Baby Blues and Wedding Shoes (13 page)

Dawn patted the bench beside
her and Helen mutely followed the instruction to sit.

“Thank you for letting me
stay.” She turned to Dawn, who was calmly contemplating the cat as
if people she hardly knew came to stay so often it was
commonplace.

Reading her mind Dawn smiled a
motherly smile. “It’s not a problem at all. Florence and Daisy were
always bringing their friends home in the holidays. They went to a
boarding school,” she added as if that explained everything.

Helen realised she didn’t know
anything about Dawn’s children, only that they had all left home.
Dawn had said very little about herself when they all started the
course and since then Helen had spent more time chatting to Sharni
and Ben.

“Where do they live now?”

“Florence, she’s my eldest,
she’s married and lives in Geneva. Her husband is big in finance.
Daisy’s doing her PhD in Edinburgh. She still comes home in the
holidays sometimes, although she has her own apartment in the
city.”

“Do you have just the two
girls?”

“No, I have two sons Harry and
Adam. Harry’s in the Navy, like his father was. Adam’s a roadie.”
She said the last word with a fierce pride, as if challenging Helen
to look down on him for his unconventional job.

“How cool. Does he meet loads
of famous people?”

Dawn laughed, “No one I’ve
really heard of I’m afraid, although he did do a tour with Sting a
while back.”

Helen thought privately that
she might like to meet Adam, and wondered if he was likely to pop
home and visit his mum sometime soon. Her idle hope was dashed
instantly as Dawn added, “I think he’s in Sweden or Italy at the
moment, with a rock band. Metal-something, Um Metallica?”

Helen grinned, thinking back to
her grungy student days when
And Justice for All
had kept
her awake in the early hours whilst desperately writing essays.
On tour with Metallica?
Adam sounded more and more
promising. Maybe staying with Dawn would have its upside.

“He’s in the UK sometime this
week,”

Helen’s heart gave a lurch.

“But I think they’re going to
see Emily’s folks this time. It’s only a flying visit.”

Helen’s heart sank, before she
berated herself for her stupidity.
As if the mysterious Adam
would be interested in an unemployed executive assistant carrying
another man’s child. Get a grip!

Oblivious to Helen’s unhappy
thoughts Dawn continued to talk about her youngest son, her face
glowing with pleasure laced with sadness.

“He only gets to come home in
between tours really, unless it’s a big group that does a few days
at the O2 or Wembley. I think moving around so much when they were
little has affected the boys most. They both have itchy feet like
their father.”

She gazed around the manicured
garden. “The girls are more like me, more interested in making a
home for their family. Well, Florence certainly. Daisy lives with
her boyfriend but she wants to establish her career before starting
a family. She’s a scientist.”

As Helen listened to Dawn’s
pride in her children’s achievements she subconsciously caressed
her belly. What would her child achieve? Would she love them
whether they became a Navy Captain or a roadie? Would they suffer
from being brought up in a single family? She looked around at the
beautiful family home Dawn had made and felt a stab of fear.

Conscious finally of Helen’s
silence, Dawn finished reminiscing about her offspring and focused
her attention on her guest.

“I’m sorry here’s me wittering
on and you’ve had a long train journey this morning. Sharni said
you were staying with your parents?” She let the question hang, not
wanting to intrude on Helen’s personal situation but naturally
eager for information.

“Yes, I’ve been in Devon for a
couple of weeks. I needed some time to sort myself out. I guess
Sharni told you that I’ve left Daniel?”

“She mentioned it, yes.”

“Did she say why?”

“No, dear. I must say you look
like you’re taking it very well.”

“Good makeup.”

Dawn laughed. “Well, you
needn’t hide behind a mask here. I’ve seen it all. Florence and
Daisy have had their share of heart-ache. Even the boys, although
they talk about it less.” She looked as if she were about to say
something else, then thought better of it.

“Come in the house, we’ll have
a nice cup of tea and you can tell me as much or as little as you
like.”

