by Jade Beer
It reminds Helen of her own soft, imperfect body, her wrinkles, curves, physical flaws, and how Phillip was not just accepting of them but loved them, loved every single inch of her. How it took a lifetime to build the bond between them, how entirely comfortable she grew to be with his eyes on every part of her, never seeing anything other than love and admiration in his face. She knows how lucky she is to have shared her life with a man who every day showed her so much kindness. How, more than anything else in this world, she wanted to grow old with the man she met when she was young. How now it can never be the same; there are other people for her to consider. Will Nick be capable of loving her children as dearly as she herself does?
She can see Nick approaching from the far side of the Serpentine. She’s watching him, knowing he will never be that man. They simply don’t have time to acquire all that shared history. He hasn’t spotted her yet and she enjoys being able to secretly study him for a few minutes. He looks happy, wrapped in a long fawn wool coat, a checked scarf swinging from his neck as he strides along. She can feel the nervous wave of tension build in her, knowing that in a couple of minutes he’ll be by her side and she wants to be good company for him. She watches as he pauses, just a few metres off from the café now. He runs both hands down the front of his coat as if to straighten out any creases, then he ruffles his hair free, takes a huge intake of breath and sets off again, eyes scanning the front of the café for her. He’s nervous too.
Helen shoots an arm into the air, keen not to get caught unhelpfully staring at him, and then he’s there beside her, pulling her in close to him and burying his face in the warmth of her neck. She feels his lips part slightly on her skin as he plants a series of little kisses there, his body pressed tightly up against hers, warming Helen’s cheeks into an anxious blush. Both his hands are up into the back of her hair and he’s enjoying holding her for a few blissful seconds.
‘You’re beautiful.’
It’s a pretty special hello and for a moment Helen wonders if the walk they’ve arranged is going to happen at all, or whether he’s going to suggest they jump straight into a taxi back to his place. Her cheeks flush a little deeper. Is that what she’s hoping for?
‘It’s so good to see you.’ She laces her hands in his and they stand smiling at each other until she giggles at the silliness of it all and they take a seat.
‘What a glorious day to be spending with you! What would you like to do? Walk through the park, or we could see what’s on at the Serpentine Gallery. Maybe lunch at Corrigan’s?’ Nick is full of ideas, clearly revelling in having Helen’s undivided attention for the whole day.
‘Let’s just walk for now, shall we? The park is so pretty at this time of year.’
As Nick’s waving for the bill, Helen’s eyes move skywards, blinking into the hazy sunshine through clouds that look heavy with snow. She imagines getting snowed in with Nick, forced to dive into one of the cosy log cabins dotted along the main park road at this time of year, selling Christmas treats and hot mulled wine.
‘Come on, then!’ Nick pulls her out of her seat and they’re off.
They start to make their way along the path back towards Hyde Park Corner, following the noise of the Winter Wonderland fair that appears here every Christmas, its colourful Ferris wheel dominating the skyline. Everywhere around them people are eating pretzels big enough for two, or foot-long hotdogs made from no one’s quite sure what, and excitedly pushing sticks of marshmallows into an erupting chocolate fountain. There are stalls selling over-priced tree decorations and sweets in every colour. Nick guides Helen through the labyrinth of walkways until they reach the main fairground, where children are already hurtling down the helter skelter and adults are being spun, flown or dropped from a great height.
Before Helen can voice her lack of desire to go on any of the rides, Nick pulls her up the steps to the carousel and helps her on top of one of the horses, sliding in behind her. When the ride starts to move, she lets out a squeal of delight and he wraps his arms around her even tighter. As they gather speed, swaying up and down, she can hear him laughing behind her and waving at some of the children who have gathered to watch them. She can’t remember the last time she was on one of these things, but it must have been decades ago with her own small children. She closes her eyes, feeling the cold air sting her ears, and Nick’s hands moving around her waist, her whole body alive to every movement he’s making: his thighs gripping hers, their knees bumping together and his breath on the back of her neck.
