Baby Blues and Wedding Shoes (28 page)

“If I’d known the writer was you I’d
have told them to stick their job. I’d rather starve.”

Marcio turned around and jumped when he
saw who was shouting at him.

“Oh yes, you might look shocked. I bet
you hoped you’d never see me again.”

Helen could almost hear the blood
boiling under her skin. She felt the heat radiating from her face
as the fury mounted. Suddenly all the tension from weeks of
waiting, combined with the hurt from seeing Lucy’s flowers, bubbled
over until she could barely contain her anger.

She was toying between slapping his
handsome face and just stalking away when a voice in her head
reminded her it wasn’t only her that would starve. If she pissed
off Sandra there might be no more work.
I have to think of the
babies. Damn him.
Slapping him in front of a day care centre
didn’t seem like a particularly good move either, so Helen settled
for pouring all her fury into her eyes, glaring at him as if steel
rods could come out of her pupils and stab him.

Even though he understood her anger,
the look in Helen’s eyes almost stopped Marcio’s heart. He hadn’t
realised how much he missed her, how much he cared about her, until
it was clear that he had lost her.

Taking a deep breath, Marcio tried to
find a way past the rage. “You have every right to be angry. Please
tell me you at least got my email?”

A figure appeared behind the glass door
in front of them and opened it to let them in. Marcio gestured for
Helen to precede him into the day care building. She flashed him
another livid look, not wanting to speak in front of the lady
showing them to reception.

When the woman had returned to her
classroom, Helen whipped her head round, almost lashing Marcio with
her ponytail, and muttered in a furious undertone, “No, I didn't.
No email, no phone call. The first time I realised you weren't dead
was when I saw your name on some flowers sent to the lovely
Lucy.”

Marcio's face blanched. A bottomless
chasm he hadn’t even anticipated opened before him.

“Yes you might well look guilty.” She
looked around to make sure they were still alone. “Your fickle
behaviour was one thing, but to be moving on to that child so soon
smacks of a callousness I hadn't realised you possessed. I wish I
had never met you.” This last was said in almost a whisper, as they
heard footsteps approaching them down the hallway.

Helen deliberately turned her back on
Marcio and gazed around her at the day care reception; the
children’s paintings, handprints, photographs that gave the space
so much personality, clashed horribly with her black mood.

Marcio tried desperately to consider a
way through the tangled mess they were in. It had never occurred to
him that Helen would see Lucy or the flowers before reading his
email. He could only imagine his message must have been junked by
an overzealous filter on her email account. Looking up he caught
Helen staring malevolently at him. She looked magnificent, with her
copper hair highlighted by the morning sun streaming through a
window. In the four weeks or so since he’d last seen her, the bump
seemed to have doubled in size. There was no mistaking her
condition now. He wondered how long she was going to be able to
continue undertaking assignments. For the first time in his life he
wished that he were rich so he could take care of them all, whisk
Helen away somewhere and let her rest. With what was coming he knew
she would need all the rest she could get now.

That’s a vain hope on all
fronts
, he thought pensively.
I can only just afford to feed
myself at the moment, even if she would so much as let me take her
for a cup of tea.

Studying her beautiful face he could
see she looked pale. Her cheeks had lost the bloom they had
developed in Barcelona and there were dark smudges under her eyes.
He hated that he was partly responsible for her sadness, but
couldn’t think how to reach through her anger long enough to
explain the string of disasters that had led them to this
place.

The footsteps belonged to a middle-aged
man in a suit, who came towards them, hand outstretched. “Good
morning, I’m Peter Falkirk, I’m the Trust Director. I manage the
funds that keep the day care running. Thank you for coming so
early.”

Once the introductions had been made,
Peter led them to the new wing that they were there to write about,
which had been financed through fundraising and lottery grants.
Autumn sun illuminated the room as they entered, making the fairer
children look almost angelic as the sun glinted off their hair.

