Be My Baby (7 page)

Well, whatever had happened, she was finding it hard to see him as her boss any more. Or the poor downtrodden man she'd come to save from himself. She let out a little huff of a laugh as she buttered her toast. Luke had put his finger on it the first time they met. In some grandiose daydream she'd seen herself as his guardian angel, swooping in to rescue him, then flitting off again when the job was done.

Only she wasn't an angel. She was just a woman. And now she was having trouble forgetting Luke was just a man underneath all the labels she'd pinned on him: employer, struggling father, charity case. The realisation he possessed a Y chromosome was starting to fuzz her brain.

‘Could you pop a couple of slices in for me, please?'

Gaby swung round to face him. ‘Huh?' She must look completely gormless, standing there with a buttery knife aloft and her mouth hanging open.

‘Toast. Could you stick some in the toaster for me?'

‘Oh! Of course.' She smiled.

‘What's so funny?'

‘Nothing, really. It's just that you said “toast”.'

He eyed her suspiciously. ‘And toast is hysterically funny, because…'

She reached for two slices of bread and dropped them in the slots. ‘It's stupid really. I always say I'm going to put
toast
in the toaster, but really it's
bread
that goes into the toaster. It's only toast when it pops out again. It used to drive me mad when…someone I knew…insisted on correcting me. Never mind. I told you it was silly.'

And now she was babbling.

Luke was smiling. And that made the babble reflex even worse.

‘Sorry, I'm wittering on, aren't I? I don't think I slept very well and it always has this kind of effect on me.' And now look! She'd swerved on to the subject she'd been determined to avoid. Oh, nicely done, Gaby.

‘Really?' Luke ran his hands over his face. ‘I think I slept pretty well last night—at least much better than I usually do.'

Her eyebrows shot up.

He must have seen them, because he added, ‘I have nightmares sometimes. And…other kinds of sleep disturbance.' He was saying it so matter-of-factly. As if it were nothing. ‘Not unusual for ex-prisoners, I've been told. I didn't wake you up, did I?'

She was saved from answering by the toast popping up.

‘Marmite or jam?' she said, reaching for the knife and contorting her face into a perky smile.

‘Neither. Just butter, if that's okay.'

He stopped and looked at her for a few silent seconds. His eyes narrowed. Gaby's heart began to pound.

‘What?'

‘I just thought I remembered…' He looked off into space, as if he were trying to capture a fleeing memory. ‘No. It's gone. Never mind.'

Gaby turned to pick the toast out of the toaster. What if he remembered something? She was pretty sure he'd been in another realm of consciousness the whole time, but she was no expert on these kinds of things.

She placed the toast very carefully on the bread board, lining the crusts up with the edges of the wood. When she turned to get the butter out the fridge, Luke was still watching her.

G
ABY
was mixing watercolours to try and match the uncompromising blue of the sky when she heard Heather approach. She could tell who it was without looking round. Luke's footsteps always announced his arrival. They were loud and firm, only stopping when they had to negotiate obstacles, then they always picked up their former rhythm.

Outside of an adrenaline surge—when the stomping was world class—Heather was very different. She would often creep up on Gaby. Not to spy, but almost as if she were worried her presence would not be welcome. Like now. Heather hovered in the doorway that led out of her room on to the terrace.

‘What's up, Heather?'

Heather came closer and looked over her shoulder. ‘Hey, that's really cool. It almost looks like a real painting!'

Gaby smiled to herself. Ah, yes. Trust a child to help keep your feet on the ground.

‘How come you're so good at that? Did you have lessons?'

‘I took some classes a few years ago, but I've always loved painting. In fact, I wanted to be an artist when I was your age.'

‘So, why aren't you an artist, then?'

‘Well. Let's just say my mum and dad had other ideas.'

Heather did her trademark eye-roll. ‘Parents are
so
like that!'

‘Believe me, Heather, compared to my parents, your dad is an absolute gift. He really loves you. It's just that he's a bit rusty at being a dad and it's taking him time to get used to it again.'

Heather looked unconvinced.

‘He's been better recently, hasn't he?'

There was a short pause, then the girl nodded.

‘Well, there you go! I wanted to do painting at college, but my dad refused to let me, so I ended up—'

‘Being a nanny?'

‘I enjoy my work. Don't think I don't.'

And she particularly liked being here at the Old Boathouse with Luke and Heather. She liked who she was around them. It was the closest she'd ever come to being accepted for herself.

‘Anyway, you didn't come out here for art appreciation, did you? What's on your mind?'

