Wrong time, wrong reason. As she walked back with her thoughts in turmoil and the taste of him on her lips, she wondered if she would ever be brave enough for the right time and the right reason.
The next day Faith went into town during her lunch hour and bought a selection of art materials. This was going to be hard, but it would be a new start and she could do it. Molly was to move to the little bedroom while her walls were painted, but Faith promised she’d be as fast as she could.
‘I like watching,’ said Molly, and truth to tell, it was only the fact that the little girl was there, chattering away and playing games with Panda and her other toys, that got Faith through that first day.
She’d known it was going to be difficult getting back into painting, but she hadn’t fully realised how horribly painful this particular process was going to be. Reproducing her and Mike’s garden mural was bringing her happiness with him – and her devastation after he died – so powerfully to mind that she could barely function.
She started with a wash of sky. That was easy, it could have been just pale blue painted walls. The first blades of grass weren’t too bad. The rose bush was when she started to falter, remembering Mike fooling around and pretending to catch himself on the thorns, remembering him really stabbing himself when he brought a long stem inside for her to copy.
Molly bounced on the dust-sheeted bed. ‘Now do Fairy Rose.’
Faith pulled herself back to the present. ‘Pardon?’
‘Fairy Rose. That’s where she lives.’ Molly rolled off the bed and ran downstairs for her story book, completely confident that Faith could reproduce the character.
‘Oh,’ said Faith a little blankly. ‘All right.’
The next two days were similar. Whenever Faith’s memories threatened to get the upper hand, Molly’s input into the garden frieze – along with the addition of several fairies who were apparently too impatient to wait for their new home to be finished before moving in – brought her back to earth. As was fitting, the mural was becoming much more her young client’s than hers.
‘Do the tree next,’ said Molly, just as Faith was finishing for the night. ‘I want it to be my cave.’
Faith wrinkled her brow. ‘It’s only a painting, darling.’
‘That’s all you know,’ said Chris, who had come upstairs with coffee. ‘She likes curling up in wardrobes. Had you not noticed that none of the cupboard doors are closed in this house?’
‘Of course I had. I assumed you were both untidy.’
He grinned at her. ‘I suspect Molly’s wardrobe is destined to be a hollow tree like Fairy Maple’s. I’ll have to find somewhere else for her clothes to live.’
Faith smiled back. ‘That’s your problem. I’ll do the tree tomorrow. I’m sure Molly will tell me if I go wrong.’
But tomorrow, it transpired, Molly was going to Hannah’s birthday party. ‘Don’t do the tree until I get back,’ she said.
‘All right, darling. I’ll paint some more flowers instead. Don’t you look nice in your fairy dress!’
‘Yes, and I can twirl in it,’ said Molly, doing so. ‘It’s got a big bow at the back that Daddy had to tie.’
The cottage was strangely quiet with them gone. Faith painted a stand of poppies, then started on a hollyhock. Part of her noticed that without Molly here, she was painting in a more detailed manner, more as she had done at home with Mike. A tear fell on her hand. Faith looked at it and realised she was crying. Faith painted another foot of hollyhock before her tears blinded her.
‘Faith?’ That was Chris’s voice, back from dropping Molly at the party.
She kept her back turned. ‘Yes?’
‘Faith, what’s the matter?’
Perhaps even then she would have held out except she felt his hand on her arm, his voice concerned.
‘Faith? Faith, what’s the matter? Tell me?’
And suddenly, she couldn’t hold back any more. ‘Mike,’ she said.
Chris took the paintbrush out of her hand, drew her over to the bed and sat her down next to him. ‘Tell me?’ he said simply.
It was almost a relief that he had asked. This was her story – her life. ‘Nobody has mentioned it?’
He shook his head. ‘People have hinted. I could have pressed, but I haven’t. I’d rather hear it from you.’ He rubbed his thumb across her fingers. ‘It’s going to hurt, isn’t it? I’m sorry.’