She led Helen back through the
drawing room and into the kitchen. While the kettle boiled they
chatted about the photography group and Helen’s success with the
competition. Then both sat at the kitchen table, wrapping their
hands around mugs of tea despite the heat outside. It was cool in
the kitchen. The lack of windows made it feel removed from the
world. It seemed a shame to Helen that it didn’t look out onto the
garden. She always thought it would be lovely to be able to watch
the children playing in the garden while cooking dinner. The image
reminded her of her own condition and the dilemma of how much to
tell Dawn.

Would it be easier just to
tell her the truth?
Here, in her own home, Dawn seemed softer
and more approachable. She was always swan-like during their
photography classes, never allowing herself to be ruffled by
Derek’s brusque manner. When she contrasted it with her own
internal upheaval, Helen felt abashed. She envied Dawn her serenity
and wondered if she would ever be able to emulate it.

Helen became aware that she had
been chattering away for twenty minutes without conscious thought.
Pausing mid-sentence, her mind went completely blank.

What have I been waffling on
about? Dawn must think I’m crazy. I may as well tell her about the
baby, she can’t think any worse of me. Besides, I can’t lie to her
when she’s been so lovely.

Inhaling deeply as if preparing
to speak in front of the Board, rather than a friend, Helen paused,
then blurted out, “I left Daniel because he, because I, well,
because I’m pregnant and he doesn’t want it.” The words tumbled out
into silence. No matter how many times she told people it didn’t
get any easier.

Dawn was quiet. Helen wondered
if she was imagining one of her own daughters saying something
similar.

She mentioned Florence has
two kids,
Helen tried to reassure herself, twisting her fingers
around the handle of her mug while she waited.
So she’s a
grandmother already. Maybe it isn’t so shocking. Maybe it’s
worse?
Florence is married after all. Oh god, why did I tell
her?

Tearing her eyes from the steam
gently curling above her bone china mug Helen looked up at Dawn,
waiting for judgement to be passed.

“You poor thing,” Dawn said
eventually. “I assumed Daniel must have been having an affair.”
Helen bristled visibly. “Not because I knew anything of course,
just why else does someone leave weeks before the wedding? But I
see now that there are many possible reasons. You do want the
child?”

“Yes, though it terrifies
me.”

“Of course it does. Motherhood
is terrifying,” she paused, “and wonderful and, oh, a whole heap of
other things that it’s impossible to describe until you are
there.”

They sat in companionable
silence until Dawn spoke again.

“How are you feeling, I mean
really? You must be exhausted. I don’t really remember - the body
forgets or you wouldn’t have more than one - but I do recall that
Florence was sick as anything with her first.”

Helen smiled weakly, relief
rendering her mute.

Dawn sat back, her demeanour
changing from friend to mother-hen. “Have you eaten? Let me make
you something to eat then show you to your room. I’m sorry, I’ve
been gossiping on since you arrived and haven’t even taken your bag
upstairs.”

She rose from the table and
went to the enormous fridge that dominated one corner of the
kitchen. As she opened it, Helen could see that it was mostly
empty. She guessed that the house, bought for a large family, was
more than Dawn and her husband needed now.

Returning to the table with a
club sandwich, Dawn made sure Helen had all she needed then
silently departed with Helen’s bag, leaving her to eat in
silence.

Staring at the neatly square
sandwich, Helen’s emotions tumbled out into the silence like a
puppy released from its cage.

My life is getting more bizarre
by the minute. A month ago I was a normal bride-to-be worrying
about RSVPs and fitting into my dress, looking after my fiancé and
dabbling in my new hobby. Now I’m homeless, jobless, staying with a
woman I hardly know, I haven’t taken a photograph in weeks. To top
it all, I’m creating new life inside me. I don’t know whether to
laugh or weep.

As she forced herself to eat
the sandwich, Helen tried to bring her scattered thoughts to bear
on what she was going to do once her apartment was empty again.
Living with Daniel had been so easy. He was the kind of man who
managed all the finances, expecting Helen to take care of the
domestic stuff. It had irked her initially but she had soon got
used to it. Now she was going to have to work it all out for
herself again. Not just herself but a tiny helpless baby too.

