The Minute I Saw You

by Paige Toon

  ‘Are you going to?’

  ‘I thought I might.’

  ‘I’ll come and watch if you do.’

  ‘Will you?’

  ‘Faith was there last time,’ I say casually. ‘We had a good chat.’

  Now he seems disconcerted.

  ‘She was nice,’ I add.

  He switches over the hands he’s using to pull the boat. The canoe is heavier than it looks – his arm muscles are straining.

  ‘It’s not going to put you off playing, is it?’ I was only making conversation, but I shouldn’t have mentioned it. ‘It’s not like there are any hard feelings between you, are there?’

  ‘No.’ He sounds hesitant. ‘But I still wish I hadn’t gone there.’

  ‘Try not to have regrets, Sonny,’ I say gently. ‘You’ve got enough crap to sort through without that too. And from what I heard, no one was complaining. Well, except for Nessa. But that was only because she wanted more than you were willing to give, right?’ I add with a giggle.

  ‘What have you all been saying to each other?’ He’s perturbed.

  I laugh outright. He throws me a wary smile before his expression grows serious.

  ‘I don’t want to be that guy any more.’

  I nod. ‘I know.’ I look straight ahead, but out of the corner of my eye, I see him glancing at me occasionally as we walk across the large green expanse.

  ‘Girls, don’t go near the river!’ he shouts suddenly.

  ‘I’ll catch up with them.’ I pick up my pace.

  Imogen is standing near the water’s edge, pointing at some reeds.

  ‘Look! There are those blue butterflies again,’ I hear her saying.

  ‘They’re damselflies,’ I tell her as I come to a stop. ‘Those bright blue ones are called Beautiful Demoiselles. The “beautiful” bit is actually part of their scientific name, but it’s a good description too, don’t you think?’

  Both girls nod in agreement and then Imogen turns to me with a frown. ‘What’s a damselfly?’

  ‘They’re very closely related to a dragonfly, but they’re slightly different. ‘There’s a dragonfly.’ I point. ‘See how his eyes wrap right around from the side to the front of his face? Damselfly eyes are smaller. And dragonflies have bulkier, thicker bodies, whereas damselflies are stick-thin. Their wings are different too,’ I add as Sonny joins us.

  ‘Dad, that’s a—’ Imogen starts to say before looking at me with confusion.

  ‘A damselfly,’ I tell her.

  ‘A beautiful damsel,’ Natalie adds seriously.

  ‘A Beautiful Demoiselle,’ I lightly correct, smiling at Sonny.

  ‘Dragonflies have bigger eyes,’ Imogen tells her father in a grown-up-sounding voice.

  ‘They also have different wings,’ Natalie adds, expectantly awaiting my explanation.

  ‘Yes, right, well,’ I say, hastily, trying to get the lesson out of the way so we can crack on with this photo shoot. ‘They both have two sets of wings, but a dragonfly’s hind wings – that’s their wings at the back – are broader at the base. Damselfly wings are the same size. But it’s the way they look when they’re not flying that sets them apart. Dragonfly wings go out like this, like an aeroplane.’ I mimic the movement. ‘Whereas damselflies fold their wings up so they follow the line of their bodies, going straight down their backs. Come on, let’s get in the boat and see if we can find some that are sitting down so I can show you what I mean.’

  ‘How do you know all this?’ Sonny asks as I help him carry the boat to the launch platform – it’s more of a rotten piece of wood, really.

  ‘I grew up in the fens,’ I reply with a shrug.

  ‘What is Thefens?’ Natalie asks, rolling the two words into one.

  ‘It’s a flat, watery landscape not far from here. Have you ever been to Wicken Fen?’

  They shrug, unsure.

  ‘You should ask your dad to take you. It’s National Trust,’ I tell Sonny. ‘Great for a daytrip, and they have a dragonfly centre there too.’

  Both girls turn to their dad. ‘Can we go?’

  The sound of their question asked in unison tugs at my heartstrings.

  ‘Sure,’ Sonny replies, getting the gear out of the boat and laying the paddles on the grass. ‘Maybe when the school holidays start.’

  ‘Can you come?’ Natalie asks me.

