Don't Want To Miss A Thing

by Mansell, Jill

  Vince finally left an hour later. Staying where he was while Molly walked her date back to his car, Dex listened to the low murmur of their voices. He couldn’t make out what they were saying and wasn’t able to see them either; Molly had ensured the branches of the juniper bushes hid them from view.

  Then the car disappeared down the lane and she rejoined him.

  ‘I’ll have this.’ She sat back down and poured the last of the beer into her own empty glass. ‘What was that about, then?’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘Forcing us to sit out here with you. Asking Vince all those questions, every last detail about himself. It was like being interrogated by the secret police.’

  Oh, so she’d noticed then.

  ‘I was just interested to meet him, find out what he was like. Are you going to see him again?’

  ‘Yes I am.’

  Really? How will you manage to stay awake? Dex didn’t say this out loud but it hadn’t taken him long to decide that Vince didn’t possess the sparkliest personality in the box.

  ‘What are you thinking?’ Molly was on the defensive, prepared to rail at any hint of criticism.

  Sensing it was the wisest thing to do, for once in his life Dex managed to keep his opinion to himself. ‘I like him. You’ve done well there, got yourself a good one.’

  It was the right thing to say. She visibly relaxed and exclaimed proudly, ‘I know! And he’s so handsome!’

  ‘Not bad, I suppose. Not as good as me.’

  ‘He’s handsomer than you.’

  ‘What?’ Dex clutched his chest in shock as if she’d just fired an arrow at his heart.

  ‘These women in the restaurant told me how gorgeous he was, like something out of a Hollywood movie. And they were right, that’s exactly what he looks like.’

  ‘What am I, then? Stig of the Dump?’

  ‘You’re very good-looking too,’ said Molly. ‘But in more of a real-life way.’

  Ouch. Dex reminded himself that at least he had the ability to make people laugh. ‘So you’ve hit the jackpot with Vince,’ he said playfully. ‘Can’t imagine what he sees in you.’

  She lobbed the ring-pull from the beer can at his head then kicked him under the table for good measure. He caught her ankle between his bare feet and held it there for a couple of seconds before letting go.

  ‘So when’s the next date?’ He asked the question as if they were just good friends, because that was what they were.

  ‘On Saturday.’

  ‘What? But that’s—’

  ‘It’s OK,’ Molly broke in, sensing his alarm, ‘I know, I’m not going to miss that. We’ll be going out afterwards,’ she explained.

  Dex felt himself partially relax. It wasn’t ideal, but it would have to do. It was Delphi’s birthday on Saturday. She would be one year old.

  On a day when emotions would inevitably be heightened, he’d hoped – OK, taken it for granted – that Molly would be there at his side to help him through.

  Chapter 35

  It was the kind of thing Frankie might have been tempted to do, but she wouldn’t have felt comfortable instigating it off her own bat. Sometimes, though, fate intervened and the opportunity that presented itself was just too perfect to pass up.

  Fat Pat was the local carpenter in Briarwood. He wasn’t remotely fat, he just liked to go to fancy dress parties done up as Fat Pat from EastEnders. Last night Frankie had emailed him a description of what she required and he’d dropped by this morning to explain why he was unable to do it.

  ‘Sorry, love, not going to be able to help you.’ He held up his heavily bandaged right hand. ‘Near as dammit chopped a couple of fingers off yesterday, you never saw so much blood in all your life, and the doc reckons I’m not going to be able to work properly for weeks. Which leaves me stuck barking orders at those two useless sons of mine while they try and do the jobs we’ve already got booked.’

  ‘Oh no, poor you.’ Frankie offered him a slice of walnut cake which he scooped up in his massive left hand. ‘Don’t worry. Thanks for letting me know. Does it hurt?’

  ‘Like you wouldn’t believe.’ He shook his head and grimaced. ‘Anyway, with what you’re after, I reckon Stefan might be worth a try. He could do it for you. Don’t look so shocked,’ he chuckled, ‘I wouldn’t be saying it if I could manage it myself. But I can’t, so I’m thinking he’s the best man for the job instead.’

  Which wasn’t why Frankie had been looking shocked, but never mind.