‘Yes, it hurts. Because it was so special while it lasted.’ She paused a moment. ‘I’m twenty-nine now. You already know about my parents. They looked after the world, rather than us, so I took it on myself to bring my sisters up. Someone had to – I didn’t see that I had a choice. That’s why I took my first post here, to keep an eye on them. I thought I was going to be the responsible one for ever. But I met Mike Croft almost straight away. He was a local GP and ... and fun.’
She looked up at Chris, willing him to understand. ‘There was me, serious, self-sufficient, more likely to be helping others than needing help myself. And there was Mike, a caring, laughing man who had fallen in love with me.’ She shook her head, remembering. ‘To have a partner, sharing ideas and emotions and feelings, was so different. We planned our future, we looked at lots of houses before we found Fell View cottage. We decided on the best time to have children – not too soon, because we wanted to enjoy each other – and we chose possible names for them. We planned our decorating so the whole cottage would be harmonised. He encouraged my painting. I encouraged his gardening. And I painted the garden mural in the back scullery – my art room.’
She had to pause, the memories were filling her eyes and throat with tears.
Chris slid his arm round her. After a moment, he said gently, ‘So what went wrong?’
‘Mike was a member of the Territorial Army. He was sent to Iraq. And was killed there. I got the news of his death two days before my twenty-fifth birthday. On the mantelpiece there were birthday cards and messages of sympathy side by side. It took me a long time to recover from the shock. I put my painting things away, decided to concentrate on my career. No more love. Not for me. Because if love so easily turns into tragedy, why risk it? I couldn’t take the pain again.’
* * *
Standing there with Faith folded against his chest, holding her safe and close, a great dam of sympathy flooded through Chris. He’d suspected something traumatic in her past, now he knew. Part of him wanted to applaud her for keeping her lover’s memory alight. Part of him wanted to reassure her over and over again that life went on, it had to. And part of him ... Chris suddenly went cold and ashamed as he realised. Part of him was prickling with jealousy that she had loved this man with her whole heart. A man who wasn’t him.
‘And now?’ he murmured. ‘Do you still believe in no more love?’
‘I don’t know. I just don’t know.’
She was so lovely in his arms. He wanted to keep her there. ‘Faith, I really want to kiss you again, but I don’t know whether that’s a good idea or a bad idea.’
She was still for a few moments more. Then she sighed. ‘If you don’t know, then it’s probably a bad idea, Chris.’
She pulled back. Reluctantly, he let her go. She was right. He suspected if they had kissed, things would have gone a lot further than either of them intended. And after that, he wouldn’t be able to give her up, which would be potentially appalling for his daughter’s recovery.
Surprisingly, it was Molly herself who took the next step. She came home full of the party, telling them all about it and wanting to go to another one very, very soon. Her own, preferably.
Chris smiled. ‘Sweetheart, it’s not your birthday for another three months.’
Once she had an idea in her mind, Molly tended not to let it go. ‘You have a birthday party, then.’
‘My birthday’s after Christmas – that’s even longer.’
‘What about Faith?’
As Chris watched, Faith’s hand clenched, then relaxed. ‘Oh, I don’t make a fuss of birthdays any more.’
> ‘But did you used to?’
‘Yes, darling. Just not any more.’ Faith seemed to be making an effort to talk normally. With a flash of insight, Chris realised why. Her birthday would remind her of Mike’s death, of course. He ached with sympathy for her.
‘But they’re nice! I like parties. There’s going to be a picnic soon that Abbey says is like a party. With food and paddling and games. And mummies or daddies have to come too.’
Faith smiled. ‘The Little Allaby picnic down by the river? They have that every year. It always looks fun.’
‘Abbey says it’s mega fun.’ Molly smiled sunnily up at her. ‘You can come with Daddy and me.’
Chris saw Faith catch her breath. ‘But –’
He spoke quickly. ‘That would be lovely. Will you, Faith?’
‘I ...’ Her eyes connected with his, uncertain but not, he thought, unwilling. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Yes, I’d like that. Thank you.’
* * *
‘This picnic tomorrow,’ said Chris, catching Faith after the briefing on Friday. ‘Is the river safe?’
Faith smiled. He was a typical father. ‘Perfectly,’ she reassured him. ‘It’s wide and shallow and very slow moving. People often paddle and swim in it during the summer. I’m surprised you haven’t seen them. You and Molly must have been across the bridge there masses of times.’
