by Kate Hardy
‘It’d be a huge weight off my mind,’ he admitted.
‘Well, then. Let’s get it sorted out.’
It didn’t take long for Daniel to arrange things with the school and send them a copy of Beatrice’s work ID, and to synchronise information with Beatrice.
And so, at the end of her shift, Beatrice found herself heading for the local infant school.
School.
Taylor, like Iain, would have been in her first year at school. A summer-born child, about to turn five: one of the younger members of the class. If life had gone to plan, Beatrice would have been working part time so she could take her daughter to school and pick her up.
But it hadn’t worked out that way.
And she couldn’t afford to let herself think about what she’d lost. What she’d never have now.
Besides, it wouldn’t be the first time she’d picked up a child from school. She’d met all her nephews and her niece from school, on more than one occasion. She could do this.
She hung back in the playground as the children filed out of the class to join their parents or carers, feeling out of place, but finally Iain appeared at the doorway, holding his teacher’s hand.
‘Bee!’ he called, waving his free hand. ‘Miss Fisher said you’d be here!’
She was pleased to note that Miss Fisher kept him by her side, rather than letting the little boy run over to her. She went over and showed her ID. ‘I’m Beatrice Lindford and I work with Daniel,’ she said.
‘He told us to expect you, Dr Lindford.’ Miss Fisher looked at Iain. ‘Are you happy to go home with Dr Lindford?’ she checked.
The little boy nodded. ‘She’s the one I told you about, the one who fixed my arm when I falled over at football. She’s nice. I drawed that picture of her.’
‘Which has pride of place on the outside of my fridge right now,’ Beatrice said. ‘Let’s go, and you can tell me what your favourite food is so I can make it for tea.’
‘Pasta!’ Daniel said happily.
‘Pasta it shall be,’ she said.
It didn’t take long to walk back to her place. Iain was thrilled to see his drawing on her fridge. ‘Who drawed the other pictures? Do you have a little boy or girl?’
A little girl. Born asleep.
She pushed the wave of misery back. This wasn’t something to dump on a small child. ‘That one was drawn by my niece, Seffy,’ she said, pointing to a picture of a horse.
‘Seffy? That’s a funny name,’ Iain commented.
‘It’s short for Persephone.’
‘Pu-sef...’ He stumbled over the name.
‘Persephone,’ Beatrice said. ‘And that’s her pony.’
His eyes went wide. ‘She has a pony?’
‘Because she lives in the country,’ Beatrice hastened to add. The last thing she wanted was to cause Daniel problems, if Iain turned out to be as pony-mad as Seffy was. ‘And this train was drawn by my nephew George. He’s four, just like you.’
‘It’s a good train,’ Iain said politely. ‘I like trains.’
‘So do I,’ Beatrice said. ‘And I have a train set. And dinosaurs,’ she added, remembering what Daniel had told her. ‘Let’s get you a glass of milk and some fruit to keep you going until teatime, and then we can play with the trains and the dinosaurs, if you like.’
‘Yes!’ Iain said. And then he looked horrified. ‘Please,’ he added.
‘Excellent,’ Beatrice said with a smile, and busied herself slicing up an apple. While Iain was drinking his milk, she prepared a tomato sauce and left it to simmer on the hob.
She thoroughly enjoyed making a train track with him through a world of dinosaurs, and took a picture of him on her phone to send to Daniel as reassurance that the little boy was settled and not fretting.
Iain loved the pasta and sauce, to her relief. And then she looked at him. ‘I haven’t got anything for pudding. Shall we make some cake?’
‘Chocolate cake?’ he asked hopefully. ‘Like the ones you made for football?’
‘The brownies? We can do that,’ she said with a smile. ‘You can be chief mixer.’
‘Yay!’ he said, looking thrilled.
She set him up with a tea towel as a makeshift apron to keep his clothes clean, then helped him weigh out the dry ingredients into a bowl and the wet ingredients into a jug. ‘And now you just mix them together with a spoon until it’s all gloopy.’
