A Family To Belong To. Natasha Oakley
baby Laura had been carrying when Kate had first discovered she’d never have children of her own. It had hurt so much to look at the pregnant Laura then. The woman who had everything she’d ever wanted.
That was the last time she’d visited the island. As soon as she’d recovered from her operation, she’d left. Money from Aunt Babs in her pocket and a postgraduate certificate in radio journalism in her hand, she’d turned her face resolutely away from her past and concentrated on the future.
For a time it had been enough.
Gideon pushed back his chair to receive his daughter into his arms. Jemima looked older than her five years, Kate thought, but what did she know about children? Her hair was a sandy brown, much darker than Laura’s had been, but her face was the same perfect oval. Beautiful. Her arms flew up to hug her father and Kate felt her heart contract.
There was something so unconditional in the love of a child for a parent. She’d even been like that herself. She’d forgiven her mother for almost anything, grateful for a careless kind word. She couldn’t imagine how it would feel to have a warm little figure clinging to you for love and comfort. It must be the most magical feeling.
Across the kitchen table she caught Debbie’s eyes and knew she understood. She’d always understood. Like her mother. Kate tried to smile but it slipped slightly.
‘This is Jemima,’ Gideon said, turning the little girl to face Kate. His strong hands rested on her waist, dark against the pale lilac of her jumper. ‘And somewhere around there’s Matilda.’
‘She’s asleep on Auntie Debbie’s bed,’ Jemima said.
‘This is Kate Simmonds. She’s Auntie Debbie’s sister.’
Kate started at hearing herself described like that. She’d never felt like a sister and yet that was how Debbie always treated her. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to be, it was just that she couldn’t quite accept that she really belonged. That they could really want her.
Jemima looked steadily across the table at her and then smiled. ‘I’m five.’
‘Yes, I know,’ Kate replied a little awkwardly. Why couldn’t she do this? After all this time? Somehow in the presence of children she just froze.
‘Tilly is three. She’s my sister. Did you know my mummy’s dead?’
Kate looked helplessly up at Gideon, wondering what she should answer. She’d no experience with this kind of thing. None at all. She avoided contact with children wherever possible. There was no point making herself feel worse about everything.
His face was a blank and Kate turned back to the little girl, who was evidently expecting some kind of reply. ‘I know,’ she said again, feeling very foolish. And then, ‘So’s mine.’
‘When did she die?’
Kate looked at the almond-shaped eyes of the little girl and saw in them a real interest. Strange. She’d never before thought that inside a child was a person. Perfectly formed and entirely there. The panic inside her started to recede. She could talk to a person. ‘When I was eight.’
‘I was three,’ Jemima said, almost proudly. ‘She was very sick.’
‘Yes,’ Kate agreed, looking helplessly up at Gideon.
He pulled Jemima towards him and lightly kissed the top of her head. ‘Why don’t you go and get me your book bag? Auntie Debbie says you’ve got a letter for me.’
Jemima nodded. ‘I’ve got to make an Easter basket.’ She ran out of the kitchen without a backward glance.
‘She’s lovely,’ Kate said awkwardly.
Gideon smiled. ‘She’s a good girl.’
‘I’m sorry, I’m not very used to children,’ she said, feeling she had to say something to explain her awkwardness.
‘You did fine,’ Debbie said reassuringly. She turned towards Gideon. ‘Kate lives a completely different life from us. She’s not a children person. You should see her flat. It’s all cream and taupe. Can you just imagine the mess my two would make of it all in no time?’
Gideon leant back in his chair, his legs outstretched under the table. ‘Where do you live? Are you based permanently in the States now?’
‘LA was a two-year commitment. I live in Highgate,’ Kate answered. ‘North London.’
He nodded as though he knew it. ‘Do you like living in London?’
Kate thought about it. No one ever asked her that. They always assumed she did. How could you not love living in a great city, with fantastic theatres and wonderful restaurants?
But did she like it? She wasn’t sure any more. She’d been so looking forward to coming back home—to her flat, to see her friends. But when she’d got there it hadn’t felt like home. It had just been a flat. Many of her friends had moved on in the two years she’d been away. Had downshifted and taken themselves off to the countryside.
Richard had married.
Surprisingly that hadn’t hurt as much as she’d thought it would. It had felt like closure. She looked up and caught Gideon watching her curiously. ‘When I get a parking space near my house I do.’
‘And do you miss LA?’
‘You must miss LA,’ Debbie cut in. ‘Can you imagine anything more exciting than to live in LA? Did you know she interviewed Brad Pitt?’
Kate played with a knot mark on the pine tabletop. She understood what Debbie was doing. She was even grateful for it. She was to be cast as a career woman. The woman with drive and vision who didn’t have time for a home and family. It was how she tried to present herself. It made life easier.
Debbie heaved herself out of the end seat. ‘How about I get the children something to eat? It’s nearly five. They must be hungry,’ she said, turning to Gideon.
‘That would be great. Then I can just rush them through the shower when we get home and put them to bed. I’ve got a mountain of paperwork waiting for me this evening.’
‘It’s not going to be fancy, but I’ve got some nice bread from the corner shop, cheese and things.’
Kate drained the last of her drink and pushed the empty mug towards the centre of the table. ‘Is there anything you’d like me to do?’ she asked.
Gideon had already taken some lettuce from Debbie’s fridge and begun to rinse it through under the tap. Completely unpretentious for a world-famous chef. He seemed so completely at home. Far more comfortable than she was in Debbie’s home.
Debbie reached up for a cerise plastic salad bowl. ‘There’s some cucumber in the bottom of the fridge, I think, Gideon. Chop that up and pop it in the salad. Kate, do you want to slice the bread?’ She paused and listened to a sudden shout. ‘I’m needed, I think. Daniel’s at that awful stage where he just won’t share.’
She turned and walked out of the room. Alone with Gideon, Kate felt nervous. Illogically so, she reminded herself. The tension was only in her head.
‘The bread’s in the bread bin,’ Gideon remarked.
Kate stood up hurriedly. ‘Does Debbie have a board to cut it on?’
‘By the toaster,’ he replied calmly.
‘Oh, right.’ She hadn’t been to this house before and it certainly showed, Kate thought as she searched in the wrong drawer for the bread knife. Whereas Gideon…
‘Debbie has a knife block.’
‘Does she?’
Gideon pointed across to the work surface on the other side of the kitchen. Kate walked over and pulled a couple of knives out before she selected the right handle. She turned in time to see him cut the cucumber in sliver-thin slices, his hand moving in a rapid rocking