He gave her a dry look. ‘Seeing other people messing about in the water is a totally different thing from letting my own child go paddling. I’ll fish out her swimming costume and a towel.’
‘And a dry change,’ suggested Faith, remembering previous years. ‘From what I gather, at least one child falls into the water fully dressed every year. Apart from that, they just wear clothes for playing on a river bank. Shorts, T-shirts and a sun hat.’
‘Will you be wearing shorts too?’
Faith eyed him suspiciously. ‘Probably. Why?’
He looked blandly back. ‘So I know to fit in, of course.’
* * *
He was as good as his word. Chris opened the door to her on Saturday morning in a crisp white T-shirt and dark blue shorts. Wow, she thought, trying not to stare. She cleared her throat. ‘Ready?’
He gestured to a rucksack and cold box. ‘We’ve been ready for hours. Molly only just let dawn break before she was nagging at me to start making sandwiches.’
Faith chuckled, took the hand that the little girl slipped into hers and they set off down the road and over the bridge. Almost like being a family, she thought to herself. And then had to swallow down the lump in her throat and pretend she’d got an eyelash in her eye.
It wasn’t very far, just over the bridge to where a grassy bank in a wide half-circle made a perfect picnic spot, with a tiny beach edging a shallow part of the river.
Abbey and Jack Kirk were already there, along with several other parents, watching a handful of children paddling and splashing in the water. ‘There’s Hannah,’ Molly shouted, ‘and Peter and Joseph. They’re my friends. Can I go in the water as well?’
‘As soon as we get your costume on,’ Chris said.
The mums were from the village, Faith knew them all. There might have been questions in the air as people saw her walk down with Chris and Molly, but this was Little Allaby. They accepted her for herself just as they accepted Chris as a single parent.
It was a good picnic. Lots of splashing, lots of screaming and of course some inevitable tears. Faith had decided not to bring her costume, but since she was in shorts she went for a paddle with Molly while Chris chatted with the parents. Naturally, she was splashed too. Then she dried off in the sun and it was Chris’s turn to get wet.
Surrounded by all the village families, the solid lump of longing in Faith’s chest grew heavier.
‘I do like crusts a bit now,’ Molly told her when the children were finally called out of the water for their picnic lunch. ‘Everybody else eats them.’
‘Seems a good reason to me,’ said Faith. She unwrapped a foil package and smiled at the precise triangles of cheese and cucumber sandwich.
Chris’s eyes met hers. ‘I can’t help it,’ he said ruefully. ‘I have tried to make a messy sandwich but I just can’t bring myself to.’
‘Shh,’ said Faith. ‘I love them exactly as they are.’
After lunch, it was time to get dressed and explore. There were woods by the river, and through them ran a path to a tiny quarry known to have shiny stones in it. Diamonds, perhaps? Faith and Chris set off with the others, Molly swinging between them.
‘This is nice,’ said Chris quietly. His green gaze connected with Faith. ‘Is it nice for you too? You’re not regretting taking a day off from painting Molly’s bedroom?’
Around them were conversations, trees, clean air, blue sky, children’s voices and a village that she’d made her home in. Between them was a happy little girl. ‘I’m having a nice time too,’ she said, and she tried to ignore the fact that the little girl wasn’t hers and that both she and Chris were encased in old pain.
Just next to the path was an ancient oak tree with a thick trunk that was completely hollow inside. It was evidently well known to the older village children who each ducked inside and then out again before running off down the path. Molly was entranced. She went in and sat down, looking around in wonder.
‘It’s Fairy Maple’s tree,’ she breathed. ‘It really is. Just like in the story.’
‘It’s like her tree,’ said Faith, ‘but it isn’t actually her tree.’
Molly gave no sign of having heard her. ‘But there are no fairies here.’
‘Perhaps they’ve gone to play with their friends,’ said Chris. ‘Just as we’re going to do. Come on, sweetheart.’
Molly wriggled further inside. ‘Going to stay here.’
Faith saw Chris’s body tense up. ‘You can’t,’ he said, still in a reasonable tone. ‘We’re all going to look for shiny stones, then there are going to be races.’
