Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
Picnic agreed on and wicker hamper packed in the boot, they drove for an hour through winding, narrow lanes lined with tall hedgerows. It was amazing there weren’t more traffic accidents in the countryside, given the tight bends and the way people whizzed around them. Stella glanced at Benedict’s profile. While he dealt with Daniel’s never-ending questions, his eyes never once left the road, careful to protect the precious life in the back of the car. They were playing I spy, and Daniel’s I-spy-something-beginning-with-f was causing a few problems. After exhausting flowers, ferns, fox (unfortunately dead on the side of the road), friend (Stella, apparently), factory, farm, fingers and forehead, the adults were forced to admit defeat.
‘Fumb!’ announced a triumphant Daniel.
‘Fumb?’ asked Stella.
‘Fumb,’ said Daniel, holding one up by way of example so his father could see it in the rear-view mirror.
‘Son, you mean thumb!’
‘Yes, that’s what I said, fumb.’
Stella turned round and grinned at him. ‘What a funny little boy you are.’
‘Daniel, you haven’t said fumb since you were four. Besides, a thumb is a finger, so technically Stella won that round. Now, how about seeing who can spot the most yellow cars?’
They passed the last fifteen minutes of the journey with Daniel scanning the road and periodically shouting, ‘yellow car’. Before long, they pulled into a small car park. Benedict jumped out and held the door open for Stella then unfastened Daniel. He took the hamper from the boot and pointed down a small track through some trees and dense undergrowth.
‘Here we are: the Isis. When I was a boy, we used to swim in the river along here. There’s a sort of natural pool near a sunny glade, surrounded by some excellent climbing trees. Shall we try there for frogs, Daniel?’
‘Yes please, Daddy.’
The path was narrow, and Benedict had the hamper to contend with, so Daniel held Stella’s hand. The boy jumped and hopped as they made their way along the shady path, with his father holding low branches out of their way where the path was badly overgrown. When they arrived at the promised glade, Benedict unpacked the hamper and arranged the food on the picnic blanket. As they munched on boiled eggs and ham sandwiches, insects buzzed around them and fish jumped in the river, making occasional plops. Daniel was drawn to the water, but his father told him he wasn’t allowed near the edge on his own and must wait until everyone had finished eating. Once they’d shared out the home-made biscuits and finished with a crunchy apple apiece, Stella cleared away and packed up while Benedict took his son behind a bush. Before long, Daniel emerged from the bush, carrying a particularly large caterpillar to show Stella. After she’d admired it, his father explained that if he carefully put it back where he’d found it, within a few days it would turn into a chrysalis and then metamorphose into a butterfly. Daniel failed to look impressed.
‘Oh, Daddy. I know all about chrysalises and metamorphothingy. We did it in nature study at school. Honestly!’
After harrumphing at his father’s lack of knowledge about his schooling, Daniel carried the caterpillar back to its original leaf. Stella suppressed a laugh at the serious expression on the boy’s face, but gave in at the sight of his two little feet sticking out from under the bush as he grunted and groaned, shuffling back to exactly the spot where he’d found the caterpillar. When he reversed out, his knees were muddy, his t-shirt was torn, and he had twigs and leaves in his hair.
‘Now I know why they say people look like they’ve been dragged through a hedge backwards,’ said Stella. ‘Come here, untidy one, and let me clean you up.’
Determined not to be cleaned up, the grubby scoundrel ran to his father, who picked him up in a bear hug, gave him a big kiss and swung him round until Daniel was almost crying with laughter. Then he held him close and told him that he loved him.
‘I love you as well, Daddy.’ Daniel pressed a kiss onto his father’s cheek.
‘Now, let’s see if we can find some frogs. Come on, Stella.’
The three of them ventured to the river bank where they lay down and peered into the mud. After a while, Benedict reached down and when he raised his hands, they were cradling a frog. He showed his son how to cup his hands so that he wouldn’t drop the small creature. The boy’s eyes shone as the frog hopped in his hands. Shortly, Benedict retrieved the frog and returned it to the mud.
