Part 7 (2/2)

But, of course, what he really longed for was his daughter to be returned to him. Some might say that he should count his blessings, that he did at least have another daughter. In fact, someone had actually said that to him. He racked his brains to remember who it had been. Some well-thinking fool who didn't have a clue what they were talking about. As a parent you're not supposed to have a favourite amongst your children, but Felicity had always been special. She'd been an important turning point in his life. He had never felt so close to Eileen as he had when she'd first handed Felicity to him to hold. He didn't so much as look at another woman from that moment on. It was as though the purity of his newborn baby's life had rubbed off on him and turned him into a better person.

The two affairs he'd had still haunted him. He wasn't proud of it, and he didn't know what he'd do if Eileen ever found out. He'd gone to great lengths to cover his tracks, to keep her from being hurt. He'd never been so stupid as to leave till receipts lying around or to get up in the middle of the night to make a secret phone call, as someone at work said he'd done, only to learn that his wife had picked up the extension in the bedroom and heard every word.

As a salesman, he'd spent the vast majority of his working life on the road, travelling from town to town, city to city. The opportunity to play away from home had always been there, and compared to a lot of reps he knew, he'd been the model of good behaviour by having only two affairs. The first one had lasted less than six months and the second one, two years later, had gone on for nearly twelve months. Both of the women concerned had had no idea who or what he really was. He'd lied to them both, telling them he was recently separated and felt too raw to commit fully to anyone new so soon. It was behaviour of the very worst kind and he'd hated himself when he was at home lying in bed beside Eileen. Unable to sleep, he would promise himself it would stop, that there was too much at stake. But he was weak, and within days he would be figuring out when he'd be able to get away next. It was only when he was with these other women that the pain of what he and Eileen were going through lessened. It was in their arms that he could forget the sadness they were forced to endure each time they lost yet another baby.

On both occasions, the affairs had ended because of his conscience. Deep down he loved his wife and didn't want to hurt her. When she fell pregnant and for the first time managed to get beyond the five-month stage, he made a promise to himself. If this baby lived, he would never put temptation in his way again by spending a night apart from his wife.

It was a promise he stuck to and no matter where in the country he was sent, no matter how bad the weather, he always drove home to be with Eileen and the family he was so proud of.

His wasn't an exciting job, working for a firm that sold industrial cleaning equipment, but he'd been with the company since the start, when it had been little more than a Portakabin office and a lock-up, and over the years it had given him a decent living, security for his family, and stability. On his retirement, last year, the firm celebrated forty years of business and boasted over a hundred employees with an office in Birmingham as well as the original one in Chester. He'd been the first of the long-term employees to retire and had been nicknamed the Daddy of the team. Jim Clark, the managing director, had made an amusing speech on the day of his retirement, and had presented him with a set of garden furniture. It was good-quality stuff, solid teak - the sort, so Jim had said, that would live for ever if looked after carefully. These days Bob couldn't look at that garden furniture without thinking, what was the point in it living for ever? Who gave a d.a.m.n if a b.l.o.o.d.y bench outlived you? And why could a bench go on living when his daughter couldn't?

Some of his colleagues had been at the funeral. They'd brought flowers and cards, but not the ability to look him in the eye. They made promises to give him a ring, to take him out for a drink. But the phone had never rung.

He swallowed hard, kept his eyes firmly on the road, clamping down on the pathetic loneliness. Still, it was better than the days when he felt an uncontrollable need to tear out his own guts.

Eileen seemed to be coping far better than he was. It was irrational, but her one-step-at-a-time att.i.tude annoyed him, as though her steady recovery somehow trivialised his pain, or worse, trivialised Felicity's death. She seemed perfectly happy to muddle through the days, focusing on the children or worrying about Harriet's handling of them. She didn't seem to need to make sense of what had happened. Perhaps she had the right idea, because as far as he could see, it was a hopeless task. Maybe he should start taking Prozac like her and sleep his troubles away. He instantly felt guilty for this thought. It wasn't Eileen's fault that she needed to rest in the afternoon.

He was almost home when it occurred to him that some dog food might not be a bad idea. He pulled up onto the kerb outside Edna's and nipped inside. Edna was behind the counter, giving a group of young teenage girls the beady-eye treatment as they crowded round the magazines, giggling and chatting much too loudly. It was yet another reminder that it felt like only yesterday when Felicity and Harriet had been doing the same.

He found the pet-food shelves, made a random selection and took them to the counter. The shop was quiet now; the girls had left. Edna surveyed the tins. 'Dog food, eh?'

'That's right. I decided we needed a dog to cheer us all up.' Sometimes it was easier simply to provide all the necessary information, thereby short-circuiting Edna's interrogation.

'That'll prove a costly business, then, won't it?'

It will if I continue to buy the food from here, he very nearly said.

Back outside, the girls were grouped around his car. They were ooh-ing and ah-ing at the dog, who seemed to be enjoying being the focus of attention - he was leaping about the car like a performing circus dog. All he needed was a pointy hat and a ruffle round his neck to complete the picture.

Bob drove the short distance home, and letting the dog out of the car but keeping it on the lead, he went round to the back of the house, bracing himself for Eileen's reaction.

September Each player must accept the cards life deals him or her.

But once they are in hand, he or she alone must decide how to play the cards in order to win the game.

Voltaire

Chapter Fourteen.