The enormity of it all was only
just starting to emerge, like a photograph in the dark room. Whilst
she was in Devon it had been easy to pretend she was home on a
visit; that nothing much had happened. Sitting now in Dawn’s
beautiful, immaculate kitchen, she was transported back to Daniel’s
apartment, back to their lives together. A flood of memories and
images galloped through her mind.

God I miss him, the
bastard.

Darkness crashed over her as
she realised she would never lie in Daniel’s arms again, never
laugh with him over some idiotic thing said at one of their dinner
parties, never ache with need waiting for him to come home and
ravish her. The world contracted to a tiny point of light in a sea
of black and her body felt numb with the weight of it.

When Dawn returned, brightly
informing Helen her room was all ready for her to take a nap, she
found her guest slumped over the table with her fingers curled
tightly into her copper hair. The sobs were all the more terrible
for their silence, as Helen’s slim shoulders shook with the force
of the emotion.

Wordlessly, Dawn put her arm
around Helen’s shoulder. When the tears had subsided she gently led
the girl from the room and up two flights of stairs to the
attic.

The top floor bedroom was
flooded with light from a window set in the sloping roof, but
Helen’s sight was obscured by tears. Dawn steered the
still-hiccupping girl towards the bed and helped her lie down.
Covering her in a light eiderdown, she pulled the blind until the
room was dim.

“I’ll wake you for dinner.”
Dawn’s voice was soft and she brushed Helen’s hair away from her
face as she might a small child. “You let the sorrow out, my dear.
You need to grieve. Strength will come, you’ll see. Everything will
be okay, I promise. You’re safe here, as long as you need to
stay.”

Then she crept from the room,
quietly pulling the door closed behind her.

Chapter
Eleven

London felt cold after
Barcelona. Marcio wondered if it was the ancient buildings that
hemmed him in, blocking the sun. He knew it wasn’t true; London was
normally stifling in the summer. He tried to spend as much time in
Spain in the summer months as possible, out on the boat if he could
wangle it.

Will I ever be able to go
there again?
The thought was acrid. She had tarnished it now,
his home. He had suffered the ultimate humiliation, in front of
everyone who knew him, in his own town, in his own
church
.

Bitch
.

It was satisfyingly
wrong
to think of Mia as a bitch. All his love turned to
bitterness and bile in an instant. How
could
she? And why
then
? Did she choose that exact moment for maximum effect?
All that meticulous planning just to leave him looking like the
world’s greatest idiot for not realising what was under his
nose?

Marcio strode along Oxford
Street angrily dodging dawdling tourists, glaring at anyone who
dared think about asking him the time or for directions to the
nearest underground station.

His feet took him on autopilot
while his mind churned with the scattered thoughts and emotions
that had flooded it for weeks, ever since he’d fled back to London.
He thought the misery and rage would subside eventually but the
feelings seemed to intensify with each passing day.

As he arrived at his
destination Marcio tried to still his thoughts and bring his mind
into focus. It would not do to go into a work meeting obsessing
about his failed love-life. He knew he was a poor poker player,
unable to shield the thoughts dancing behind his eyes. He didn’t
want the publisher to realise his mind wasn’t fully on the here and
now. He needed this assignment. God only knew how much he needed
work now.

Bitch
.

The word slipped out again,
like a frisky colt making a break for freedom. Pushing the unruly
thought back inside his head, Marcio practised smiling and pushed
open the glass door.

As he entered the foyer he was
greeted by the sight of a dozen identical women looking him
directly in the eye with the sexiest, most impish look imaginable.
Marcio stopped, temporarily flummoxed, and then grinned for the
first time since his wedding day.

“Holy cow!”

“Great, isn’t it? Who knew Rosa
could look like that.”

“That’s Rosa? Fuck me, so it
is. Doesn’t she look hot to trot?”

“Marcio!”

Marcio looked up at the
receptionist, realised what he’d just said, and gave a sheepish
smile like a child caught stealing cookies.