by Bloom, Anna
“Hey.” He lifts an eyebrow. “Don’t waste food, my baby needs that.”
I grin, and it’s stupid and wide but I just don’t care. Leaning back on my chair in the kitchen I place my hand over the bump. “Sweetheart, this kid has had enough food. Look how big this is.” Chuckling I rub at the beautiful round bump that precedes me everywhere I go. Always on show and never hidden under baggy clothes, I love the way it makes me feel. Like I’m complete for the first time. That I’m someone. And not just an artist, a tattoo artist, or someone about to shoot a TV show. But rather something more. A mother. Me.
“It’s beautiful, just like you.”
I watch my hands circle. The left is okay although my knuckles are little swollen. The right is worse. My pinky finger never recovered, but I can still hold a pencil and a paintbrush. However, I find things like ceramics, glass, and working with clay harder.
I’m still retraining myself though. It’s why I’ve let Angela hire a co-star. I’ve got other things to worry about anyway. It’s not all about me and what I can create anymore. H.U.G. has taken off. The press has picked up on it, helped by the fact the Faircloughs have backed the charity, along with my press exposure from the run up to the TV show, especially my interview with Vogue.
The fact I’ve been able to openly talk about my past is a plus. Ironic that I have Aiden to thank for that. If he hadn’t been arrested for assault that night, all those weeks ago, I would have been gagged and unable to talk about what happened to me. But because his initial arrest was for recent violations and not the historic, I’ve had more freedom than I would have ever guessed. He’s already in jail, guilty of the attempted manslaughter of an unborn child and grievous bodily harm against me. In three weeks, he will be in court again; this time for historic child abuse and four counts of rape.
He will never walk the streets again. Every time I do and the February air nips at my cheeks or I pause to look in a shop window and see a reflection of myself, seeing only my bump and not the ink on my skin, I’m grateful that I am free.
Free of the past. Free of the pain. Free of him.
“Miss Beesley is going to get dinner ready for later, so you don’t need to worry.” Eli picks up the paperwork he’s been reading over breakfast. “And Laura has organised your cars to and from the studio.”
“Yay for being organised,” I say sarcastically, but he just waves his hand at me.
“Don’t forget I’ll be home a little late. I want to spend go over the files with Reggie again.”
“You’ve been over them a million times.”
“Once more won’t hurt.”
“Okay. Don’t forget Jeremy is bring around his new 'friend' at the weekend, and that you’ve promised me you are going to be nice.” Eli pulls a face. “Remember we are being supportive and caring as he works through his grief.”
“Yes, yes.” He bends down and drops a kiss on the top of my head. “Set them on fire, Faith.”
“I’ll burn the place down.” I roll my eyes and wait for him to leave. Once the front door is closed, I grab my phone and dial Abi. “Quick, I’ve got a car coming, tell me all!” I almost screech not even bothering with basics like hellos.
“Hi, Miss Superstar, nice to hear from you. I’m fine by the way.”
“Abi, don’t even joke. Tell me what you saw.”
“Dan.” She raises her eyebrows until they are almost in her hairline.
“AND?” I scream.
“And… bloody hell, Faith, he was with that Sienna woman.”
“I can’t believe it. Dan Smith and Sienna Richards? Are you sure it was her?”
“Positive, she’s pretty enough; it’s kind of hard to miss her.”
“I knew she hadn’t been around much. But Dan? And her?”
“Are you jealous?” For a moment Abi is deadly serious.
“Are you mad? Of course I’m not.”
“Phew. For once it would be nice to have things simple. How’s my godchild? I can’t believe you didn’t find out if it’s a boy or a girl. How can you cope with not knowing?”
“Easy? I don’t need to know everything like you.”
“It would drive me mad. I don’t know what colour cardigan to knit the baby.”
"Shut the fuck up! You’ve never knitted in your life.”
“Okay.” She chuckles so loud. “I don’t know what colour cardigan to buy the baby.”