Heather visibly wilted. ‘I've been invited to a party on Saturday, but I don't want to go. I think Luke is going to make me. He says I need to socialise more.'

That was the pot calling the kettle black, in her opinion.

‘Why don't you want to go?'

Heather shrugged.

‘Well, whose party is it, then?'

There was a long pause. ‘Liam's.'

‘What? Liam who you go all soppy about when you think no one's watching?'

Heather looked ready to bolt.

‘Steady on, sweetheart! You're almost twelve. It's normal to start noticing boys at your age.'

‘Really?' Heather looked so relieved that it almost made Gaby laugh, but she kept her smile under wraps.

Heather really needed a mother to confide in. Luke was no help. He'd probably flip his lid if Heather ever mentioned boys, or sex, or any of the things adolescent girls were curious about.

‘Yes. But only from a distance, you understand. Now, what have you got to wear?'

Heather pulled a rather grotesque face. Now we're getting somewhere, thought Gaby. She put her brushes down and took her charge by the hand.

‘Let's check out your wardrobe.'

She dragged Heather into her bedroom and flung the doors of the wardrobe wide.

‘Let's see.'

She pulled out a dress and held it up. Heather looked as if she were about to cry.

‘Granny bought me that. And the rest of my dresses.'

Gaby took another look at it. Crumbs! No wonder Heather looked so despondent. It was a beautiful dress for a seven-year-old, all frills at the hem and a big bow at the back, but Heather would be the laughing stock of the party if she turned up in something like that.

‘What about your dad? Surely he's bought you some clothes while you've been living with him?'

Heather walked over to a chest of drawers, pulled out a collection of too-large fleeces, some jeans and a sturdy pair of boots.

Gaby nodded sagely. ‘I see. Well, there's nothing for it, then.'

‘I won't go to the party?' Heather said hopefully.

‘No, better than that. It's an absolute necessity we have a girly shopping trip.'

Heather's smile was so wide Gaby reckoned she could have swallowed the coat hanger she was holding.

‘I'll ask your dad if we can go on Saturday. Then you'll be all kitted out for the party that evening.'

‘Really?'

‘Sure. I'll ask him when he gets in from work later. Now, it's about time you got on with some of your homework.'

Heather practically skipped off to her desk and Gaby left quietly, closing the door behind her. She sighed and set off downstairs to see if the chicken she'd planned for Sunday dinner was properly defrosted.

Of course, rescuing Heather from a serious wardrobe malfunction was all fine and dandy, but it meant she was going to have to have a proper conversation with Luke. For almost a week now she'd managed to avoid any real social contact by being bright and breezy and incredibly busy.

Luke wasn't due home until ten o'clock this evening. That would mean she'd have to talk to him alone. At night.

She prodded the now-defrosted chicken. ‘So, it looks like we're both in trouble, kid.'

When Luke came through the door later that evening she had a plate of cold roast chicken, potatoes and salad waiting for him.

‘Hungry?'

‘Starving. Thanks, Gaby.'

She watched him while he set about clearing his plate. After almost a month of hearty home cooking, his appetite showed no sign of slowing and she hoped it never would. But of course, sooner or later, she would have to leave, and then who knew what the pair of them would be eating? She couldn't stand the thought of them reverting to cardboard pizzas.

When it became too uncomfortable to sit there doing nothing, she fetched a basket of laundry and piled it into the washing machine.

‘Gaby, you're not a servant, you know. I don't expect you to do the washing and pick up my dirty socks.'

‘I don't mind, honestly.' She grinned. ‘And I promise you this, I wouldn't go within three feet of your socks.'

He smiled back and stabbed a new potato. ‘Anyone would think you were trying to get into my good books. Is there something awful you've done that you haven't told me about?'

Gaby swallowed. ‘I'd like to take Heather clothes shopping at the weekend, if that's all right by you. She could do with a few new things.'

He looked up, puzzled. ‘Heather has plenty of clothes.'

‘Well, yes. But it's that party she's been invited to on Saturday. She doesn't want to go because she hasn't got anything fashionable to wear.'

‘Fashionable,' he echoed.

‘Yes. You want her to mix a bit more with the other kids, don't you? I thought I would take her in to Torquay and we could buy an outfit, maybe even get her hair trimmed.'

‘And being fashionable is important to eleven-year-old girls, is it?'

‘Well, the fact she's bothered about the party means she actually
wants
to try and fit in, be part of the crowd. That's a good sign, isn't it?'

‘As long as you don't let Heather go out looking like one of the Spice Girls, I'm okay with it.'