As the horses gather pace, she’s starting to feel a little giddy and isn’t sure if it’s the effect Nick’s having on her, or because she’s trying to focus on the happy faces of the children as they flash by. Then she’s aware of a man, noticeably on his own, towering over the children, not smiling like they are but looking at Helen and Nick just as intently – and with no apparent reason to be there. The speed of the ride isn’t giving Helen long enough to get a proper look at his face but the shape of him is definitely familiar. It’s the stoop of his shoulders and the way he’s pulled his flat cap down over his ears that she knows she has seen before. But if he was a friend he’d be waving, calling out her name, wouldn’t he? As the ride starts to slow, she readies herself to take a longer look at his face, but as they pull around again, he’s gone, leaving Helen feeling uneasy about his identity.
Nick’s head drops over her shoulder and he kisses her on the cheek. ‘I love you, Helen.’ He whispers the words into her left ear, letting his lips linger there, where she can feel all the passion behind them. It makes her think about how different this is to her first date with Phillip – because there wasn’t one. They went from being neighbours to classmates to boyfriend and girlfriend and a married couple without ever planning it or seeing it coming, yet knowing it would. The closest they got to a date was sitting together on her parents’ uncomfortable leather sofa, having their every move watched, not even daring to hold hands. Later, when they were older, they retreated to the darkness of the cinema in the days when there were double seats in the back rows and where Phillip could finally steal all the kisses he’d been waiting for. Helen doesn’t know how to date, she’s never done it. She doesn’t understand the rules that will be all the more familiar to Nick.
They walk some more then, leaving the buzz of the fair behind. They make their way up towards Speakers’ Corner, falling into the sort of easy conversation she’d hoped they would.
‘Did you get a chance to look through the CVs I sent you? There were some good ones in there, I thought.’
‘Yes, thank you. But they’re not right. I know what I’m looking for, Nick, and it wasn’t in any of those CVs, I’m afraid. I’ve got someone in mind. I just need to sound her out, see if it appeals to her.’
A comfortable silence falls between them as Nick’s arm moves up around Helen’s shoulder. She can sense the subject he’s dying to raise but is far too gentlemanly to do so. She decides to put him out of his misery.
‘I have been thinking a lot about what you asked me, Nick. I hope you know that, it isn’t something I’ve just moved on from.’ She glances sideways at him, keen to gauge his reaction, and watches his nervous smile and the way his eyes dip to the floor, as if expecting the worst.‘Please don’t tell me you’re about to shatter my hopes, Helen, not yet. Not before I’ve even had a fighting chance to win you over today.’ He’s forced her to stop walking and turns her around to face him.
‘I just don’t want to keep you dangling like this, it seems so unfair, but I have so many unanswered questions filling my head and I just don’t know…’ Maybe it would be kinder just to say no. Maybe they can still see each other, continue to get close.
‘Just don’t say no. Please.’ Nick’s hand is on her face now, his fingers smoothing her cheek, his thumb across her lips trying to stop the rejection that might be forming there.
‘I barely know you, you barely know me.’ She hates to sound like the sensible one in all of this, but there’s so much she
doesn’t know about him.
‘That’s not true, I know more than you think—’
‘Nick—’ She tries to cut him off so she can say what she needs to, explain her reticence at such a lovely offer, but he’s marching her towards a bench, sitting her down and taking both of her hands.
‘I’ve had months of getting to know you, when you didn’t even realise I was doing it. You were never just another client, Helen, I wanted you from the very first moment I saw you. As I walked across the hotel lobby that day, there you were. I haven’t stopped thinking about you since. I’ve never felt this way about another woman in my life. There has never been anyone else. I’m not some habitual proposer that just never got a yes. It’s you, and only you.’
She can see the irritation in his face now, at himself, not her, worried he’s failing to make his point well enough. She attempts to reassure him that he is, but as she opens her mouth to respond, there he is: the man in the flat cap, standing directly in front of them, staring down at them. Still not smiling. Helen instinctively tightens her grip on Nick’s hand and, registering her nervousness, he goes to stand.
