Baby Blues and Wedding Shoes (20 page)

Marcio sighed. Oh to be sat on deck
writing his novel, where he didn’t have to deal with awful food,
rude waiters or over-sized egos.
The things we do to make a
living
. He shrugged and walked forwards.
You have to play
the hand you’re dealt, however much it stinks.

He followed Pedro behind the make-shift
stage, reaching for his Dictaphone and notebook and steeling
himself to turn on the charm.

Chapter
Six

Considerably more than five minutes
later the interview was finally complete.
Funny how ego
overcomes deadline when faced with a Dictaphone and a willing
audience.
Marcio twisted his lips and headed back out into the
thronging crowd, trying to decide what to do next. He could wander
back to Hotel Arts, write up his reviews and the interview and get
them sent off. Or he could meet up with some friends that Pedro had
told him were in a nearby bar. Paused in indecision, he saw the
lady with copper hair leaving a restaurant at the edge of the
square. She looked tired and defeated, but still so beautiful. It
irked him that she was alone. If he was the father of her baby he
would be here to protect her, to make sure his precious family came
to no harm.

On impulse he strode across the square
towards her.

“Hey, pretty lady!” he hailed,
realising he still didn’t know her name.

“You again,” she responded, her voice a
mixture of pleasure and annoyance. “Are you following me?”

He laughed. “No, gorgeous, don’t
flatter yourself. Fate must be throwing us together. I thought
maybe one shouldn’t ignore fate, so I have come to invite you for a
drink. And to find out your name. I’m Marcio.” He held out his
hand.

Helen felt the smile spread across her
face at his casual use of the word gorgeous, even if it was
obviously just a line. She looked at his handsome face, weighing up
the possibilities.
What harm in a drink?
It beats going
back to that disgusting hotel
. She ignored the little voice
reminding her about her need to leave in the morning to save cash.
You couldn’t argue with Fate.

“Helen. I’m Helen.” She reached out a
tentative hand towards his and he shook it warmly.

Marcio placed his hand gently on her
lower back and steered her through the dancing throng towards a
nearby bar. Helen was unsure what to make of the physical contact.
She realised the only men she’d been near in the last five months
were her father and Ben. A warmth radiated from Marcio’s hand that
had nothing to do with his touch. There was something very
protective about the gesture. There was no sexuality in it, he was
merely steering and supporting her through the crowd. When he
dropped his hand as they arrived at a bar, Helen became aware of a
hollow feeling in her throat.

It was only the unconscious gesture of
a man who has many sisters. It meant nothing.

“So, Helen,” Marcio said, as they found
an empty table and he helped her to her seat, “What causes you to
wander the streets of Barcelona?”

“You make me sound like a tramp or
worse!” Her voice rose in indignation, but a quick glance into her
green eyes showed Marcio she was teasing him. It had been a long
time since he had sat alone with a woman and he wasn’t certain he
hadn’t offended her.
Marcio, you’re losing your touch old
man.

“I apologise! I only wondered why a
beautiful lady like you was unescorted in this busy city. Apart
from by him or her of course,” he nodded at her bump.

“Maybe both.”

“Sorry?”

“Him
and
her maybe, I don’t
know.”

Marcio raised his eyebrows.
“Twins?”

Helen nodded.

“Twice the joy,” he said
automatically.

“Funny, some old lady on the Metro
suggested the same thing earlier today.”

“You don’t think so?”

Helen interpreted his glance as
disapproval that she wasn’t totally committed to her babies. “Twice
the fear is probably more accurate,” Helen admitted, wondering why
she felt the need to defend herself.

“Fear is natural, but so is parenthood.
You’ll be fine.”

“You sound as if you know first-hand.
Do you have your own children?” Helen ignored the gnawing sensation
in her tummy.
He doesn’t have a wedding ring,
part of her
mind observed. Another, louder, voice reminded her that not all men
wore them these days and it was none of her business

“No, no children,” his face hardened,
then relaxed, “But plenty of nephews and nieces. As I said, I come
from a large family.”

“And they love their mischievous Uncle
Marcio, who gets into as much trouble as they do?”

