Helena stepped out into the garden to bring the washing in from the line. It was a perfectly still evening, the heady scent of roses filling the air. The only sign of movement was a swift hopping its way from branch to branch, searching for its next meal. The sky above her was laden with swathes of tangerine clouds, draped low like plumes of smoke. She breathed in the beauty and smiled.
It was around eight o’clock when the sound of tyres crunching on gravel signalled Noah’s arrival back home. Helena had been cleaning up Raffy’s tea and tidying away the clutter of the day after putting him down for the night. She had read him one of hisfavourite stories and tucked him in, happy that he felt better after their chat earlier. She checked the food in the oven one more time. It should all be ready for half past eight, Noah’s preferred time to eat.
He walked into the kitchen, slinging his keys onto a small side table. He came over to kiss her, sliding his jacket off and hanging it on the back of one of the chairs.
‘G&T?’ she asked as he slumped heavily into the seat. He always wanted a drink as soon as he got home, sometimes downing several in short succession.
‘Yes please,’ he said.
She assessed his mood as she set about pouring their drinks; he didn’t seem too bad, she was relieved to see. If he came back in a state she could tell instantly. She had learned to predict what kind of mood he was in from the speed of his brakes, the tread of his footfall from the car to the house, the way he shut the front door. He didn’t handle stress well and often complained about how much he hated his job as a commodity broker in the City, frequently threatening to quit and do something completely different. He talked longingly about his life in New Zealand, the lack of stress, the laidback culture, the amazing quality of life. He even talked about moving back there. He often said that he wanted to start over, do something completely different. She would have supported him in that one hundred per cent but since she had stopped earning, she knew they were all dependent on his salary. When she had suggested going back to work herself, he had dismissed the idea. After all, it had been his idea for her to stop in the first place, to be a consistent presence at home for Raffy. Part of her wished he would go ahead and quit, to find something that he enjoyed, for as far as she was concerned life was too short to spend your precious time doing anything that you didn’t feel passionate about. Her mother’s zest for life had taught her that. As had her father dying so young. She had loved her job in events. She missed it. Being the one at home could be hard work at times, repetitive, exhausting even, but she reminded herself that Raffy was worth it.
‘So a bit of a shit day?’ she asked as she gave him his drink.
‘Yeah,’ Noah took a big sip and let out a sigh. He leant his head back and closed his eyes.
He clearly didn’t want to discuss it.
‘Well at least it’s the weekend,’ she smiled, trying to be positive. ‘Two days off with just me and Raf.’
‘Thank god,’ Noah lifted his head but his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. As always her heart lurched at his smile. His eyes were shadowed with tiredness, his crisp, white collar mirrored the neat geometry of his jaw line.
‘Raffy said you’re going to take him on a bike ride in the morning?’
‘I’ve missed him this week. I feel like I never get to see him…’
‘Well it’ll be good quality time. And it’s Father’s Day on Sunday. Do you want to do anything in particular for it?’
‘Go to the pub?’ Noah suggested.
‘Perfect.’
Noah had downed his gin already, so Helena set about making him a refill – slimline tonic of course. She felt guilty that he worked so hard, supporting them all. She knew there was a strange logic to the fact that she was the one staying home with Raffy; it would have made more sense if she worked so that Noah could spend more time with his son. But Noah was old-fashioned in many respects. She knew it was important for him to be the provider. She also suspected he might get bored being a stay-at-home parent. But then again, who wouldn’t? She often found herself twiddling her thumbs. It was ironic that the one passion she had that would fill her time perfectly, baking, was banned in the house. Noah said it was too calorific. Her mouth watered as she thought of all the recipes she had perfected over the years before she had met Noah: her succulent Guinness brownies, her carrot cake with crunchy chai candied seeds, her spiced red velvet cake… She often lost herself in daydreams about baking. It had always been her greatest stress relief, especially kneading bread dough. She missed everything about it – the crack of eggs, the drop of the batter into the cake tin, the peacefulness of folding in. She would find herself fantasising about brushing egg onto pastry as she brushed a soy glaze onto a salmon fillet. Her mum had taught her to bake, and the memories of making fairy cakes, cookies and iced biscuits were some of the most treasured moments of her childhood. She wished she could do the same with Raffy, but, apart from the occasional ice cream on a hot day, Noah wouldn’t allow him to eat sugar or anything sweet. She longed to wake up to the smell of freshly baked bread once again, but Noah wouldn’t allow bread in the house either, he found it too tempting.