She loved baking with her niece and nephews at Beresford, and she enjoyed her cooking session with Iain just as much.
Fortified with a warm brownie and another glass of milk, Iain cuddled up to her on the sofa and fell asleep while she read him one of George’s favourite stories.
She put the book down but didn’t move, not wanting to wake him; luckily it was a warm evening so she didn’t need to get a blanket for him. Was this what it would have been like with Taylor—curled up together on the sofa on a Friday night, waiting for Oliver to come home from work?
But it was pointless, wishing. Oliver’s love for her hadn’t survived the loss of the baby, just as her love for him had leaked away. They both had a new life now. Oliver was happy with his new wife—and with their new baby son. And Beatrice was doing just fine.
When her phone pinged, the message was from Daniel.
On way to pick him up. Be with you in ten minutes.
She woke Iain gently. ‘Your dad’s on his way to pick you up.’
He cuddled into her. ‘I had a nice time today. Thank you for looking after me.’
‘My pleasure,’ she said, and she meant it. Even though having a child around had brought back her old regrets about what might have been, she’d enjoyed his company.
Daniel rang her doorbell ten minutes later.
‘He’s fine, he’s been a total sweetheart, and you really don’t have to worry,’ she said.
‘You got me out of a real hole. Thank you—I really appreciate it,’ he said, and handed her a bunch of flowers. ‘Sorry they’re only supermarket ones, but it was all I could get at this time of night.’
He’d actually taken time out to get these for her? Her heart melted. ‘They’re lovely, though you really didn’t need to,’ she said. ‘Have you eaten?’
‘I’m fine,’ he said.
Meaning he hadn’t. Was he fudging the issue because he didn’t want to impose on her any further, or did he not want to spend any more time here than he had to?
‘I’ve got spare pasta and sauce from earlier,’ she said. ‘It’ll take a couple of minutes in the microwave. Take it with you if you’d rather not eat right now.’
* * *
Oh, help.
When she looked at him with those big blue eyes... It would be so easy to say yes. To lose his head.
‘We had pasta for tea and it was yummy,’ Iain said, running over to him and hugging him.
Take it home, she mouthed out of Iain’s eyeline.
Thank you, he mouthed back, and wrapped his arms round his son. ‘I need to get you home to bed, young man.’
‘We made brownies, Dad. The best chocolate brownies in the world.’
The kind of cake Daniel really didn’t like. He hated the cloying sweetness. And if there was oily buttercream in the middle...
‘We saved you some,’ Iain said.
There was absolutely no way he could get out of this. Not without disappointing his son and making Iain feel pushed away and he’d never do that. So he’d just have to smile and choke it down.
‘I’ll cut you a small piece,’ Beatrice said, as if she guessed what he was thinking. Or, more likely, it was written all over his face but Iain was that bit too young to decipher his expression.
‘Thank you,’ he said.
But, to Daniel’s surprise, the cake wasn’t sticky and oversweet and vile. It was light and dense at the same time, c
hocolatey without being too sugary. ‘This is fantastic,’ he said.
‘Take some more home. I’m not going to be able to eat the rest over the weekend.’
‘My granny’s coming home tomorrow. Can I take some for her?’ Iain asked, adding a belated, ‘Please?’
‘Sure you can,’ she said, and wrapped up several pieces in greaseproof paper. She put the pasta and sauce into a plastic lidded box. ‘Put it in the microwave for three minutes on full power, stir, and then give it another minute,’ she said to Daniel.
‘I... I don’t know what to say,’ he said.
‘I’d do the same for any of my colleagues,’ she said, ‘as I’m sure you would, too.’
True. Except he still couldn’t get himself to think of Beatrice as strictly his colleague. He still remembered what it had felt like to kiss her. How sweet her mouth had been. How good it had felt to walk along the street holding hands with her.
He needed to leave. Now. Before he did or said something stupid.
‘Thank you for having me,’ Iain said, and hugged her.
