Never Close Your Eyes (18 page)

Chapter Sixteen

‘I so don't want to go.' Freya's face was set in firm, fixed fury.

Evie frowned, putting a hand on each of her daughter's shoulders. ‘Please, darling, you agreed,' she said, looking deep into Freya's big blue eyes. ‘And don't do this in front of Michael. He's quite looking forward to it. If he knows how you feel he'll probably say he's not going, too.'

Freya shook her mother off and backed away. ‘I don't know why you're so keen for us to go anyway when Dad's so vile.'

Evie swallowed. She didn't really know either. The last thing she wanted was for Neil and that bloody Helen to have a happy family lunch with her children. For them to be made to toast this impending baby who'd quickly assume its place at the forefront of its father's affections, likely as not shoving them into the back seat.

But Evie had been determined right from the moment Neil left that the children would still have a relationship with him, come what may. Hard as it was, she wanted them to bond with the baby, too, to feel part of Neil's new life. It was important for them, for their future.

‘Try to enjoy it,' Evie pleaded. ‘After all, it's not every day you get taken to a nice restaurant.'

‘Nice restaurant?' Freya laughed humourlessly. ‘It'll probably be McDonald's like last time.'

Michael appeared at the bottom of the stairs. He was wearing his best pale-blue polo shirt, Evie noted, and the trendy brown velvet jacket that she'd picked up at H&M for kids. He looked a darling, so smart. Evie smiled. ‘You look lovely.'

Freya, on the other hand, had gone out of her way to make herself as unappealing as possible. She hadn't washed her hair, which was greasy and scrunched up on the top of her head in a sort of bun. There was a tie-dye effect, too, because she hadn't coloured it recently and her natural fair hair was showing through at the roots.

She was wearing tight black jeans, a black V-neck jumper that was much too big for her and had a hole in the left elbow, and grubby white sneakers. All this was set off with white face make-up and lashings of black eyeliner.

The doorbell rang. Evie felt her heart flutter, as it always did when Neil arrived.

‘Open it,' she said, pushing Freya forwards.

‘No, you.'

‘I'll do it,' Michael grumbled, shoving past his mother and sister, who hovered anxiously, their backs to the wall.

Neil was standing on the front step looking gorgeous, as usual, Evie thought: clean and well groomed and scrummy. She felt a stab of longing. If only he'd hold her in his arms, tell her he'd made a terrible mistake, kiss her, squeeze her to his heart. Stop it, she told herself.

‘C'mon you two.' He sounded bright and jolly. Evie thought it seemed slightly forced, though. Underneath that chirpy veneer he was probably nervous as hell about how they'd react.

‘The restaurant's booked for one o'clock,' he went on, giving Michael a playful punch on the arm.

‘I've got to be back for three,' Freya growled.

Neil wasn't to be deflated. ‘No problem.' He grinned at his daughter. ‘You look trendy.'

Freya scowled.

‘And Evie,' he went on, ‘lovely top. I haven't seen that one before.'

Evie hated the expression on his face. It was something between a smirk and a leer. She also hated herself for being flattered.

‘This old thing?' she said icily. ‘£3.99 from Primark.'

‘Well, it's very pretty,' Neil replied. He motioned to the children. ‘The car's just round the corner.'

Evie couldn't bear to be in the house on her own, twiddling her thumbs and brooding. She considered phoning Nic or Becca but decided against it. It was Saturday and the husbands might pick up. Evie couldn't face having to make polite conversation. Anyway, they'd probably be busy doing family things.

It would be a good opportunity to get on with some sewing, but she knew she wouldn't be able to concentrate. She thought of Bill; he'd been so kind when she'd told him about the baby. She grabbed her black duffel coat, pulled a pale-blue knitted beanie down over her ears and hurried next door.

‘I wondered if I could borrow some milk?' she asked. ‘We've run out. I'll go to the shops later.'

Bill was wearing grubby brown corduroy trousers and an old red and green checked shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His face and arms looked remarkably tanned for the time of year. ‘Been doing some gardening,' he explained, rubbing his dirty hands on his knees. ‘Blasted brambles taking over the place.'

A funny noise slipped out of the back of her throat. He gave her one of his intense looks. ‘What's up?'

There was no point pretending. ‘Neil's taken the children out to tell them about the baby,' Evie whispered. ‘I've tried to be positive in front of them but it's so hard.'

Bill narrowed his blue eyes. ‘Let's go for a walk and you can tell me about it. It's a beautiful day.' He pointed to her feet and chuckled. ‘But you'll have to change your footwear. I'm not taking you out in those.'

She looked down. She was still wearing the stupid, pink fluffy cat slippers that Freya had given her last Christmas. She felt her face redden. ‘I'll nip back and change.'

‘What about the milk?' he called after her.

‘I'll pick it up later.'

They strolled along the river towards Teddington Lock, watching the rowers speeding past, urged on by their noisy coxes. There were a lot of people out today, families mostly, with dogs and small children wobbling on bikes or trundling along on scooters. The water shimmered and sparkled in the late October sunshine and Evie felt her spirits lift as she stretched her limbs and breathed in gulps of cool, fresh air. She linked her arm in Bill's. She had to walk quite fast to keep up with him; his legs were so much longer than hers.

She found herself talking a lot about Neil, yet again, and the baby, how she thought the children would take the news, why she was so upset. Every now and then Bill would offer a comment, but mostly he just listened.

