Kerry Barrett - I'll Be There For You

I indicated to turn left, and glanced at Esme.

‘They’re just normal mums like you and me,’ I said. ‘It should be along here somewhere. It’s an arts centre I think.’

‘There,’ said Esme, pointing behind her at a small theatre with metal tables and chairs outside as I sailed past. I swore and she gave me a stern look.

Several U-turns, one-way streets and failed attempts to park later – man I missed my witchcraft when it came to parking and Esme was no use – we finally staggered into the centre. I was pushing the twins in their pram, and Esme had Clemmie in her car seat.

The foyer was deserted apart from a bored-looking woman sitting in the box office.

‘Toddler group?’ she said, without looking up. ‘Straight through the double doors.’

To our left was a cafe-bar, with big windows that opened out on to the street and had the tables and chairs outside – I thought they were being a bit optimistic trying to adopt Mediterranean outdoor eating habits on a rainy April day in Edinburgh but hey ho. On our right a fire door was illegally propped open giving us a glimpse of a tiny theatre with fold-up seats and a small performance area in the centre, where two men and a women in black T-shirts were shifting scenery across the stage.

Straight ahead were the double doors. We pushed them open and went into what could have been a function room or meeting hall.

The set-up was exactly the same as it had been at Esme’s group the day before. Chairs in one corner, a small kitchen where people were helping themselves to tea, and toys scattered across the floor with children swarming over them.

I watched as a boy of about three waved his arm and made a plastic aeroplane fly through the air and into the wall.

‘Henry,’ said a woman with thick blonde hair pulled into a ponytail. ‘Stop it.’

She flexed her fingers and the boy shivered, then looked cross.

‘I’ve bound him,’ she told me, seeing me looking. ‘I always swore I wouldn’t do that but he’s out of control. He’s a bloody nightmare.’

I gave her a nervous smile.

‘Mine have just started,’ I said. ‘I’m a bit out of my depth with two of them. That’s why I wanted to come.’

‘You’re very welcome,’ she said. ‘I hope we can help.’

‘See,’ I whispered to Esme as we released the kids from their straps and let them loose on the toys. ‘They’re nice.’

‘Excuse me,’ another woman said. She had short dark hair and she was dressed exactly like Esme had been yesterday – Breton-striped T-shirt, skinny jeans, ballet pumps – I caught Ez smiling at me over her shoulder and ignored her.

‘Are you Harmony McLeod?’ the woman went on. ‘I recognise you from your spa.’

I was startled. And pleased.

‘Yes, I’m Harmony,’ I said. ‘Harry, call me Harry.’

The woman beamed at me.

‘I’m Susie,’ she said. ‘Everyone, this is Harry. She runs that gorgeous spa – you know, the one in Stockbridge. She’s wonderful.’

‘This is my cousin Esme,’ I said as Susie bustled me over to the chairs and sat me down. ‘She’s a lawyer.’

Esme made a face at me that I took to mean ‘don’t worry about it’. She took herself over to where Clemmie was sitting on a mat bashing two bricks together with glee and was soon in deep conversation with another mum who had a baby boy snuggled into her shoulder.

You know that scene in Legally Blonde when Elle comes home from her date and everyone wants to know if she’s engaged? That’s kind of how it was for me. I was suddenly surrounded by women, all asking me questions and telling me how much they loved me and my business.

‘I go to your spa all the time,’ one woman said. ‘I love your acupuncturist. I’m sure that’s why I got pregnant so quickly.’

‘Do you remember me?’ another asked. ‘I came for counselling just after you’d opened.’ I smiled vaguely. I’d seen hundreds of women for counselling. She didn’t seem to care.

‘I love the way you’ve made a career out of your witchcraft,’ she went on. ‘You’re such an inspiration. I even read about you in the business section of the Evening News a couple of years ago.’

Suddenly I remembered why I’d recognised the mum – Vicky, was it? – at Esme’s group yesterday. She was the reporter who’d interviewed me for that business profile. I felt guilty again for dismissing all those women so easily.

The love-in was carrying on around me. The women cooing over how brilliant the spa was, how amazing I was, how cute the twins were… even how shiny my hair was. It was a bit uncomfortable to be the subject of so much hero worship but I couldn’t help enjoying it.

And then a black cloud came in. Not literally, of course, but though my powers were on the blink I could still sense an atmosphere.

‘Oh hello,’ said a chilly voice.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.