Page 70 of Kindling
What if the novel had just been a silly dream, a passing fancy? What if she really did belong in the corporate world, and she should just respond to Chris to tell him she would be happy to attend the interview?
Come Friday afternoon, she felt… flat. Not herself, or maybe just the version of her she’d been before coming to Belbarrow. Luckily, she’d kept busy at the preschool two mornings this week,and was now busy preparing for the autumn festival. It was simple, easy work, putting together stalls and decorating the streets with garlands. Eiley was there to help her.
If nothing else, she’d at least found connections she’d always remember here.
“Are you all right, Harper?” asked Eiley now. She was stringing a trail of fake autumn leaves around the stall table beside her, while Harper did…
Nothing.
She couldn’t remember what she was evensupposedto be doing. There were twigs in her hand, rich red and orange paints on the table, and preschool children gathered around her still covered in their lunchtime spaghetti, so she was fairly certain she was supposed to be crafting with them.
Sky took one of the faux sunflowers lying on the crafting table without warning, enjoying the texture of the petals with an excited sound. The other children were growing restless, some of them calling out to the other preschool carers.
Luckily, Alice appeared next to them and offered her hand out. “I’ll show them how to do that, hen. Wreath-making took me years of practice.”
With an appreciative smile, Harper offered over the crafting materials, aware that Eiley still hadn’t received an answer. Aware that Harper still didn’t have one.
As soon as Alice had ambled away with the children, Eiley said, “Okay. Is that a no, then?”
“I’m just… out of my element. I’m not used to all this.” Harper motioned around her. Bridge Walk was busier than she’d ever seen the street before.Wooden cabins had been lined up on either side of the road, not yet filled with wares but still reminding her, with a faint twinge of homesickness and a pang of something quite the opposite, of Manchester’s Christmas Markets. Orange and yellow lights had been strung from one lamppost to the next, adding colour to the brick walls and faded awnings. Barrels spilling with bright sunflowers, marigolds, and fluffy purple pampas grass were set out between each table, with straw-stuffed scarecrows guarding the bridge on both sides.
It really was lovely. Harper of the past would have been impatient to capture it all for Instagram. Harper of the present just felt… lost. What if this festival was her last weekend in Belbarrow? If she accepted the interview, she’d have to go home as soon as possible to get her head on straight. Her mum had suggested as much, reminding Harper of how wonderful a higher salary would be for her future plans to raise a family, not to mentionthose expensive clothesshe liked.
She was right. Those were things Harper wanted, and they required money.
But this place…
Her book…
Fraser.
“Harper.” Eiley sidled closer, brushing Harper’s arm lightly. “You were there for me last week. If something is wrong…”
Thankfully, Harper didn’t have to answer. One of the children, Asha, barrelled over with orange paint all over her hands. Harper began searching for some paper towels, then changed her mind.
“I have an idea!” she said to Asha, squatting down to her eye level. “Do you trust me?”
Asha nodded, scratching her nose and leaving it amber. Harper took a large white sheet of card from the table and lightly took Asha’s wrist, guiding her hand down. She left a perfect handprint in the corner. A few more, and they’d have a lovely border. “One more for each corner?”
Asha enjoyed lathering more paint onto her hands. By the end, her prints resembled abstract autumn leaves in vivid orange, gold, red, and green. Harper helped her clean up, then returned to her crafting table in the hopes of enlisting some more children who liked getting paint on their hands.
“You’re great with them,” Eiley praised. “And so creative!”
“Thank you. I figured paint is better on paper than on clothes.” Harper chuckled. “How are things with you? Have you heard from Finlay again?”
Eiley shook her head, expression turning as glum as the grey day. She ran her hand over the strawberry blonde crown of Saffron’s head, and the baby gurgled against her mother’s chest, snug in the carrier strapped to Eiley’s slim torso.
“I’ve decided not to give him any more chances,” she said, voice wobbling with sadness. “I’ve blocked his number from my phone. If he wants to see his kids, he can work for it this time.”
“You should be proud of yourself for that,” Harper said gently. “I know it isn’t easy to let go, but you deserve better, and you can’t be the best mum you can be if he’s getting in your head all the time, upsetting you with every phone call and text.”
Eiley nodded resolutely, looking just like her stoic brother in that moment, with her chin set and eyes narrowed. “Exactly. I just wish it hadn’t taken me so long to realise that. Thank you, Harper.”
“Of course.”
She elbowed Harper playfully. “But Ididnotice that you were trying to distract me. Not very subtly, either.”
Harper grimaced.
