads a lot, and she wants to find out stuff about London. She’s invited me to dinner later actually. That’s assuming my arms recover to the point that I can actually pick up a knife and fork. I’m looking forward to it.” She picked a corner off the cake and popped it into her mouth.

  “Though I’m also kind of worried about it.” Iris looked at her dad. “She’s so cool. I mean, she’s funny, she’s smart, she’s curious. She’s everything you’d want in a new friend.” Iris stopped.

  “Is there a ‘but’?”

  “Not a ‘but,’ no. Maybe an ‘and’ though.”

  “And?”

  “And if I keep eating this I won’t want the dinner she’s cooking for us.” Iris wasn’t sure now that she wanted to talk about it.

  “Nice try, sweet pea. What’s making you anxious about making a friend who sounds as cool as you are?”

  “She’s also beautiful. Really beautiful. Like your heart kind of skips when you catch her in a certain light kind of beautiful. And…I’m attracted to her. I know I shouldn’t be and I know it’s not fair to her because she’s engaged and been nothing but friendly, but I can’t help it.” Iris exhaled. “I hate that I’m attracted to her. It’s so unexpected and I really wish I wasn’t.”

  “You can’t help who you find attractive, Iris. It’s not something to be ashamed of. People always find people attractive, even people they shouldn’t. I know I do. I always had the hots for your geography teacher. Remember her? Married, about ten years younger than me, but I couldn’t help myself. Used to spend ages choosing a shirt whenever it was time to attend parents’ evening.” He leaned across to put a hand on Iris’s shoulder.

  “The important thing isn’t what you feel when you catch sight of her looking beautiful, it’s what you do, what kind of friend you are. Are you treating her well, with respect, and acting like a friend, or are you trying to act on your attraction?”

  “God, no, Dad, I mean, of course I wouldn’t try. She’s got a fiancé. I’ve met him. He’s the one that invited me to dinner. I just…well, it makes me anxious. I think that I’ll give it away by saying or doing the wrong thing, and she’ll be appalled and it’ll stop us being friends. I really don’t want that to happen. I don’t wanna be that person, the one who can’t control her feelings and I don’t want to lose her friendship.” She didn’t want to be having this conversation but knew it was exactly what she needed, why she had come.

  “Iris, love, cut yourself some slack. I know what this is about and I think you do too.” He looked into her eyes and Iris looked down at her feet.

  “Amanda.”

  “Exactly. This is about Amanda being back, reminding you about the breakup. I know you did things you weren’t proud of, but that doesn’t mean you should stop trusting yourself. Honestly, sweet pea, it was a long time ago and it’s time to forgive yourself. I trust in who you are, and I bet Cam trusts you too.” He squeezed her shoulder as he spoke.

  Iris let his words sink in, willing herself to believe them. “I told Cam about Amanda cheating on me, how awful I’d been to live with, how I didn’t even try and work things out, all the stuff I did afterward. Stuff I’ve never even told you. I think I told her because on some level I wanted to push her away, wanted her to reject me so I didn’t have to face up to the fact that I’m attracted to her and it’s likely to fuck up our friendship.” Iris shook her head slightly. “But she didn’t hate me for it. She was so supportive, so solid about it, and it just made me want her friendship even more than I did already.” Iris bit her lip. “I think she’s gotten under my defenses and I’ve freaked out a bit because I haven’t let anyone get this close to me in so long.”

  He put his hand on Iris’s arm. “There you go then. There’s your answer. She sounds great. You showed her you at your worst and she still likes you enough to be cooking you dinner. Sounds to me like you don’t have to worry too much about her.”

  Iris nodded, believing him, believing it could be okay. And then she leaned over and kissed her dad on the cheek. He was the best. The absolute best.

  “How’s it been seeing Amanda again after all this time?” He sipped his tea.

  “Okay actually, better than I expected. Of course it reminded me that I wasn’t good enough for her back then. It made me doubt myself—is making me doubt myself—but she was nice to me, and we both acted like it was all forgotten and over with. We were fine around each other. Cam helped I think. She’s been completely on my side and made me hate myself less.”

  “I’m glad you have someone who you can talk to, who sounds like they understand you.” He pick
ed at his fingers, at the blisters that were developing.

  “Yeah, maybe she does.”

  They sat in silence for a few minutes drinking their tea and watching the birds swooping down into the overturned mud hoping for worms.