  ‘Oh . . .’ I’m aware of Sonny regarding me in that way again, the way that makes me think he’s misunderstanding my hesitance to spend time with his daughters.

  ‘We’ll see.’ He cuts off any response I might’ve given, throwing the girls their life jackets. ‘Pop those on.’

  Sonny sits at the back, I take the front and the girls go in the middle, facing forward for now. We plan to travel upriver, where it’s quieter, but once we’ve found our spot, the girls will turn around so Sonny can photograph them.

  We spot plenty of dragonflies and damselflies on the way and Imogen and Natalie soon get the hang of telling them apart.

  I point out an orange-red male Common Darter and also a male Southern Hawker with bright apple-green and powderblue markings.

  ‘Who taught you all this?’ Sonny asks me when I indicate a female Black-tailed Skimmer, which is yellowy-brown with two black stripes running the length of its body.

  ‘My parents,’ I reply, smiling at him over my shoulder. The girls are looking away from each other and their high blond ponytails almost obscure his face. ‘We had a very outdoorsy lifestyle,’ I add, returning my gaze to the front.

  ‘Part of the joys of homeschooling?’ he asks.

  ‘I guess so.’

  ‘I think here is good.’ He drags his paddle through the water to bring us to a stop. ‘Ready to have your pics taken, girls?’

  They’re eager. Sonny has told them that they’re doing this for their mum’s birthday present. He’s sworn them to secrecy, but only time will tell if they’ll be able to keep it a surprise.

  Sonny clutches the bank so I can cautiously disembark, and then I help to hold the boat steady while Imogen and Natalie move to my seat at the back, facing their dad.

  Sitting on the bank under the shade of a weeping willow, I’m able to watch Sonny at work. He’s far more relaxed around his daughters than he was with me: there’s smiling and cajoling rather than fixed intense concentration.

  He gets them to tell him what they’ve learned about dragonflies and damselflies, asking them to point out which is which, and all the while he’s click-click-clicking off shots. They hold out their hands to the Beautiful Demoiselles dancing in the rushes, hoping to encourage one to land on an outstretched finger. At one point a Common Blue damselfly comes close and both girls squeal and giggle, all of which Sonny captures on camera. The whole thing is both heartwarming and heart-wrenching to watch, for entirely different reasons.

  ‘You all right?’ Sonny asks while his daughters are distracted with a passing duck.

  ‘Yeah, I’m good.’ I unfold my arms from where I’d crossed them over my chest, realising I must look uptight. ‘That seemed to go well?’

  ‘I think so,’ he replies. ‘Might take a few more at the Orchard. You still up for that?’

  ‘Absolutely. Do the girls want a chocolate biscuit before we go?’

  Silly question. Sonny paddles over and passes me my bag. While I’m rooting around inside, I hear a click. I look up to see his lens pointed in my direction.

  ‘Sneaky,’ I chide as he clicks off another shot.

  He lowers his camera and grins at me. My insides warm and I almost forget what I’m doing, but Imogen soon reminds me.

  As promised, we return to the cottage to collect Bertie and drop off the canoe before going to the Orchard. Natalie wins the coin toss, to Imogen’s desperate disappointment.

  Sonny is firm with her.

  ‘If you cry and ruin the experience for Natalie, I’ll let her have a longer turn. That means she’ll be the one walking Bertie around the orchard once you get there,’ he warns.

&nbs
p; Imogen stops crying immediately, and soon afterwards, her bottom lip retracts.

  Even in the few weeks since I last saw him with his daughters, he seems to have become more comfortable, more in control, more Dad-like.

  I comment on this when we’re sitting at a table under the shade of an apple tree. The girls are taking Bertie for a walk around the inner perimeter of the garden and occasionally we catch glimpses of them through the trees. It’s a large space, but there are plenty of people around so it feels safe to let them wander. Sunday is one of the busiest days of the week. I waited in line for ages to be served. It was that or look after Imogen and Natalie while Sonny went. I opted to queue.

  ‘You seem to have really got into the swing of the whole dad thing,’ I say as Sonny pours apple juice from a large bottle into four glasses.

  ‘Do you think so?’

  ‘Yeah. You’re more confident.’

