‘I’m a friend,’ Beckett said, wishing he didn’t have to speak so loudly to be heard above both people crying. ‘Not the father, or husband.’
‘Oh!’ Delilah’s mouth dropped open as her eyes went round. ‘I’m so very sorry. The golden rule of births, marriages and deaths is never assume anything. A man once came here trying to register a piglet. Said she was more of a daughter to him than any of his biological children had been. Um. Hang on, I have a thing.’ She pulled a crumpled piece of paper out of her breast-pocket, clearly reading from it as she carried on. ‘I cannot apologise enough for all and any offence or distress caused by my words, actions or facial expression. I deeply regret upsetting you and your loved ones during such an important, meaningful occasion. If you would like to make a formal complaint, please use the form provided.’
She stopped then, looking up, eyes darting in panic. ‘Please don’t use the form. If I get another one, they’ll fire me. This job is my life. It’s all I ever dreamed of doing. I just get a bit carried away sometimes.’
‘It’s fine,’ Beckett said, although Mary was clearly far from fine. He suspected she’d not heard a word Delilah had said. ‘Here.’
He stood up, handing Bob to the registrar, who confessed she wasn’t allowed to hold the babies any more, so Beckett had to promise not to tell anyone. Then he did all he could think of to do, sitting beside Mary and wrapping his arms around her until she finally stopped shuddering and straightened up.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said again.
‘No!’ Delilah exclaimed, quickly handing a now settled baby back to Beckett. ‘I’m sorry!’
‘I’m ready now, if I’ve not missed the appointment?’
Mary had stopped sobbing, but tears still trickled out of her eyes as she followed Delilah through a wooden door, head ducked, avoiding Beckett’s gaze. When she emerged with the certificate a short while later, her face was pale, yet composed, and her determined smile clearly told him she wanted to move on.
Beckett was longing to ask what had happened with Bob’s father. Even if it was just so he could hunt him down and refresh his bowel-surgery skills using no anaesthetic.
Beckett wasn’t ignorant to the complicated circumstances around which women had babies alone. However, he also knew a broken heart when he saw one. It was obvious something major had gone on between Mary and whoever the loser was who’d left her alone, in that dump in the forest, to raise their child.
If he’d been in that position, with Mary, or anyone else, he’d have done everything he could to be there for them. Ruefully, Beckett realised that even though he was, at this point, no more than a bit player in Mary’s story, with no claim on her or her baby, he still would.
They had a quick stop in a café for lunch, then Beckett pushed the pram around a warehouse while Mary ruthlessly sifted through endless rolls and swatches of fabric, making lightning-quick decisions about what she wanted to buy, discarding the rest without a second thought.
She pretended to consult her costume assistant on a few options, but when Beckett offered his honest opinion, she almost always dismissed it outright.
‘Are you asking me with the intention of choosing the one I don’t like?’ he asked, when yet again after he’d pointed out his preference between two colours, she selected the other one.
She looked up, fingers still rubbing a sheet of gold lace, and for the first time that day her eyes sparkled. ‘What?’
‘Is my taste really that bad?’
Mary laughed, and instantly the whole world seemed brighter again. ‘My main inspiration for this carol concert is “bad taste”. No, I’m honestly not. When I’m asking you, it’s really thinking out loud. Hearing your answer helps confirm the decision I would have ended up with.’
‘So you might as well be asking Bob, really?’
She raised her eyebrows. ‘Who do you think I consult about things when you’re not around? The only reason I’m asking you, not him, now is because I’m going to be bartering for a heavy discount in a few minutes, and I want that shop assistant to take me seriously.’
Once she’d chosen about a dozen different fabrics, and the retailer had chopped the required amounts of each, Beckett met a completely different Mary. The one, he supposed, who’d been a company director.
After hearing the total price, Mary halved it, took a few more pounds off and made that her counter-offer.
The man looked at her, eyebrows raised in surprise, before accepting the negotiation challenge with relish.
‘Look,’ Mary said, leaning on the counter with her forearms, eyes narrowed as if sharing a morsel of gossip with a close friend. ‘This is for a community carol service. A Christmas carol service.’
‘Unlike all the other, not-Christmassy ones?’ the man shot back.
Mary ignored him. ‘It’s being put on free of charge, to cheer the hearts of local people. Children. The elderly. Those struggling with loneliness or seasonal stress.’
‘Does that include the stress of trying to keep a business afloat, despite customers coming out with yet another sob story, demanding a discount that won’t even cover the cost price?’
‘Do you have children, Stanislaus?’ Mary asked with a subtle glance at his name badge.
‘Four sons,’ Stanislaus said, sticking out his barrel chest. ‘All of whom require shoes, endless food and the latest iPhone gadgetry under the tree. Are you suggesting I tell them that this year it’s a second-hand Nokia instead, because I’m cheering local community hearts?’
‘Would they like front-row seats at a fabulous Christmas carol concert?’
