Summer of Love (39 page)

Sian resigned herself to the inevitable.

Fiona was a woman who could provide what was needed quickly. An old sweatshirt of Gus’s went down to Rory’s knees. She looked at Sian.

‘Oh, never mind about his trousers. We’ve got another pair,’ she said, ‘but, Rory, don’t you need a drink and a snack?’

‘Banana?’ he said hopefully.

‘I have a banana and you can take it with you. Do you want to go on your own or shall we come up and watch you?’

‘Come and watch me,’ he called, running off.

‘And bring the banana,’ muttered Sian.

The two women watched Rory rush off up the garden and followed more slowly.

‘What’s Gus doing in London?’ Sian asked.

Fiona sent her a glance, which felt a reproach. ‘He’s going to see his agent, and a publisher.’

Sian’s teeth clamped down on her lip. ‘I’d forgotten.’

She felt a slight pang when she realised that if things had been different she’d have been there with him, helping him impress the publishers. Then she remembered that Gus had only himself to blame for her absence. She still wanted his book to do well though, she felt she could allow herself that.

‘Yes, but you weren’t going anyway, were you?’ Fiona said. ‘You and Gus quarrelled.’

‘Yes.’

‘He told me you’d taken up with Richard.’

So that was what this was all about. He had no right to be cross about that! He was all loved-up with Melissa, mere hours after climbing out of her bed, and he had the gall to question who she saw. And she had only kissed Richard! She could imagine what he and Melissa had got up to. They’d probably had a good laugh about her too. Poor Sian, so easily seduced – and twice! And now he’d got his own mother fighting his battles. He was priceless!

‘Well, he’d taken up with Melissa,’ she explained, trying to be calm. ‘And don’t say he didn’t, I told you, I saw him – them, together.’

Fiona sighed. ‘Honestly, that was perfectly innocent.’

‘Was it? How do you know?’

‘Because—’ Fiona was just going to explain when Rory came flying back looking for his banana.

‘It’s still there! It’s still fine!’ he said. ‘We could sleep in it again.’

Once he’d run off again, clutching a banana, Sian muttered, ‘You didn’t actually sleep in it the first time, but hey.’

‘Sian, you need to know the truth about what’s going on with Melissa and Angus.’

‘I’m not sure I want to.’

‘Yes you do. Don’t be silly. She set up a meeting with someone who’s got some land. She knows – or her parents know – everyone. This man has land and he wants to invest. Angus could set up his school for bushcraft, when he’s got a bit of capital.’

‘Oh God,’ said Sian very quietly, realising that Fiona’s explanation could actually have some truth in it. ‘I do know how much he wants to do that,’ she admitted.

‘But he won’t get that bit of capital unless he sells his book tomorrow,’ Fiona continued. Her voice was urgent now she saw that she was finally getting through to Sian.

‘He’ll do that, no problem. It’s a great idea, with marvellous photos, all that stuff.’

‘He might not.’ Fiona was looking at her with an expression Sian couldn’t read. Was it disapproval? Disappointment? Or possibly hope?

‘What do you mean?’

‘He needs you there, Sian.’

‘But why?’

‘You give him confidence, you’re a team. He needs you to be there!’ Fiona repeated.

‘Well, he should have said! He should have communicated with me! And why couldn’t Melissa go with him?’ But Sian’s anger and hurt were starting to morph into guilt at how wrong she’d got things.

Fiona took Sian’s arm and gently brought her round to face her, obviously heartened by the fact that she didn’t immediately pull away.

‘Sian, darling, why do you keep going on about Melissa? There is nothing going on between them except friendship. Never has been.’ She paused. ‘I’m not saying Melissa wouldn’t have liked there to have been – she made a play for him the moment he arrived home. But he just sees her as a jolly childhood friend, and recently a useful business contact.’ She took a breath, possibly giving Sian a chance to speak. When Sian didn’t, she ploughed on. ‘I must say Melissa has been a very good sport about it. When she realised Angus wasn’t interested in her as a girlfriend she set out to help him as an old chum. Once he’d confirmed that he was Rory’s father, it pretty much settled it.’