  ‘I’m getting used to putting my foot down. Rochelle said I was being too soft. I needed to stamp my authority on them or they’d wrap me round their little fingers, apparently.’

  ‘You’re good with them,’ I say. ‘They obviously adore you.’

  ‘They’re getting there.’

  ‘How did the photos come out?’

  ‘You want to see?’

  ‘Yes please.’

  He passes the camera across the table to me. He must’ve been taking photos while I was in the queue because the first few shots are of the girls here in the gardens with Bertie.

  ‘Those are for me, not Rochelle,’ he says.

  I come to one of me under the willow tree and turn the display towards him, raising my eyebrow.

  ‘Those too.’ He smiles.

  I continue to scroll through the pictures – they’re beautiful. The girls’ blond hair shimmers gold in the sunlight and their blue eyes sparkle. I especially like one shot of them laughing as they look at each other with dancing damselflies glinting blue in the background.

  ‘This is my favourite,’ I say, showing him.

  Sonny nods. ‘I like that one too.’

  ‘Rochelle is going to go mad for them,’ I state with certainty, passing him his camera.

  ‘Thank you for coming with us,’ he says.

  ‘I’m sure you could have managed on your own.’

  ‘If all I’d wanted was help, I would’ve asked Archie,’ he points out.

  I reach forward and pick up the pager from the table, turning it over in my hand. We’ve ordered jacket potatoes – the device will buzz when they’re ready for collection.

  ‘Katya’s agreed to sell the apartment,’ he says, taking a sip of his apple juice.

  ‘Really?’

  He nods. ‘She wants me to take the hit on the early repayment fee for the mortgage, but that won’t be much in the grand scheme of things. I’ve appointed an estate agent, so they can start showing buyers around immediately.’

  ‘That’s . . . exciting?’ I try tentatively, uncertain how he feels about it.

  He nods. ‘Yeah. It’ll be good to move on. Now I need to look for something permanent around here.’

  ‘What will you go for?’

  ‘Probably a two-bed apartment in town – somewhere the girls can easily come to stay – but I’m open to moving further out and getting some more space for them. Although, they have got that with Rochelle, so maybe it’d be nice to live more centrally.’

  ‘Nice for you too, to be somewhere lively. I’m not sure I can imagine you being out in the sticks on your own.’

  ‘No, me neither,’ he admits, and I’m struck with a vision of him picking up a woman at a bar and taking her home with him.

  I feel queasy.

  ‘So you saw Katya when you were in Amsterdam last week? How was that?’

  He shrugs. ‘Fine. She didn’t bring anyone over, so that was an improvement on last time.’

  ‘How do you know each other?’

  ‘She modelled for one of my very first shoots when I moved to Amsterdam.’

  ‘Have you and she . . .?’

  He nods once, his eyes resting on me for a long moment.

  My queasiness swells.

  ‘Afterwards, our paths kept crossing – work, social life. She was part of a large group of mutual acquaintances.’ He sounds cynical. ‘She was the one who introduced me to Scott. They dated on and off for a couple of years. Broke up the year before he died. He was a mess. She didn’t give a shit. No one did. No one cared enough. I didn’t care enough.’ He looks upset as he says this, adding, ‘He went to a dark place and went downhill from there.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘I’m glad to be out of that group. They weren’t good people to be around. Now you, on the other hand,’ he says with a smile as he leans forward and swipes the pager from my hands. ‘Are much nicer. And Archie and Matilda,’ he adds.

  I beam at him. ‘I’m glad you think so. You’re not so bad yourself.’

  ‘Not likeable enough to entice you to stick around past the end of September, though. Or . . .?’

  ‘I’ve booked my ticket to Australia.’

  His shoulders slump. ‘When do you go?’

  ‘Fourth of October.’

  He flops back in his deckchair. ‘Wow. You’re not beating around the bush, are you.’

  I avert my gaze, trying to find Natalie and Imogen through the trees.

  ‘They’re behind you,’ Sonny says, nodding past my right shoulder.

  I crane my neck to watch them happily trotting along after Bertie, letting her pull them wherever she wants to go.