‘My pleasure. I enjoyed having you here to play trains with me,’ Beatrice said.
‘Next time, can George come, too?’ Iain asked.
George? She had a son?
Daniel shook himself mentally. Of course she didn’t. She’d told him about her nephew. The one who had a less unusual name.
Before he could correct Iain and explain that it was rude to invite yourself to someone’s house, Beatrice said, ‘I’ll see what I can do.’
Iain hugged her again.
‘Let’s get your things,’ she said, and helped him on with his shoes.
Seeing her with him like that made Daniel ache; it made him realise how much Jenny’s postnatal depression had taken away from all of them. And it brought out his own doubts: was he enough for Iain? Should he be trying to find someone who would be a mum to Iain when he wasn’t at Jenny’s? Daniel had vowed he wouldn’t get involved with anyone again, but was he being selfish? Surely he should put his son’s needs first?
‘I’ll see you at work on Monday,’ Beatrice said with a smile, as if completely oblivious to what was whirling round in his head. Or maybe she was too kind to broach the subject.
‘Yes. Thanks again for having Iain.’
‘Any time.’
Was she just being polite or did she mean it? He had no idea.
Iain, now he was awake, chattered about how wonderful Beatrice was—all the way home, all the way through two bedtime stories, and he would have kept going all night if Daniel hadn’t said to him, ‘It’s time to sleep or you’ll be too tired to go to the park tomorrow.’
‘Football?’ Iain asked hopefully.
‘Football,’ Daniel promised.
When he finally sat down, Daniel was almost too tired to eat. He was grateful for the fact that Beatrice had saved him some pasta. And the sauce was definitely home-made rather than just heated through from a jar.
Beatrice Lindford was a puzzle.
She’d been adamant that she wasn’t looking for a relationship and she was concentrating on her career. And yet the way she’d been with Iain—picking him up from school without a fuss, cooking him his favourite dinner, playing with him and reading with him—those were the actions of a woman who was used to being part of a family. OK, so she’d hinted that she was close to her brothers and their children; but what had happened to Beatrice to make her so determined not to date and have a family of her own?
Asking her felt too intrusive, especially when she’d just done him such a huge favour. It was none of his business. Besides, they were supposed to be keeping their distance from each other, not getting closer. He needed to back off.
* * *
The next morning, Iain was still talking about Beatrice.
He didn’t change the topic of conversation when his grandmother came home, either. ‘Granny, Granny, me and Bee maked you some cake!’
‘Bee?’ Susan looked mystified.
‘You know, Princess Bee, who fixed my arm when I falled over.’
‘Why were you making cake with her?’
‘Diane couldn’t pick me up from school and Dad was working, so Bee gave me my tea and played trains with me. And we maked cake.’
Susan gave Daniel a look that meant they were going to have a talk, later. One that was going to make him squirm.
‘They’re chocolate brownies. Dad liked them. I brought some home for you.’
‘Let’s give Granny her cake,’ Daniel said, hoping that it might distract his mother but knowing that it probably wouldn’t.
‘You’re right, this is excellent chocolate cake,’ Susan said after her first taste. ‘I hope you remembered to say thank you to Bea, Daniel.’
‘I did. And Dad gave her flowers.’
Daniel had hoped that Iain had been too tired or too excited to notice. But not only did Iain have eyes like a hawk, he was intent on telling every detail to everyone who would listen.
‘Flowers? That’s nice.’ Susan gave him an arch look. ‘But, Iain, if someone invites us for dinner, we have to be polite and invite them back for dinner.’
Oh, no. Daniel could see exactly where this was going. ‘Mum, she works in my department and she’s my senior. She won’t have time.’
‘You don’t know unless you ask her.’
Which wasn’t the worst thing she could have said, in Daniel’s view. He knew that Iain wouldn’t budge from the subject until he gave in; which meant Bea would be put on the spot. Unless Daniel texted her to warn her, and suggested that she tell Iain she was working...