Molly’s mouth set in a mulish line. ‘Want to stay here!’
Faith sighed. ‘Well, you can, of course, but I don’t think there will be any tea here, and it’s going to be really difficult for us to tell Panda and the other toys that you aren’t in bed for them to cuddle up to tonight because you are sitting down here in a tree in the cold and the dark.’
Molly mulled this over. Then she sighed too. ‘Oh all right,’ she said in a long-suffering voice that had Faith biting her cheeks not to laugh. She came out of the tree and took a hand each of Faith and Chris again.
Faith darted a sideways look at Chris as they followed the others. His eyes were brimming with laughter. He made a strangled sound, shaking his head to stop her speaking. Faith bit her cheeks even harder to keep the laughter in.
In the ‘quarry’ they found a few stones with just enough sparkle to keep Molly happy, then it was back to the riverbank for races, and finally time to go home.
They arrived back at Chris’s cottage. ‘Aren’t you coming in too?’ said Molly, giving a huge yawn.
Faith looked down at the little girl and smiled. ‘I don’t think I’d better. You need a nap and I’ve got a chicken casserole to make for my dinner.’
‘I like your cooking,’ said Molly with another yawn.
‘A casserole sounds wonderful,’ agreed Chris. Both of them looked at her hopefully.
‘I could bring it over when it’s cooked,’ she said, but hesitantly, in case that hadn’t been Chris’s idea at all.
‘Yes, please,’ he said, barely giving her time to finish the sentence. I’ll provide the wine to drink with it.’
‘See you in a couple of hours, then,’ she said, her heart warming. It had been a lovely day, one she didn’t want to end.
* * *
Chris opened the front door and went inside, almost as tired as Molly, but with a small undercurrent of excitement running through him. It had been lovely, spending time out with Faith. Almost like being a ...
No! Don’t say the word!
But his he
ad supplied it anyway. Family.
‘Read me Fairy Maple’s story, Daddy? Now?’
He might have guessed, after her finding that tree. But looking at her heavy eyelids, he suspected he wouldn’t be reading to the end. An hour’s nap would do her the world of good. ‘All right, sweetheart,’ he said. ‘Cuddle up here with Panda.’
As he expected, her eyes were shut within minutes. He lifted her gently on to her squashy beanbag and tucked Panda next to her. And now he would make a strong coffee and work like a madman on accumulated paperwork to give him the rest of the weekend free.
It was an email, pinging into his inbox, that made him realise the hour was up. He should be rousing Molly or she wouldn’t sleep that night.
‘Wake up, sleepyhead,’ he said, going into the living room.
It was empty.
Upstairs, he thought, in her wardrobe-version of the tree. But she wasn’t there either. Chris’s heart stuttered as he took in the empty room. ‘Molly,’ he shouted, ‘Molly where are you?’ He raced into every room, looking in cupboards and under beds. He hurtled down the stairs three at a time. ‘Molly!’ he yelled. ‘Molly, where are you?’
No answer. Molly wasn’t in the house.
Panicking now, he snatched up his phone and dialled Faith. ‘Is Molly with you?’
She sounded startled. ‘No. I haven’t seen her since I got home.’
‘Can you check all through your house? She might have crept in.’
He heard her breathing speed up and the sound of rapid footsteps as she ran from room to room. ‘I’m looking. But I’ve been in the kitchen all afternoon. She would have had to get past me. There’s no sign, Chris.’
‘She fell asleep reading a story, so I put her on the beanbag and blitzed those damn reports from yesterday. But now she isn’t here! Not anywhere.’
‘Wardrobe? Any other cubby holes? I’ll try my shed.’ She was still running, her footsteps thudding.
‘I’ve looked! I’ll try in the outhouse.’ For the life of him he couldn’t keep his voice from shaking. Where was she?
‘She’s not here, Chris. I’m coming over.’ Her voice was as anxious as his.
He fumbled with the back door, still gripping the phone. It was locked. Molly couldn’t have got out that way. He went outside anyway. The outhouse was empty.
The Lakeland Doctor's Decision Page 11