Baby Blues and Wedding Shoes (25 page)

He smiled. The idea of a future where
they could discuss freelancing and other things made his heart
billow and swell like a sail full of wind.

Tucking the paper back in his pocket,
he returned his attention to the road in front. As he drove away
from the airport and followed signs to the hills where his mother
lived he had a strong urge to turn instead towards the city, to
find an internet cafe where he could email Helen so she would have
a message waiting when she got home. There was no internet at the
farm, no phone signal for that matter. The solitary writer in him
usually cherished the disconnection from the busy world, but today
it seemed not just archaic but barbaric.

As he was about to swing the car over
to a city centre exit, unexpected doubts flooded his mind. Would
she think he was too eager? A stalker even? She had accused him
before of stalking her. He knew his own heart, but did she really
feel the same? He tried to replay the last 48 hours in his mind but
the more he dwelt on it the more elusive it became. He continued on
to his mother’s with an increasingly heavy heart.

By the time Marcio arrived at the farm
and quietly let himself into the kitchen, his face was pale. His
mother was standing at the ancient sink washing up pots, her hair
coming loose from its bun, curling around her neck in the steam
from the sink. She didn’t hear him enter so he walked over and
kissed her cheek.

Turning in greeting, she paused at the
sight of his expression. “Marcio,
el meu fill
, why so
melancholy? Where is your pretty lady?” Wiping her hands on a
towel, she hugged him and gestured for him to sit at the huge oak
table which dominated the kitchen.

Marcio sat wearily, stretching his legs
out in front of him and crossing his ankles. He avoided his
mother’s gaze as he responded. “She's gone back to London.”

“Ah
jo entenc
.” His mother’s
face brightened with understanding as she poured Marcio a glass of
wine and brought it over to him. “You have tenderness for her?” She
sat at the table next to him and looked intently at his face. “You
are sad to see her leave?”

His mother missed nothing. “I do, I am,
but I don't know if she feels the same.” He picked up the wine
glass but didn’t drink, merely swirled the deep red liquid round
and round.

“Of a certainty she does
preciós
, she followed you with her eyes.” She paused,
letting the idea settle, and smiled when she saw some of the
greyness leave her son’s face. “The babies,” she continued, taking
her turn now to avoid his gaze, “they are not yours?”

“No of course not.” Marcio sat up and
drank some of the wine. “I was not unfaithful to Mia. I'm shocked
you think I might have been.”

“I do not think it, but can you be
their
pare
?”

“I wouldn’t want to be their father; by
all accounts he’s a… not a very nice man.” He frowned as he thought
about all the things Helen hadn’t said about Daniel. The silences
had been more damning than the facts. “But could I love them as
their father ought? I would hope so. That’s a long way off
thankfully. The babies aren’t due for months. Who knows if I’ll
still be seeing Helen by then.”

“She seemed just the lady for you, my
son. She is beautiful and clever I think. She has
empatia,
how do you say?”

“Empathy? That’s a strange trait to
like her for.”

“No, it is important. She will
understand when you choose to sail off for days and write your
books. She will support you.”

“What makes you think that? You barely
spoke to her at the party.”

“Ah but I have lived long and seen
much,
el meu fill
. Besides, your sisters have been
talking.”

Marcio smiled for the first time since
his arrival. “Oh I bet they have. Have they married us off already
and chosen a house nearby?”

“Not quite all that, but they did not
believe you when you said she was a friend only.”

“When I brought her to the party that’s
all she was, if that even: I had only known her a few hours.”

“Sometimes that is all it takes.” His
mother’s smile was enigmatic and Marcio wondered, for the first
time, just how his mother and father had fallen in love. Had they
met, like he and Helen, and squashed a two-year courtship into two
days?

Marcio thought about the last few days
and realised his mother was right. He had only spent 48 hours in
Helen’s company and already he felt he knew her better than he had
known Mia after a lifetime of friendship. They had clicked in a way
he would have considered a terrible cliché if he had written it in
one of his books. Maybe sometimes life did play out like a cheesy
romance. He certainly hoped it continued that way.