  “And she really likes poetry.” Iris smiled at her dad. “She’s been encouraging me to perform. I’ve been complaining about it to her, but actually it feels great. It feels like she sees that part of me and thinks I’m worth paying attention to.”

  “Even if you don’t?” He said the words gently.

  “Even if I don’t.”

  He topped up both their teas, then put the empty flask back in his bag.

  “Is Cam the one that’s also joined the footie team?”

  Iris nodded. “She’s also brilliant at football. Actually, if I could find one damn thing about her that wasn’t perfect, it’d be a bit helpful right now.”

  “Maybe she’s a terrible cook. And keeps a slovenly house. And farts after dinner.” He chuckled.

  “Yeah, let’s hope so.”

  Iris clinked her metal cup to her dad’s. “To my wise old dad.”

  “To my worrisome sweet pea.” He drained his tea. “Now, get yourself over there and start digging over the rhubarb patch before the rain comes back. You’ll need to work up an appetite if she’s as bad a cook as we’re hoping.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Cam stopped chopping the vegetables on the wooden board in front of her, her mind drifting back to Iris, to what Jess had said in the lunchroom. Jess was jealous and clearly trying to sabotage things, but that didn’t mean she hadn’t thought a lot about what she had said. Cam didn’t think Iris would make a move on her, not for a second. It wasn’t just that Iris had been clear that she’d sworn off women, it was that she hadn’t given any indication that she was attracted to Cam.

  Cam’s mind drifted back to the moment when Iris had knelt before her in the changing room, examining her sore leg. Was there something in her eyes then? Cam had felt something intimate between them, but had Iris? Cam had no idea. All she knew for sure was that Iris had been nothing but sweet, sincere, and completely appropriate, and that Jess was a troublemaker who still had designs on Iris.

  Cam sighed and switched on the radio hoping for a distraction from her thoughts. Cam had bought juicy steaks for the three of them to eat but yet another last-minute work trip meant Ryan couldn’t join them for dinner so she’d changed her mind and decided to cook swordfish with ratatouille. Ryan hated fish, and Cam was going to take advantage of his absence to eat what she wanted for a change. And happily, that was also what Iris wanted. Cam had given Iris the choice for dinner and she’d texted back. Swordfish sounds great to me adding a cute fish emoji.

  Cam scraped the vegetables into the pan and added some stock. Her phone beeped and she reached into her pocket. White wine or red?

  Cam typed a quick message back. Red. She was looking forward to seeing Iris and felt slightly disloyal that she was happy for once that Ryan had been called away.

  Of course his absence meant she didn’t have to worry about whether he and Iris would get on over the course of an evening—especially given the added tension of whatever baloney Jess had told Ryan about Iris in the pub—but her real happiness was about getting Iris all to herself for an evening. They had so much to catch up on, and the time they’d had together last week—in the bookshop, in the East End, even in the curry house, despite the way the evening ended—was some of the best she’d had since coming to London. Or for a long time before that if she was being really honest. Cam wanted more of that, perhaps wanted it a little more than she was prepared to admit. And her past experience meant she couldn’t exactly deny what those wanting feelings really meant.

  She looked at her watch. She was just about on schedule. She had twenty minutes for a quick shower and to change. She went up the stairs telling herself it was a blessing she’d have no time to obsess over what to wear.

  * * *

  Iris pushed the doorbell. She had a wine bottle under her arm and a gigantic bag of caramel popcorn in her hand. She’d managed to find a nice bottle of Côtes du Rhône in the supermarket after a stupid amount of time choosing. The nervousness she felt on the walk over evaporated when the door opened and a smiling Cam stood in front of her. It was replaced by a pang of attraction as she looked into Cam’s eyes, but Iris had promised herself—and her dad—that she wasn’t going to worry about it tonight. Yes, she found Cam extremely attractive, so what? It would eventually fade and maybe they’d even laugh about it one day.

  Cam ushered Iris into a small hallway that faced onto a long, straight corridor.

  “You can leave your coat under there.” Cam nodded at a cupboard under the stairs, the door slightly ajar. “And follow me into the kitchen. I’m just about to burn the ratatouille.”