Sian nodded, beginning to accept what a hideous mistake she’d made.

‘Angus told me that you and Richard were together. I know you’re not, any more, but it was a hell of a kick in the teeth for him. He did that whole flat for you. Not all on his own, he got builders in and everything, which he paid for, so you would have somewhere to live. He had to pay huge overtime too, to get it done so quickly.’

Sian felt as if she’d been at the bottom on a deep lake and was slowly making her way to the top. ‘I didn’t know.’ Maybe she had jumped to conclusions and the evidence against him was only circumstantial. ‘But why didn’t he tell me? Speak to me on the phone?’ A lump of sadness was forming in her ribcage.

‘He wanted it to be a surprise. You know what he’s like.’ She paused, possibly deciding whether or not to pour more coals of fire on to Sian’s head, and then doing it. ‘He invested all his savings into making a home for you. Money he could have put towards setting up a business.’

‘Oh God, that’s awful. I thought he – I thought he wouldn’t – he didn’t call once – he never said he loved me!’ She was biting her lip hard, fighting back the tears.

Fiona put her arm around Sian’s shoulders. ‘He may not have said it in words, but he’s shown it. Actions speak louder than words, and all that. And if you love him—’

‘I do. I know I do. It’s why I had to break up with Richard.’

‘Then you show him, like he tried to show you.’

‘But how? And to be fair to me, I would have thought he’d have guessed how I felt about him.’

‘And to be fair to him, you didn’t guess how he felt about you.’

Sian nodded and then turned away and walked up the hill, away from the shelter, Rory and Fiona. She needed some moments on her own, she needed to think what to do next. She stopped and suddenly knew what that was. She hurried back towards Fiona.

‘I need to go. I need to go to London. I need to be there with him, to show him I care – and to help him get his deal.’

‘How are you going to do that?’ Whilst obviously pleased that Sian had seen sense at last Fiona was ever practical.

For the thousandth time that day Sian looked at her watch. ‘I could put Rory in the car, take him to my parents. If we set off now we’ll be there before bedtime.’

‘But Rory will miss school in the morning.’

‘Yes – and I’d forgotten, he has a date with Annabelle – but that doesn’t matter.’

‘Why don’t we ask Rory if he’d be happy to stay with me? Then you could go on the train.’ Fiona was now focused on helping the mission as much as she could.

‘Could I? Have I got time?’

‘Let’s ask Rory. We’ll tell him that you’re going to London to get Angus back.’

Rory was delighted at the prospect of staying with Fiona, more because she had several Pixar movies on DVD than because he wanted to help his mother. But Sian didn’t care either way, just as long as she got to the station on time.

‘You go home and pack,’ said Fiona, ‘and then Rory and I will take you to the station, and pick up some fish and chips on the way home,’ she added
sotto voce
to Rory.

‘Fish and chips!’ squealed Rory, making Sian glad they’d always been such a treat or they wouldn’t be making her trip so much easier now. She had a sudden thought.

‘Oh, God. What shall I wear? What do you wear to meet a publisher?’

‘Honey, I have no idea! Just look pretty. You always do. Whatever you wear will be fine!’

Sian was just about to rush out of the house when she spotted the package Gus had left. It had been moved several times as she’d tidied up but she hadn’t ever looked in it. She didn’t have time to look in it now, but she stuffed it into her bag as she left. She could give it back to him.

It was only when Sian was on the train to London, having waved goodbye to a very happy Rory, who was focusing on eating chips in front of Buzz Lightyear, that she realised she didn’t know what time the meeting was or which publisher he’d gone to see. She rang Fiona from the train. Unfortunately whilst Fiona could tell her the publisher’s name, she didn’t know what time the meeting was being held.

‘I know it’s in the morning,’ she said helplessly. ‘And I shouldn’t think too early. About ten seems likely. You could ring them up and ask.’

‘Would they tell me? It’s probably against privacy laws or something.’

‘You could quote the freedom of information act at them, that might help.’