After a mile or so they stopped and rested on a wooden bench, set a little way back from the river on the grassy verge. Her gaze wandered to the houses on the opposite bank. There was one, in particular, that she'd always loved: a weird, gothic-looking building with a round turret. You almost expected to see Rapunzel leaning out of the window, her long golden tresses blowing in the breeze.

‘I'd love to have a workroom there,' she said. ‘The light must be fantastic. I'm sure I'd be really creative if I had a room like that.'

Bill nodded. ‘It's amazing. Must be worth a fortune.' He pointed to a much smaller house on the left with a pretty little garden that sloped down to the water's edge. ‘How about that one instead? It's not stunning like the other one, but it still has the view. I could see you in there with your tailor's dummy and your wedding dresses.'

‘I had a customer recently – actually I think it was the day that we went to that play at the Orange Tree. She came for a fitting and I had to inform her that she was pregnant,' Evie said.

Bill laughed. ‘How did you know?'

‘I could just tell. She'd gone up a cup size and the tops of her arms were all chubby.'

‘So how did you break the news?'

Evie screwed her face up. ‘It's difficult to be subtle about something like that. I think I said: “Have you thought of taking a pregnancy test?”'

Bill shuffled on the bench. ‘Awkward. How did she take it?'

Evie put her head on one side. ‘She was a bit shocked. We sat down and had a cup of tea and a chat. She rang the next day to say she'd done the pregnancy test and I was right. By then she'd had a bit of time to get used to it and even sounded quite excited, thank goodness.'

‘I bet you've got heaps of stories like that,' Bill said.

‘Yes. I have to be a bit of a counsellor sometimes.' Evie grimaced. ‘I tend not to tell them about my own failed marriage – wouldn't want to trample on their dreams.'

Bill ignored the last comment. ‘What about the pregnant lady's dress? Is it expandable?'

Evie sighed. ‘I'll have to start again. I can't quite see a bride who's eight or nine months gone in a strapless boned corset. But she's so sweet I don't mind.'

He paused. ‘You should do some advertising, you know, charge a bit more, get someone in to help. Maybe set up your own shop.'

Evie shrugged. ‘I'd love to but you need capital, which I don't have.' She stared at the ground.

‘You could take out a loan.'

She shook her head. ‘I doubt the banks would want to lend me anything.'

‘You won't know until you try,' Bill said seriously. ‘Listen Evie, I know you're going through a bad time but you've got options, you know. You've heaps of talent, plenty of experience and now the children are older, presumably you've a little more time. You need to pull yourself together and stop feeling sorry for yourself. The only thing stopping you from moving on and making a new life and career for yourself is you.'

She shrugged. ‘I suppose so but—'

‘You see.' He sounded exasperated. ‘You're putting obstacles in the way already.'

She stiffened. ‘It's not easy, you know, being on your own . . .'

He was silent.

‘I'm so sorry,' she cried suddenly. ‘How selfish of me, when you've been on your own for so long.' She cleared her throat. ‘Do you still miss Jan terribly?'

Jan was his wife who died of cancer some years ago. He rarely mentioned her.

He picked at a piece of fluff on his corduroy trousers. ‘Less as time goes by,' he replied. ‘She was a lovely woman. You'd have got on well with her.'

‘I'm sure I would,' said Evie. ‘What was she like?'

‘A little like you.' Bill smiled, staring into the distance. ‘Small and pretty and lively.'

Evie was touched. ‘Ahh.'

‘She ran her own PR business,' he went on. ‘She did rather well but it was bloody hard work. Kept going pretty much throughout her illness. I tried to persuade her to slow down but she wouldn't.' He scratched his head. ‘She was convinced right till the very end that she was going to get better.'

Evie's shoulders drooped. She fiddled with the toggles on her duffel coat. Bill must think her so inadequate. Jan managed to stay positive and keep working even when she was
dying
.

He squinted. ‘It looks as if there's a good crop of apples on that tree.' He pointed again to the little house across the river that he'd earmarked for her. ‘You could do your sewing in the garden in summer and watch the boats go by. There's plenty of shade.'

Evie was still thinking about Jan, working away at her business when she was so ill. She pulled her blue woollen hat further down over her eyebrows.

‘I'd be tempted to make cider,' Bill went on.

‘Sorry?' She didn't understand.

‘With the apples.'

‘Oh,' said Evie, rising. ‘But I don't like cider so there'd be no point.'

‘Of course not.'

Neil's car was pulling up outside the house when they arrived back.

‘Thanks for the walk,' Evie said.

‘Any time,' Bill replied. ‘Think I'll go over to the allotment now. Care to join me? Michael would love it down there. He could help with some digging.'

She imagined Michael in his wellies, trampling around in the mud. It's true, he probably would love it.

She shook her head. ‘I've got things to do. I'm going to a party at my friend Nic's tonight – you know, the freelance journalist. Lives in Twickenham?'

Bill raised his eyebrows. ‘You're going out?'

‘You seem surprised.'

‘I just thought, after the news today, that the children might . . .'

‘They'll be fine,' Evie said quickly. ‘I promised Nic I'd go. I can't let her down.' She gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. She had to go up on tiptoes because he was much taller than her. He smelled faintly of aftershave and woodsmoke.

‘Have a nice evening,' he said. There was something in his tone of voice that made her uncomfortable. He could be so superior at times.

‘You too,' she replied, turning swiftly away.

Neil was opening the rear door to let the children out. Helen was in the front, looking straight ahead. On the rare occasions that Evie had met her she had always been frosty. She seemed almost jealous, which was extraordinary, given that Helen had everything over her, including looks, youth – and Neil. She really had no reason to feel insecure.