Helen looked at Marcio’s sad little schoolboy face and swallowed a grin. Poor boy doesn’t like me knowing more than him. She turned to him with a twinkle in her eye and filled him in on all the things Rachel had covered in the class, explaining that next week they would be writing a birth plan, to let medical staff know which options they were happy to consider.
“And what options are you happy about?”
“Drugs.” Helen laughed. “I used to think a natural birth sounded lovely. But I’m having twins! If the easiest way to get them safely into the world is by having an epidural or even a c-section, then so be it. Obviously I’d prefer it if they didn’t have to cut me open, but I think I’ll wait and see. I’m registered with a good hospital; I have to put my trust in them.”
Marcio shivered. He didn’t like the idea of Helen being cut open either.
He bent over and put his mouth near her bump. “Now listen you two, we’ll be having a nice orderly exit please. No fuss, no getting stuck. Don’t be getting too comfortable in there; your mummy doesn’t want you thinking you’d like to be late so she has to be induced.”
He grinned up at Helen, “Right, that’s that sorted.”
“Because of course they will always do what you tell them to do!”
“But of course,” he said, standing up. “I’m their dad, of course they will.”
It was the first time he’d said the word, and neither of them was quite sure how to react. Helen found she was shaking, Marcio had gone slightly pale.
“I am their dad,” he said again, reflectively. “In all the ways it matters.”
Helen said nothing, just wrapped her arms around him as best she could, and held him tightly.
Chapter Two
“Helen, it’s Mum.”
“Hey, Mum, how are you? How’s Dad?” Helen sat back down on the sofa where she had been snuggled to keep warm, and tucked her feet under her. Marcio was away on assignment up North somewhere, so she was home alone on a Friday night. It was minus two outside, so she was happy to be cosy under a blanket, reading one of his novels.
“We’re both fine,” her mum was saying. “Just ringing to find out what you are Marcio are doing for Christmas?”
Helen realised her mother must have been biding her time to ring and ask the question. Christmas was only two weeks away, and she knew her mum liked to have everything organised in advance. With her daughter in a budding relationship she had obviously wanted to be sure it was going to last before discussing plans that included him.
“What’s Simon doing?”
“He’s coming home.” Maggie’s voice was full of joy. “He thought he might have to work, but the whole company has decided to shut down for the week: so many of the employees are European they realised it was the easiest thing.”
“Marcio wants to go to his mother’s,” Helen explained, and could sense her mum’s disappointment, though she said nothing to protest. “But I want to come home,” Helen continued, “so we’ve agreed to have Christmas apart and get together as soon as flights will allow.”
“Are you sure?” Maggie tried to disguise her pleasure, and Helen felt a rush of love at her mother’s selflessness.
“We’d love to meet him, why not see if he can come to Devon? You will stay for a few days?”
Helen had been hoping her mother would offer for Marcio to come and stay. She wanted the family to meet him, welcome him, but she hadn’t felt she could bring him uninvited.
“That would be great. I’ll find out what his plans are and let you know.”
“How are you all doing? How are the babies getting on? You must be exhausted. You will get a first class ticket home won’t you? We’ll pay.”
“Bless you; I can’t have you do that Mum.”
“I insist. If you are anything like I was with both you and Simon you’re probably rather round and ungainly by now.”
“That’s being polite! I’m so huge I’m starting to generate my own gravitational pull. Coming to you first class would be wonderful, if you’re sure? You can call it my Christmas present.”
“Don’t be silly, it’s the least we can do. I’ve arranged to be able to come up at short notice in the New Year, so you call me at the first twinge.”
“You’re a star Mum, what would I do without you?”
“Will Marcio be at the birth?” Helen could tell her mother was fishing for information, trying to establish how serious her relationship with Marcio was.
“Of course, he says wild horses wouldn’t drag him away. I think he’s more excited than I am.”
“He wants the babies then? Even though they’re not his?” Her mother sounded doubtful.
“Yes, he does.” Helen’s voice reflected the wonder she felt still when she thought about it. “It’s amazing, but he really does see himself as their dad. We are blessed.”
“Indeed,” was all her mother said, and Helen wondered if she really meant it.
As she hung up the phone, Helen realised that, whatever her mother thought, she really did feel blessed. The last few weeks with Marcio had been amazing. Maybe it was the writer in him, but she found he was so intuitive, he knew exactly the right thing to say when she was sad, teary, fearful or just plain hormonal. He wanted to be involved with everything; he had come with her to purchase the things she felt she needed in the house before the birth.
Helen felt superstitious about buying too much, particularly as she didn’t know whether she was having boys, girls, or one of each. She also didn’t have much money to spend on baby things. Still, moses baskets were essential, as were the basics like nappies and baby clothes.
When she had first held up a new-born vest in the shop, Helen had been terrified at how small it was. Then Marcio had come over with the early-baby ones – Rachel had recommended, at the antenatal class, that they all have at least some early baby clothes as, in her words, “twins are often teeny like you can’t imagine.”
Looking at the early-baby vests she had been right: Helen couldn’t even begin to imagine anything being that small and still alive and healthy, unless it was a kitten. Certainly not a human being, something that might grow to be over six foot tall if it were a boy and inherited hers and Daniel’s height.
