Part 7 (1/2)

'Myself as much as anyone. Don't you ever do that?'

'Not out loud.'

'Perhaps you should. It helps clear the mind.'

If only it was that simple, Harriet thought as they tripped along Crown Street towards Fuller's. Fuller's was the kind of old-fas.h.i.+oned shoe shop that stored most of its limited stock in shelves above the displays, and as they pushed open the door, they looked up to see an elderly woman balanced on a stepladder, sorting through a column of boxes. Some things never change, thought Harriet, remembering the countless times she and Felicity had been brought here by their mother to buy sensible school shoes - boring black, lace-ups. There were no other customers about and, not wanting to waste time browsing the shelves, Harriet asked the woman if she had any plimsolls.

'You've left it a bit late, haven't you?'

Harriet gritted her teeth. 'So I keep being told.'

The woman came nimbly down the stepladder. 'What size are you after?'

'Size one and - ' But Harriet got no further.

Having eyed the measuring device in front of the row of chairs, Carrie had kicked off her shoes. 'I'd like my feet measured, please,' she said.

'Carrie, we know exactly what size you are.'

'That's all right, dear, I don't mind measuring her. It's best to get these things right. We don't want her coming last in a race because she was wearing the wrong size, do we now?'

'But you do have some plimsolls?' Harriet couldn't bear to go through the palaver of having Carrie's feet measured only to be told there wasn't a single plimsoll to be had. Though why she should worry about a few lost minutes was beyond her. She'd lost the whole of her life; half an hour in a timewarp shoe shop was neither here nor there.

'Oh yes, we still have some stock left,' the woman said with a smile.

Joel tugged her sleeve.

'Can I have my feet measured too?'

Twenty minutes later they emerged from the shop with the children each carrying a plastic bag. Relieved that she could cross the last item off her list, Harriet said, 'Let's have that drink now, shall we?' She thought they'd earned it. She also thought she'd earned the right to a treat and so took the children into Novel Ways where she could have not only a caffe latte but also a rare, self-indulgent browse among the bookshelves afterwards. She hoped Miles would be about: she still hadn't got around to ringing him.

They queued up for their drinks, then found themselves a table. They'd only been there a minute or two - long enough for the children to have messed about with the sachets of sugar and spill some milk - when a voice said, 'h.e.l.lo Harriet.'

It was Miles, looking his usual hurried self: carrying a stack of paperbacks, a pen stuck behind an ear, a piece of ripped paper sticking out from his s.h.i.+rt pocket. He was the only person Harriet had ever known who walked as fast as she did. They'd always marched on ahead together, leaving Dominic and Felicity trailing in their wake. 'h.e.l.lo, Miles,' she said warmly. 'You look busy.'

He rolled his eyes. 'Tell me about it.' Then more awkwardly: 'I've been meaning to ring you for ages.'

She shrugged. 'Same here.'

'Mum and Dad told me you were back on a permanent basis now. Is that true?'

'It was the only answer.'

His gaze flickered over the children and Harriet was prompted to say something to bring them into the conversation. There were any number of memory joggers she could give them, like 'You remember Miles; he was at your parents' funeral,' or, 'You remember Miles; you met him most years when your parents came back to Ches.h.i.+re for Christmas,' but what she said was, 'You remember Miles, don't you? His parents live in Maple Drive.'

Joel said nothing, just continued to suck hard on the straw of his milkshake, but Carrie looked thoughtful. 'Is this your bookshop?' she said.

'Yes, it is,' Miles replied with a smile. 'Do you like it?'

She frowned. 'I don't know. I haven't seen enough of it yet.'

'That wasn't very polite of you,' Harriet said when Miles had been called away to answer the telephone.

'I was only telling the truth. You're always saying we should be honest.'

Touche, thought Harriet. But then Carrie said something that surprised her.

'Did Mum bring us here?'

Joel stopped sucking on his milkshake and peered at Harriet beneath his eyelashes.

