Baby Blues and Wedding Shoes (10 page)

Daniel
. Helen didn’t
need to check her phone any more to know that he hadn’t tried to
contact her. Although it had been less than twenty-four hours since
his ultimatum the silence of his non-contact was palpable, like the
tell-tale mark on the carpet left behind after a piece of furniture
has been discarded. Or stolen. Her mind shied away from the glaring
absence in much the same way; her eyes torn back metaphorically to
look at the space where her happy life had been before it was
snatched from her.

The train was slowing; people
around her began to gather belongings and walk like drunks down the
aisles, as the next stop was announced by a tinny voice. Looking
out the window Helen could just make out her mother peering
anxiously into each carriage as the train pulled into the station.
Her mother’s face seemed to have aged. She looked haggard, as if
her daughter’s homecoming were a tragic event that must be
borne.

Catching sight of her daughter
through the dirty glass, the shadow on Maggie’s face lifted and she
smiled a wide, loving smile. Helen felt the tears bubbling up again
and her throat began to ache.

I will not weep, I will not
weep.

Come on,
Helen
admonished her body which felt strangely heavy, as if it weren’t
quite ready to leave the not-so-comfortable seat it had occupied
for several hours. Willing her body to move, Helen made her way to
the exit and walked slowly down the platform to where her mother
stood. Part of her mind tried to understand why she was so
reluctant to get to her mother.

This is not how it was meant
to be
, a voice whispered at the back of her mind
. Mum was
meant to see me on my wedding-eve as a blushing bride-to-be,
nervous and elated. Not as this failure of a woman with no job, no
house, no husband, and a baby on the way.

Still several feet from her
mother Helen’s body stopped and she travelled the remaining
distance with her eyes only.

Maggie saw the searching look,
seemed to understand at once her daughter’s thoughts and rushed
over to enclose her in a hug.

“It’s okay, darling. Everything
is going to be okay.”

Helen felt something release
inside her as she smelt her mother’s perfume and felt the warmth of
her embrace. The hand stroking her hair, as it had done ever since
she could remember in times of trial, was slowly smoothing the
tension from her tattered thoughts.

“Oh, Mum.”

And the tears came.

Maggie stood and held her
daughter while her slight frame was wracked with sobs. She felt her
own tears threaten to come but fought them back.

Eventually the sobs hiccupped
to a stop. Maggie pulled away and looked up into her daughter’s
water-drenched green eyes.

“He’s a prick.”

“Mum!” Helen’s head snapped up
in shock.

Maggie smiled. “That worked
then. Come on, I know you are full of grief, but really, he isn’t
worth it. Besides, happy pregnancy, happy baby. You need to keep
positive, for the little one’s sake.”

She linked arms and led her
daughter towards the car park. “How are you feeling? Morning
sickness? Cravings? You’re probably shattered too.”

“Oh yes. All of the above.”
Helen was glad to be led. Glad to have her mother make the
decisions for now.

Stopping abruptly her mum said,
“We’ve forgotten your bag!”

“I don’t have one. Just this.”
Helen shrugged to indicate her camera bag, which also had her night
things in. “I wasn’t thinking straight, I didn’t pack anything last
night and somehow I couldn’t bear to go back.”

“Quite right. Not to worry
you’ve still got a wardrobe of clothes back home, if you don’t mind
a bit of student glam!”

Helen smiled at the idea of the
student clothes she hadn’t been able to part with, all currently
crammed into the cupboard in her old room. Most of them didn’t fit
anymore, all too big since she’d started working out at the gym
five days a week. Great once the bump got bigger though.

“Well, at least no one knows me
down here.”

“What about your friends in
London, have you told them yet?”

“No. I’m not quite sure what to
say. The photography group don’t like Daniel anyway, so they won’t
be surprised. It’s too early to say anything about the baby so I’m
not really sure how to explain it all. As for my old colleagues,
they all think Daniel’s a god and will assume that any break up is
my fault.”

They had reached the car, so
Maggie had time to think through her next question. Once they were
driving out the car park she said, without looking at Helen, “and
the wedding?”