It was strange to think about Daniel now. In her mind, Marcio was the real father of her babies. She had heard through friends that Daniel’s new job was going well, and that his fiancée was some girl nearly half his age. Helen wondered viciously if she was any good at holding her own at tedious dinner parties where business and politics formed the bulk of the conversation. Then she realised how nasty that was, and that age was no reflection on mental ability.
Look at Lucy, she’s barely old enough to drive, but her mind is as sharp as a pin. They’d become good friends since the misunderstanding over the flowers. Helen often asked her what she was doing still working on reception.
“Biding my time,” Lucy would say, convinced that the perfect writer’s job would come along eventually. “You see, the whole world passes through reception; eventually the right person will stop and chat.”
Helen admired her confidence, if she thought it a little foolhardy. Still, optimism was important. Marcio had received a dozen rejection letters for the first novel he had sent out into the world, but he remained strangely upbeat. Helen was worried that Marcio thought the more rejection letters he got, the bigger the prize would be at the end when it was accepted. It was a lovely dream, but Helen felt you needed to be more pragmatic than that. She didn’t try and convince him otherwise, it wasn’t for her to shatter the wonderful illusion he had created in his fertile mind. If she was honest, lurking in the back of her own mind was the thought, call it hope, that one day someone would see one of her pictures and commission her to do a book, or offer her a lucrative assignment.
They must exist, she thought, as she looked round her tiny flat and tried to imagine it full of babies and the paraphernalia they seemed to require. Surely someone somewhere makes money from photography?<
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She envied her new antenatal friends, although she tried hard not to. They’d been for coffee a few times and they all seemed so ready for motherhood, so together. And so financially stable.
The week before, she’d had a discussion with Karen about pushchairs.
“I went to a department store to try them out,” Karen had said. “Michael insisted. He is the man, so I suppose he is in charge of wheels.”
Helen hadn’t met Michael, but from what she had heard, she could imagine him going for a go-faster buggy with all the bells and whistles.
“We went for a system in the end. You know, with the car seats and everything. It was about £900 but worth every penny.”
Helen had smiled and nodded in agreement, while in her mind she was screaming Nine Hundred Pounds? She knew Marcio was lucky to get half that for a short review. It was nearly a month’s rent. Their buggy had come from Gumtree at a tenth of the cost. It wasn’t perfect or new, but it was functional and, more importantly, affordable.
Maybe I could train to be a wedding photographer like Stuart, Helen mused. There’s certainly more money in that. However, working flat out every weekend from March to October was not the life for a mother of two, even if she thought her nerves would stand the responsibility of photographing someone’s special day.
In the meantime, the bills were paid and the booties bought with money from her freelancing work. She was beginning to get enough ahead of herself that she could supplement the statutory maternity pay for the first few months at least. What would happen after that was in the lap of the gods as they saying went.
Chapter Three
“Merry Christmas, gorgeous, I miss you.” Marcio’s voice sounded muffled down the battered land-line from the farm.
“We miss you, too,” Helen responded sleepily. It was hard to get comfortable at night, particularly without Marcio to prop her up in bed. She had found it strange back in her old room, sleeping in her childhood bed while her own children wriggled around in her tummy.
“How’s Devon?”
“Cold.” It had dropped to minus five overnight, according to the thermometer outside her window, and the old farm house was only ever warm in the kitchen, which is where she would be heading shortly.
“It’s early,” she mumbled, trying to get her sleepy senses awake. “I’m surprised you’re up. Didn’t you sit up until the wee hours drinking with your sisters?”
Marcio had told her that was the family tradition, to drink the best of the vineyard’s collection on Christmas Eve and celebrate all the successes of the year.
“We did, but it wasn’t the same this year.”
“I know what you mean.” Helen had arrived at lunchtime the day before, and was thrilled that Simon was already there. Hearing all about his adventures in Abu Dhabi was amazing, and he hadn’t seen her since she got pregnant so he kept laughing that his little sister wasn’t so little any more. She had kept looking round for her ally, but he was too far away to come to her rescue, and it made her feel lost. Talking now on the phone, under the duvet in her room, she felt like a giddy teenager again. It was a nice feeling.
Helen could hear the background noise getting louder down the phone, as Marcio had to raise his voice to speak. “The kids have been allowed downstairs, chaos is about to commence. I’d better go. I miss you. I love you.” Before she could respond, he had hung up the phone.
Hitting cancel on her own phone, Helen lay snug under the duvet, not wanting to break the spell. “I love you too,” she murmured into the silence.
Hearing movement below, Helen threw off the duvet and pulled on some maternity jeans. She had bought a big red jumper for Christmas day, which clashed horribly with her hair. She looked like a giant robin, but it made her feel festive. Adding a Father Christmas hat, complete with giant white pompom, she headed out the door and down to join her family.
Christmas day was always the same in the farmhouse. Breakfast was early, and consisted of pancakes and bacon, and porridge if the weather was very cold. Then the family would wrap up in as many woollies as they could find and head down to the beach.
