“Sorry about that,” said Ruth, who was clearly unmoved. “This is a boy who hasn’t been with us very long. He has, as you can see, quite severe emotional and behavioral issues. Shall we . . . ?” she added, gesturing with her hand to the classroom nearest where they stood.
For the rest of the tour, Kate was distracted. She vaguely took in the well-appointed computer room, the library, the outside space with play equipment, and the gym, which was also, Ruth explained, a good, secure space for children who needed to work off excess energy. “The staff can bring the children in here at any time during the day, if that’s what they need. We find it a useful outlet for aggressive and destructive behaviors. Very valuable.”
Kate peeked into the little secure pod room as they went back past on the way to reception. The little boy was now curled up on a pile of cushions, his face streaked with tears and snot. He was alone.
“So,” said Ruth, as they went back through the security lock to the holding cell that was the reception area, where the sour-faced woman behind the grille was temporarily absent. “What do you think? Can you see Jack thriving here?”
Kate thought about the little boy in the pod. Whatever the psychoanalysts’ theories said about helping boys with his issues, as a mother she knew what she wanted. She wanted to go into that room and hug him, comfort him, wipe his face, blow his nose, and care for him like the little boy he was. He couldn’t be more than two years older than Jack, although she had seen a look in his eyes that wouldn’t be out of place on a person three times his age.
“No,” she said. “I don’t see my Jack here. I don’t see him staying at his old school either.” She raised her hands in a helpless gesture and let them fall again to her sides.
Ruth stood regarding Kate in silence for several long seconds: “Mrs. Thompson,” she said, “I feel for you. And I agree with you. And let me tell you this,” the older woman held her gaze and continued: “As a parent you know your child. Don’t let anyone bamboozle you to thinking otherwise. The authorities will do the least they can, as cheaply as they can, to make a pretense of meeting your child’s needs. They have an obligation to do that, you know. A legal obligation. Parents’ opinions don’t count for much in all that, but I see something in you that tells me your opinion should be valued. That puts Jack at an advantage over most of the children here.”
She turned to the keypad by the door and punched in a code. The door opened and she stood to one side.
“And don’t quote me on that,” she added, as Kate left.
“Will we ever live on a boat?” asked Jack as they walked down the wooden jetty toward Daniel’s narrow boat. Kate was holding his hand tightly as he skipped along. The water seemed far too close and accessible for her liking, the gray-brown river surging powerfully below and around them like the rippling muscles of a sleeping leviathan.
“I don’t know, darling. We might do one day. We might sail away somewhere wonderful, where it’s always sunny and warm.”
“Where there are palm trees!” said Jack.
“Yeah . . . And monkeys—lots of monkeys . . .”
That would be nice, she thought, shivering in her thin coat. She had brought Jack straight from school and the temperature was dropping as night got ready to fall, the light already dimming into dusk though it wasn’t even four o’clock.
The row of windows down the side of Wonderland glowed invitingly. He was in. She sighed in relief and relaxed her clenched jaw just a little.
“Ahoy there,” she called as she lifted Jack carefully onto the little foredeck and stepped down gingerly herself. Beneath her the boat barely moved, just rocking gently, almost imperceptibly . . . a soothing lullaby. She imagined curling up in Daniel’s bed at the front of the boat and being rocked gently to sleep for years and years.
She shook herself. And then he was there, reaching up to lift Jack into the cabin and then turning to help her down the steep, wooden steps.
They were inches apart—there wasn’t much choice in the tiny cabin—and he leaned over to kiss her cheek as if it was the most natural thing in the world.
“Wow, you’re cold,” he said.
“It’s just my face,” she replied, but then gave away her lie with a convulsive shiver. “I’m fine, really.”
“You sit closest to the stove,” he said, leading her by the hand. “Jack, you need to make sure you don’t touch this, okay?” he said gesturing to the little black stove. “It’s really hot, like a radiator only much hotter.”
“It’s got fire,” said Jack delightedly. “It’s like a fire in a box. I love your house, it’s really cool.”
“It is really cool,” agreed Daniel.
He was smiling delightedly at Jack as he explored the cabin, marveling at the tiny kitchen, the neat little bedroom at the end, the way the toilet and shower were tucked in, looking as if they were just closets, leading off the narrow corridor. Daniel was so absorbed it gave a chance for Kate to observe him. He had a childlike joy in sharing his world. He was patient, encouraging, and sweet with Jack. It reminded Kate of Tom. But he wasn’t Tom. There was a softer, more emotionally available vibe about Daniel. It was impressive. And attractive. She allowed herself another little daydream, a gentle prod of her psyche to explore the possibility that she was able to soften and yield enough to allow the idea of a romantic relationship with a man who wasn’t Tom. Who wasn’t the love of her life. Could it ever work?
“Penny for them?” asked Daniel, turning, smiling to see her gazing at him.
“Sorry. I was staring . . . You remind me of someone I used to know.”
“Someone you liked, I hope.”
“Yeah,” she said quietly. “Someone I liked.”
“Tom?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m honored.”
“You’re not the same.”