“That’s better. Are you still dropping Charlotte off the weekend after the trial?”
She hesitates. “Uh. Yeah sure.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Um, listen, gotta dash.”
She hangs up just like that. Well that was weird.
I take the stairs one at a time; it’s about the speed I do anything these days. The bump has a will all of its own; a force of gravity I can’t seem to maintain. I feel like I’m going to pitch forward on a moment to moment basis.
I head into the nursery—the room next to ours. It’s cream and beautiful with a contrasting hue of heather to brighten the depths. I sit in here a lot. In front of the window is a rocking/feeding chair. I’ve got a few minutes until the car comes to take me to my new venture. Although it doesn’t feel that new. The build-up to the TV show has been slowly simmering for months. I’ve had photo shoots, press releases, all sorts that a girl from Brighton never really expected. My phone beeps and I glance down at a message from Angela. You’ll do me proud today, I know it. Co-star is on route from Heathrow. Talk about cutting it fine. Xxx
I roll my eyes which is mainly what I do around Angela. She’s a hurricane of last-minute activity. The co-star coming in is an artist from the States. We haven’t even met yet, but I’ve been assured we will get on like a house on fire. Lucky for Channel 4, I can play nicely these days.
My phone beeps again. Jennifer.
Good luck, not that you need it. Also, you’ve been invited to the Women of Britain awards next week. I accepted for you, basically you have to go. What size maternity are you wearing? I’ll get Saskia on the trail of something delightfully Faith for you to wear.
I groan. I don’t think people are understanding just how damn tiring lumping around a thirty-week baby bump is. And I’m not small… oh no. Considering I was so slim to begin with, I now seem to be pregnant from my toes to the top of my head.
10… oh who am I kidding? 12 I write back. With plenty of extra space around the middle.
She sends me back a laughing emoji. Yes, that’s right, the baroness uses emoji’s these days.
Five minutes until the car arrives. I lean back in the chair and centre my thoughts, focusing on the mindfulness Francine has been teaching me in my sessions. I’m still going weekly, and I probably will until after the trial. Talking is good, so it seems.
After a couple of moments, I reach to the bottom drawer on the left in the chest of drawers. Lifting out one of the small baby vests that are patiently waiting inside, I unfold it on my lap before pulling out the Manilla folder Sienna dropped around all those fateful months ago.
I open it and read like I do most days. Reading the facts about my mother, the only things I know. Inside my tummy my baby pushes its foot into my ribs. “Hey, don’t be mean.” I poke the foot back and watch as it shifts across my stomach under the tight stretch of my white vest.
I go to close the folder, making sure the note written in Eli’s hand with the address is left on the top. Then shutting the nursery door behind me I go back down the stairs and pull up the straps to my dungarees. I decided they would be my uniform for the show: the bump would be discreet but still there and if I pair them with vests then I won’t get too hot and my art will still be on show on my skin.
Saskia had a lot to say. Oh well, she can have fun finding me a dress for that award thing.
Once I get safely delivered to the Tate and walk through to where the London underbelly set is waiting for its moment of glory, I find Angela. “Darling, have you not been to make-up yet?”
I shoot he
r a don’t shit me stare. “What are you saying?”
She waves her hand at me and then comes closer and kisses me on my cheek. "I doubt anyone is going to be looking at your eyeliner anyway.”
“I know, right? Look at how this ink has stretched on my tummy.” I lift the edge of my vest and she stares in horror at the contorted ink.
“Your bonus will be me paying for you to have a restorative tummy tuck.”
“Cheeky mare!” I laugh and shake my head. “Right where is this co-star? I guess we should meet. Also, I want to see the contestants first, make sure there is nothing they are worried about.” I pause and think through the hazy mental list I have, thinking through my baby brain. “Is Dylan here?"
“Yes, yes. Telling everyone he knows you and that he thinks you would have had a thing with him if it hadn’t been for Elijah getting in the way.”
