Pops was just round the corner from Helen’s apartment. She had met her photography group there a couple of times since moving back to Earl’s Court. They did a superb all day breakfast. Just thinking about it made Helen’s stomach gurgle.
Okay then kiddies, Mummy will get you a lovely fry-up. Just for you, of course, I will get no pleasure from it at all.
She’d started work as soon as she had woken up that morning, eager to review the photographs she’d taken in Barcelona. It gave her a warm glow now, just thinking about it. She couldn’t imagine how she was going to cope, waiting for a day or two to hear from Marcio. Coffee with Sharni, and picking through whatever crisis was spinning her life this week, would be a useful distraction.
It took slightly longer than usual to walk round to Pops: Helen had discovered a worryingly early tendency to waddle, despite only being in her second trimester. She still reached the café well inside half an hour, even though Sharni’s greeting suggested otherwise.
“At last!” Sharni stood and waved as Helen searched the busy café for her friend. It was nearly midday and the place was full of people grabbing lunch.
Laughing, Helen wove her way through tables, trying not to bump anyone.
I need wide load stickers and flashing lights she thought, as she apologised for the third time, cursing the dark interior that made navigation even more tricky.
The smell of frying bacon and strong coffee filled the air and her tummy was gurgling like a washing machine by the time she eased herself into a chair alongside her agitated friend.
I may even indulge in a real coffee, Helen thought as she surveyed her friend’s face, trying to determine the cause of the crisis. She saw elation and fear in equal measure.
I think I might need it. Hopefully the babies will be too tired from our trip to start up the hokey cokey.
A waitress materialised alongside the table within moments of her arrival. Normally she would still be deliberating over the menu but today there was no question.
“Full English please, with a single-shot latte.”
The waitress looked questioningly at Sharni, who already looked like she’d had more than enough caffeine.
“Not for me, I can’t eat.”
The waitress shrugged and returned to the kitchen with Helen’s order.
“Sorry, I have to eat, the babies are hungry.” There was no response from Sharni and Helen looked at her in concern.
“Come on then, spill the beans.”
Sharni dropped her head into slender manicured hands and groaned. Her face was hidden by her long dark hair so Helen couldn’t tell which emotion was in charge, excitement or terror. There was a long pause and, just as Helen was about to repeat her request, a muffled voice said three barely-audible words.
“Sorry, Sharni, I’m not sure I heard that right?”
Sharni looked up, her lips quivering with a reluctant grin.
“I snogged Derek.”
“Oh my god! When, where? How?”
Why, she added silently, but now was not the time to question her friend’s taste in men. She was hardly one to comment anyway.
“At Stuart’s party.”
“What party?” Helen felt a lead weight drop into her stomach. She had lost so much already since the pregnancy; her fiancé, her home, now she was losing her social life. Was she an outcast now?
“Didn’t you get an invite? You must ha’ done. He sent the invites in the post, for some reason. It was his 40th and he went all formal. Maybe it got lost?”
Helen could tell Sharni wasn’t at all interested in whether Helen had been invited or not. But she was mollified by the idea of a postal invite, as she thought about the untouched mail she had gathered off the doorstep the night before. Her post tended to get delayed as it had to be redirected from Daniel’s.
“So, you snogged Derek at a party. Come on, tell me more than that. Who started it, were you drunk, did you swap numbers?”
“I can’t remember who started it, I’m not sure how drunk we were, but no, nothing was said afterwards.” Sharni stopped, as if mentally replaying the events of the party.
“When was this?”
“The party was on Saturday at Stuart’s place. My god, it’s amazing!”
“What is?”
“Stuart’s apartment! Did you know he was big in t’City, some investment banker or something, but he crashed out a year ago and has been trying to find out what he wants to do with his life ever since.”
Helen shook her head to indicate she didn’t know. It made sense, Stuart clearly felt uncomfortable with the group but was full of fragile confidence, as if remembered behaviour fought with current fear.
“Did Stuart tell you all of that? He was unusually verbose.”
“No, I got chatting to his sister at the party, she told me all about it. Apparently he was flying high, living t’high life, then just hit the wall one day, wham! Walked outta office and didn’t look back. His family thought he’d gone loopy. Can you imagine? Stuart seems so cool, as if life is a breeze. I can’t imagine him a frenetic trader or an emotional wreck.”
“There is so much we don’t know about people.” Helen thought about Marcio. She had only known him for a few days. Maybe there was a whole history there waiting to be discovered. Would she run scared when she found out more or did she know everything that mattered? She couldn’t think about that now.
“So, back to Derek? What happened?”
Sharni fiddled with her empty coffee cup and didn’t look up as she spoke. “Well, we were out on t’balcony having a smoke.”
“You don’t smoke.”
Sharni’s face looked flushed in the dim light and she peeked at Helen through her long lashes before resuming her contemplation of the cup. “I mighta, well, crashed a fag, you know, as an excuse?”
Helen laughed. She could just imagine her besotted friend borrowing a cigarette as a means to talk to Derek. The Do you have a light? line was as old as the hills. She’d used it herself as a student.