Helen was amazed by the tranquillity in
the room. The children were all under 5, as the morning session was
for pre-schoolers. Yet there were no tantrums; no yelling or
fighting. The children were playing, either together or
independently, some drawing, some cooking in the play kitchen. It
wasn’t at all how Helen had imagined preschool children to be and
it gave her some hope that maybe her serene existence wasn’t
entirely over.

Peter smiled proudly at the scene
before turning to address Marcio and Helen.

“Our main aim, of course, is to produce
the article for your magazine,” he nodded towards Helen and she
smiled at the thought that it was
her
magazine. “However we
also have an agreement to use the material – your writing and your
photographs,” he addressed them each in turn, “for some promotional
literature. Aspiration Publications has agreed to let us have the
extra content free of charge, as a contribution towards the day
care centre.”

Helen knew all this, but was glad that
Peter was preventing Marcio from speaking again. It took all her
focus just to stand motionless next to him. Her mind was fire-hot
but her body was yielding to the proximity of his. Her fingers
curled as she tried to ignore a desire to bury them in the thick
hair tickling his neck. She also fought an equally strong desire to
empty the goldfish bowl she could see in the corner of the room
over his handsome head.

At last Peter finished his introduction
and Helen was released. Feeling able to breathe finally, Helen
busied herself organising her camera equipment and taking light
meter readings for the various areas of the room. Even though she
kept her eyes down on her apparatus, her body seemed to be acutely
aware of Marcio’s whereabouts at all times.

Marcio opened his notepad and began
making observations while he pondered his dilemma. Relieved as he
was to see Helen again, it was clear it was going to take some
effort to convince her he still had feelings for her. Her intention
seemed to be to freeze him out entirely and he couldn’t bear the
thought of losing her again.

He decided to start with the most
pressing issue first. While Helen was pausing for his instruction,
a sardonic look marring her face, he said in a low voice. “I bought
the flowers for Lucy only because she gave me your email address
when I thought I’d never find you again. If you look in your junk
mail folder, you’ll probably find a full explanation from me. I’m
so sorry.”

He was about to explain how he’d lost
her details but the Trust Director was heading their way. Instead
he said in a louder voice, “I’ll be concentrating on how the design
of the building enhances the children’s sensory experience during
their time at the centre, so if you can get some pictures of happy
faces lit by the sun coming through the windows, and some of the
little ones playing with the toy kitchen that would be great.” He
moved off to get some information from the director about where the
funding had come from, leaving Helen staring mutely after him, torn
between irritation and amusement.

Later the children were gathered
together for story time. Marcio watched them piling onto the
beanbags and smiled fondly. It really was a great facility. He
could imagine the twins coming somewhere like this while he and
Helen worked together as writer and photographer. He felt that,
together, they could achieve anything. He just had to make her see
that.

Helen looked up from studying the
camera screen and caught sight of Marcio watching the children. His
face was soft, full of light. His affection for the children was
palpable. Helen ignored the hard knot in her throat and
surreptitiously pointed her lens at him, snapping a couple of quick
pictures. Looking again at the image viewer, she felt her own face
softening. He was not just handsome to look at; he was a beautiful
human being. He was one of the few people she knew who really
saw
the world around him. She would be foolish not to at
least listen to his explanation.

I see so many men out with their
children who seem to find them a nuisance and here is a man who
looks as if he’d happily take every child here home and play with
them and count that a great day.

Still, it won’t hurt to make him
sweat a little bit
, she thought with a glimmer of a smile.

Moving nearer to the story-time, Helen
deliberately avoided making eye contact with Marcio, keeping her
shoulder slightly turned. Marcio could feel the animosity in her
body language and despaired.
Still, nothing ventured,
he
thought.
If she’s that angry with me, what harm can I do
now?

“I’m embarrassed to admit the truth,”
he whispered quietly without quite facing her. He could tell she
was listening as her finger on the shutter button stilled for a
moment, before resuming the click click.

