Be My Baby. Fiona Harper
‘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.
CHAPTER SEVEN
GABY 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