‘So you’re definitely not?’ She put down the crumble and handed Jago a spoon.
‘Definitely not.’
‘Oh, OK.’ Helena felt stupid now.
Jago picked up his spoon and then put it down. ‘Will your mother stop making me crumbles if I’m not gay?’
Helena began to see the funny side. ‘I don’t think so. She said you would have fathered gorgeous babies so she’ll take the news well.’ In fact, Gilly had referred to him fathering her grandchildren but Jago didn’t need to know that.
‘That’s a relief. I’d have been very sad if my hormones cut me off from your mum’s amazing cooking.’
‘Talking of hormones,’ said Helena, keen to change the subject – she was feeling such a fool – ‘let me tell me you why I didn’t stay the night. Mum had a man there!’
‘Not the creepy bloke, Leo?’
‘No! It was her accountant. They’ve known each other forever but I didn’t know there was anything going on between them.’
‘And it wasn’t just a friendly business dinner?’
‘I did wonder that for about five seconds but even if they were friendly, she wouldn’t give him dinner unless there was something else. And actually, the look he gave her, he’s very smitten.’
‘Cool! She’s an attractive woman, your mother. It’s nice she’s got a bloke who’s into her.’
‘Jago! This is my mother we’re talking about!’
‘Everyone is entitled to a private life, even gay builders.’
‘But you said you weren’t gay!’
‘Would you like me to convince you just how ungay I am?’
Helena realised that yes, she would. She stood up. He stood up. ‘How would you go about that, then?’
He came round to where she was standing and put his fingers round her face. He tilted her face upwards. ‘Like this,’ he said firmly. And kissed her.
After a while he said, ‘If you’re not convinced by now there are other things I could do to show you.
Helena pretended to think about this. ‘Actually, I don’t think I am quite convinced.’
‘I would really hate for you to be in any doubt. Whose room? Yours or mine?’
‘Yours,’ said Helena. ‘Bigger bed.’
Later, Jago came down to fetch the crumble. They ate it in bed before Jago did a bit more convincing.
William and Gilly sat on the sofa in front of a fire that was more for effect than heat. It was very pleasant but Gilly was starting to get a bit impatient. She yawned.
William, who had his arm round her shoulder, took it off. ‘I should be going. It’s late.’
‘Must you?’ Gilly was disappointed. ‘For once I haven’t got any guests …’
‘Well, not if you don’t want me to,’ said William at once. ‘I didn’t want to presume you’d want me to stay.’
‘It wouldn’t be presuming, William,’ she said. ‘It would be lovely.’
‘You know I never dreamed I’d find such happiness again after my wife died,’ said William. ‘I have had girlfriends, of course, but they’ve never come to anything. They most of them tried to persuade me to give up gliding. This time feels very different.’
‘It does to me too,’ said Gilly. ‘And I love gliding.’
‘I know you’ve had other offers—’
‘Please don’t remind me.’
‘Then I won’t. But let’s not tell Aunt Daphne that we’ve got together just yet. I think it would be very bad for her to think her matchmaking worked so quickly.’
‘She will be pleased though,’ said Gilly.
‘Delighted. But she’ll become power mad and think she can reorder the universe.’
‘If anyone can, it’s Daphne.’ She took a breath. ‘Now, let’s go upstairs …’
In the very early morning, when William got up to go (bringing a change of clothes would have definitely been presuming, he insisted), Gilly looked at her phone. There was a text from Helena. Jago definitely not gay. Love, H.
Gilly settle back into the pillows, deeply satisfied. If there ever were any, the babies would be adorable.
Chapter Twenty-six
Helena didn’t rush to push her new-found happiness in her friend Amy’s face. Of course she would tell her, but Amy had been away and the time to share this news wasn’t now. Especially as the man Amy had had her eye on last month had not been interested in her. The perfect time would be when they were holed up in their favourite, regular Airbnb after the first day of World of Wool. She’d wait until they’d sunk half a bottle of wine and then tell all.
On Friday evening they drove down together in Helena’s old Volvo that could pack everything in, as always exclaiming over the beauty of the countryside, debating and arguing the best way to get to a little corner of Wales that had no obvious route and getting excited when they finally arrived at the Airbnb.
Setting up the next morning was always fun as, unlike at Springtime, they shared a stall. When they first arrived at their allocated spot, they always felt they’d never make their stall look attractive, and yet somehow they always managed it. It was Helena’s job to go on the first coffee and bacon butty run, finding the stall by following her nose. And she always came back with bits of news about who was there already, and who was expected, along with their breakfast. This time was no different and the show promised to be busier than ever.
‘Well, that was an amazing day, wasn’t it?’ said Amy as at last they unlocked the door to their little home for the night. ‘Best ever, I reckon.’
‘I think it was!’ Helena walked straight into the kitchen and found glasses. ‘Do we need a corkscrew?’ she asked. ‘There’s one just here.’
‘You know I always buy wine with proper corks, or we’ll lose the cork oaks,’ said Amy, but without emphasis. They were dog-tired but happy.
When they both had wine and the ready meal was heating up in the microwave, Helena set to lighting the fire. It was one of their rituals and today they needed it more than in some years. Although it was late spring according to the calendar, the nip in the air said different.
‘I never know if we do this show to display our work or catch up with our mates, or both,’ said Helena, snapping twigs and piling them up carefully.
‘Definitely both,’ said Amy. ‘It’s so great being in our own tribe, surrounded by like-minded people who get us.’
‘Yes,’ agreed Helena. ‘It’s relaxing not having to pretend we’re something that we’re not. I loved doing posh Springtime, and we both made lots of money, but I felt a bit out of my depth. I’m an artisan, not an artist. The guys there today were all the same.’
‘Even if some of them look a bit as if they spun and knitted themselves?’ Amy was being provocative on purpose. ‘You’ve always been a bit more tolerant of the complete yoghurt knitters than I have.’
In spite of Amy’s occasional snippy remarks, she had a heart of gold. Helena often thought the snippiness was partly to disguise her kindness.