“I had my wallet pinched by a
pickpocket, outside the harbour. After all the times I nagged you,
I fell for the most basic of tricks. My wallet had your details in
it and I couldn’t remember them no matter how hard I tried.”

He paused, and his voice changed tone
slightly. “Besides, who uses a nickname for a business email
address? What kind of name is MissSteady85 anyway?”

She turned at that and saw that he was
teasing her.

“Not very professional! I still don’t
know your surname and, really, that should be a primary piece of
information in your email. It is effectively your business card
these days. Miss Steady sounds like a tame bond girl.”

Helen glared at him, about to retort
that she’d set the email up as a joke, because of her photography
nickname: That she was trying to get an email address with her full
name, but her current provider didn’t have it available. Then she
realised he was trying to distract her, disarm her into talking,
and she closed her lips.

Marcio grinned despite the failure of
his ploy. He carried on with his explanation instead.

“So, knowing you were taking lifestyle
photos in Barcelona, I started ringing all the magazines in London
I could think of, asking if they had a freelancer by the name of
Helen working for them. I’d more or less given up hope when Lucy
answered at Aspiration, and hesitated when I described you. It took
some convincing to get her to give me your email address and, as it
turns out, it did more harm than good. You obviously haven’t
received my message and, as if that wasn’t enough, you think I’m
shagging that child. She can’t be more than nineteen. I’m hurt you
would think that of me.”

Again, he was trying to engage her by
forcing her to defend herself. Sneaky git!

This time she did respond, but with a
barb. “Not shagging,” she lowered her voice to avoid little ears
hearing something that shouldn’t be repeated, “You’ve added that in
your own mind. I merely thought dating.”

Marcio grimaced, “I do seem to be
digging myself in deeper and deeper don’t I? Will you let me take
you to dinner, to make amends?”

Before Helen could answer, the story
finished and the room erupted into chaos. It seemed it was snack
time. Helen found herself the centre of a maelstrom of children,
swirling around her, heading for the table in the corner. After
some shuffling for seats they were then calm again as a huge pile
of fruit and pancakes was carried in from the kitchen.

Helen began clicking away: The
provision of healthy food was one of the great things the day care
centre did for some of these children and she wanted pictures of
their delighted faces as they hid blueberries inside their
pancakes, before squishing them all out again as they tried to take
a bite.

Out of the corner of her eye she could
see Marcio taking notes as well as talking quietly into his
Dictaphone. He crouched down and asked one of the children
something about the food. Helen captured the animated reply, trying
not to dwell on a future where Marcio might engage with her
children in that way.

No more games
, she thought to
herself.
I can see how he got himself in this pickle, and he’s
obviously suffered as much as I have. Time to forgive and move
on.

As if he could hear her internal
dialogue, Marcio looked up and caught Helen’s eye. The intensity of
his stare sent goosebumps dancing across her skin, despite the
warmth of the sunny room. His blue eyes seemed to grip hers and he
raised his eyebrows slightly as if repeating his request for
forgiveness. Helen gave a small nod and the beaming smile that
spread across his face made her stomach squirm with pleasure, and
something more besides.

Chapter
Seventeen

Helen looked at the cherished face
across the table from her and was conscious of a soft cloud of
contentment settling gently around her shoulders.
I can’t
believe it’s only been a week since the day-care centre.
She
thought about the long conversations they had shared on the phone
since meeting on their joint assignment. The more she found out
about Marcio, the more dreams they shared, the more she felt he
belonged in her life.

Her mind shied away from the thought.
It was too soon to feel entirely secure. She hadn’t forgotten the
gaping emptiness in her heart left by Marcio’s silence. However
accidental the cause, it had made her aware of how much it was
going to hurt if he left her again. Squeezing Marcio’s hand
tightly, she was about to answer his questioning look when she
heard a familiar voice hail her from near the door.