“You will never find someone who cares about you the way Tom did,” he ventured.
“No.”
“But what about someone who cares about you as much as Tom did,” he said, watching her face intensely for her reaction. “That could work, couldn’t it?”
Kate was stricken. She squeezed her aching head with both hands. “I don’t know,” she said.
He nodded. “Okay, look, I need to show you these flyers. I hope they’re okay, I got the Portman Brothers logo from your marketing department and I ran it by them too.”
“Perfect,” said Kate, relieved at the change of subject and looking at the flyer he handed her from the top of the box on the little table.
She felt warm now, and as she relaxed she sank into the little sofa, and a deep weariness flooded over her. Daniel noticed.
“You look like you need a good night’s sleep.”
“Ah, sleep, what’s that?”
“You and Jack should stay here one night,” he said, tentatively, determined to return to his earlier theme. “You could both take the big bedroom. I could sleep on the sofa here. Why not come when I’m moving the boat? I do that for a couple of months in the summer, usually, I go downriver to this place that’s a bit quieter. Things get a bit hectic here in the middle of town during tourist season. I prefer to avoid it.”
“Jack would love that. So would I.”
“Kate?” Daniel looked at her, his eyes softening. He didn’t need to say anymore.
“I know. I just . . . I don’t know whether I can.”
“No pressure. We could take it slow.”
She sighed, a deep, weary sigh, breathing out all the tension and pain and misery of the past four years. Looking at this lovely, kind, gentle man, who was gazing at her with such tenderness. It made her want to cry.
“Not now . . .” she said at last. “I can’t do it now. I’m sorry.”
Daniel hung his head. “That’s what I thought you’d say.” He smiled. “I’ll stick around though, Kate. You’re not getting rid of me.”
“Mummy! Look at the toilet!” exclaimed Jack. “It’s metal.”
“Well, that certainly
breaks the mood,” he said, turning away.
“We should go.”
“What are you doing tonight?”
“Ah, well, I was supposed to be doing a party at another school mum’s house,” said Kate, briefly explaining the last-minute cancellation.
“She sounds like a horrible woman,” said Daniel, in wonder. “So, you have all this jewelry stock and nowhere to sell it.”
“That’s about it,” admitted Kate. “All my money tied up in jewelry I have no way to sell, so Christmas just got even harder.”
“That’s awful,” said Daniel, his mind churning, looking for possible solutions. “At least that means you’re free this evening after all.” He brightened. “I’m meeting friends for supper. They’re really nice. You should come.” He ducked his head, tentatively, nervous for her reaction.
“Won’t that be the exact thing I’ve just said we’re not doing?” asked Kate. “Acting like we’re . . .” She hesitated over the word. “Together?”
“No, okay, stupid idea.”
“It really isn’t. Wasn’t,” she insisted. “It was kind. But I can’t, not least because I would need someone to look after Jack. I’ve got my landlady babysitting him on Saturday so I can go to my work Christmas party.”
“Always a joy, those things.” He grimaced.
“It’s politically necessary,” agreed Kate. “I need to be seen.”
“We’ll do something though,” said Daniel, meaning it. “You, me, and Jack. What about getting a Christmas tree? You’ll need a hand, with no car.”
“Yay! Christmas tree,” said Jack, who had previously been ignoring their boring adult conversation. “We haven’t got our one yet, have we, Mummy?”
Kate pulled a comedy face, relieved the intense mood had been broken, for now at least. “Thanks for that,” she said with a hint of sarcasm. “That’s another thing . . .”
“Offer her the empty shop unit, you idiot,” said Cara, once Daniel had brought them up to date on his complicated week. “The Olde Sweet Shoppe, durr brain. It can be a bespoke jeweler’s.”
“What, jewelry? Really?”
“It’s weddings, isn’t it, dumbo?” she went on. “God, you boys, you need telling everything.”
“Lucky we’ve got you then,” said Paul, amused. “Don’t savage him too viciously. He’s in lurrrve. It’s addled his brain.”
She sighed, gathering her patience noticeably. “As you’ve just explained, the shop owners surrounding it are offering a one-stop wedding service. You have a florist, a dress shop, a cake shop . . . yada, yada . . . Nowhere in your story have you mentioned a jeweler, and yet how can it be a complete service without engagement rings, wedding rings, presents for bridesmaids . . .”
“What?” asked Paul. “Presents for the bridesmaids? Is that a thing?”
“Obviously.”
“Yes, but jewelry-type presents? I mean . . . that sounds expensive.”
“It’s the norm.”
“So, are we . . . ?”
She dismissed him with a crushing look. “Aaanyway, obviously,” she said to Daniel as she held up one finger, “they’re going to need a jeweler.” She held up two fingers. “You know a jeweler.” She added a third finger. “Your client needs a tenant.”
Daniel pulled an “oh yeah” face of dawning clarity. “She’s quite good, really, isn’t she?” he said to Paul.
“She has her moments.”
Cara took a swig of wine and plonked her glass back on the table decisively. She had one more message to deliver. “And tell her I’ll get my friends together for a jewelry party.”
