Book Two: Thirty Days, Book 2

  THIRTY DAYS

  BOOK TWO

  Bibi Paterson

  Copyright Bronwyn Paterson 2014

  Kobo Edition

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  NOVEMBER

  'Oh what a tangled web we weave, When first we practise to deceive!'

  Sir Walter Scott, Marmion, Canto vi. Stanza 17. Scottish author & novelist (1771 – 1832)

  Prologue

  At first I think it is the rain on the windows that has woken me from my slumber, but as I listen more carefully, I hear a pounding on my door. Not sure who on earth would be knocking at this hour, let alone on the day I am released from The Clinic, I wait a few more seconds before curiosity gets the better of me.

  I fling on my fluffy purple dressing gown and flick on the hallway light. The shadowy figure behind the glass stops pounding as I pad down the stairs and pull open the door. In amazement I stare into Taylor’s chocolaty-brown eyes. He is drenched and droplets of water run down his face, suggesting that he has been standing outside for a while.

  My heart clenches at the sight of Taylor standing here, despite the fact that I have not heard from him since he walked out of my hospital room following the shocking announcement that I was pregnant. Part of me wants to scream at him for abandoning me when I was at my most vulnerable, but another part of me is simply glad that he is here at last. I resist the urge to fling my arms round his neck and instead do my best to act cool.

  “Hello, Taylor,” I say softly, as I take in his dishevelled appearance and the dark circles under his eyes.

  “Abigail. My darling Abby,” Taylor slurs, and I realise that he is very, very drunk.

  My hackles rise and I respond rather spikily, “You are drunk, Taylor. What the hell are you doing here?”

  “Marry me, Abby,” Taylor counters, his words a command and not a request, as he holds up a small blue box tied up with white ribbon.

  My frame stiffens as fury seizes me. “What the hell, Taylor? Where is the apology? Where is the ‘I’m sorry, Abby, for leaving you to deal with everything alone and not returning your call’? Huh, Taylor? You think you can waltz back in here and ask—no, order—me to marry you, and you expect me to be all ‘Oh yes, Taylor’?” I realise my voice has risen and I am almost shouting, so I take a deep breath to calm myself down.

  “No, Taylor. There’s your answer. If you want me back, then you are going to have to do more than some lame-arse drunken proposal on my doorstep in the rain. Seriously, go home, Taylor. Sober up, put your big boy pants on and then we will talk again.”

  I am breathing heavily, my rant over. Taylor regards me quietly and then starts to speak with absolute conviction. “You are mine, Abby, and you will marry me.”

  I quickly interrupt. “Seriously, Taylor, you are doing yourself no favours now.”

  “I will prove to you that we belong together. Believe me.” With that Taylor turns and walks away, swallowed up by the dark and rainy night.

  The First

  My eyes flick open, and for a moment I can’t understand why I have woken up so unexpectedly. Then my stomach rolls and I find myself running for the bathroom. When I finally finish heaving, I lean back on the cool tiles and rest my head on my knees. Softly feet pad in and I hear the tap running. I wait until two legs stand in front of me before finally opening my eyes.

  Taylor squats down and gently lifts my chin, wiping my face with a warm washcloth. I smile weakly and murmur, “I think the morning sickness has just arrived. Argh!”

  “Well, then little Bean has well and truly stuck,” Taylor offers up with a soft expression in his eyes.

  “I guess so,” I reply, as I feel a grin stretching across my face.

  “Come on, Abs. You get back into bed and I’ll make you a cup of tea.”

  As I climb back into bed and snuggle under the duvet, I find myself reflecting on the last few weeks and how far Taylor and I have come together. Yeah, proposing that night was complete idiocy, but it brought us back together, or rather, it opened the dialogue that has slowly brought us closer. I glance across at my bedside cabinet at the little blue Tiffany box that sits unopened, its white ribbon still pristine, waiting for me to be in the right place to say yes.

  But I know we are nowhere near ready, no matter what Taylor thinks. His daily proposals are becoming more and more inventive as over and over he tries to prove his worth to me. Yesterday’s string quartet that showed up in the bakery definitely entertained the customers, but so far the ten kilos of coffee ice cream that arrived has been my favourite. Sometimes I wonder if I am holding out just to see what Taylor will come up with next.

  A gentle kiss on my cheek wakes me, and I realise I must have dozed off as Taylor is standing beside the bed, fully dressed in a sharp suit and a bright purple tie. He looks and smells scrumptious, and I am tempted to drag him back into bed. “Hmm, what time is it?”

  “Only eight, Abs. Here is that cuppa I promised you. I have got to head off now as I have a meeting with Selfridges at ten.”

  Damn it. Okay, no chance of getting him back into bed for a cuddle. “Okay. Are you staying in London tonight?”

  “No, I’ll be back later. Let’s go out for some dinner, if you are feeling up for it?” I have been so tired this last week I have barely been able to keep my eyes open past eight o’clock, so going out means I’ll have to try and fit in a nana nap later if I don’t want to end up with my head in my starter.