Chapter
Twelve

“Here we go, love.”

Helen looked blearily out the window at
the familiar sight of her street and sighed with relief. Smiling
gratefully at the taxi driver, as he retrieved her suitcase from
the boot, she handed him a note and indicated he could keep the
change. Her arm felt heavy as she tried to fit the key in the lock
of her front door. She felt as if she’d been away for a fortnight.
Her mind buzzed with everything that had happened in the few short
days since she’d left home.

Gathering up the post from the mat
Helen didn’t even glance at the envelopes, just balanced the lot on
the breakfast bar. Putting her camera and phone both on to charge,
ready to start work first thing in the morning, she then stumbled
into the bedroom and crawled under the covers fully dressed.

“Helen Morley speaking.”

“Helen, it’s Sharni. How was
Barcelona?”

Helen stared out the window at the sun
tracing patterns on the white house opposite hers. For some reason
she felt reluctant to tell Sharni everything about her trip away;
as if it were something precious for just her and Marcio to share.
At least for now.

“Good. It was good.” She knew her
nonchalant tone wouldn’t fool Sharni and she held her breath
waiting for the interrogation.

“Great, I’m glad. Listen, are you free?
I need a chat.”

Helen realised there would be no
cross-examination. Sharni was clearly too full of her own news.

“I should really be working on the
pictures from my trip,”

“Oh…”

“But of course I can spare time for a
coffee. Shall we meet at Pops in, say, half an hour?”

“Well, I’m there already, but sure, I
can wait.”

Something really was up. “I’ll be there
as soon as I can.”

Helen hung up the phone, wondering what
on earth had got Sharni so worked up. She wondered if her parents
were making a renewed attempt to get their daughter to agree to a
husband of their choosing. No chance of that. For all her slight
frame and timeless beauty, Sharni had a will of steel.

Pops was just round the corner from
Helen’s apartment. She had met her photography group there a couple
of times since moving back to Earl’s Court. They did a superb all
day breakfast. Just thinking about it made Helen’s stomach
gurgle.

Okay then kiddies, Mummy will get you a
lovely fry-up. Just for you, of course, I will get no pleasure from
it at all.

She’d started work as soon as she had
woken up that morning, eager to review the photographs she’d taken
in Barcelona. It gave her a warm glow now, just thinking about it.
She couldn’t imagine how she was going to cope, waiting for a day
or two to hear from Marcio. Coffee with Sharni, and picking through
whatever crisis was spinning her life this week, would be a useful
distraction.

It took slightly longer than usual to
walk round to Pops: Helen had discovered a worryingly early
tendency to waddle, despite only being in her second trimester. She
still reached the café well inside half an hour, even though
Sharni’s greeting suggested otherwise.

“At last!” Sharni stood and waved as
Helen searched the busy café for her friend. It was nearly midday
and the place was full of people grabbing lunch.

Laughing, Helen wove her way through
tables, trying not to bump anyone.

I need wide load stickers and
flashing lights
she thought, as she apologised for the third
time, cursing the dark interior that made navigation even more
tricky.

The smell of frying bacon and strong
coffee filled the air and her tummy was gurgling like a washing
machine by the time she eased herself into a chair alongside her
agitated friend.

I may even indulge in a real
coffee
, Helen thought as she surveyed her friend’s face, trying
to determine the cause of the crisis. She saw elation and fear in
equal measure.

I think I might need it. Hopefully the
babies will be too tired from our trip to start up the hokey
cokey.

A waitress materialised alongside the
table within moments of her arrival. Normally she would still be
deliberating over the menu but today there was no question.

“Full English please, with a
single-shot latte.”

The waitress looked questioningly at
Sharni, who already looked like she’d had more than enough
caffeine.

“Not for me, I can’t eat.”

The waitress shrugged and returned to
the kitchen with Helen’s order.

“Sorry, I have to eat, the babies are
hungry.” There was no response from Sharni and Helen looked at her
in concern.