‘Goodbye, Hoppy. It was nice to meet you,’ said Daniel, waving as the frog hopped off. ‘Daddy, I didn’t know you could catch frogs.’
‘I can do lots of things that you don’t know about, son.’
‘Do them, Daddy, do them, please!’
‘Just for you, then.’ Benedict ran to the nearest large tree, his son in hot pursuit. With astonishing ease, he climbed the branches as if they were rungs on a ladder, and within a few seconds was sitting on a high branch, swinging his long legs. Daniel, at the bottom of the tree, was doing his best to follow, but he couldn’t make it up to the first branch. Stella lifted him onto the lowest bough and he sat ten feet beneath his father swinging his little legs in the same fashion.
‘Come on, Stella,’ called down Benedict, ‘there’s a branch up here with your name on it.’
Despite not having climbed a tree in over twenty years, Stella needed no second bidding and soon found herself sitting on a branch, lower than Benedict, but higher than Daniel. It was shady among the leaves and she enjoyed the cool air for a while, engaging in a face-pulling contest with Daniel, until, with a sickening crack, the branch gave way beneath her and she fell backwards through the air. Her stomach lurching, she scrabbled at passing branches, but they rushed through her fingers. Briefly, she registered first Benedict’s horrified face and then Daniel’s looking down on her. Next, there was a hard thump and everything went dark. She opened her eyes to find Benedict’s face swimming in front of her and she could hear Daniel crying in the background.
‘Stella? Stella? Are you all right? Can you speak? Have you hurt your head?’
She felt sick, there was a terrible pain in her arm and she could only croak.
‘Head’s fine. Wrist not so much.’
‘Do you think it’s broken? Oh, Stella, I’m so sorry. I’ll make a sling until we get you to the car. There’s a first-aid kit there so I can patch you up properly then get you to hospital. Or do you think you need an ambulance? How are your legs? Can you feel them?’
‘Legs feel all right.’ Her wrist throbbed but it didn’t feel broken. Hopefully, it was just a sprain.
Benedict gently brought her up to a sitting position, and kneeling behind her, took off his shirt and folded it into a makeshift sling. As he reached from behind to tuck his shirt under her injured arm, Stella, through her pain, was aware of his bare chest against her back, warm even through her jumper. And there was that lovely nutmeg fragrance again. She inhaled deeply.
‘Sorry, did I jar you?’
‘No, no. It’s fine.’
Benedict finished tying up the shirt and moved in front of her to check the sling before helping her up. Although she winced at the pain caused by moving, she enjoyed the feeling of his hands supporting her, and also the glimpse of his bare chest. He stooped to pick up the picnic hamper.
‘Daniel, please walk behind me and in front of Stella so we can make sure you don’t fall in the river. We’ve had quite enough accidents for one day.’
Slowly, they made their way back to the car in single file, with Stella bringing up the rear. While her wrist did hurt, she was more dismayed at ruining what had promised to be a lovely afternoon. Plus, she’d have to go back to London and miss the birthday celebration as she’d be neither use nor ornament with her arm out of action when there was a party to oversee. She took her mind off her woes by admiring Benedict’s shoulders, which were broad for someone so fine-boned, and she had to resist the urge to reach out and touch his bare skin with her good hand.
Back at the car, Benedict helped Stella into her seat, retrieved the first-aid kit and started to make a replacement sling. He crouched before her and managed to fit the proper sling without her feeling the slightest twinge, and she watched with considerable regret as he put his crumpled shirt back on.
‘I’m going to take you to the nearest hospital with an A&E, but first I’m going to call Miranda and ask her to meet us there to collect you, Daniel.’
In response to his son’s immediate protest, Benedict pointed out that they could be in A&E for hours and it would be a dull way for a boy to spend a Saturday afternoon. He called Miranda, and it was obvious that things were far from easy between them. When they left the car park, Benedict drove with a furrowed brow, quickly but carefully and without jerking Stella’s arm, despite the country roads.