‘No need to get up, mate.’ The man raises a hand to halt Nick. ‘I don’t want to cause any trouble. You don’t recognise me, do you?’ His eyes are back on Helen now, who is completely at a loss to place him.
‘I’m sorry, um, I do, yes, I saw you over by the carousel. But I’m sorry, I just can’t recall your name or how I know you.’ The fact that he hasn’t offered an immediate introduction is making her very nervous.
‘It’s William. Bill… Bill Edwards.’
Still, Helen is blank.
‘It’s OK, no reason why that name should mean anything to you, love. We only met a couple of times. But I looked at your picture every day on Phillip’s locker door. We worked together for nearly twenty years and I don’t think there was one shift when he didn’t talk about you, the soppy bugger!’ Bill’s gaze has fallen to Nick and Helen’s hands, registering the intimacy between them. Helen pulls hers sharply away.
‘One of the nicest blokes you could ever hope to meet, he was.’ Bill’s focus is back on Nick. ‘Really one of a kind. It killed us all the day he got sick.’ He lets the words hang in the air, no one, even Nick, quite sure how to respond to them. ‘Anyway, I hope he’d be pleased that you’ve moved on, Helen. He must have known any other man would be honoured to have you.’ And with that, he drops his gaze to the floor and silently walks away, leaving Helen flustered and flapping around in her bag to find a tissue.
Nick doesn’t speak for a few minutes, but looks considerably more defeated than before their interruption. ‘I’m sorry that had to happen.’
Helen just shakes her head, like she is in the wrong and there is nothing anyone can do about it.
‘Helen, just let me love you. That’s all I ask. I know you can feel what we have between us too. What do you need to know?’ He’s determined to pick up where they left off. ‘That I never go to bed before midnight? I have a relationship with the novels of P.G. Wodehouse that borders on the obsessional? I rarely eat breakfast and can’t get out of bed until I’ve read The Telegraph every morning. Ravello is my favourite place to holiday. I never drink on Sundays. I can’t live without Tignanello. I hate everything about Jeremy Clarkson and the last film I cried at was Al Pacino in Scent of a Woman. Everything else, you can discover for yourself. Isn’t that supposed to be the fun bit?’ He wipes her tears away with his fingers, pushing her hair gently back off her face and then dotting her forehead with the softest of kisses.
She can’t help but smile at him and it dilutes the tension a little.
‘What would make this – us – work for you? It could be a long engagement if you wanted it to be, we don’t have to rush that. We could move in together and then you can decide. Whatever makes you feel comfortable, I will do it. But if you’re going to reject me, do it for the right reasons and not just because you’re scared. There will always be a Bill who wants to remind you of the past.’
‘And what if my answer is no? Could we still see each other? Have lunch and do fun things together at the weekend? Would you be happy to take it that slow?’ Helen’s face is full of hope. Maybe this is the answer: forget the proposal for now and just concentrate on building their relationship.
Nick turns away from Helen, lets his body fall back onto the bench, runs both hands through his hair and expels an exasperated breath, like everything he just said hasn’t been heard at all.
‘I need you to know that I’m not trying to replace anyone that’s gone before me. I’m not trying to be a father to anyone who doesn’t want me to be. On those things, I will be whatever you want me to be. I will play it however you want me to. But I can’t sit in a restaurant with you, Helen, casually eating lunch and pretending I don’t want to have you, in every way possible. I can’t just dilute my feelings for you. It would be torture, frankly.’ His face is full of sadness. His eyes make one final plea to Helen to think about what she might be about to throw away.
‘I understand.’ Helen composes herself and takes Nick’s hand back in hers, sliding closer to him again on the bench. His arm is around her and she lowers her head to his shoulder, where they sit for several minutes, neither saying anything, but Helen’s mind is busy plotting.
‘What are you doing for Christmas?’ she eventually asks.
‘Sorry?’
‘Do you have any plans?’ Of everything she could be asking him, this is probably the last thing he is expecting.
‘Some friends have invited me to their place in the country, but I haven’t committed to anything yet.’
‘Do you think you could keep it that way. Just for a while?’
