by Susan Lewis
Jules didn’t know where the photograph was anymore.
“Jules, was that you I saw driving through town about twenty minutes ago?” Terry wanted to know.
“Probably,” Jules replied. “Where were you?”
“Coming out of the butcher’s on Market Street. I waved, but I could tell you didn’t see me. So how are you? I’ve tried calling a few times. Did you get my messages?”
“Yes, I did,” Jules admitted. Everyone had been in touch: Ruthie, Bridget, Cheryl, Brad, Uncle Pete, Finn…just everyone. “I’m sorry I haven’t rung back,” she said, “but things have been pretty hectic. How about you? Is everything OK at the women’s refuge?”
“Sad to say, we’re as busy as ever. Penny was remarking the other day that you haven’t called in to see us for a while. Of course, you’ve got a lot on your plate right now. Have you had any news about a date yet?”
“No, not yet.”
“Will you let me know when you do?”
“Of course. I’m sorry, I should go now….”
“Before you do, I was wondering if you’re thinking of going to Ireland.”
“I don’t expect I will this year.”
“OK, but if you do, I’m happy to come with you. I’d like to see Aileen, and if…”
“I know she’d love to see you too, so if I do go, I’ll be sure to let you know.”
As she rang off, Jules found she was gritting her teeth, not in anger so much as in resistance to all the kindness and concern, as she could find no proper way to respond to it. She knew everyone was making excuses for her, that they’d never bear her any ill will for wanting to keep to herself. They would probably even understand if she told them that she simply couldn’t take their pity and constant need to make things better when that was totally impossible.
“Sure, we can make things better,” she suddenly heard Kian crying cheerily from another dimension, “and that’s exactly what we’re going to do, and do you know why?”
“Tell me,” Jules prompted.
“Because we can,” he laughed. Throwing his arms around her, he danced her across the bar toward the stairs, leaving an appreciative crowd of late lunchers finishing their coffees and wondering what on earth the Brights were going to get up to next.
Jules and Kian were halfway up the stairs, heading for the office they shared on the first landing, when some sort of ruckus began kicking off in the main bar.
Groaning, Kian threw out his hands. “You leave them alone for thirty seconds…”
Laughing, Jules started back down to investigate. “I’ll handle it, while you go and look at my proposals.”
“Your proposals? Now there’s an offer,” he teased, and treating her to a bawdy wink, he disappeared into the office just as his mobile started to ring.
“What the hell is this?” a smartly suited man was demanding as Jules returned to the bar. “It’s disgusting.”
“It’s what you ordered,” Misty informed him, barely concealing her annoyance.
“The ice cream, yes,” he snarled, “but not this revolting gloop you’ve spread all over it.”
Clocking the way everyone was staring, evidently sympathizing with Misty, Jules moved in to take over the dispute. “It’s called coulis,” she told the man, recognizing him right away. She hadn’t seen him in a long while, and had hoped never to again, but here he was in all his grandiose glory, making himself no more agreeable now than he had the first time they’d met. “It says on the menu that chocolate ice cream comes with a raspberry coulis, but if you—”
“Show me,” he demanded pompously.
Jules nodded for a barman to bring a menu. To Misty she said, “Perhaps you can take this one away.”
“Did I ask you to do that?” he challenged. “I just wanted to know what it was and why it’s all over the ice cream when I didn’t order it.”
Jules glanced at the woman beside him, recognizing her too, and felt a stirring of pity for how embarrassed she looked. “We’ll bring you another ice cream without coulis,” she informed him affably. “Would you prefer one without coulis?” she asked his wife.
“N-no, no, this is fine,” she stammered.
“Yes, she would,” he corrected. Misty picked up the ice creams. “You should have it there as an addition, so it can be ordered if you want it, not forced on you. What the…!” he cried as he knocked Misty’s arm and one of the ice creams landed smack in his lap.
To his outrage and Jules’s hidden amusement a cheer went up.
“Hey!” one of the regulars shouted over. “A little less of the attitude, mate.”