After what felt like an age, they pulled into the hospital car park to find Miranda waiting for them. Benedict climbed out of the car and exchanged a few words with his twin, then helped Daniel out of the car and leaned down to kiss him.
‘Aunt Miranda’s going to take you home and stay there with you until we get back. If we’re not there by bedtime, promise me that you’ll be a good boy and go to bed nicely for her.’
Daniel promised and waved sadly from the rear of his aunt’s car. Stella waved back with her good arm, feeling bad for ruining the little boy’s day out with his dad.
Stella had been tested for concussion, prodded, poked and X-rayed before being fitted with a steel-backed wrist splint that was covered in garish pink foam. As suspected, it was only a sprain, so she’d got off pretty lightly, all things considered. It was after six when they returned and Benedict helped her from the car. Miranda had eaten with Daniel, then bathed him and now they were halfway through his favourite Horrid Henry book. Stella was sore, tired and not looking forward to another confrontation with the snappy sister. Perhaps sensing this, Benedict asked if she wanted to rest, suggesting that he could get dinner ready while she napped. Grateful for his consideration, she headed upstairs to nurse her injured pride, but Miranda started before she was even out of earshot.
‘I can’t believe how irresponsible you are, climbing trees at your age. What if Daniel had been hurt too? She’ll need to go home first thing in the morning. You’ll be busy, so I’ll drive her to the station and put her on the train. Save you the bother.’
Stella couldn’t hear Benedict’s reply but she felt too weary to compete with this woman who was so evidently determined to get rid of her. Grateful to be out of the way for a while, she lay on the bed, trying not to listen to the voices downstairs, but she could hear Miranda’s sharp tones whether she wanted to or not, which meant that the little boy could also hear. A couple of minutes later, she heard a car driving off. With Miranda gone, she felt better already. Maybe she would close her eyes for a short time. Her mother had always claimed that sleep was the best medicine.
When Stella woke up and went downstairs, she paused in the doorway. In an armchair, Benedict sat with Daniel on his knee, holding the boy’s book in front of him, running his finger underneath the words as he read. He put on lots of funny voices to make Daniel laugh and would occasionally stop before a word that he knew his son could read and wait for him to say it. Together, father and son said ‘The End’.
‘Right, come on, Daniel. Finish your milk and we’ll get you off to bed.’
‘Can’t I say goodnight to Stella, I thought she would have come in to see me?’
‘She’s very sore, son. She needed to have a little rest, but she’ll be a lot better in the morning.’
‘She’s a lot better now, actually.’ Stella walked into the room and sat down in the other armchair. ‘That nap did me the world of good.’
Daniel scrambled down from his father’s knee, put his chubby little arms around her neck and pressed milky lips to her cheek.
‘There, I’ve kissed you better. Daddy always kisses me better, don’t you?’
‘I most certainly do.’
‘Daddy, why don’t you kiss Stella better? It might help her arm to mend quicker. ’
‘Er, well, I think kissing things better only works on children, you know. Come on, son. Off to bed with you.’
‘No, Daddy. That’s not true, because when you’re poorly I kiss you better and it works. So if you kiss Stella it will work. Won’t it, Stella?’
Stella had to look down at the floor to hide her grin. ‘Ooh, I don’t know, Daniel. Maybe your daddy’s right. Perhaps it does only work on children, or when children give you a kiss. Anyway, your kiss is already working its magic on my arm, so I’m fine for the time being.’
‘All right then,’ said the boy, not looking entirely convinced. ‘But if your arm’s not better in the morning, Daddy will have to kiss you better.’
‘That’s a deal. Now, best let your dad take you to bed. You’ve got a busy day tomorrow.’
‘All right. Goodnight, Stella.’
‘Goodnight, Daniel.’
With that, Benedict hoisted his son and carried him upstairs. Stella could hear the distant sounds of teeth being brushed and Daniel still discussing the merits of kissing things better. For one terrible moment back then, she’d thought he was going to insist on his mortified father kissing her better, and she could just see the earnest little boy overseeing the entire operation. Even though it hurt her bruised ribs, she couldn’t help laughing.