  And as a suggestion, it actually made a lot of sense. When Fat Pat had left, she drank a cup of tea and mulled it over. Was this fate? If Hope Johnson was to be the topic of conversation, might Stefan suddenly blurt out the whole heartbreaking story and conclude in desperation, ‘If only there was some way I could find her again?’

  Well, there was one way to find out. And it was only nine o’clock in the morning; she could go now, before opening the café.

  It was the start of a beautiful summer’s day. Swinging the bag as she went, Frankie made her way on foot across the village and out the other side. She came to the river, crossed the wooden bridge and followed the path along the riverbank.

  It was officially private land, but generations of Hanham-Howards had allowed this part of their estate to be walked on by the general public. And in Stefan’s case, they’d given him permission to live on it too. If there were laws against it, no one had ever said anything. For the last seven years the caravan had remained there in the natural clearing that Stefan had, over time, patiently coaxed into a wild garden. The scene was picturesque and it all seemed idyllic but Frankie didn’t envy him in the winter.

  He was sitting on the steps of the caravan now, enjoying the morning sun and watching the birds hopping around on the grass in front of him. As Frankie approached, she saw him hold out his hand and one of the tiny birds flew up to take seeds from his outstretched palm.

  Stefan inclined his head and said, ‘Morning,’ as she slowed to watch.

  Frankie smiled. ‘It’s like something out of a Disney film.’

  ‘They visit me every day. We’ve got to know each other pretty well.’ Realising she’d come here to see him, he said, ‘What can I do for you?’

  He was lithe and tanned, wearing a pale yellow shirt and narrow jeans. His watchful dark eyes missed nothing and habitually gave nothing away.

  ‘I asked Fat Pat to do some work for me but he injured his hand yesterday and is going to be out of action for a bit. He suggested you for the job.’

  ‘Which is?’

  ‘I need a glass-fronted display case to hang on the wall in the café.’ She opened the carrier bag and took out the red dress. ‘It’s for this.’

  True to form, not so much as a flicker. Stefan Stokes’s expression remained utterly inscrutable. He’d make an awesome poker player.

  ‘Right. Well, I can do that. Hold it up for me?’ He surveyed the dress for a couple of seconds and said, ‘OK, got the size. How soon would you need it?’

  ‘Whenever. Gosh, thanks.’ Was he truly inscrutable or did he genuinely not remember the dress? Actually, did he own a TV? Had he ever even seen the show? ‘It’s from the Christmas episode of Next to You.’

  But Stefan simply nodded and said, ‘Won’t take long. I’ll paint the whole thing black; that’ll show it off best.’

  ‘Oh yes, great idea. Thanks very much.’

  ‘No problem.’ He returned his attention to the birds waiting to be fed. ‘I’ll have it done for you by the end of the week.’

  The imperious rattle of the cot’s bars signalled that Delphi was awake. Seven thirty, pretty civilised. Sliding out of bed, Dex crossed the landing and pushed open the door to her room.

  Delphi was wearing her pink bunny-printed babygro and standing up in her cot, waiting like the Queen. She beamed and jiggled the bars again, babbling excitedly at the sight of him.

  ‘Hello hello hello, beautiful girl!’ As Dex lifted her out of the cot she wrapped her bare arms around his neck and
gave him a kiss. ‘It’s your birthday! Happy birthday to you!’

  ‘BabababaBA.’ Delphi responded by drooling lovingly on the side of his face. It was what people called their first birthday but it wasn’t really, was it? It was the second. Surely your first birthday was the day you were born.

  In an instant, Dex was transported back to that night exactly a year ago when he’d turned up at the hospital in the small hours and met Delphi for the first time. He remembered with absolute clarity the rush of love he’d felt for her, and the look of pride on Laura’s face as she’d watched them together. She’d become a mother and created something both perfect and priceless. It had been the happiest day of her life.

  Dex’s throat tightened at the brutal unfairness of it all. Laura should still be here. That she wasn’t alive to celebrate her beloved daughter’s birthday was just so terribly wrong. She was missing it all, would continue to miss every birthday to come, would never witness the first steps, the first words, the first anything . . .

  Unless she was watching down on them as well-meaning people often liked to suggest. In which case, being the perfectionist she was, the chances were that Laura was clutching her head in her hands and yelling in desperation, ‘Oh God, look at you, you’re doing it ALL WRONG.’

  Was he?