Neither of them thought this was really an option. ‘Never mind, I’ve got all night to think of a way of finding out. Thank you so much for having Rory.’

As Sian had already said this at least a dozen times, Fiona just repeated her side of the dialogue, that her son’s happiness was involved too, so no thanks were needed.

Her parents, although a bit confused when she rang them, were delighted at the prospect of her coming to spend the night with them.

It had been a bit of a rush to get on to the train and what with having to first fling some bits and pieces together for Rory and herself on the way and ring Fiona for details once the train had set off, she’d hardly had a chance to get her breath back. As she put her phone away now and sat back in her seat she considered her own packing. She hadn’t had time to plan it and she’d probably brought all the wrong clothes. But that wouldn’t matter. She wasn’t the focus and even if she had been, illustrators could be arty, or wear mismatched clothes –it went with the image. It was her work they’d be interested in.

She rummaged in her bag and got out her sketchbook. She hadn’t wanted to bring a huge A3 portfolio on the train, so she’d just brought her A4 Moleskine. She flicked through it, and as she did so, her heart sank. There were pictures of flowers, both realistic and imaginative, fairies, sea horses and fleur-de-lis, lots and lots of dragons, but there was nothing, as far as she could tell, that proved she would be the right person to illustrate a book about bushcraft. She and Gus had wasted so much time with their silly misunderstandings. If they hadn’t fallen out so spectacularly she’d have had time to read some of his work and do some preliminary sketches.

She looked at her notebook again. This was no good; this wouldn’t help Gus. In fact it would hinder him. They’d think she was just some deranged ex-girlfriend stalker turning up with an assortment of drawings that had no relevance to the project whatsoever. Knowing he had such women in his life they’d send him away, not wanting to risk taking him on.

Her clothes didn’t matter but her work did. She had to do something about it. She found her pencil case and selected a pencil and then realised she couldn’t draw properly on a train. She’d have to put something together once she got to her parents. She’d work through the night if necessary. Gus’s career – his book, his bushcraft project, everything – was at stake.

Then she remembered the package and took it out. Inside were fifty pages or so of typing. She read the first page and realised it was his book. She read the second page, and then the third. She started to smile, partly from relief and partly because the book was funny! He could write, he could really write! She didn’t have to be professional to know that. She knew she was swept along, intrigued, amused, entertained. His personality was on every page, in every line, teasing, anarchic but informative. She realised she’d want it to succeed even if she had no feelings for Gus, even if he was just a casual friend, it was so good.

Later that evening, after a homely and necessarily quick meal with her parents, she cleared the table in her old bedroom and started to draw.

She couldn’t draw from life, but only from memory. Gus’s hands as he scraped a piece of birch bark with a knife, producing a tiny pile of tinder; the shelter with its thick overcoat of leaf litter, making it look like a cave; Gus whittling, creating curls of wood so fine they resembled the ribbons on a gift, him standing with an axe high above his head.

When she’d run out of things she’d seen Gus doing she read through his book again, picking out scenes she thought would make good drawings. She smiled as she drew, her enthusiasm increasing as she brought the incidents to life with her deft pencil marks and shading in. She added in a picture of Rory running with a forked stick, partly for fun, partly to show all ages could enjoy the bushcraft. She longed to have time to add colour but her paints were in the country and line drawings were probably what was required. When she finally zipped up her pencil case she was satisfied she’d done some of her best work, enough to impress even the fussiest of publishers. She closed the notebook, stood up, stretched and went downstairs to have a cup of tea with her parents before everyone went to bed.

They admired her work and kissed her goodnight. Her mother had obviously put a gagging order on her husband on the subject of his daughter’s love life. It was a huge relief to Sian. She wasn’t clear of her own feelings or how Gus thought about her; she really didn’t want to have to justify her actions. She wasn’t at all sure how her father would react to Gus anyway. He was still trying to come to terms with the fact that he was Rory’s father. Her mother had thought it best to tell him. If there was any likelihood of them seeing Gus whilst Sian was in London – which she wasn’t at all sure
was
likely – it was better to be prepared.

Chapter Twenty-Four