Chapter 24
THE NEXT DAY, Helena set herself the task of finding a job.
She needed to be able to pay Margery her first month’s rent and, having lost the deposit and the down payment on her rental, she had barely anything left in her account.
She waited for Johnny to come out of the shower, before wrapping herself in her towel and sneaking into the still steamy room.
As she turned to shut the door, Johnny smacked straight into her, full frontal, naked apart from the towel wrapped around his hips.
‘Oh GOD!’ he exclaimed, looking mortified. ‘I’m so sorry!’
‘No, I’m sorry!’ Helena said. ‘I thought you were finished.’
‘I was. I am… Sorry! I was just going to… No, no, never mind… You go ahead!’ he laughed as he beat a hasty retreat back to his room and shut the door.
Helena felt flustered, straight back to the awkward teenager she had once been.
She had not been expecting to come into semi-nude contact with another man any time soon.
As she turned the shower back on, she couldn’t help but compare Johnny’s physique with Noah’s, it had been so many years since she had seen another man even half naked.
Before Noah, apart from a very drunken one-night stand she could hardly remember, the last naked man she had seen had been her ex, Dan.
He had been short and ghostly pale, nothing to write home about.
In comparison with Noah’s tanned, gym-honed body, Johnny was tall and broad shouldered, softer round the edges than Noah’s chiselled muscles, but it looked good on him.
She had noticed a trail of dark hair from the middle of his torso down to the top of his towel, spreading wider the lower it traced.
Noah had been hairless, but not naturally so, he had it all waxed off once a month.
Something Helena did not find very attractive.
There was no six pack on Johnny, just a normal stomach, and Helena thought how nice it would feel to be with a man who didn’t hate body fat.
Perhaps there could be a future for her romantically, with someone less judgemental, maybe even someone who accepted her just as she was.
It was the first time she had allowed herself to think that maybe, just maybe, she might be better off with someone who was not Noah.
She got dressed, choosing jeans for the first time in a long time instead of her faithful tracksuit bottoms she had lived in for the past month, and applied a little makeup.
She took a deep breath. Enough was enough.
She couldn’t let Noah destroy her. She had to stop feeling sorry for herself.
It was time to face facts. She urgently needed money. She needed to get a job. Any job.
She downed a cup of coffee from the cafetière Johnny had left on the kitchen table, noticing he had thoughtfully left two cups out for her and Margery.
He had had another new client meeting that morning and had already set off.
Judging by the gentle snores she had heard from her bedroom, Margery was still fast asleep.
Helena pulled her coat on, got in the car and drove back to a café she had driven past several times the week before, near the charity shop in town she had taken all Noah and Raffy’s things to.
She had noticed a handwritten note in the window, advertising for help.
She was relieved to see it was still there.
She parked the car and peered inside. It seemed reasonable enough, nothing too fancy.
An older Asian man with a short black beard stood behind the counter.
There was a handful of tables and chairs, a fridge stacked with cold drinks and sandwiches.
She pinched her cheeks to add some colour to the deathly pallor she saw in her reflected image, visible in the café’s glass front.
‘You can do this,’ she told herself. She channelled her mother’s inner confidence and warmth.
Taking a deep breath, she fixed what she hoped was an upbeat, capable smile on her face, pulled herself up to her full height and stepped into the shop.
‘Morning,’ she called as she walked up to the counter.
‘Good morning,’ the man replied. ‘What can I get for you?’
‘I’ve just seen the advertisement,’ she said, gesturing over to the window. ‘Are you still looking for help?’
‘Yes,’ he nodded. ‘Are you interested?’
‘Very,’ she beamed. ‘Is there an application form I can fill out?’
The man reached down below the till and pulled out a form, passing it over to Helena. ‘Have you got any experience working in a café?’
‘Not specifically a café, but I was a waitress from the age of thirteen until my early twenties, and after that I worked in events, so I have plenty of experience.’ Helena smiled at the kind looking man. ‘I’m Helena,’ she stuck out her hand.
‘Ahmed,’ the man smiled back. His handshake was warm and firm. ‘Well you certainly sound like you’ve got some good experience, in that case. If you fill out the form and drop it back in, we can organise a trial shift and see how you get on?’
Helena felt reassured that it hadn’t been an outright no. A trial shift, that was a start. ‘What would the pay be, if you don’t mind me asking.’
‘￡12.50 an hour.’ Just over minimum wage. Well, beggars couldn’t be choosers.
‘And would you need someone to start immediately?’
‘Yes. The previous staff member has had to leave on medical grounds.’
‘Oh gosh, right. Sorry to hear that. Well, I’ll fill the form in right away.’
‘Great. Would you be interested in doing a trial day as soon as tomorrow?’
‘That would work for me.’ Helena didn’t exactly have anything in her diary.
‘Fantastic. The café opens at 8 a.m. So if you get in for around 7.30 a.m.?’
‘7.30 a.m. it is. I’ll fill the form out now.