  Dex had no idea but suspected he probably was. The authors of the many books he’d read on the subject had seemed as confused as he was, to be honest, and loved to contradict each other.

  Anyway, all he could do was his best.

  ‘Your mum loved you so much,’ he told Delphi. They headed along the landing, pausing as they always did to admire the sunlit stained-glass window Laura had made.

  ‘Bralamagablahhh,’ Delphi pressed her tiny starfish hand against the coloured glass.

  ‘Come on then, let’s get some breakfast first. Then you’re having a bath,’ said Dex. ‘You want to look nice for your party.’

  And later on this morning when Molly came over, they’d give Delphi her presents and video the occasion for posterity. Laura might not be here but he was determined her daughter was going to have a happy day.

  Frankie watched as the guests spilled out into the garden. Thankfully the sun had continued to shine. It had been her idea for Dex to hold the party here at the café and he’d jumped at it, paying her to lay on the kind of buffet he could never have put together himself. He’d also ended up inviting most of the village so it was just as well the garden was big enough and the weather was good. There were children of all ages being entertained by a magician, a band was playing, adults were drinking champagne and Young Bert had coloured ribbons tied around his horns.

  It wasn’t your average one-year-old’s birthday bash, that was for sure.

  Next to her, having left the pub for an hour, Lois murmured, ‘Bless him, he’s doing his best for that baby. Can’t have had an easy time of it, these past few months.’

  ‘I know. He’s doing really well.’ They both watched as Dex helped Delphi to tear the flowered wrapping paper off a present from Mary, one of Briarwood’s oldest residents, and affect delight when it turned out to be a large pair of pink hand-knitted leggings.

  ‘They’re perfect. Just what she needs. I don’t know how you do it,’ Dex told Mary as he gave her a kiss on the cheek. ‘Thank you so much.’

  Mary, beaming with toothless pride at the compliment, clutched his forearm with a gnarled hand and said, ‘Ah, she’s a fine babby, I’ll do her a romper suit next. And if you ever want a nice jumper for yourself, my love, you just say the word. I’m good with my needles, always have been . . . ooh, I’ve got a big bag of orange wool going begging if you fancy it. With your colouring you could really carry it off.’

  Frankie hid a smile; Delphi had already received enough lovingly hand-knitted items to see her through early childhood. With his open friendly manner and ability to charm, Dex was quite a hit with the older inhabitants of Briarwood.

  Then Lois said, ‘Here’s my dad,’ and Frankie turned to see Stefan making his way towards them. Her face lit up when she saw what he was carrying under his arm.

  ‘This the kind of thing you had in mind?’ He showed her his handiwork, a black-framed, glass-fronted case exactly the size she needed.

  ‘Stefan, that’s just perfect. You’re so clever. How much do I owe you?’

  ‘Twenty pounds? Is that too much?’

  ‘Are you mad? Twenty pounds isn’t enough. Look at all the work that’s gone into it . . . and that beautiful wood . . .’

  Stefan shrugged. ‘But I already had the wood, only needed to buy the glass.’

  ‘Forty,’ Frankie insisted, opening her handbag.

  ‘Thirty, then. No more than that.’ Money was of little importance to him.

  ‘What are you putting in it?’ said Lois.

  Frankie said, ‘The red dress Hope wore during the Christmas episode. It’s going up on the wall in the café.’

  ‘Oh, I know the one you mean.’ Lois nodded. ‘With the white spots like snow. Where’d you get it?’

  How she wished she could tell them the truth. But she mustn’t. And Stefan was giving no sign that he was paying close attention.

  ‘I picked it up on eBay. Here,’ Frankie pressed the money into his hand. ‘And thank you again. If I ever need anything else I’ll know where to come.’ She smiled at Stefan, longing to know what was going on behind that unreadable exterior.

  ‘No problem. Any time.’ He held up the neatly wrapped present he’d also brought along with him. ‘I’ll give this to Delphi.’

  When he left them and made his way over to Delphi and Dex, Lois said fondly, ‘I bet I know what it is. Same as he made for Addy on her first birthday. And me on mine.’

  Together they watched as the paper came off to reveal a wooden box with shaped openings carved into the sides. Opening the lid, Delphi tipped out the wooden shapes and instantly – enthusiastically – attempted to cram the star through the oval hole.