  ‘They would love a dog, wouldn’t they?’ I turn back to Sonny. ‘Do you think you’ll get one?’

  ‘No, I’ll be away too much.’

  ‘Where will you be going?’ I ask with a frown.

  ‘Wherever work takes me.’

  ‘Fashion photography?’

  He nods.

  ‘I thought you didn’t like it anymore?’

  ‘I don’t. But anything else is just a hobby at the moment. It’ll take time to kick things off and I can’t afford to not work.’

  ‘But you’ve needed time to heal,’ I say, defending his reasons for taking a break. ‘You and Evelyn still have a lot to sort through, right?’

  ‘Yeah, but I’ll have to put some of our sessions on hold going forward. I’ve taken a job in New York this week.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘I fly out Tuesday and return Saturday morning.’

  ‘Oh. What’s Rochelle doing about childcare?’

  ‘She still has a flexible arrangement with the childminder, and she’s taking her birthday off on Wednesday anyway.’

  ‘When are you planning to fit in your photo shoots at the shelters?’

  ‘I’ll start the week after next,’ he replies. ‘I’ll have to miss a couple of my volunteer sessions, which I feel bad about, but I hope not to mess them around too much.’ He’s been helping out on reception at Jimmy’s, one of the shelters in town.

  The pager goes off.

  ‘I’ll get it,’ he says.

  I’m struggling with the thought of him going to New York. He’ll be so far removed from all of us here. What’s to stop him from slipping back into his old ways?

  My eyes track his journey away from me, watching him duck under a low-hanging branch and step around fallen fruit on the grass until he reaches the gravel pathway. It’s only when he arrives at the café serving hatch that I realise there are two trays to carry. I jump to my feet.

  ‘I’ll bring the other one,’ I say as we pass at the halfway point.

  ‘Thanks. I’ll round up the girls.’

  I guess that’s the end of our conversation for now.

  Chapter 28

  Archie and Matilda’s friends have taken over the outdoor room at the rear of the Blue Ball Inn’s beer garden. I hear them the moment I step outside.

  ‘HANNAH! BERTIE!’ Matilda shouts, spying us. She gets to her feet and bumps against the wooden table, sending the contents of a cou
ple of recently filled pint glasses sloshing over the top. No one else notices.

  As she gleefully edges out along the length of the rectangular table, trying to avoid the balloons that someone has attached to the ceiling in honour of Archie’s birthday, I do a quick scan of the other people here.

  There’s Faith and Cameron, Kev and Warren and a couple of other cricketers I recognise from the match a few weeks ago, plus two girls I haven’t met before. The birthday boy himself is missing, as is Sonny. I didn’t see either of them at the bar.

  Sonny only flew in from New York this morning. Has he already been and gone? I hope not.

  ‘I’m so glad you could make it!’ Matilda squeals, leaping about a mile in the air as another bunch of balloons breaks free from the ceiling and bounces down on her head. ‘Shit, that scared me!’ she gasps, batting them away before giving me a hug.

  She had the day off today to hang out with Archie. I’m figuring they’ve spent a large chunk of it here.

  ‘Where’s your fiancé?’ I ask with a grin, brandishing a card and present.

  ‘Ooh, that sounds weird,’ she replies, her lightly freckled nose wrinkling prettily. ‘I haven’t got used to calling him that yet.’ She looks around before answering my question. ‘He must’ve gone to the loo.’

  Archie comes out of the pub doors at that very moment and genially throws his arm around my shoulders, introducing me to those I haven’t met before. Some of his mates are standing up, but there are three girls around the table, including Faith who gives me a friendly wave. The other two girls smile and say brusque hellos before returning to whatever it was they were discussing. One of them, I have just discovered with a nasty little kick to the stomach, is Nessa, another of Matilda’s friends who has slept with Sonny.

  She’s attractive – a slim brunette with long, slightly bushy hair and blood-red lipstick that she’s recently reapplied, judging by the amount smeared onto the rim of her glass.

  ‘Prosecco?’ Matilda offers as Nessa throws her head back and cackles loudly.

  I think she’s been here most of the afternoon too, from the way her eyes are lolling.

  Matilda reaches for the bottle in the ice bucket on the table.