“Really?”
“Truth.” Her attention is caught over my shoulder. “Ah, here comes your co-star and Gerard.”
I turn, my stomach twisting. Remember, Faith. You can play nice now. Then the air just whooshes out of my chest as my gaze falls on Eli. Ink dark jeans and a white shirt; that is not how he left the house only an hour and a bit ago. He grins at me, those delphinium blues shining so bright they eclipse all the lighting in the room.
“What are you doing here?”
He shrugs, but his face is alive with mischief. “Change of career.”
“But what about your family? What about your job?”
He pulls me close, his scent washing over me, making my tummy flip. “Turns out the family is changing.”
I push back. “You-you are going to be here with me? Doing this?”
“Turns out, Angela was right. We have great chemistry.”
I fall into his arms and kiss him with all I’m worth and I don’t give a shit who sees.
“That’s a cut.” Someone shouts from over in the distance. I’d honestly forgotten anyone was even recording.
The contestants—all thirteen of them—are in lines. Each of them has a wide work bench to use and all sorts of kit I’d consider stealing if I could still use half of it.
“That went so fast.” I smile. The nervous tension that zapped through the air earlier seems to have dissipated and the contestants all seem to be chatting and getting on nicely. I’m assuming that will be cut out in editing—I'm not sure it makes great TV watching a bunch of people talk about what they might have for dinner while playing with clay. It was Eli who started that conversation. Fair to say I rolled my eyes—he wants pasta and a jar of sauce, apparently.
I walk over to Dylan. He’s leant down on his elbows staring at what he’s been working on. “How was that?” I ask coming up to his side.
“I think this says it all.” He frowns at the creation.
“What is it?” I stop myself from laughing.
“I have no clue.”
“So you see that there in the middle.” I point at where we’ve put some prompts for today’s theme in between the benches. There’s a toy red double-decker bus, a London Beefeater with his furry hat—not a real one obviously, a toy one—and other things that conceptualise London.
They were asked to use the prompts to create a scale monument that could be used to welcome visitors to London with just one image.
“You have to not focus on one thing, but rather squint at them,” I try to explain.
“Squint at them?” Dylan leans closer and lowers his voice. “Have you got baby brain already, Faith?”
I scowl and kick him with the toe of my Doc Marten. “No! You know when you see those illusion pictures? It looks like random dots but some people can see a perfect picture instead.”
“You mean like those things my gran used to do and I used to get so cross because I could never see what she saw?”
I look again at the props in the middle of the room. “Exactly. Don’t look at the images too closely, look at it as if it almost wasn’t there and then let your own image come in its place.”
Dylan’s expression says it all. I’m talking Martian.
A gentle squeeze on my elbow makes me turn. “You ready to head home, sunshine? I’ve got a car waiting.”
I smile into the blues and then squeeze Dylan’s shoulder. “You’ve got this, Dylan.”
“Hmph.”
I link my fingers in Eli’s but then lean down to Dylan’s ear. “I could never see the images either. It just means we see things our own way.”
“Ready?” Eli’s eyes are bright.
“Take me home, co-star.”
Eli taps on the glass and asks the driver to pull over on Old Brompton Road.
“Why are we stopping here?”
“Figured we could pick up some groceries.”
I shrug. Sure, whatever. I mean this morning I thought he was going to work as a lawyer, but instead we’ve spent the day in front of TV camera crews together. I think anything goes right now.
We pop into M&S and buy some Tapas bits and salad. “You’ve been very quiet,” he says as I investigate the bag of salad for any dodgy leaves. From out of the corner of my eyes I can see two women about my age staring at us. It’s something I’ve always been used to. My ink is a magnet for inquisitive stares. This is different though. They are looking at me because they know who I am. My exposure from H.U.G. has been wide, and the promo for the TV show has been building momentum, especially as the show has been a backer for the charity.