“So, you borrowed a light, got talking. What did you find to talk about?”
“Oh, you know, this and that. He asked how my photography was going. Asked about you, wondered how you were getting on with t’pregnancy. He really is a top bloke.” She looked up at Helen and nodded her head eagerly as if emphasising her words.
Helen found it hard to reconcile this image of Derek with the gruff, barking man who ran their classes, or the diva photographer she knew he had been in his prime. She was touched that he had asked after her. They hadn’t really spoken since her Rosa cover, as the course had finished with the assignment.
“Who made the first move?” Helen’s mind was suddenly full of the image of Marcio making his move on the yacht. She licked her lips at the memory before dragging her thoughts back to Sharni. “Come on, I want details.”
“I honestly can’t remember. One minute we’re both leaning on t’railings, side by side. Next minute we’re full-on snogging. Bugger me he can work his tongue!” Sharni’s cheeks flamed at the memory but her eyes were alight and sparkling.
Helen regretted asking for details. She couldn’t imagine Derek in a passionate embrace; it was like imagining her parents having sex.
“Did you go back to his place?”
“Hell no, can you imagine the stink if I didn’t come home? My folks’d call the cops.”
“Did Derek say he’d call? Has he called?”
“No to both. Someone came on the balcony, Ben I think, and Derek broke off. Not sure if Ben saw but, by the time I’d said hello to him, Derek had gone. That’s bad, isn’t it? He woulda stuck around if he’d liked me?” Sharni’s chocolate brown eyes sought out Helen’s, tears beginning to well, her face a picture of misery.
Helen wasn’t sure what to say. She was pretty sure the kiss had meant nothing to Derek – he had never shown any interest in Sharni before. But then, would he? Sharni had been a student; it would have been unprofessional to have made any move at the time. Shar
ni was beautiful and ridiculously clever; what man wouldn’t love her? What to advise?
“You need to contact him. You can’t leave it like this, you’ll go crazy.” Helen was suffering enough waiting for Marcio to call and she was pretty sure he was interested in her.
“I can’t call him!” Sharni’s voice was a squeak.
The waitress arrived with Helen’s breakfast and they were quiet while it was deposited on the table. Helen’s tummy rumbled at the smells emanating from the plate of food.
“You don’t mind if I tuck in?”
“No, sure, go ahead.”
They sat in comfortable silence while Helen ate. She wracked her brain for something useful to say.
“You could send him an email? Maybe not even mention the kiss. Ask him a question about photography; let him make the first move?”
“What if he doesn’t?” Sharni’s voice was barely audible over the hubbub in the café.
Helen turned to look at her, thinking it was time for honesty. “Then you’ll have your answer.”
When a week had gone by and she still hadn’t heard from Marcio, Helen found her conversation with Sharni reverberating round her mind like an irritating song that wouldn’t shift. Did she have her answer?
Chapter Thirteen
“You’ve got mail.”
The sultry American voice echoed around the studio flat, causing Helen’s heart to jump to the back of her throat. Despite her pulse racing like an intercity train, Helen forced herself to complete the editing layer she was working on, removing some litter from one of her Barcelona pictures.
Clicking Save, Helen took a couple of deep breaths before clicking over to her inbox. Few people emailed her, as her friends tended to text and her mother always phoned if she needed to talk.
“Marcio, you are so going to be in trouble for leaving it ten days before emailing me!” Helen strove for a light-hearted tone, despite being alone in her flat. Her voice was husky from lack of use; it sounded alien to her.
Lunch with Sharni had been her only contact with the outside world since returning from Barcelona ten days before, as she worked hard on preparing some of her photographs for wider release. She hoped one or two might be suitable for travel magazines or holiday companies, giving her a chance at a new source of income.
Trying not to yell at her laptop to hurry up, Helen stared out the window at the rain. It had been pouring for days now; grey relentless rain that brought the sky to within inches of the rooftops. The claustrophobic atmosphere matched Helen’s frame of mind. Everything felt heavy. She had spent half a day filling out forms to claim maternity allowance, aware that it wasn’t going to make a dent in her mortgage payments, never mind enabling her to purchase nappies, baby-grows, food. If she didn’t manage to make some significant money in the next couple of months she would have no choice but to move back to Devon.
At least I had the sense to register as self-employed when I worked for Daniel. She laughed a mirthless laugh: there were so few positives left in her mind from her time with Daniel it seemed fitting that qualifying for full statutory pay counted as one of them.
Please let Marcio be coming home soon. Helen raised her prayer to the grey skies, as her email account finally appeared on screen.
Nascent hope died stillborn when she saw who the email was from. She knew that address, it wasn’t Marcio’s; it was from Dawn.
Green eyes filled with tears, as Helen stared blankly at the brightly lit screen.
I’m such an idiot. Whatever magic we had wasn’t enough. And who can blame him? What man wants to take on three people in a relationship, particularly when two of them are going to be needy, noisy and not theirs? I should have known that life doesn’t play out like a Freya North novel.