  “Sounds good.” As Taylor leans down, I pull him on top of me, giggling. I look into his eyes for a moment before he lowers his lips to mine, and I give in to his deep, sensual kiss. Minutes later Taylor breaks the kiss first, growling in frustration. “I have to go, baby,” Taylor murmurs, breathless. “Later?” I nod in reply before he pushes himself off the bed and heads out the bedroom door with a small wave.

  I snuggle back under the covers with my cup of tea, glad that my stomach has finally settled back down, though I am sure that the butterflies that Taylor always manages to whip up probably don’t help. As I review what I have on my agenda today, I suddenly remember that I had rescheduled my appointment with David, my therapist, for this morning, so I force myself up out of bed and head into the shower.

  I am standing, wrapped in a towel, trying to decide what to wear. Nothing fits anymore. I seem to have shrunk two dress sizes with all that has happened, and everything I own seems to hang off me. I can count my ribs now, and even though I always secretly coveted model figures, I now know that I look much better with a few curves. But I am still struggling with my appetite and little Bean seems to be taking it all at the moment. I finally settle on a pair of woolly tights that have shrunk in the wash, under a long jumper that I can now use as a dress, cinching the waist in with a belt.

  When I am
ready to go, I grab a croissant and a carton of apple juice—no morning lattes for me at the moment—and I head down to my car. Yup, my car. A sporty little Fiat 500 convertible in red that appeared in my parking space the morning after I got home from The Clinic. Taylor wouldn’t take no for an answer, and pragmatism won out as I had no way of getting to my appointments and certainly couldn’t afford to buy a car myself. So we have compromised that it is a loan and I will give it back when I can afford to buy something for myself. But I have come to love this little beast, and I know there is not a chance in hell I could afford one myself, so for the moment I am content to ‘borrow’ it a while longer.

  The drive to The Clinic is quick despite the morning traffic, so I find myself waiting in the reception area, wishing I had brought along something to read to keep my mind occupied. Despite the airy and chic surroundings that make The Clinic feel more like a posh hotel than a psychiatric institution, I still feel nervous each time I come here, scared that maybe I am not making enough progress. Ever the people pleaser, I am still finding it hard to stop measuring my own worth through other people’s opinions of me, and I know this is something David is going to work on today. Argh, introspection really sucks at times!

  When I am finally called into David’s office, I start to relax as we begin with the usual pleasantries. But of course he then starts in on the heavy stuff and I feel myself tensing up again. Ever observant, David brings the topics back round to neutral ground, and by the end of the session, I do feel like I have got something out of it. I am gathering up my bag when David says, “Abby, this may sound strange, but I actually have a favour to ask of you…” I must look as surprised as I feel; I mean, what on earth can I offer David?

  “We have had some requests for more cooking classes. The sessions that you did that week you were here went down really well, and we wondered whether you would like to come back and do them on a more formal basis. Of course, no one needs to know you are a patient if it makes you feel uncomfortable, but I think it would help some of the others to see just how far you can go when you are motivated to get your life together, as you are.”

  “Um, I wouldn’t say I have it all together, David—far from it on most days.”

  “Just think about it, Abby. I think you would get something out of it as well. And of course you would be paid for it.”

  “Okay, can you give me a couple of days to come back to you?” I am hesitant to commit myself until I have had a chance to think this through properly. And of course I would need to discuss it with Bea and Andreas, my staff at the bakery, as this would affect them too.

  “Of course. There is no rush. Why don’t you let me know at your next session?”

  “Okay, David, I’ll think about it.”

  .........................

  David’s request flits back into my mind as I work through the selection of cakes I am baking for tomorrow’s private orders. Since I started doing the cakes, the bakery is busier than ever. People who come in for bread end up buying cakes and vice versa to the extent that we are working like mad, and I think that maybe it is time to take on some extra staff. We just simply don’t have any more display space out the front without sacrificing the breads, which I am loathe to do, and without rearranging the kitchen so more people can work. All in all I am not really how to move forward.

  I really enjoyed the classes I did at The Clinic; I probably got just as much out of them as the other ‘inmates’, as we jokingly referred to each other, and it is definitely something I would like to do again. I am just not sure I am in the right place mentally to take on the additional pressure. And physically, well, with the tiredness and now the morning sickness, I am definitely feeling a little on the ropey side.

  I am just pulling out one of the small stand mixers to start making up some buttercream icing for a batch of fairy cakes when Andreas walks in, chuckling to himself. “I think lover boy has exceeded himself with this one, Abby.” Andreas points his finger out to the shop, and I head out through the door, dusting off my floury hands as I go.

  Like that scene from the film 10 Things I Hate about You, a full brass band is standing to attention outside the door to Bread, blocking all the poor people trying to get by with their loads of shopping. The instant they see me, it is as if by an invisible signal that they launch into a big-band version of Frank Sinatra’s ‘I Love You Baby’. Seriously? I mean, seriously…when on earth does Taylor have the time to think up all this stuff? A huge grin stretches across my face as I hear the people in the shop singing along; at least the customers like it, though I can imagine the other shop managers are probably getting a little tired of the daily commotion. What will be next? A bloody flash mob?