'I don't know,' she said carefully. 'She might have. Can you remember her bringing you here?'

Carrie lifted her shoulders and let them drop. 'Maybe it was another bookshop.'

This was as close as Carrie had got to openly discussing her mother, and Harriet didn't know whether she ought to pursue the matter. Was it enough that Carrie had said as much as she had, or was it a tentative signal that she was prepared to go further if given the necessary encouragement ? But the moment was lost when Joel said, 'I need the loo.'

They hurriedly finished their drinks and after the obligatory trip to the loos, Harriet showed Carrie and Joel to the children's area. She told them to stay there until she came back for them, then went to find something to read for herself. Something totally absorbing in which she could lose herself. She was just picking the latest Tracy Chevalier off the shelf when Miles appeared again. This time he was empty-handed, though there was still a pen sticking out from behind his ear - a tuft of hair sticking up too - and an air of urgency about him. He was often taken for a young student, as she herself was, and she knew it irritated him, especially if he wasn't taken seriously. He had once tried to grow a beard to look older, but with his fair hair and smooth-skinned complexion, the attempt had taken for ever and had provoked people to ask repeatedly if he was unwell.

'Harriet, I don't suppose - ' he broke off and swallowed nervously. 'And you would say if you thought it was inappropriate, what with Felicity and everything - ' Again he paused, this time pus.h.i.+ng a hand through his short hair and dislodging the pen. He picked it up and shoved it clumsily into his back pocket. 'Look, I just wondered if you'd like to go for a drink. That's if you're not too tied up with the children.'

Despite the reference to Felicity, and the painful awkwardness in Miles's face, she smiled. 'You mean a grown-up drink? In a pub, or a wine bar? A proper drink that doesn't include straws and endless trips to the toilet?'

He relaxed and smiled back. 'I guess that is what I mean.'

'Then you're on. When were you thinking?'

'How about Wednesday evening?'

'Perfect. I can't wait.'

And the extraordinary thing was; she meant it. For the first time in weeks, she felt she had something to look forward to.

Chapter Thirteen.

While Eileen was busy with Dora, and Harriet was out shopping with the children, Bob was acting on an impulse he wasn't sure would be greeted with universal approval. Eileen would probably question the extra cost and work involved, but he didn't care, this was something for him.

He stared down at the abandoned one-year-old wire-haired fox terrier in the cage and saw not a rescue dog in need of a good home, but the means by which he would be able to plan his own escape. Walking a dog twice a day would give him the ideal excuse to be out of the house. It would give him the chance to be on his own. To think his own thoughts. To be himself.

'I'll take this one,' he said to the young woman who was patiently waiting for him to make up his mind. She'd let him inspect five dogs in all, but she'd said that this one would be the best around children, and had a lively but loving nature. As though understanding that he was about to be freed from the depressing dog refuge, the terrier got up and wagged its short tail.

The money side of things was soon dealt with, and using the tatty, worn-out collar and lead supplied, Bob walked the dog to the car. The terrier stayed close to his heels and Bob felt oddly comfortable with him at his side. Before Bob could decide whether to put him in the front or the back of the car, the dog decided for himself. In one easy movement he hopped up onto the driver's seat and then stepped across to the pa.s.senger seat. He sat back on his haunches, ears p.r.i.c.ked, and looked steadily at Bob as if to say, Where to?

Home, was Bob's unspoken reply. If you can call it that, he added silently. Latterly, he'd started to feel a stranger there. More than that, a stranger in his own life. Everything seemed to revolve around the children. Any conversation he had with Eileen usually began and ended with Carrie and Joel. He gripped the steering wheel, vaguely ashamed of this admission. He was being selfish, he knew. But he couldn't help it. He loved the children, as any grandparent would, yet the strain of having them under his feet every single minute of the day was getting to him, making him feel claustrophobic. He longed for the old days, when he could trot out that old grandparents' line about being able to spoil the little darlings with sweets and ice-cream, then hand them back before they were sick.