“What makes you say that?” It was his
turn to sound indignant.

“I’m not sure actually,” Helen
admitted, “instinct I guess!” As she looked up at him through her
eyelashes she realised she was flirting, and her face and neck
flushed hot.

What must he think, a woman in my
condition coming on to a man she hardly knows?

Marcio wasn’t conscious of her
flirtation, his mind had fixed on her words and he was brooding on
the fact that trouble had come on him uninvited. Looking up he
realised Helen was gazing at him expectantly, slightly worried, as
if awaiting his reaction. He realised he’d missed her next comment
and looked awkward.

“Sorry my mind wandered for a moment,
what did you say?”

Helen didn’t know whether to be
relieved or irritated that her flirtatious moment had missed its
mark. Deciding to move the conversation on to more neutral
territory, she started a new tack.

“You said you live in London, do you
get much chance to come out and visit your family? You must miss
them.”

“Yes and I do. I’m a writer so some of
the time I’m location-independent. When that’s the case, I come out
here to write. I love taking the boat out, mooring somewhere away
from everyone and getting immersed in my own private universe.”

Helen wasn’t sure what to react to
first. The information that he was a writer and not the sharp-suit
she took him for sent her brain in one direction. But then he had a
boat, so he obviously had money. She didn’t know what to make of
this man of contradictions.

“What type of novels do you write?” She
decided to stick to safe ground.

“I’ve tried different genres, I like
science fiction but I also love writing murder mysteries.”

“Have you had many published?”

Marcio looked slightly embarrassed.
“None, actually. I’ve tried with one or two, but mostly I’m too
nervous of rejection.”

“How do you afford a boat, if you
haven’t sold any of your novels?”

He could see that Helen had asked out
of genuine curiosity, not meaning to make him feel uncomfortable
and so he reined in his initial instinct to be defensive.

“I freelance,” he replied with a
shrug.

“Oh, me too!” Helen was glad of common
ground, sensing that he didn’t want to talk about money. “Well,
obviously not as a writer, I can barely pen a postcard.” She
gestured at the camera, as if that said all he needed to know.

Marcio nodded. “I guessed that was it.
I couldn’t work out why else you would be here on your own. There
must be someone at home waiting for you?”

It was Helen’s turn to look defensive.
“Why must there?”

“I’m sorry, no offense intended. I just
meant a beautiful lady like you, with babies on the way, should
have a man to love and cherish her.” His face tightened.

Helen studied the faraway look in his
eyes, considered his words, and was not offended. He wasn’t making
judgements on her single state but rather battling ghosts in his
own past. She felt a need to know more about him but it was not in
her nature to pry. She decided to be honest, in the hope that it
would distract him from his demons.

“There is no father, as far as I’m
concerned.”

Her tone, as much as her words, made
Marcio look up. He couldn’t have imagined such controlled rage
could appear suddenly in her serene face.

I guess I’m not the only one with a
broken past
. It comforted him, made him warm to this gentle
lady with the core of steel. He looked into her eyes, trying to
convey empathy and support.

Helen’s heart stilled within her,
before beating double time in her temples. The depths in his eyes,
which had turned a deep indigo, pulled her in until she was
drowning in them. She could feel that he understood her resolve;
that he too had been hurt and he supported her need to go on alone.
It was an understanding that she hadn’t felt in anyone else.

Yes, her family were supportive and
naturally indignant at Daniel’s behaviour. Friends labelled him a
git and told her she was better off without him. But so far no one
had truly understood the betrayal, the end of hope, the crushing of
a vision of the future, leaving only blankness. In Marcio’s eyes
she saw that he had lived it. She was dying to ask but again didn’t
want to pry.

Marcio saw the question in Helen’s
face, in her slightly parted lips, the words thought but not
formed. For the first time since it happened he felt able to share.
Maybe it was easier to confess the worst to strangers.

“My fiancée left me on our wedding
day,” he paused and held up a hand as Helen was about to spill out
platitudes. “She left me,” he continued, “for her maid of
honour.”