Benedict came back into the room, looking appalled. ‘I must apologise for my son’s mouth running away with him. In his defence, he is only six.’
‘Only for one more day though. That was the funniest thing I’ve seen in ages. Your face was a vision of pure horror. I never thought the idea of kissing me would frighten anyone so much!’
‘Oh, I wasn’t at all scared at the idea of kissing you. It’s just, well, you know…’
‘I know, Benedict, I know. But he was so straight-faced and innocent. I may have cracked a rib laughing.’
‘Don’t say that, or you’ll make me feel even more guilty. I’ve been the worst possible host, haven’t I? You’ve had to bake cakes, cook breakfast, contend with my sister, and as if that wasn’t enough, I managed to half-kill you during a picnic. No one would blame you if said you’d had enough and wanted to go home. Not that I want you to go home,’ he added quickly. ‘Far from it.’
‘In that case, I’ll hang around. Anyway, speaking of cooking and baking, what are we having for dinner?’
His face fell. ‘Oh, I’d not even thought about that. Would you mind a takeaway?’
‘Always happy to eat a takeaway.’
He opened the middle drawer in a nearby dresser and fished out a handful of menus.
‘You know there’s an app for that, right?’
‘Oh, this collection took years to build so I’m rather attached to my menus. Anything in particular you fancy?’
‘Surprise me,’ she said, cursing herself for putting her foot in it. He and his wife had probably used those very menus and he couldn’t bear to throw them away. ‘I’ll eat pretty much anything so long as it’s not nuclear hot.’
‘Duly noted.’
‘While we wait, I’ll finish decorating Daniel’s birthday cake if you like.’
‘No need. I iced it this morning and it’s ready.’
‘Yes, I saw how ready it was when Miranda was about to scrape it into the bin.’
‘What?’ He turned towards the kitchen. ‘She’d better not have!’
‘No, she didn’t. The cake is safely back in the cupboard. As for being ready, I don’t mean to be cruel, but letting Miranda put the cake out of its misery might have been the kindest thing. It is a bit pathetic looking, you’ve got to admit.’
‘Come with me and we’ll see.’ Together, they went into the kitchen where he lifted his masterpiece out of the cupboard and examined it, grey icing and all.
‘Seeing it in the hard light of early evening, you might have a point.’ He set it down on the counter. ‘Poor Daniel. He desperately wanted a spaceship cake and I’ve let him down.’
‘It only needs a few tweaks to fettle it. I could have a go if you like.’
‘With only one good arm?’
‘I think we can safely assume that my one good arm is better than your two when it comes to matters culinary. In fact, I reckon my one bad arm is probably better than your two good ones. Go and order some food and let me rescue this sorry-looking specimen.’
Benedict left to place a phone call and then returned to the kitchen.
‘I’ve ordered a good mixture, so there’s bound to be something we both like. Turns out we’ve hit the takeaway rush hour, so it’s going to be at least ninety minutes, but I doubt you’re in danger of fading away any time soon…’ Seeing her eyes widen at this remark, he barrelled on. ‘Still, on the plus side, it gives us more time to fix the cake, though I do think you’ll struggle with only one hand.’
‘Smooth,’ she said. ‘Nearly as smooth as your icing job. Now, if only you had a cake-stand, the icing would be a doddle. I don’t suppose…’
‘Not a cake stand, as such, but I might have just the thing. Back in two ticks.’
Overhead, Stella heard him tiptoe into his son’s room and wondered what on earth he could be looking for. He soon returned, still on tiptoe, like a triumphant burglar.
‘Here you are. One potter’s wheel, courtesy of Daniel’s toy box. Might need a bit of a wash though. My son tends to take the act of clay throwing quite literally.’
Once the potter’s wheel was cleaned, he set it on the counter in front of Stella and lifted the cake onto the turntable. Although designed for throwing clay, the wheel was also perfect for icing cakes.