This morning the sky was clear, the sun shining on the overnight frost making it look almost like snow on the ground. They were the first family down on the beach, although they wouldn’t be alone for long. Many of the families in their village had the same tradition, and it was often when they caught up with their neighbours and wished them season’s greetings.
It felt great to be outside, after the long train ride of the previous day. With two hot-water bottle-babies keeping her warm, Helen barely felt the bitter wind that came in off the sea, tufting the surface of the waves into mini snowdrifts. Her cheeks felt chaffed and red. Probably adding nicely to my robin redbreast impression, she thought. She felt alive and full of hope for the future.
In her pocket her phone vibrated, telling her a text message had arrived. Thinking it would be from Marcio, she pulled off her gloves and fished out her phone. She didn’t recognise the number. Intrigued, she unlocked the phone and read the message.
Happy Christmas Helen. I hope you and our babies are well. Give me a call. Daniel.
Her heart thumped painfully in her ears and her hands shook with adrenalin.
How dare he!
Helen hadn’t heard anything from Daniel since the night she left his apartment. There hadn’t been so much as a note in the boxes of belongings that had been sent on to Devon months ago. In all that time, he hadn’t so much as forward on her mail.
It was as if I ceased to exist. And now he sends a message as if I only saw him yesterday. As if he hadn’t wanted to kill our babies.
Babies. So he knew she was expecting twins.
Sara must have told him, the cow.
Although why it mattered whether he knew she was carrying one, two or a dozen babies, she wasn’t sure. They were not his babies. He had given up that right seven months ago.
“Sweetheart, are you okay?”
Helen looked up at her mother’s voice and realised she was standing stationary twenty yards behind the rest of the family. She tried to call back to her mum, but no words would come. Terrible thoughts were flapping at the edges of her mind.
When Helen didn’t respond Maggie hurried back towards her daughter. “Are the babies okay? Do you need to sit down?”
Helen saw the concern in her mother’s face and forced herself to speak. “I’m fine, Mum, fine.”
“You don’t look fine, poppet, you look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“I guess I have.”
“What do you mean? You’re scaring me.”
Unable to explain, Helen mutely handed her phone to her mother. Maggie peered at the small screen, her eyes scrunched against the sun so she could read the words.
“The bastard! What’s his game?”
Once more Helen was startled out of her misery by shock at her mother’s language. She laughed weakly
“Thank you, I needed that. Bastard indeed.” She looked about her, surprised to see the sun still shining, the day still beautiful. The dark clouds that had descended were all in her mind, but no less powerful for all that.
“What are you going to do? I hope you don’t intend to respond to him?”
“I don’t know, to be honest. Knowing Daniel, he has some ulterior motive. If I don’t respond, he’ll only persist. I need to find out what he’s plotting.”
“I can’t believe he sent that message today. Christmas is a time of joy and family, things he doesn’t seem to know much about. Does he know about Marcio?”
Helen thought about her meeting with Sara. If Daniel knew about the twins, he knew about Marcio. But he wouldn’t give him a second thought. Nothing and no-one got between Daniel and his end game.
“I guess,” she shrugged.
Marcio. What am I going to say to him? They hadn’t talked about it, but she had always got the impression that Marcio thought Daniel wasn’t completely out of her life. She thought Marcio was putting his own
feelings of honour and nobility onto Daniel, when the latter had no concept of the notions. To Marcio a man would not abandon children he had fathered, whatever the circumstances. It turned out maybe Marcio was right.
“Perhaps Daniel has decided to do the right thing,” her mum unconsciously voiced her own thoughts. Maggie’s words contained as much doubt as Helen’s mind. Mum obviously doesn’t think Daniel capable of doing the right thing either.
“It’s possible, I guess. Maybe his fiancée has given him a conscience. He doesn’t have one of his own.”
“I can’t imagine any fiancée encouraging him to get in touch with his previous one, or to claim parental rights over children that aren’t hers.”
Parental rights. The dark wings began clambering again. Helen turned to her mother, stricken. “You don’t think he’s going to try for custody of the children? Or visiting rights or whatever? He can’t!” She felt a sob form in her throat. She knew Daniel; she knew what he was capable of.
“Darling, they’re not going to hand two tiny babies over to a man who disowned them from the get-go. They’ll need you for food if nothing else, and there is no reason to take them from you. You and Marcio, you’ll give those babies everything they need and more. What can Daniel offer them that you can’t?”
“Money.”
“There’s more to life than money, Helen.” Her mother’s voice was firm.
“Will courts and judges see it like that?” Helen began looking wildly around the beach, as if searching for the social workers who were going to wrench her children from her. She needed Marcio here, now.
Maggie took her daughter by the shoulders and forced her to focus. “Calm down. Breathe. You’ll harm yourself and the babies if you allow yourself to get upset. You need to find what Daniel wants, and talk to Marcio. The babies aren’t even due for another six weeks. Relax, please darling, if you can.” She dropped her hands from Helen’s shoulders and linked her arm through hers. She gently tugged her forward, hoping that if she caught up with her father and brother, between them they could distract her thoughts until she was calmer.
Baby Blues and Wedding Shoes Page 24