  ‘Hours of fun,’ said Lois.

  ‘Imagine how long it must have taken him to make it,’ Frankie marvelled. ‘Your dad’s an amazing man.’

  ‘I know.’

  Over on the buffet tables, a couple of serving dishes were almost empty. Frankie said, ‘We’re running low on sandwiches. I’d better go and make some more.’

  ‘You don’t want to be stuck in the kitchen missing the party. Come on,’ Lois gave her a nudge. ‘It won’t take long if I give you a hand.’

  They stood companionably side by side and began a mini production line, Lois buttering and de-crusting, Frankie piling on the fillings and cutting into triangles.

  ‘It’s such a long time since your mum died.’ Emboldened by the fact that she didn’t have to make eye contact, Frankie said casually, ‘Does he never get lonely?’

  ‘Dad? Oh, who knows? He says not, but he must do.’ Slicing and spreading like lightning, Lois’s hooped earrings jangled as she shook her head. ‘And you know what he’s like, typical man, never says much. I’d be thrilled if he met someone else, but he just never makes the effort. He says there were only two women he ever loved and that was enough . . .’

  ‘Two?’

  ‘Mum was one. They just adored each other. They got together when they were seventeen; it was love at first sight for both of them, a beautiful thing.’

  The hairs at the back of her neck were zinging. Frankie said, ‘And the other one?’

  Oh God, it was probably going to be Lois.

  ‘I don’t know who it was. He only talked about her once, a couple of years ago.’ Lois stopped spreading and said thoughtfully, ‘No idea what made him come out with it like that. I’d just asked him if he thought he’d ever find someone else and he told me he had, once.’

  Zinnnggggg.

  ‘But you’ve no idea who? He didn’t give you any clues?’

  ‘Nope.’ Lois resumed buttering. ‘He said they’d loved each other but couldn’t be together.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘
Haven’t the foggiest. Unless she was married.’ Another shrug. ‘It’s the only reason I could think of.’

  ‘What about the Romany thing?’ Frankie’s hand shook and she sprinkled far too much chilli sauce over the prawns. ‘Would that make it difficult?’

  ‘You mean if she didn’t have Romany blood? Pfft, it’s really not the end of the world. These things happen. Look at me!’ Lois pointed through the window at her adored seven-year-old daughter. ‘Addy’s father wasn’t a gypsy. He was a complete dick-head,’ she curled her lip, ‘but that’s something else altogether.’

  ‘So you don’t think your dad would have a problem with getting . . . you know, involved with a . . .’

  ‘Civilian?’ Her dark eyes flashing with mischief, Lois said, ‘I honestly don’t think there’d be a problem.’

  Which was good news in one way but something of a puzzle in another. Because did that mean Stefan had significantly relaxed his views in the last decade? Or did it signal that he’d only ever used the Romany aspect as an excuse – a get-out clause – in the first place?

  And why was Lois now giving her that oddly speculative look? OK, time to change the subject. Frankie said brightly, ‘Well, anyway, let’s hope everything works out! There, are we all done now?’ They’d refilled the silver serving dishes and anyone helping themselves to the extra-chillied sandwiches was going to get a mouth shock. ‘Shall we take them through? Thanks so much for your help!’

  Chapter 36

  There she was. There she was. Henry, who’d just arrived and begun to panic slightly when he hadn’t been able to spot her, exhaled with relief as a door swung open and Frankie appeared holding a vast tray of sandwiches. At last. It was like the final piece of a jigsaw slotting into place, making the puzzle complete. She was wearing a pink sundress and several silver necklaces, and a broad smile as she turned and talked to someone behind her . . . oh help, it was lascivious Lois from the pub. And she’d spotted him . . .

  ‘Henry, you’re late!’ Her face lighting up, Lois rushed over and greeted him with a big kiss; if he hadn’t turned his head in the nick of time it would have landed smack on his mouth. As it was, he knew he now had an extravagant crimson lipstick print on his cheek. Laughing, Lois said, ‘Shy boy, so sweet. I’ve been wondering when you’d get here. Dexter told me you were coming down for another visit. Hey!’ Reaching out, she stopped Frankie in her tracks. ‘Here he is, the one I was telling you about. This is Henry. Henry, this is Frankie. You missed her last time.’