  When, at last, the band has finished playing its song, it marches off to a steady drumbeat. I am so embarrassed. Bea comes over and gives me a hug. “Well, you can’t fault the boy for trying. Are you going to put him out of his misery yet?”

  Bea is one of the few people I have told about Taylor’s proposal. Well, I had to when the daily gifts and outrageous things started happening at the shop. “Nah,” I say with a grin. “Not sure how he is going to top that, though.” I laugh. “In all seriousness, though, Bea, I am not ready, and neither is he, really. He is making all these grand gestures, yet not once has he actually said those three little words. I know that is not the be-all and end-all. And I know that deep down he wouldn’t be doing all of this if he didn’t have deep feelings for me. But at the end of the day, I wouldn’t be true to myself if I said yes not having heard him actually tell me that he loves me.”

  “Sweetie, sometimes they can never actually say those words out loud and you just have to trust in their unspoken feelings for you.” Bea’s words hit a nerve, and though I don’t mean to be harsh, my words drip with the lingering bitterness that I am trying desperately to overcome.

  “Well, things didn’t work out so well the last time I trusted in Taylor’s feelings for me.”

  “I know, Abby. Trust takes time. And time, as they say, heals all wounds.” I know Bea is trying to be supportive and I appreciate it. But sometimes it all feels a little trite.

  A fresh wave of customers fills the shop and I head back into the kitchen to finish off my icing, stopping briefly to send a quick text to Taylor:

  Nice touch with the brass band. Whatever could top that? LOL x

  I did think briefly about adding in something about a flash mob but decided not to; Taylor really doesn’t need any more ideas, and the thought of something out of Glee turning up at my door makes me feel faintly nauseous.

  Before I know it, it is dark outside and I realise I haven’t even stopped to eat. I sigh as I finish off dusting the last of my dark chocolate and almond tarts with cocoa, knowing that I need to get ready for dinner with Taylor. No nana nap for me, then. Well, maybe fifteen minutes if I don’t bother washing my hair, I think to myself. When everything is stowed away, ready for delivery first thing in the morning, I poke my head out of the kitchen and let Bea know that I am finished and give the remaining customers a wave.

  .........................

  Fifteen minutes turns into an hour, and I am woken up by Taylor shaking me gently. “Yo, sleepyhead, time to rise and shine.”

  “Bugger off, Taylor, it is the middle of the night,” I mumble before coming to my senses and realising it is actually only six in the evening. “Argh, sorry, was just having a nap. Give me five and then I’ll be ready to head out.”

  Taylor looks at me with concern in his eyes. “If you are too tired, Abs, we can stay in and veg, and I’ll order us something in.”

  “No, no. I’d love to go out. Let me just pull something on and do something with my hair. We’re not going anywhere too fancy, are we?” With Taylor, I never know where we will end up given that he seems to supply half the Michelin-starred restaurants around and is forever being invited to dine in them to try their dishes. Amazing, I know, but sometimes you just fancy slobbing it in your jeans and a jumper.

&nbs
p; As if he has read my mind, Taylor grins. “Nah, I have booked us in at that burger place down at the marina. Apparently, they do amazing milkshakes as well.”

  “Yum, just what I need.” I grin as I start pulling on my jeans, a long-sleeved cotton T-shirt and oversize chunky cardigan. I can see Taylor itching to say something about my clothes, but we have had this fight too many times already. Taylor wants to buy me new clothes, and I don’t see the point given that in a few months I am going to be the size of a house. It just seems like such a waste. But he wisely keeps his mouth shut and crisis is averted.

  True to my word, I put up my hair, add a dusting of powder and a lick of mascara, and then I am ready to head off. We head out into the damp November air, and even though the marina is not a particularly long walk, Taylor insists on a taxi, which I am secretly grateful for, even though I insist I would be happy to walk.

  The restaurant is busy, but we are immediately seated at a table with a sea view. Not that there is much to see with it being pitch black outside, but I rather like watching the lights on the tankers bobbing about out in the Channel. After we place our order, Taylor turns to me, his voice serious and low. “Abby, there is something I wanted to talk to you about.”

  Uh. Oh. My stomach plummets and a thousand unpleasant thoughts shoot through my mind, tears pricking my eyes. “Um. What about, Taylor?” I ask quietly, my heart pounding as I wonder if Taylor brought me here so I wouldn’t make a scene if he broke up with me. Rationally I know this shouldn’t be the first thing that springs to mind, but as ever my self-doubt continues to plague me.

  “Shit, Abby. Are you okay?” Taylor asks. “You have gone really pale.”

  “Just get it over with, Taylor. I am a big girl, I can handle it.” I say quietly, determined not to cause a scene.