“What? Like the one her delightful school-gate ‘friend’ flaked on?”
“The very thing,” said Cara. “Wine, chat, buying stuff . . . usual format. Tell her I’m in. I’ll get texting. It needs to be before Christmas, though; no point otherwise. Gosh, it nearly is Christmas, isn’t it? Ask her if she can do it.”
She got out her phone and tapped the screen a few times. “It’s going to have to be Tuesday. That’s okay, my lot are hard-arse; they can drink Prosecco anytime. Most of us are on our Christmas holidays by then anyway.”
“This is a ‘girls only’ thing, isn’t it?” asked Paul nervously.
“Yeah, don’t worry, I won’t let them loose on you. You and Daniel can keep your heads down. Why don’t you both go out and do some Christmas shopping or something? I know for a fact you still need to buy my present.”
“I do,” admitted Paul, looking at Daniel with relief. “We’re sprung, mate, do you fancy it? We can get the present-buying done and reward ourselves with a bevvy.”
“That would be brilliant,” said Daniel, relieved that he wouldn’t have to help or anything. He suspected the emotionally unstable dipsomaniac Hayley might be there, and he wasn’t sure he had the energy for that again. There was only one emotionally unstable woman he felt he had the energy for, and that was Kate.
“So, wake up! When are you going to tell her you’ve done a blinding knight-in-shining-armor number? That’ll seal the deal, won’t it? Me and Cara are fed up with you mooning around after her. Get in there.” He made an unmistakable gesture to illustrate his point.
“Idiot,” said Daniel, without heat. “I’m not at all sure I’m handling this thing right, but I’ll ask her to meet me tomorrow.” He brightened at the thought. They would talk. He would apologize for being a numbskull—for pushing her to give him an answer too soon. Then, he would transform her immediate prospects by telling her about the jewelry party. Then, he could see about transforming her entire life forever by telling her about the shop. He was pretty confident Noel would love her, and she would love Noel. So . . . big plans.
7 Days ’til Christmas
It had been a while since she had had the dream. She had missed it, even tried to will herself into having it again, desperate to immerse herself in those moments of happiness and warmth, seeing his face, feeling his love. Like crack cocaine she wanted it, even though the shock and pain of awakening was all the more painful for the moments of bliss that preceded it.
This was not the one about the barbecue on the patio that had dissolved, so recently, into rain. The dream was the one she had had a hundred times about Tom’s last day before leaving for the last time, with the bright sunshine sharpening the shadows and bleaching out the color of the roses Kate had planted in the front garden. Even though they never stayed anywhere longer than two years in a succession of services quarters, she had always planted roses.
“I’ll bring you back some camel shit from Afghan,” he had joked. “Apparently, it’s rocket fuel for roses, camel dung is. Hopefully then we’ll actually see some flowers before we move on to the next house.”
“I don’t mind,” Kate had said, smiling at his teasing. “Jack and I like gardening, and I like the thought we are giving something lovely to the next family who live here. Army quarters’ houses would never have nice gardens if people didn’t take that attitude.”
“People don’t take that attitude. Only you do. That’s why the gardens we move to are always so crap.”
“One day,” said Kate, shyly. “We’ll have our own house one day, won’t we? With our own garden? I want Jack to grow up with a garden.”
“We’ll plant an apple tree,” said Tom, slipping his hand around her waist. “Better still, we’ll find a garden with an apple tree already in it. For the tree house.”
“The tree house?”
“Like the one I had,” he said. “Before we moved out of our old house. You never saw . . . it was brilliant. All boys should have a tree house,” he said, taking Jack from her arms and spinning him around until he squealed, “shouldn’t they, Jacko?”
“We’ve just had lunch,” she protested. “You’ll make him sick.”
There had always been a sense of unreality on the leaving days. They generally woke up early. Kate, trembling with nerves, had usually lain with her eyes pinned open for hours anyway by the time Tom would bring them both a cup of tea to dr
ink in bed. Jack was invariably in the bed with them by then, squirming, pulling hair and inadvertently poking them both in the eye. His antics were a welcome distraction from what was to come.
The commanding officers were kind on leaving days. Generally, the troops wouldn’t have to report to barracks until a little later than normal. Most of them were family men, leaving young wives and children; some were younger still, barely out of school themselves. If it was their first tour, Tom and the more experienced soldiers would work hard to support them, subjecting them to even more brutal and relentless banter than usual, carrying the frightened young men along with them on a wave of positivity and energy so they had no time to crumble or doubt.
She hated the round black clock in the kitchen on those days. There it was, implacably marking out the minutes, as he shaved, showered, packed his bag, checked his kit, all the seconds ticking away until he hoisted his pack onto his shoulders, put on his cap, and walked out of the door, giving Kate and Jack one last fierce hug before turning away. That last time, on that seeringly bright summer’s day, he had stood, frozen for a moment in the doorway, his big frame and broad shoulders silhouetted against the light. She had held her breath. Clenched her fists. And then he was gone, marching down the little pathway with a bouncing athletic stride. The possibility he might not return had barely ever been discussed, but that time, on that fiercely hot day, it had been true.
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