‘Not bad, clever clogs,’ she said. ‘Not bad at all.’
‘I’ve been called worse. So, shall we ice? ’
‘We shall.’ She grinned at him. ‘Or rather, I shall while you make yourself useful knocking up some new icing, if you can do that without wreaking too much havoc. But maybe try to be a bit more imaginative with the colour scheme and let’s not just have fifty shades of grey this time.’
Oblivious to the reference, he turned to the cupboard, muttering. ‘I think you’ll find it’s silver since all spaceships are silver, according to Daniel.’
Poor kid. Daniel might have been better off with the high-fibre low-excitement cake that his aunt had bought rather than this misshapen monstrosity. While Benedict mixed a rainbow of colours, Stella scraped off the lumpiest parts of the existing icing and smoothed down the sides of the cake. Because Benedict had been so ham-fisted, he’d somehow managed to make a large hole in the top layer of the cake and he’d simply filled it in with about half a pound of butter icing. She could get away with slicing the top layer off and having a shallow cake, but it would look as if the cake hadn’t risen, and she was taking no chances with Miranda about. She was still busy examining the cake this way and that when Benedict presented her with a tray containing an icing bag, a pint pot filled with more grey icing and several teacups filled with coloured icing in various hues.
‘I’ll start by covering the cake again.’ Stella pointed at the pint pot. ‘Let’s start with that grey stuff.’
‘Spaceship silver, I think you mean.’
‘Hmm.’ She raised her eyebrows. ‘Can you hold the pot while I scoop it out, please?’
She quickly spooned the grey icing onto the cake and smoothed it off with a palette knife.
‘Amazing! In a matter of seconds, you’ve covered the cake perfectly. Although, you do seem to have made a terrible hole in the middle. Still, you are working with just the one arm!’
She turned to give him an old-fashioned look. ‘Don’t push your luck, Redman. While that’s drying, I need you to make some shapes. Watch me.’
She cut a block of marzipan into eight and kneaded a different coloured dye into each, then rolled a piece out and cut five little shapes from it with a paring knife. They spent a silent half hour rolling and cutting, with Benedict struggling to keep up with Stella, until they were left with a jumble of multi-coloured shapes that didn’t resemble anything in particular.
‘Right, Benedict, you’ll need to help me with this part. I’m going to decorate the cake and you need to rotate the turntable. But first, can you fill the icing bag with some more of that gr– er, spaceship silver.’
Once in possession of the filled icing bag, Stella positioned herself on a high stool, close to the counter, with her partner in crime standing behind her, reaching forward to move the turntable slowly round while she iced as best she could. She could feel him very close behind her, breathing on her neck. It took considerable will-power not to lean back against him. Instead, she tried to concentrate on the job but was struggling to squeeze the icing out with just one hand. She leaned into the bag to get at a particularly tricky bit. This overbalanced her and she fell back on Benedict, who caught her easily with a firm grip on her waist. There was a long pause while neither of them said anything. Slowly, he swivelled Stella around to face him. Because she was on a high stool and he was standing, their eyes were almost at the same level. This was it. He was definitely going to kiss her. Just as he leaned towards her, the doorbell rang. He smiled into her eyes and kissed her on the nose.
‘Saved by the bell. Don’t move. I’ll be right back.’
What abysmal timing. It hadn’t even been an hour, let alone an hour-and-a-half. Was that a thing now for restaurants – to under-promise and over-deliver? While Benedict tipped the delivery driver, she wondered what would have happened if they hadn’t ordered food? Might Benedict right now be carrying her upstairs to his lair, draped over his arms like a swooning heroine? He certainly had the shoulders for it, but did he have the knees? Knees were all important when it came to stairs. Especially when the swooning heroine was apparently in no danger of fading away anytime soon. When he returned, his arms were laden with small boxes.
‘That’s a lot of food, Benedict. Are you expecting guests?’
‘No, it’s a banquet for two. I wasn’t sure what you liked, so there’s some of everything. Fork or chopsticks?’