“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me what you were doing.”
His face falls.
“Eli, don’t get me wrong. I’m glad you were there; it was unexpectedly perfect.”
“Let’s pay for the shopping and walk and talk.”
Walk and talk. Isn’t that what he said all those months ago when he turned up at my small little apartment with Danish’s in a bag and the perfect cup of coffee?
We walk hand in hand but neither of us speaks, people rush by us as we meander along, but if anyone is looking at us, I don’t bother to notice.
“So, artist, hey?” I can’t bear the silence any longer.
He shrugs but that dimple lifts his cheek. “Better than lawyer, although technically I’m still practising.”
“Why are you still practising?” I cast him a look from under my lashes, trying to read his emotions.
“Just in case we need it,” he clips. What he means is if I need it when it comes to putting Aiden away. I let it go. He wants to protect me, it’s an inbuilt need within him. Sometimes it could be seen as a flaw, but I have to see it as something that won’t change.
“You asked me a question ages ago.” He leads us through the cast iron gates of the small park area wedged between the Georgian townhouses and guides me towards a wooden park bench.
“I’ve asked many questions.”
“That you have. Once though you asked me who I was. Which Eli was standing in front of you.”
I nod. “The you of the Faircloughs, the man in the suit; or the you of your heart, the man in sliders with the soul of an artist.”
His fingers link with mine, his thumb pushing at my engagement ring, twisting it across my skin. “I’ve never known. All my life and I’ve never really known. I’ve always wanted to protect everyone. Tabitha, Peter. I guess you, too.” His blues stare straight into my soul. “But I never knew who I was. When Peter died,” he tails off a little and swallows hard. I squeeze his fingers tight. “When Peter had the damn cheek to leave me with the awful mess that is our family, I panicked. I didn’t want to be heir. I didn’t want to be the front of a family who hides behind a façade while living with secrets and lies.”
“But you are still heir, Eli. And now you have put yourself on television as an artist. Do you even know who you are?”
For a moment his face is solemn, the shadows chasing in his eyes make my heart ache. “No. No I don’t. But I know you.” I start to shake my head, but he reaches his hand and cups it around my cheek. “Faith, you don’t understand. You’
ve changed all of us. You breezed into our lives one sunny afternoon and swept us all up. After Pete died, I refused to do all his engagements, refused to bow down to what I was told to do. Yet that week we were apart, you stepped right up. You fought harder than I ever have. It made me realise that I’ve been walking around all these years with a chip on my shoulder, pissed off I couldn’t be who I wanted. But really I didn’t even know who that was.”
“Who do you want to be?”
A smile grows on his face, beautiful and everything I’ve been in love with all these months. “I want to be your husband. I trust you to know you will lead all of us in the right direction. With you by my side then the Faircloughs won’t have to live behind a façade. We can be anything we want to be.”
I nod, a lump lodging in my throat. “We can.” I reach for his hand and lay it over the bump. “We can be anything we want.”
“Even on telly.” His grin widens.
“Even on telly.”
“Even when I want to paint in the attic and see where that takes me?”
“Even then.”
“Even when you are my wife and we love one another until the day we die?”
I catch his lips with mine, squishing the salad under my feet. Our kiss is hot and magical. Two souls finally working their way free.
“Even then.”
Thirty-One
“You okay?”
I try to wipe the frown off my face and smile at Eli. “Yes, I’m fine. It’s just the baby is sitting in some daft position across my bloody ribs.”
A smile eases the tension across his face, and he bends down so his lips are close to my stomach. “Stop hurting mummy, she needs to be together right now.”
“I am together,” I snap.
“Faith.” Eli straightens and slips his hands around my shoulders. “Relax. You’ve got to let Reggie do his job. Answer honestly and let the truth speak for itself.”
I nod. “I know, I know. I’m sorry, I’m just so tense.”
“You don’t have to face him. You can give your account from behind a screen. Reggie even told you to.”