‘The Spice Girls split up years ago.'

‘Of course they did.'

Oh, well done, Gaby! Remind him he's lost a whole chunk of his life, why don't you?

He looked down at his plate and cut the next bit of chicken. ‘I'll give you some money on Friday to cover it.'

‘Great.'

Now the washing was in, she turned her attention to the dry dishes left over from lunch. Cupboards crashed and tins rattled.

‘Gaby?'

She started sorting cutlery into its drawer. ‘Yes?'

‘Are you all right?'

‘Yes. Of course. Why wouldn't I be?'

‘It's just that I get the distinct impression that something is going on I don't know about. And you seem to be avoiding me.'

Her poor little heart juddered with fright.
Spoon in this space. Knife in that one—crash, clatter.

‘Of course I'm not avoiding you.' Only she was. She risked a glance at him. His face was serious and his eyebrows puckered.

‘And you're sure there's nothing wrong?'

‘Absolutely.' She performed her best breezy smile. ‘Everything's fine.'

 

Luke could hear the giggling all the way from his study. Gaby and Heather had obviously returned from their all-day shopping trip. Why it took so long to trim a fringe and get a pretty party dress was a mystery. But it sounded like they'd had fun.

Without him, of course.

What he wouldn't give to hear Heather laugh like that when she was with him. He put the medical journal he'd been reading down. At least her laser vision had gone into hibernation. He should just be grateful for every little bit of progress.

He took his reading glasses off and folded the magazine closed. If there was one thing he knew about female shopping trips, it was that the male of the species was required to grunt his approval at the spoils. It was as if the whole hunter-gatherer thing had been reversed.

Extra Brownie points would be earned if he appeared to inspect each and every purchase without them having to come and drag him out of his study. He'd learned this much from Lucy. From the day they'd been married, she'd managed to spend money faster than he could earn it. He'd come to realise that it hadn't been about the things she'd bought, it had been about the buzz.

Lucy had lived for excitement. She'd been dazzling when he'd first met her. Beautiful, vivacious and always on the verge of some new adventure. He'd been amazed she'd looked twice at him. Later, when their relationship got serious, he'd assumed that her reckless, thrill-seeking personality and his more cautious nature had been the perfect complement. He'd been devastated that night at the hotel when he'd seen her check in with her boss, Alex. Obviously he hadn't been able to offer his wife enough of the thrills she sought, after all.

He stood up, sending the office chair skidding backwards, and marched out of the room. How was it that he could still feel the sting of her betrayal when he'd forgotten how to feel the everyday stuff—like how to be a normal, rational human being?

Perhaps seeing Heather in her party dress would cheer him up.

His study was tucked away round the back of the house, down a little passageway that ran past the mud room. As he approached the hall, he could hear scuffling and squealing. Gaby entered through the doorway that led to the entrance hall and stood with her back to it.

‘Could you hold on a second?'

‘I beg your pardon?'

‘Could you just wait here for a minute or two?'

He made a move for the door handle, but she blocked him.

‘What the hell is going on?'

‘Heather would like you to see the whole effect in one go, so we just need to give her a chance to go upstairs and get changed.' Heather's distinctive thump could be heard on the stairs.

‘I'm upstairs now! You can let him out,' she yelled.

Gaby moved away from the door knob to allow him to pass. Unfortunately, the passage had been built in an earlier time, when the residents' space requirements were obviously meagre, and she came close enough for him to smell the perfume she must have splashed on in the department store.

The daft thing was, it made him angry. She didn't smell like Gaby any more—of soap and fresh air. She smelled like Lucy used to, drenched in expensive scent. In the days between her death and his arrest, Luke had opened all the windows in their London home. Lucy's perfume had only reminded him of how she had dabbed it on that last night she'd gone out to meet
him,
telling her husband she was off for a night out with the girls.

It had been her best perfume. The one she saved for really special occasions. The fact she'd chosen to wear that one had solidified the half-doubts and questions he'd been having for some time. It was that scent that had caused him to jump in his car and follow her.

Gaby was looking at him. He ripped the door open, walked through it and kept going across the hallway and into the lounge.

He didn't want to analyse why making comparisons between Lucy and Gaby should bother him. He just knew he wanted Gaby to be different. He didn't want to find out that the warm, caring, serene person was a front for something else.

He was so lost in stewing over the past, he almost didn't notice Gaby enter the room a few minutes later. He looked up and knew from her reaction that he wasn't wearing his happy face. Too bad. It was the best he could do now the dark memories had started circling round him.