Page 129 of My Kind of Happy

Chapter Thirty-six

It was Thursday afternoon and the after-school rush had hit our little corner of Barnaby. Parents were buying their children ice cream from Ken’s Mini Mart or the café depending on their budget. Lucas was selling water pistols and was offering to fill them up for free and on the opposite side of the green, people were sipping pints of cold beer outside the pub. I’d adapted to the weather conditions too, on Victor’s advice.

‘Orchids,’ he had said briskly. ‘That’s what you want this weather. A lot more forgiving than they look.’

And so I’d gone with his recommendation, and so far, his advice was paying off, I thought, wrapping the last order of the day in paper. Once I was finished I stood in front of the oscillating fan, legs akimbo and lifted my arms up, my eyes closed as the draught moved from side to side.

‘Hello, stranger,’ said an amused voice from the doorway.

My eyes sprang open to find Sam walking towards me.

‘Hello, what a gorgeous surprise!’ I beamed at him.

Absence, I decided, definitely did make the heart grow fonder. I hadn’t seen him since Monday and we hadn’t spoken in that time either other than a text earlier to say he was back from Lanzarote.

I held my arms out to him, ready for a hug but all of a sudden, he stopped dead, as if he’d changed his mind.

‘Nice to see you,’ he said formally. ‘The kids are with me, so …’

‘What? Your kids?’ My arms were still wide when two children wandered in behind him carrying pots of lavender and marguerite. I shot him a look of panic and not knowing what to do with my flailing limbs, decided to swing them from side to side like a pendulum.

I was flummoxed. Did Sam know nothing about introducing a new partner to his children: the boundaries, the permission from their mother, the talking and preparation that should be done for a recommended three months before actually meeting me? Not that I’d googled it or anything.

‘We’ve chosen, Dad,’ said an angelic-faced girl with piercing blue eyes. There was no question who her father was; their mouths and noses were identical. She even had his golden hair which hung in a smooth shiny curtain almost to her waist.

‘No we haven’t,’ said a much younger boy crossly. ‘I don’t want pots; I want proper flowers. Dad, tell her.’

‘This is Will and this is Annabel,’ said Sam, in a stilted voice. He looked mortified. ‘Kids, this is Fearne, she, er …’

I drew in a deep breath, trying to put an image of their immaculately groomed mother out of my head. I was conscious of sweat patches on my T-shirt and wished I’d bothered to do my ponytail; last time I’d looked I had more hair out of it than in.

‘She works for Nina,’ he scratched his nose. ‘And Granddad Duncan owns this shop. So Fearne is a tenant.’

Ouch. That stung. Probably the best approach under the circumstances, given how recently the children’s living arrangements had been under discussion. But couldn’t I at least have been a friend?

‘Hi!’ I blurted out. I did a double jazz-hands wave, complete with a comedy clown-face grin. What the hell was I doing?

Will tilted his head to one side curiously, obviously wondering the same. ‘What is she doing?’

He had the complexion of a peach and with his mother’s pale blond colouring and long eyelashes, was going to break many a heart when he was older.

‘Stretching!’ I said, grinning in what I hoped was a friendly and welcoming way. ‘Releases tension in the muscles. This one’s called windmill.’

I circled my arms like a complete loon. I swear Sam laughed but he had the good sense to turn it into a cough.

‘I do yoga with Mummy,’ said Annabel, regarding me suspiciously. ‘And I’ve never seen that one.’

‘It’s not yoga,’ I said, changing the direction of my arms to a backstroke. ‘It’s Flexercise, much more fun.’

‘O-kay,’ said Annabel slowly, giving her father a look which clearly said fruit-loop.

‘How have you been?’ I asked Sam with as much warmth as I dared, hoping to communicate with my eyes how pleased I was to see him and how I couldn’t wait for us to have a moment alone.

‘Good. Busy. Lot to sort out, you know,’ he said stiffly. He pressed his lips together non-committally and ruffled his son’s hair.

‘Right. You must have. Good,’ I said, automatically mirroring his staccato responses.

It was simply the presence of his children which was affecting his behaviour, I told myself. Only natural, nothing to worry about. I shot him an encouraging smile but his attention was caught by his son.