“Ah, the wedding. Yes. Well, I
rather think that’s Daniel’s mess to sort out.”

“Good girl.”

Helen was glad her father was
out in the fields when she arrived at the farm. He wouldn’t say
anything, he left the talking to Mum, but she knew if he hugged her
she would start crying all over again and she wasn’t sure she had
the strength. Instead her mother guided her to the comfy
feather-filled arm chair wedged into the corner of the farmhouse
kitchen near the Aga. She supplied her with magazines, a steaming
mug of tea and a doorstop of cake, and quietly left the room.

Despite the heat of summer
outside the Aga was lit, as it was all year round. The farmhouse
was stone and kept the summer heat outside almost too effectively.
Helen felt chilled in her heart, despite the sunshine pouring
through the sash windows, and was glad of the Aga’s warmth. After a
while Henry made his way sinuously across the floor, sniffed at her
knee and surveyed her through narrowed eyes before jumping lightly
onto the chair. He nuzzled his way into the gap behind her knees
and began to purr.

Putting down the magazines,
Helen wrapped her hands around the mug of tea and closed her eyes.
Gradually her breathing slowed, although she hadn’t been conscious
of how fast and shallow it had been before. Inhaling deeply, she
let out a long sigh and felt herself relax. With the sun dancing
across her closed eyelids she inhaled the familiar scent of her
family kitchen. The wood-smoke from the Aga, the aroma of freshly
baked cakes, roses in the vase set permanently on the windowsill.
She could smell pine disinfectant and the muggy odour of cat.
Behind the purring, she could hear the sound of birds singing in
the hedges outside the window. In the distance there was a whir as
a light aircraft flew overhead. She strained her ears to hear her
father’s tractor, but decided he must be in the lower field.

Sitting in the stillness of the
room, Helen could see why her mother was so happy here. Despite her
own love of the city, full of life and bustle, Helen always felt
more at peace when she was here. The slower pace of life was such a
cliché but nonetheless true for all that.

I could do worse than bring
the baby up here.
Her mind flinched at the words and the sense
of failure that accompanied them. She shook her head, trying to
dislodge the thoughts. It made her brain ache to think of the
future.
Time enough for that later.
Putting her mug up on
the dresser, Helen snuggled deeper into the armchair and drifted
off to sleep.

“Ms Morley?”

Helen looked at the man in the
bright uniform standing at her mother’s front door and wondered if
she was still dreaming. She’d been at her mother’s for several days
and still all she seemed to do was sleep.

When she didn’t respond the man
on the doorstep let out a small tut that she wasn’t meant to hear
and said frostily “I assume you are Ms Morley?”

“Um, yes, that’s me.” She was
about to launch into an explanation that this wasn’t her house and
to ask him how he knew she was here but he had already turned away
and was heading back to his van, which parked at an angle in the
middle of the yard.

Helen tried to think what
parcel she might be expecting. No one knew she was here, not even
her photography group: she had told Sharni and Ben she was staying
with her folks in Devon, but they wouldn’t know the address.

As she stood mutely watching,
the delivery driver pulled one, two, three large boxes from the
back of his van. He loaded them carelessly onto a trolley and began
to wheel them over the gravel. The trolley wouldn’t run on the
uneven surface and the boxes pitched side to side as he dragged
them. In the end he abandoned the trolley and picked up each box in
turn, dumping them by the front door where Helen still stood.

By the time he had finished he
was sweating. He walked back to Helen, pulled a small palmtop
computer from his back pocket and thrust it in front of her.

“Sign, please.”

Helen signed for the boxes,
unsure what else to do. She didn’t feel able to ask the now surly
delivery driver who the boxes were from. As he got back in his van
and wheel-spun on the gravel before departing through a veil of
dust, Helen tried to decide whether to lug the boxes into the hall
or open them outside, to try and discover who sent them. Opting for
the latter, she slit the tape on the nearest box with her thumbnail
and cautiously opened the flap.