It was the start of the autumn term, and the school gate and playground were thronging with activity. The sight of so many children made Harriet shudder. She had a terrifying picture of Carrie and Joel making friends with every man jack of them and inviting them all home to tea. But looking down at Joel's petrified face, and the grim set of Carrie's jaw, it looked more likely they wouldn't make a single friend. They'd be lucky to survive, never mind socialise.

It had been agreed during tea yesterday that the job of taking the children to school for their first day would fall to Harriet. Her mother, while doling out yet another child-friendly meal of reheated shepherd's pie and peas, had suggested to Carrie and Joel that since it was their 'special day' they should choose who took them. 'We could all go if you like,' Eileen had added. Feeling silently relieved that this was one task that wouldn't fall to her - no way in the world would Carrie and Joel want their horribly scary aunt with them - Harriet had been astonished to hear Joel say, 'I want Harriet to come with us.'

Even Bob and Eileen had looked askance. 'How about you, Carrie?' Bob had said.

Stirring her plate of food, without looking up, Carrie had said, 'I'd like Harriet and Toby to take us.'

Joel's face brightened. 'Oh, I didn't think of him. Can Toby come as well?'

Coming home out of the blue with a dog was the best thing her father could have done for cheering up the children. Eileen wasn't keen, though, and had said the house was full enough as it was with so many to feed and keep clean. 'And what about Harriet's asthma?' she'd asked.

'Mum, you know it's pollen and mould spores I'm allergic to, not animals,' Harriet had told her. Stress could also bring it on, but she saw no reason to mention that.

But seeing how the children instantly connected with the dog, Eileen had soon relented. 'Oh, all right,' she'd said, 'he can stay. But I can tell you for nothing, it won't be me who'll take it for walks in the wind and rain.'

'That will be entirely my responsibility,' Bob had stepped in. 'I promise.'

Carrie had thought of the name Toby and they had all agreed that it suited the dog perfectly.

Toby had to be left behind in the car while Harriet and the children walked across the playground, because it was against the rules to bring him into school, much to Joel's disappointment. Harriet was convinced, knowing how cunning children could be, that Carrie and Joel had chosen her for the task as some sort of punishment. Their grandparents would have made a far better job of it; after all, they were the experts, having done it twice before.

They were greeted in the noisy corridor by a tall, elegant woman who claimed to be Carrie's teacher, Mrs Kennedy. Amidst the kerfuffle of screeching children and gossiping mothers, they were shown where to hang Carrie's PE bag, then pointed in the direction of Joel's cla.s.sroom further down the corridor. It was probably for the best, but there was no appropriate moment to say goodbye. Mrs Kennedy swept Carrie away with her and there was nothing else for it but to get the next bit over and done with. Joel was going to cry; Harriet just knew it. And she had no idea how to prevent it.

There were lots of small children milling around outside Joel's cla.s.sroom; Harriet noted that one or two faces were not dissimilar from Joel's. Presumably they were in the same boat - their first day at school. Others, the confident, c.o.c.ky ones who were charging on ahead to the cla.s.sroom were, she imagined, old hands, having been in some kind of nursery cla.s.s. They'd probably already sized up the potential losers who could be bullied into drug-running for them. Not funny, she told herself. There were one or two mothers who looked in bad shape, their faces hanging grimly onto what they doubtless thought was an encouraging smile. Harriet remembered Felicity saying how upset she'd been when she'd waved Carrie goodbye for the first time. Apparently she'd driven home in floods of tears and had spent the day playing with Joel, counting the hours until it was time to collect her.

Feeling the pressure of Joel's hand in hers, Harriet glanced down at him. His eyes were pools of tear-filled wretchedness. Once again she thought of Felicity, and how good she would have been in this situation. She would have known exactly what to do and say.

All the other children had disappeared inside the cla.s.sroom, and now that the corridor was empty, Harriet spotted Joel's name above a coat peg. 'Here,' she said, 'we'd better hang up your plimsoll bag. Joel?'

He shook his head and pressed the bag to his chest.

'Come on, Joel, hand it over or we'll be late and in trouble before we've even started.'

Still he wouldn't do as she said. She bent down to him and he leaned into her. With his head resting against her forehead, he dropped the plimsoll bag and flung his arms around her neck. He held her tightly. So tightly he nearly pushed her backwards and onto the floor. He wasn't crying, but somehow that made it worse. She knew that when he was silent he was most upset. All she could think to do was put her own arms around him. It was then, with a shock of tenderness, as she felt the trembling within his small body, that she realised this was the first time she could recall ever really hugging either of the children.

'h.e.l.lo there. I'm Miss Rawlinson and you must be Joel Knight. I was wondering what had happened to you.'

Disentangling herself from Joel's vice-like grip, Harriet stood up to greet her nephew's teacher. 'I'm afraid he's a little nervous,' she explained, at the same time taking in the woman, or rather the girl. Miss Rawlinson looked no older than a school-leaver. With her wide grin, her hair in high bunches, her gingham, puff-sleeved top, denim skirt and black PVC boots, she resembled one of those overactive children's television presenters that Carrie and Joel found so unaccountably absorbing. Surely she wasn't old enough to be in charge of so many children? Especially a child like Joel who would need extra support and encouragement. Suddenly feeling twice her age and unexpectedly reluctant to hand over her nephew, Harriet put a protective hand on his shoulder.

'Is this yours, Joel?' Miss Rawlinson asked, picking up the plimsoll bag.

Burying his face into Harriet's legs, Joel ignored her.

'Why don't you come and meet all your new friends? Everyone's waiting to meet you.'

His head moved from side to side.

'Don't you want to make lots of new friends?'

Another shake of his head.

<script>