‘If you’re saying there’s a chance I might get to spend it with you, Helen, then yes, of course I will.’
Helen buries her face a little deeper in the comforting softness of his coat, smiling privately to herself. As the first translucent snowflakes start to flutter down around them, she wonders if this Christmas might just be one of her happiest yet.
21
Jenny
‘Whatever you thought you were doing tonight, cancel it!’ Lucy is holding court again in the staffroom, bellowing the words at me, ensuring everyone else can hear too. ‘Christ knows how Jean managed it, but she’s reworked everyone’s rotas so that we can all take you out for a belated celebratory drink, Jenny. Call it the pre-hen do, if you like.’
Fantastic! A proper night out. There’s going to be gossip and whispered confessions and boy talk and shared intimacies and proper female bonding. Perhaps I can show them all I’m good fun, they’ll see qualities in me beyond being a reliable co-worker.
‘Thanks, everyone. Thank you, Jean. I’m really touched, I had no idea you were planning anything.’ Bugger, I wish I’d worn something a little smarter today than a cotton jumpsuit! It’s at least a year old, colour faded and really not something I want everyone’s camera phones snapping later. If I get a chance, I’ll pop out at lunchtime and grab something else on Oxford Street.
‘No need to thank me, lovely.’ Jean is doing the same as the rest of us: talking through quick open mouthfuls of cereal bars and scorching coffee in the ten minutes before the day shift starts. ‘I’m just looking forward to a few drinks and catching up on how all your planning is going.’
She’s going to be so impressed when I tell her about the lovely Philippa Craddock flowers and the trip to Tallulah’s lingerie boutique. I bet none of them has heard of it. Well, they’ll want to go when I describe that pearly thong! But I haven’t updated the Pinterest boards they set up for me. I really need to find some time today to get on with that. Just ten minutes should do it, if I get a break. I don’t want them to be disappointed or feel let down by my lack of effort.
I’m transferred to the postnatal ward and it’s manic. I have three bays of beds assigned to me, four women and four babies in each bay. That’s twenty-four people in my care. Sometimes I find it hard to believe I am given th
at responsibility. Me? Trusted to make sure every one of these people will leave the hospital safe, feeling ready, supported and with as much advice and guidance as I have time to give them.
As I’m speed reading through the handover notes for each woman, I’m trying to remember the names of all the flowers Philippa recommended for my summer wedding, in case someone asks. There were garden roses and foxgloves, but she mentioned others that she said would retain their scent all day in my bouquet. Why didn’t I write them all down? I’ll have to Google them later.
In many ways the postnatal ward is my very favourite place to be. After all, it’s where the babies and new families are – the very thing that all our hard work is designed to produce. Some days, I will sit in one of the bedside armchairs, allowing a new mother to sleep for half an hour while I cradle her newborn. Even now, it still shocks me how small they are, swamped in the crook of my arm, their soft heads barely the size of my fist. I’ll listen as they gurgle, burp and wriggle their way through their first few hours of life… Stocks! That was the fragrant flower. I pull out the little jotter pad I keep in the front pocket of my tabard and scribble it down before I forget again.
Sometimes I’ll look at their tiny wrinkled faces and try to predict what will become of them. Am I holding a future scientist? How many babies will this baby have? Will they lead a happy life or a troubled one? Will their parents love them in the way they deserve to be loved? Will they be clever, creative, a big thinker or a quiet genius? Perhaps it’s best that I am left to imagine their futures. The truth isn’t always as palatable, is it? I try not to think about my mum when I’m at work, but I can’t help it today. Maybe because I’m tired and lacking the mental strength to force my emotions back down to that place deep within me, where they simmer gently. I’m wondering how she must have felt on her first day being my mum, when she held me in her arms and looked down at my plump face. I know I was loved, but did she ever have a moment of self-doubt? Just one fleeting thought about whether I was actually a good idea after all? I like to think not. I can feel my eyes starting to water at how the hands on the clock were spinning far too fast from our very first day together – and how she might have done things differently, had there been any way of knowing that.