“Come on then, spill the beans.”

Sharni dropped her head into slender
manicured hands and groaned. Her face was hidden by her long dark
hair so Helen couldn’t tell which emotion was in charge, excitement
or terror. There was a long pause and, just as Helen was about to
repeat her request, a muffled voice said three barely-audible
words.

“Sorry, Sharni, I’m not sure I heard
that right?”

Sharni looked up, her lips quivering
with a reluctant grin.

“I snogged Derek.”

“Oh my god! When, where? How?”

Why
, she added silently, but now
was not the time to question her friend’s taste in men. She was
hardly one to comment anyway.

“At Stuart’s party.”

“What party?” Helen felt a lead weight
drop into her stomach. She had lost so much already since the
pregnancy; her fiancé, her home, now she was losing her social
life. Was she an outcast now?

“Didn’t you get an invite? You must ha’
done. He sent the invites in the post, for some reason. It was his
40
^th
and he went all formal. Maybe it got lost?”

Helen could tell Sharni wasn’t at all
interested in whether Helen had been invited or not. But she was
mollified by the idea of a postal invite, as she thought about the
untouched mail she had gathered off the doorstep the night before.
Her post tended to get delayed as it had to be redirected from
Daniel’s.

“So, you snogged Derek at a party. Come
on, tell me more than that. Who started it, were you drunk, did you
swap numbers?”

“I can’t remember who started it, I’m
not sure how drunk we were, but no, nothing was said afterwards.”
Sharni stopped, as if mentally replaying the events of the
party.

“When was this?”

“The party was on Saturday at Stuart’s
place. My god, it’s amazing!”

“What is?”

“Stuart’s apartment! Did you know he
was big in t’City, some investment banker or something, but he
crashed out a year ago and has been trying to find out what he
wants to do with his life ever since.”

Helen shook her head to indicate she
didn’t know. It made sense, Stuart clearly felt uncomfortable with
the group but was full of fragile confidence, as if remembered
behaviour fought with current fear.

“Did Stuart tell you all of that? He
was unusually verbose.”

“No, I got chatting to his sister at
the party, she told me all about it. Apparently he was flying high,
living t’high life, then just hit the wall one day, wham! Walked
outta office and didn’t look back. His family thought he’d gone
loopy. Can you imagine? Stuart seems so cool, as if life is a
breeze. I can’t imagine him a frenetic trader or an emotional
wreck.”

“There is so much we don’t know about
people.” Helen thought about Marcio. She had only known him for a
few days. Maybe there was a whole history there waiting to be
discovered. Would she run scared when she found out more or did she
know everything that mattered? She couldn’t think about that
now.

“So, back to Derek? What happened?”

Sharni fiddled with her empty coffee
cup and didn’t look up as she spoke. “Well, we were out on
t’balcony having a smoke.”

“You don’t smoke.”

Sharni’s face looked flushed in the dim
light and she peeked at Helen through her long lashes before
resuming her contemplation of the cup. “I mighta, well, crashed a
fag, you know, as an excuse?”

Helen laughed. She could just imagine
her besotted friend borrowing a cigarette as a means to talk to
Derek. The
Do you have a light?
line was as old as the
hills. She’d used it herself as a student.

“So, you borrowed a light, got talking.
What did you find to talk about?”

“Oh, you know, this and that. He asked
how my photography was going. Asked about you, wondered how you
were getting on with t’pregnancy. He really is a top bloke.” She
looked up at Helen and nodded her head eagerly as if emphasising
her words.

Helen found it hard to reconcile this
image of Derek with the gruff, barking man who ran their classes,
or the diva photographer she knew he had been in his prime. She was
touched that he had asked after her. They hadn’t really spoken
since her Rosa cover, as the course had finished with the
assignment.

“Who made the first move?” Helen’s mind
was suddenly full of the image of Marcio making his move on the
yacht. She licked her lips at the memory before dragging her
thoughts back to Sharni. “Come on, I want details.”