He seemed much more relaxed after they had shared a bottle of wine over dinner, which he had showered with praise, something that was not always the case – he was very particular.
‘Come here,’ he said, patting the sofa next to him as she let the dishwater drain from the sink. She thought how much she would love just one night off from doing the washing-up.
Despite that, a thrill of excitement coursed through her as she noticed the look in his eyes. It may have been four years but she still found his power over her completely overwhelming. He had a hypnotic pull. One look and she felt herself thrumming with anticipation at what might be coming next.
He took the wine glass from her hand and placed it on the table in front of him. Slowly, he unbuttoned her white shirt. He pulled the hair tie from her ponytail, allowing her hair to fall over her shoulders. He brushed his thumb over her lips, knowing the effect he had on her. Her heart raced as he leant forward and kissed her. He tasted of wine. She could smell the traces of musky aftershave on his skin. His stubble grazed her as he kissed her again, pulling her up to her feet and taking her up to their bedroom.
5
THEY PARKED OUTSIDERaffy’s school, next to the wooden fence that separated the school from the farmland next door. The cornfield beyond glowed like a pool of molten gold, ripples of movement pulsing through, as if conducted by an invisible baton. The sun hung low, dripping its last drops of light like honey oozing across the fields.
Nathalie was up ahead of them, outside the entrance, trying to quieten Meg and Maisy who were bickering like crazy as she spoke to the secretary.
‘What a mess,’ Noah muttered under his breath, looking disparagingly at Nathalie. He disliked a lack of grooming in a woman, saying it showed a lack of self-respect. He had critiqued so much of Helena’s wardrobe over the years that she had got rid of most of her old clothes, resulting in a wardrobe full of beige, navy and white linen. Today Nathalie was wearing a black polka dot jumpsuit, her hair as unkempt as usual escaping from its scrunchie. She wore scuffed converse trainers and a large pair of skull and cross bone earrings. Helena always liked to see what Nathalie was wearing. She must have an enormous wardrobe to house her clothes, and a vast jewellery box for her seemingly endless collection of unusual earrings. Her unique dress sense made Helena smile. She was envious of Nathalie’s total self-confidence, and the freedom to dress exactly how she wanted to.
‘Good evening, Mr and Mrs Hamlin,’ said the school secretary, having sent Nathalie off, followed by another set of parents Helena recognised from the school gates. A bony wisp of a woman, Magda wore a lurid purple dress which matched the purple frames of herspectacles. Her eyebrows were plucked into thin arches as if in permanent surprise. ‘Raffy, you can go and join the other children in the hall, if you like.’
As Raffy raced off, she turned her attention back to Noah and Helena. ‘Now let me find your name badges.’ She peered over the desk and scanned the neatly laid out badges muttering the letters of the alphabet as she went. ‘F, G, H… here we are… now let me see, Hamlin. Ah ha!’ She whisked Noah’s badge out of the pile and handed it over, blushing as he dazzled her with a quick flash of his most charming smile. ‘And…?’ She appeared perplexed that there was no second badge for Helena.
‘Mine will be under B,’ Helena said. ‘Here it is,’ she pointed at her name badge, ‘Ms Helena Beale.’
Another blush coloured the secretary’s cheeks as she realised her mistake. This infuriated Helena. What century did people think they lived in?
‘Ah yes. Of course, sorry about that…’ she tailed off.