’ Helena sat down with the form and a pen from Ahmed and entered as much information as she could, pulling out her phone to search through her inbox for old addresses, her National Insurance number and her old boss’s contact details for a reference.
She hoped someone still remembered her there.
Having given the form back to Ahmed, she left with a cheery wave, promising she would be there bright and early the following day.
There hadn’t been a single customer in the time she had been in the café, so she couldn’t imagine she would be rushed off her feet.
But it was long hours, and it would provide her with some money, which was what she desperately needed.
Stepping back out on to the street, she allowed herself a small smile.
That hadn’t been too hard, after all. On a roll, she knew what she needed to do next.
Helena went to the shop a few doors down and picked up all the ingredients she needed to bake her favourite cake, a simple Victoria Sponge.
She had been fantasising about this moment for years. Her mouth was already watering.
She drove home and unpacked the shopping bags onto the table, just as Margery came in through the front door, scolding Terry for yapping.
‘I’ve just met the new tenants of Banham Cottage,’ Margery said. ‘Terry does not appear to be a fan.’
‘Oh god, they’ve moved in already. Who are they? Are they nice?’ Helena asked, ignoring the stab of jealousy she felt in her core.
‘They seemed friendly. Their names are Darren and Demetri. They said they both work in London.’ Commuters. Helena nodded, processing this new information.
The idea of another couple in her house, sleeping in her bed, made her feel extremely uncomfortable. She had to remind herself it was no longer her house, that it never really had been, but she could hardly bear the thought.
‘Still nothing from Noah?’ Margery asked, filling the kettle up with water.
Helena felt a rush of emotion at the sound of his name. ‘Not a word.’
‘Truly? I can’t believe anyone could be so cruel…’
Helena nodded, thinking that only she knew just how cruel he could be. ‘I know. It seems impossible, doesn’t it? As if they vanished into thin air. Or died.’ Even saying the words made her want to cry out in pain.
Margery opened a packet of ginger biscuits, helping herself to a couple before offering them to Helena. ‘Do you think he really did take Raffy back to New Zealand?’ she asked.
Helena nodded. ‘Probably. He kept talking about going back there.’
‘That poor child…’ Margery sighed.
A picture of Raffy flashed in her mind’s eye, waiting for her at school pick-up, scanning the gathered parents until he saw her, his eyes lighting up and his face splitting into a gap-toothed grin as his hand shot up to tell his teacher she was there.
Tears glistened in Helena’s eyes. The visceral longing she felt was overwhelming.
Dragging her attention back to Margery, she told her the news about her potential new job. ‘I’ve got a trial day tomorrow.’
‘That’s wonderful dear.’ Margery poured boiling water into the pot and pulled an ancient, stained tea-cosy over the top. ‘I think I know the place.’
‘Aha! Just what I need.’ Helena said, spotting Margery’s old-fashioned weighing scales in the corner cupboard. She remembered saving them during their clear out, despite Margery saying she never used them. ‘At least it’ll get some money coming in.’
‘So, what’s all this for?’ Margery asked as she came over to inspect Helena’s shopping.
‘I’m going to bake you and Johnny a cake, to thank you for being so kind to me.’
‘How delicious! I didn’t know you could bake?’
‘It’s my greatest passion in life,’ Helena laughed. ‘I haven’t been able to do it for years. I hope I haven’t lost the knack.’
‘Why on earth not?’ Margery frowned.
‘Noah wouldn’t let me.’
‘Let you?’ Margery’s eyebrows shot up. ‘Honestly, he just gets worse and worse.’
Helena chided herself for feeling protective of him. Margery was right. She didn’t need to defend him anymore. ‘He was a bit of a control freak,’ she admitted.
‘You’re telling me! Baking is hardly a crime?’
Helena paused. It felt embarrassing to admit it, but she needed to be honest about their relationship. ‘It was too calorific for him, and he didn’t want me eating sugar either, in case I got fat.’
‘For Christ’s sake, life is too short for that kind of nonsense.’ Margery looked appalled.
Helena couldn’t help but laugh at the indignant expression on her face. ‘I couldn’t agree more. And that is precisely why I am determined to start baking again. I used to dream of it when I was with him. And now no one is going to stop me.’
‘No, dear. You can be sure of that,’ Margery winked. ‘Do you want a hand?’
‘You go and put your feet up and do your crossword. I’ll bring in your tea.’
Helena lost herself in the rhythm of baking, of weighing and mixing, whipping and spreading.
She didn’t need a recipe; she had made this cake a thousand times.
An hour and a half of pure bliss later, a beautiful fluffy golden sponge, sprinkled with icing sugar and filled with a thick layer of raspberry jam and whipped cream stood in pride of place on the kitchen table.
She sighed happily to herself. Later, as she, Margery and Johnny shared slices of cake and cups of tea around a roaring fire that Johnny had made from logs he had chopped himself that afternoon, she felt for the first time in a long time like she could see a glimmer of the old Helena beginning to reappear.