Be My Baby. Fiona Harper
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