‘Chopsticks, if you’ve got them.’
‘Chopsticks it is. Definitely some around here somewhere.’
While he located the chopsticks and organised the food, Stella quickly assembled the remaining parts of the cake and made the finishing touches. The final result was from her usual standard, but there was a limit to what could be achieved with a sprained wrist and an incredibly kissable man within her good arm’s reach. She couldn’t manage to lift the cake into the cupboard with only one hand, so she pushed it into a corner and turned a tin upside down over it, arranging some boxes on top so that if Daniel came down early in the morning, he wouldn’t know what it was.
She joined Benedict at the table, which was dotted with small cartons. Now that there was nothing more exciting on the menu, she was looking forward to eating. Benedict seemed all business again, and it was as if the near-miss kiss had never happened. The food smelt delicious and she dug in, briefly contemplating whether she could get away with feeding him a pot sticker from her chopsticks, but the combination of unfamiliar eating implements and using her less dominant hand for eating made her think better of it. She was halfway through a piece of prawn toast when Daniel appeared at the bottom of the stairs. Stella indicated to Benedict with her eyes that they had company .
‘Yes, Daniel,’ he said, without turning his head. ‘What can we do for you?’
‘Is it my birthday yet, Daddy? I can’t sleep. And I can smell delish smells and they’re making me hungry, so can I have some please?’
‘Very well, seeing as it’s your last couple of hours of being six, you can stay up just this once. Do you want a fork or chopsticks?’
‘Ooh, chopsticks, chopsticks!’
Benedict fished out another pair and tucked Daniel into his chair at the table. They both laughed as they watched him chasing his food with a chopstick, eagerly trying to stab it.
‘No, son, like this, watch.’ Benedict held his large, lean hand over Daniel’s small chubby one and showed him how to pick up his food. Despite his efforts, Daniel couldn’t quite master it so Stella downed tools in solidarity. Stretching out her good hand, she picked up a dumpling.
Daniel took a sharp breath. ‘Stella, fingers!’
‘I’m sorry for my table manners, but it’s late, I have a bad arm, it’s past your bedtime and it’s nearly your birthday. So just this once, I reckon we can use our fingers. What do you say, little man?’
Daniel looked to his father for permission, which Benedict gave with a resigned smile. Now that there was definitely no chance of romance, Stella decided to dig in. Benedict shrugged and threw his chopsticks down on the table, pretending to fight over the last piece of sesame toast, but allowing his son to win. Finally, after they’d worked their way through rice, cashew chicken and soft noodles, they sat back, full and happy.
‘It’s getting very late, Dan Dan. How about some milk and then upstairs for teeth and bed?’
‘Oh, not teeth again. I did them already.’
‘Yes, but that was before you ate your own bodyweight in noodles.’
‘If I do the drinks,’ said Stella, ‘will you two do bin duty?’
That should keep the kid out of the kitchen and away from his cake. Within ten minutes, they were all back at the table nursing either a glass of milk or a cup of jasmine tea. Stella inhaled the fragrant steam and felt its soporific effects working on her almost immediately. She smiled sleepily and stifled a yawn. Benedict smiled back and tapped Daniel on the shoulder.
‘Come on, son. Up the wooden hills with you.’
‘Can I sleep in your bed tonight? Please, Daddy?’
‘Only for tonight, because you’re a big boy now. We’ll let Stella go to bed and you can help me lock up. Say goodnight.’
‘Goodnight, Stella.’
Daniel closed his eyes and puckered his lips, so Stella leaned over and kissed him lightly on the cheek. She wondered whether she could lean over a little further and kiss his father just as casually. Maybe not.
‘Goodnight, birthday boy. Goodnight, birthday boy’s dad.’
From her bedroom, she could hear father and son brushing their teeth together. She lay back and thought about the near-miss kiss earlier. Things had been so normal afterwards, it was as if it nothing had happened. Well, nothing had happened, she reminded herself, which was hardly surprising with the anniversary of Anna’s death on the horizon.