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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.
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 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?’