“I don’t recall asking for your opinion.”
“Well, you’re getting it. You’re bang out of order the way you’re speaking to these ladies. Hey, I’m talking to you….”
Ignoring him, Anton Quentin strode off in the direction of the gents, presumably to clean himself up.
“Are you OK?” Jules asked his wife.
“Yes. I’m sorry about that,” she mumbled, blushing deeply. “He’s—he’s very stressed at the moment. We’re here to get away for the weekend, but his parents…” She glanced briefly at Jules and fell silent.
“I’ve seen you in here before, haven’t I?” Jules said chattily. “With your little girl. Amelia, is it?”
The woman nodded, but the weakness of her smile showed that she hadn’t forgotten the last uncomfortable episode either.
“How is she?” Jules asked. She wasn’t sure why she wanted to be kind to this woman, apart from feeling that someone ought to be. “I imagine she’s started school by now.”
“Yes, she has. She’s doing…Well, I’m afraid she doesn’t always find it easy to make friends. She’s very…shy.”
“Does she go locally?”
“She did for a while, but it didn’t work out too well….With Anton’s work being in London, it made more sense for her to go to school there. I heard…You have a little girl too, don’t you?”
Jules couldn’t help but smile, since it was the effect any mention of Daisy always had on her. “Yes, she’s almost four,” she replied. “A proper little whirlwind who takes after her daddy with all her mischief and madcap schemes. She’s at playgroup today.”
“That’s nice. Which one does she go to?”
“The Pumpkin, near the station.”
“Yes, I know it. Amelia went there for a while a few summers ago, I guess before your little girl’s time.”
“Daisy,” Jules told her. “My daughter’s name is Daisy.”
The woman nodded. “I’ve seen her,” she said. “She’s very pretty.”
“Thank you. You should bring Amelia in again, the next time she’s here. I’m sure Daisy would love to meet her.” Provided she’s a bit more agreeable than the sour-faced little madam she was four years ago.
“Oh, she’s here,” the woman replied. “She just went…” She was looking worriedly in the direction of the ladies. “She can be very independent….I should have gone with her.”
“I’m sure she’s fine. There’s nowhere to get lost around here. So did you ever get her a game of devil among the tailors?”
The woman frowned. “Oh, you mean the table skittles. No, she went off the idea. Children are like that, aren’t they? Screaming for something one minute, forgotten about it the next.”
Although she couldn’t accuse Daisy of ever screaming for anything, Jules rolled her eyes anyway. “Such handfuls,” she sighed. “They drive you nuts at times, but you have to love them.”
The woman nodded distractedly. “Yes, yes, you do,” she mumbled.
After a few awkward moments Jules accepted that the conversation had gone as far as it could, and she stepped back, almost treading on one of the kitchen staff. “Ah, here are the fresh ice creams,” she declared, moving out of his way. “Of course there won’t be any charge—”
“I should hope not,” Anton Quentin cut in, coming toward them. “And I’ve a good mind to send you the bill for cleaning my suit.”
Jules’s eyebrows rose. Apparently he went out of his way to make himself as obnoxious as possible. “You know where we are,” she responded mildly, and with a quick glance at the girl coming out of the ladies, she left them to it.
“It was an accident,” Misty hissed crossly as Jules joined her behind the bar. “He knocked the dish out of my hand.”
“I know, I saw. Just put it out of your mind—it’s not worth getting worked up over.”
“He’s just like his father,” Rustie Belham, a local fisherman, grunted, “old Judge Quentin. So far bloody up themselves, that lot, they got nothing but shit coming out their cakeholes.”
“Lovely image, Rust,” Misty muttered. “Thanks for that.”
“You’re welcome. They say the old boy’s gone a bit barmy now, and the wife’s not much better. Old fancy pants over there will inherit when the time comes, being the only son.”
Glancing at the unpleasant barrister, Misty said, “I don’t know why he bothers coming in here. He always finds something to complain about, and I can’t imagine we’re up to his usual standard.”