Before he had the chance—and no doubt his mother had already guessed what he was thinking and was pre-empting him—Susan said, ‘I think you should ask her to tea, Iain. Tomorrow. Her number’s in your dad’s phone, isn’t it?’
Iain squeaked with excitement and grabbed Daniel’s phone.
‘She might be w—’ Daniel began.
But Iain was too excited by the idea to listen and thrust the phone at him. ‘Call her now, Dad, and I’ll ask her.’
What could Daniel do, other than hope that her phone went through to voicemail? He unlocked his phone, set up the call, and handed the phone to Iain.
‘Hello, Bea. Will you come to tea tomorrow?’
Say no, Daniel thought. Say no.
‘Yes, it’s Iain. How did you know? Your phone told you it was my dad? Oh. Will you come to tea?’
Iain paused, clearly waiting for an answer, then frowned. ‘I don’t know. What time, Granny?’
‘Six,’ Susan said.
‘Six,’ Iain repeated.
‘Ask her if she likes Scottish roast beef,’ Susan prompted.
‘Granny says, do you like Scottish roast beef?’ Iain asked. Then he smiled. ‘She does, Granny. And she says she’ll bring some apple crumble to go with it.’
‘Tell her thank you,’ Susan said.
‘Thank you,’ Iain said. ‘See you tomorrow.’
‘I think you need to go and tidy your toys,’ Susan said when Iain handed the phone back to Daniel.
‘I will, Granny,’ Iain said, and rushed off.
‘Don’t go getting any ideas, Mum,’ Daniel warned. ‘Beatrice is my colleague, as good as my boss. I was in a jam and she helped me out—just as she would have helped out anyone else in the department.’
‘Hmm,’ Susan said.
‘We’re colleagues,’ Daniel insisted.
Beatrice texted him half an hour later.
Just checking. Is tomorrow OK or would you rather I make an excuse?
He could have kissed her. The perfect let-out. She could make an excuse...
But then Iain would be so disappointed. And also, if his mother met Beatrice and saw for herself that they really were just colleagues, then maybe she could help persuade Iain to
back off a little bit.
It’s fine. See you tomorrow, he texted back. Better give you the address.
* * *
Iain was almost beyond excited, the next day, when Beatrice arrived, and greeted her with a squeal and a hug.
‘It’s lovely to meet you, Bea. I’m Susan, Daniel’s mother,’ Susan said.
‘Thank you for asking me over. It’s kind of you to cook for me, especially as I’m sure you must be tired after your course,’ Beatrice said.
‘Daniel told you about me?’
‘Not much. Just that you were an artist. Y chromosomes,’ Beatrice added in a stage whisper, and Susan laughed and patted her arm.
Uh-oh. That looked as if two people from his immediate family had bonded with her almost instantly, Daniel thought.
‘Come and sit down,’ Susan said, ushering her to the kitchen.
Daniel gave in to the inevitable and followed them. ‘I’ll make some coffee,’ he said.
‘I hope you like apple crumble, Iain,’ Beatrice said. ‘I made this with our own apples.’ She put the dish on the table.
‘Our?’ Susan asked. ‘You have an orchard?’
‘My parents do. I went to see my family yesterday,’ she explained, ‘and I raided the stores.’
‘Bee’s family lives in the country and her niece has got a pony,’ Iain informed them.
Daniel could see the intrigued expression in his mother’s eyes and headed her off by talking about her course.
‘So what sort of thing do you paint, Susan?’ Beatrice asked.
‘Granny’s done loads of paintings. Come and see,’ Iain said, and tugged at Beatrice’s hand. ‘Granny lets me paint with her, sometimes.’
‘Don’t grill her,’ Daniel begged his mother softly when Beatrice left the kitchen.
‘As if I would,’ Susan said, with an arch look.
Yeah. He was in trouble.
Beatrice duly admired the paintings, and then it was time for dinner.
‘This is fabulous. Thank you so much for inviting me,’ Beatrice said.
‘You can come every Sunday,’ Iain said. ‘Oh, but not next week because I’m at my mum’s.’