For one precious weekend it had seemed that it might. Now she wished the weekend had never happened. Before she had met Marcio she had been resigned to her role as single parent. Her time in Spain had offered a different vision of what life could be like. Now even though the dream was short-lived its loss reverberated through her life like the echo of a gong.
A heavy blanket of loneliness fell on her, smothering hope. As the clouds became lower and darker outside her window, turning the morning into night, tears streamed down Helen’s cheeks, mirroring the rain coursing down her grimy window pane.
When Helen eventually raised her head she felt drained and shaky from her tears, but better able to face things. Marcio wasn’t coming back, that much was clear. Time to pull herself together and get on with life.
She stretched her arms above her head and cricked her neck left and right.
“Time for tea,” she declared decisively.
Levering herself out of her chair she waddled over to flick the kettle on. While it filled the flat with a rumbling crescendo, Helen went back to her laptop and clicked open Dawn’s email. She might not be a single sexy Spanish guy but she had become a loyal friend since Helen’s sojourn in her house. She wondered why she was emailing: Dawn was of her mother’s generation and much preferred to use the phone.
My dear Helen,
Apologies for the e-mail communication. John is at home and I do not feel able to talk freely on the telephone. I would very much like it if we could catch up for a girly chat, if you are free?
I am happy to come over to your flat, or we could meet at Pops?
Maybe you could text me, as I am heading to town this morning.
Much love
Dawn
“Girly chat? Text me? What is going on?” Helen laughed at Dawn’s strange message. “One of her daughters must have been home on a visit; she’s gone all trendy on me. Well kiddies, at least Mummy has a use as an agony aunt. Pops is going to start charging us rent.”
Ignoring the boiling kettle, Helen shut her laptop with a click and reached for her phone. Time to brave the rain.
The scent was so familiar Helen felt the floor lurch underneath her feet as her knees went soft. Gripping onto the door frame she willed the riotous butterflies in her tummy to be still. She knew that smell; it brought to mind a swaying yacht and the bright blue sky bisected by billowing sails. Helen searched the faces in the café for a familiar pair of blue eyes, willing herself to believe he might be in Pops instead of some restaurant in Barcelona.
Silly girl, she admonished, when her eager gaze met only the puzzled stares of strangers. You are so desperate to see him again you are jumping at ghosts and shadows. Of course he isn’t the only man in the world who wears that scent.
Dawn was sat in the same corner Sharni had occupied the week before. Helen realised it commanded a good view of the door whilst remaining obscured in the gloom. That wasn’t like Dawn either; she normally sat in the window to engage in her favourite people-watching pastime.
Dawn rose to her feet as Helen approached and leaned over to kiss her warmly on both cheeks.
“You look both tanned and pale darling,” she said, as Helen took off her dripping raincoat and sat down.
“And you are very observant,” Helen laughed, hoping Dawn would be too preoccupied with her own worries to delve further. She was even less inclined to talk about Marcio now it seemed her holiday fling was just that.
“How was Barcelona? Was it very tiring? I can’t imagine how much more exhausting it is carrying twins. I found it hard enough carrying one at a time!”
“Barcelona was hot and sunny.” Helen flicked her damp hair pointedly over her shoulder and grimaced.
“Oh, lovely. That explains the tan. What about the paleness? Are the babies keeping you up at night?”
Glad to seize on the excuse, Helen nodded. It was certainly true that she wasn’t sleeping.
“And how are you?” Helen looked closely at Dawn. She also looked drawn, as if she had lost weight. It had only been a couple of weeks since they had last caught up and Helen was shocked at the difference.
Dawn began playing with her fruit smoothie, stirring round and round with her black straw. Without making eye contact she sighed
deeply, paused, then said, “I think John is having an affair.”
Helen sat quietly assimilating the information. She still didn’t know John very well. During the two weeks she had spent at Dawn’s house she had seen more of her brother Terrance than her husband. John was off playing golf around the world or attending meetings in his role as non-executive officer to various companies and charities. Dawn had made light of it but Helen could tell she had hoped she would see more of her husband when he retired, rather than less.
Eventually, when it was clear Dawn wasn’t going to add anything more, Helen said softly, “what makes you think that?”
“Oh, you know; something and nothing.”
She looked up at Helen and her pale blue eyes were washed with despair.
“He’s never at home! I can’t believe he’s playing golf all the time he’s away. No one can play that much golf. And even when he is home we barely talk anymore unless to discuss what’s for dinner or something one of the children has said or done.”
“That doesn’t mean he’s met someone else though does it? John is used to travelling; he spent his whole life at sea. Maybe he finds it hard to be at home now he’s retired. Forty years of habit is going to leave quite a deep groove.”
Dawn exhaled and the sound was so empty of hope it made Helen’s soul ache. It seemed even if you had the family home and the thirty-year marriage it still didn’t guarantee you never felt lonely. She wasn’t sure what to suggest to Dawn. It did rather seem that John might not be as in love with his wife as he had been three decades before. But what did Helen know of such things? What advice could she offer when she couldn’t even inspire a man to call her after an amazing weekend together?
“Have you tried to talk to him?”
“Challenge him you mean?”
Baby Blues and Wedding Shoes Page 19