Amused by the sarcasm, Jules asked, “Is he in here often, then? I’ve only seen him once before.”
“I wouldn’t say often,” Misty replied, “but he’s been in a couple of times lately. The last was about a week ago, when he was with the mayor and your Kian. Nice as pie he was then. Polite to everyone, giving out tips like he was made of money. Apparently he’s involved in the project to get the old cinema up and running again.”
Blinking, Jules said, “He’s in on that? Wow, I’d never have put him down for philanthropy, much less community spirit.”
“In his case it’ll be a tax dodge,” Misty muttered, starting to pull a lager for Bob Stafford, who’d just come in. “And you have to wonder what it’s like being married to the tosser. He might be rich, but that’s about all he’s got going for him. And as for that child, you should have heard the way she spoke to her mother just now. She needs her mouth washing out, if you ask me.”
Deciding not to ask what had been said, Jules watched the child slap the ice cream spoon from her mother’s hand and turn to her father. “He spoils that girl,” she said softly, “and his wife’s too scared of him to do anything about it.”
“I heard he knocks her about,” Rustie grunted.
“Who’s that?” Bob Stafford wanted to know.
“Bloke over there, what’s-his-name Quentin.”
“Oh, him. Yes, I heard that too. Makes me sick to my stomach that, blokes hitting their women about. Bloody cowards, the lot of them.”
“Couldn’t agree more,” Kian retorted when Jules repeated the conversation to him later. “Maybe we should let her know about the women’s refuge we’re starting, just in case she needs it.”
Jules’s eyes lit up. “So you’re going to back the plan?” she cried ecstatically.
Kian regarded her carefully. “Let’s make sure I’ve got this straight,” he said. “You want us to buy and convert the old convalescent home over on Hanfield Common into a kind of safe haven for abused women and their kids?”
“Exactly,” Jules confirmed.
He nodded thoughtfully. “So you girls get to take care of them, and we blokes get to beat the living shite out of the bastards who are hurting them?”
“Yay! What a great idea,” Jules exclaimed, clapping her hands. “Let’s all get sent to prison for trying to do a good deed.”
Laughing, Kian said, “I reckon it’s something the mayor and his wife would get behind. We should set up a meeting, talk it through with them, and see who else they can bring on board, such as the head of social services and the like, because even if we manage to get private financing, we’re going to need their support when it comes to everything else, not least of all planning.”
“You’ve really been thinking about this,” she told him delightedly.
“You knew I would be,” he laughed as she threw her arms around him.
It was true, she had known, because he never shied away from supporting a good cause, especially those cooked up by the women of his family. “Our mothers are going to be over the moon,” she informed him, her eyes softening as she gazed into his. “Did I ever tell you how much I love you, Kian Bright?”
He frowned as he thought. “I’m not sure,” he replied, “but I do happen to know of a way you can show me.”
Always ready to do that, she melted against him and began a game they often played during private moments, of talking business while making love. “Did you look at my proposals?” she murmured as he pushed his hands into her hair.
“I’m with them all the way,” he assured her, pulling her more tightly to him. “The smoking ban’s bound to come, and we need to be prepared for it. Have you discussed anything with Misty yet?”
“Not in any detail, but she agrees we have to up our game where food’s concerned so we’re as much a restaurant as a bar, and that’s going to mean finding ourselves a really good chef. I’ve listed all the best catering colleges in my proposals, but I think for the head guy we should look at poaching someone who already has a reputation.”
Kian’s eyes widened. “Oh, I love it when you’re ruthless,” he growled, pretending to bite her neck.
“And then we need to start turning ourselves into a B & B,” she informed him as he began unbuttoning her blouse, “or even a full-on hotel, you know, serving dinner as well as breakfast. Quite a few pubs are doing it already, so I think we—you, me, and Daisy, and probably Stephie and Dean too, if his parents will allow it—should go on a road trip round the country checking everyone out and picking up ideas.”
“Just tell me when to be ready,” he murmured against her lips.