Helen looked at his face; the bruised
male pride, the utter rejection of not just himself as a person but
of his sexuality, of everything that made him
him
. She could
see how it must have torn him apart but to her horror her first
inclination was to laugh. He looked so woebegone, like a boy who
just found out Father Christmas was merely an old man in a fake
beard and a red anorak.

Helen reached her hand across the table
and laid it gently over his but at the same time her eyes sparkled
and her lips threatened to betray her.

Marcio felt the pressure of her hand
and looked up into her face, expecting to see dreaded sympathy.
Instead he saw the barely concealed humour and felt as if he had
been slapped. He pulled his hand away.

“How dare you laugh at me?” His voice
rang out, causing several couples at nearby tables to turn and
stare.

Helen’s face was on fire. “I’m not
laughing at you.” She considered. “But you have to admit, it is a
bit
funny.”

“No, it isn’t. No more funny than being
a single mother to twins.”

“Well, no, that terrifies me. There was
nothing funny about being told
get rid or get out
either,”

Marcio looked shocked but she ploughed
on, not letting him speak.

“Any more than it was funny that your
fiancée left you at the altar. But the way you said it, as if her
leaving with a woman made it a zillion times worse. You couldn’t
have looked more the stereotypical Mediterranean male, with his
virility called into question. Would it have been better if she’d
left with the best man?”

“Yes!” Marcio’s voice was still angry.
Helen continued to hold his gaze, willing him to listen to himself.
For the first time since his wedding day Marcio was forced to
really think about his reaction.
Would
it have been better?
Did it really matter who she loved more than him?

“The way I see it,” Helen continued,
figuring she couldn’t make it any worse, “Leaving with a woman
rather than another man should make it less painful, not more. It
meant it wasn’t really you at all that was wrong, only that your
fiancée was battling with her own sexuality. She must have been
petrified, approaching her big day knowing it was not what she
really wanted but not knowing how to confess.”

Helen thought about it some more. “Is
she Spanish?”

Marcio nodded mutely.

“And from a god-fearing Catholic
family?”

He nodded again.

“And she felt her life would only be
complete if she lived in sin with a woman, rather than marry a
handsome man and raise a dozen children? And she had the bravery to
admit that in front of all your friends and family? She sounds like
quite a lady to me, someone you should be proud to know.”

Marcio opened his mouth to protest, to
ask how come his fiancée had become the good guy. But his innate
fairness had to admit that Helen had a point. Mia must have been
terrified, admitting she was gay in front of her awe-inspiring
grandmother, not to mention more or less the entire community. And
if he really thought about it, it probably did seem quite funny to
an outsider.

He felt some of the strain leave his
face for the first time in weeks. As if the lack of tension freed
them, his cheeks rose in a smile and suddenly he was laughing until
tears filled his eyes. It felt amazing, like he had been freed from
a huge burden. If only the endless bills from the aborted wedding
could be banished as easily. They didn’t seem quite so huge now at
least.

Looking up at Helen, he wondered what
lucky star had delivered her into his life, if only to be the
bringer of truth. He still couldn’t imagine trusting a woman not to
break his heart but she had shown him a new way to view his past
and he was grateful for that.

“Would you like to meet some of my
naughty nephews and nieces?” He blurted out the words like a
schoolboy asking someone out on a first date.

“Sorry?” Helen looked askance at
Marcio, wondering where the sudden change in conversation had come
from.

“There’s a family party, tomorrow, up
in the hills. I’d love you to come, meet the family, see what it
means to have lots of kiddies running around. It might make you
feel less scared about having two of your own.”

Understanding dawned. She had helped
him with his grief and now he was trying to return the favour. She
was about to explain that, assuming her publisher liked her
pictures, she was intending to fly home the following morning.
Something inside made her pause before the words were spoken. Why
did she need to fly back tomorrow? To save a night’s hotel fees?
The hotel wasn’t that expensive. Didn’t she deserve to have some
fun for a change? She sensed that a party with Marcio’s family
would be extremely entertaining and she did like the idea of
spending some time with children. Part of her crippling fear was
her lack of experience. Simon was too busy travelling the world to
settle down and she had no close cousins or friends with kids. They
were an alien species.
Maybe you only fear what you don’t
understand.