“The bastard.”

Helen knew instantly what was
in the boxes and who had sent them. Ripping open the first
container she swore again as the entire contents of her wardrobe
came spilling out onto the gravel. She half expected to find the
clothes torn apart or all jumbled in a heap. Instead everything was
neatly folded and sorted with one box containing her clothes and
another full of her cosmetics, shoes and handbags. She guessed the
third was her box of books from storage. Daniel hadn’t allowed her
to bring many of her personal things into the apartment, insisting
instead that they were stored in his lock-up. She looked again at
the box of clothes, resisting the urge to hurl them across the
yard.

He must have got his secretary
to pack them, or hired professionals. I can’t imagine him wasting
this much energy on me.

Her hands were shaking with
adrenalin as she checked that everything was there. Somehow the
fact that he’d had a stranger pack up her belongings hurt more than
if he’d tossed them all in together, or shredded them and thrown
them out in bin bags. The lack of emotion, the lack of contact with
Daniel, even vicariously, pierced her anew.

As she crumpled to the ground,
hugging a cashmere sweater that smelled vaguely of Daniel, Helen’s
shoulders heaved with silent sobs.

Chapter
Nine

“Helen, Phone!”

Helen hurried in from the
garden at the sound of her mother’s voice, her sun hat obscuring
her view as it slipped sideways.

She tugged the hat off and
slung it onto the hallway settle.

“Who knows the number
here?”

The thought that Daniel was at
last trying to get in touch made her heart flop around like a
landed fish.

“It’s your mobile, not the
land-line.” Her mother was holding out Helen’s mobile phone. She’d
taken to leaving it in the kitchen, to stop herself checking it for
messages every five minutes.

Helen mouthed thanks at her mum
as she took the phone with shaking hands. The number was withheld.
She headed into the front room and sat on the edge of a chair
before clumsily pressing
Answer
.

“Hello?”

“Helen? It’s Derek. Derek
Vilney.”

All thoughts of Daniel were
erased as Helen’s heart began to thump so loud she could barely
hear Derek’s next words. It had been two weeks since she’d left
London and she had mostly forgotten, or tried to forget, about the
competition.

“Congratulations, Helen, you’ve
been selected for the magazine cover. The photograph you took of
Rosa was outstanding. Well done.”

Helen was vaguely aware that
this was praise indeed from Derek, although most of her mind was
taken up with the enormity of what he was saying. She had won. Her
photograph was going to be on the front of a magazine. In the
shops. On coffee tables.
Wow
.

“Helen, are you there? Is this
a bad time?”

“Yes, no. Yes I’m here, no it
isn’t a bad time. I’m just struggling to take it in, that’s all.”
She looked around at the faded flowery wallpaper and lime green
furniture and felt things couldn’t get more surreal.

“Where are you? Can you come
into the office, sign some paperwork? The magazine’s actually
already at the printers but they need your signature before it can
be released. It’s just a formality.”

“I’m in Devon at my parents’
house. Do I need to be there in person? I can catch the train
tomorrow…”

Helen left it hanging. She
wasn’t ready to go back to London yet, but at the same time she
didn’t want to do anything to damage her potential career.

“No, not at all. We can fax the
paperwork to you. I’ve looked through it, nothing to worry about.
They want a single-use licence for six months but I made sure that
you retain image rights. For what they are paying you need to
ensure you keep ownership. Besides, it’s a great shot. Once the
contract is up you’ll make a lot more selling it somewhere else,
maybe to a poster company. You’ll need to speak to Rosa of
course.”

Helen’s head whirled with the
information. Even though the photography course had included
lessons on how to sell and market their images, Helen found the
intricacies of the contracts and ownership rights too
confusing.

“Sorry, darling, am I going too
fast?” Derek said, correctly interpreting her silence. “We can talk
when you’re back in London. When do you return?”

“Um. I hadn’t made firm plans,
a week or two maybe.”

“Is everything okay?” Derek’s
voice was softened by an unusual tone of concern, as if he needed
to take care of his new prodigy.