“I’ve no idea how many of these pubs can be found on the Internet,” she ran on, “but they’re saying everyone will be on it soon, so that’s another thing we have to get sorted, a website. Kian, my darling, I think we’ll have to take a rain check on what you have in mind, because if you can’t hear your adorable daughter outside, I certainly can.”
Sighing, he drew back and looked at her, both merriment and regret in his eyes. “We need to talk to her about timing,” he decided, “and the part she can play in helping us to get her a brother or sister.”
“You’re the one who encourages her to come into our room every morning,” Jules reminded him.
“And we’re both too tired by the time we go to bed at night. Ah, here she comes.”
“Mummy! Daddy!” Daisy shouted, charging up the stairs. “I’m home and I’ve got a surprise that I made. Mrs. Janet said it was really good. Mummy! Where are you?”
“We’re in here,” Kian called out.
A moment later the door burst open and in bounced Daisy, breathless, bright-eyed, ribbon tumbling from her mussed-up hair, and paint smudged all over her cheeks.
“Look at you,” Jules laughed, scooping her up for a bruising embrace. Just the feel of her skinny limbs in her arms could turn Jules’s heart inside out, and she knew it was the same for Kian.
“You have to come and see what I made,” Daisy was informing them earnestly. “I really think you’re going to like it.”
“I’m sure we’ll love it,” Kian laughed as she threw herself his way for another cuddle. “What have you done with your grannies?”
“They’re down in the bar talking to some people. We saw a lady in town that looked just like the one on Sesame Street. It was really funny, but it couldn’t be her, because that’s in America, where Auntie Em lives. Mum, Stephie and Dean are coming over in a minute for tea. It’s not raining, so we could have a picnic on the beach and play some games after. Can we, Dad? Please, please, please. I promise I’ll be good, and I won’t push you over in the waves.”
Before he could answer she was wriggling to get down and whizzing off in her blue dungarees and purple jellies, getting almost to the stairs before shouting, “You haven’t seen what I made yet. Come on, or Ruby might get it.”
“Ruby
might get it?” Kian echoed in a whisper.
Jules could only shrug and wonder, as she had many times before, if Daisy had ever actually seen the ghost. Certainly when she was a baby there had been times when she’d seemed to look right past whoever was standing over her, giggling away at what appeared to be nothing at all. Or she’d tilt her head to one side as though listening when the room was silent. Or her eyes would seem to follow someone across the room when no one was there. Whatever, it was good to know that Ruby didn’t frighten Daisy. To the contrary, Daisy seemed to accept their invisible friend as a living, breathing member of the family.
“Let’s hope your new friend and his family have gone by now,” Jules commented to Kian as they started down the stairs.
“What new friend?” he asked curiously.
“Anton Quentin. The wife-beater.”
“Keep your voice down.”
“No one can hear me.”
“And you don’t know if he’s a wife-beater.”
“I know he’s a misogynist.”
“How come we didn’t see them when we came in earlier?”
“They’re in the alcove, next to the fireplace,” she replied, and to her dismay, as Daisy urged them across the bar toward the grannies, she saw that the Quentins were still where she’d left them.
“Look! Look!” Daisy demanded, holding up her latest creation in Play-Doh.
Realizing right away what it was, Jules started to laugh.
“It’s to go with Ruby’s other shoe so she has two,” Daisy proudly informed them. “I know this one’s smaller and it doesn’t have a proper lace, but I think she’ll like it, don’t you?”
“I’m sure she’ll love it,” Kian responded, sweeping her into his arms. “And it’s very kind of you to think of it, because she’s only had one shoe for a very long time, so I expect her other foot has got very cold by now.”
“That’s what I thought,” Daisy told him seriously. “And it’s not good to have only one shoe because you have to hop all the time.”
“Out of interest,” Jules said, “did you tell Mrs. Janet and the others who you were making the shoe for?”
Aileen chuckled. “Oh, she did that all right,” she responded, pinching Daisy’s cheek. “Go on, you little minx, you’d better own up.”