  Cam hurried along the corridor and disappeared into a door at the far end. Iris watched her go. She looked slightly flushed, no doubt from the cooking. She was also very casually dressed—barefoot, in worn jeans and a checked flannel shirt, worn loosely and rolled up at the sleeves. Iris looked down at her own outfit. She had spent ages deciding what to wear and then opted for something casual and comfy—dressing for a girls’ night in rather than a dinner party—and she was glad she’d abandoned the smart clothes for her favorite hoodie and jeans.

  At the door to the kitchen, Iris heard the faint sound of music. She pushed it open. Cam had her back to her, stirring a pan and moving in time to the song. It was nice to see her so relaxed.

  She moved into the room determined to ignore the fluttering low down in her belly that she knew was caused by the sight of Cam’s swaying figure. “Shall I open the wine?” Iris wanted something to do.

  Cam nodded and leaned across to point at a drawer to her left. “In there.” She was concentrating on seasoning their swordfish steaks.

  Iris pulled out the corkscrew and set to work on the wine. The end of the room where Cam was attending to the fish was taken up with a modern, U-shaped kitchen. She let her gaze roam across the living area at the other end of the room. She couldn’t see any photos or other knickknacks and the only books visible were a handful of paperbacks sitting on a small bookcase under the window. It had the feel of a rental property, a very temporary rental at that, and it reminded Iris that Cam might not be in London for too much longer. It was a horrible thought, and as Iris carried the open wine bottle to the dining table and placed it next to the salad, she felt a little less happy than when she’d arrived.

  Iris moved to a stool next to the breakfast bar. On the bar was a small plate of bread rolls of various colors and shapes. Iris picked one up, tore off a piece, and popped it in her mouth. Cam turned at that moment, catching her with her mouth full. She gave Iris a look that told her she’d been caught.

  “I’m starving, sorry. Spent most of the day working on the allotment with my dad. He worked me pretty hard. It’s given me an appetite.” She shrugged, hoping Cam would take pity.

  “You always have an appetite. Don’t try and blame the gardening.” Cam studied her with a raised eyebrow, her eyes teasing.

  “True. You got me there.” Iris grinned.

  “I’ve gotten a bit of a head start on you with the drinking though.” Cam waved a tall glass in Iris’s direction. “Gin and tonic. You’ve probably got time to catch up if you’re quick. Want one?”

  Iris nodded. “Please.” She needed something to take the edge off her insane nervousness.

  “Watch the fish.” Cam handed her the spatula and Iris did as she was told, crossing to the cooker and half watching the pan and half watching Cam as she fixed the drink. She seemed at home here, capable and comfortable in her kitchen, and Iris remembered her saying how much she loved to cook. She took the glass Cam offered and sipped it, moving back from the cooker to her stool.

  “Do you do this often? Have people over for dinner I mean. You look like you know what you’re doing in that kitchen.”

  Cam turned and fa
ced her, leaning against the sink and cradling her G&T. “Not so much, sadly. My sister came to stay in the summer. My mom came at Christmas, and Ryan made me host a dinner party for a few of his work buddies a while back. Mostly, I just cook for me and Ryan, when he’s home on time.” She paused. “If he’s not, I rustle up some pasta or a salad and eat with a book in my lap. What about you?”

  “Dinner parties are not really my thing. Not only am I a terrible cook but I’m a lousy conversationalist.”

  “You are not difficult to talk to.”

  “I’m fine one-on-one or even with a small group of people I know if it’s casual, but dinner parties are different. They require you to have opinions on everything, and everyone gets all intense and competitive for attention. I’m wrong for that. Here with you I’m fine, but introduce people I don’t know or, worse, people I don’t like and it goes wrong for me. I either get too involved or go silent. I don’t really have an in between.” She was being honest. Honesty was something Cam brought out in her.

  “And if Ryan had been here? Would we have gotten silent Iris or too involved Iris?”

  “Well, I don’t really know him so that is a little off-putting, but I think I’d have managed to be chatty and polite for your sake.” She chewed her lip.

  “For my sake?”

  Iris felt like she’d said the wrong thing. She waited for Cam to pull her up on it. She didn’t, seeming to let it go.

  “Didn’t you ever cook for Amanda?”

  “Not really. She was the cook in our relationship. She’d have gotten tired of me a lot sooner if she’d had to eat my cooking. I do a really good fried breakfast though. Perfect hangover food. Next time you have a hangover, give me a call and I’ll cure it with my special fry-up. It’s almost worth getting drunk for.”