Page 26 of Wanting Mr Black

Barbara chuckles at my teasing and takes a sip of tea.

I pick up my cup. “So, do you think you would have liked to have been a wedding planner, Barbara?”

“I do enjoy planning events. Don’t I, Art?”

He tucks into a sandwich. “You’re always organising one thing or another.”

“It keeps me out of mischief. I’ve been involved in the charity for many years – since before we met Art.” She looks across the table at him and smiles. “Arthur and I had fostered for five years before Art was placed with us. We couldn’t have children of our own, but we had so much love to offer a child. Fostering seemed like the right thing to do.”

I’m touched by her warm words. “It really is a wonderful thing, giving a child the chance of having a loving, normal family life.” I glance at Art, conscious that I’m really talking about his younger self.

He’s not looking at me and focussing on his food.

Did he really think this wasn’t going to come up in conversation today?

“So, how long have you been a patron?” I ask, trying to veer the conversation onto a slightly different course.

“The last ten years or so. After we adopted Art, we chose not to foster any more children, but since Arthur died, my work keeps me active, and I get to do a role that I love. And as you said, Sophie, if you love doing something, it’s not a chore at all.” She places her fork down and smiles, as if remembering. “Actually, I’ve brought along a few photos.”

She dips a hand into her handbag on the floor beside her and retrieves a pair of frameless glasses.

Art gives her a wary look. “Photos of what?”

Barbara puts on the glasses and then pulls out three photos from her bag. “What do you think, darling? Of you, of course. I thought Sophie might like to see them.”

Not evenmymum got out the embarrassing baby photos when she first met Art.

“Sophie would love to see them.” I grin.

Art makes a noise that’s a cross between a defeated groan and a sigh and sits back in his chair. He’s hating this. I’m in my element.

“This first one was taken just a few days after Art came to us,” she says, passing it to me.

It shows a skinny, anxious-looking Art sitting on a dated sofa. His face is pale and drawn, and his dark fringe looks uneven. He’s not smiling, and there’s a haunted look in his eyes. He looks much younger than ten. My heart breaks, and I press my lips together. I’m not sure what to say.

Barbara peers at the second photo. “Ah, yes. This was taken on his eleventh birthday. We bought him a BMX.” She laughs. “Do you remember, Art?”

I glance at him. He’s staring down at his tea, fingers drumming against the table, signalling his discomfort. “Of course I do. I loved it,” he says quietly.

The eleven-year-old Art looks like a different child to that in the first photo. His eyes are glinting with happiness as he proudly sits on a dark blue bike in the garden.

“You look like you had a good day,” I say.

He drags a hand across his jaw. “It was the first proper birthday I’d ever had.”

I put the photo down. He’s not awkward because I’m being shown embarrassing photos of him as a child. It’s because I’m being shown his past, and he’s clearly not comfortable with it. He said he’d talk to me about it in time, but he’s obviously stillnot ready. I shift in my seat, conflicted. I know this isn’t about me. It’s about him feeling ready to open up to me. It’s just another layer I’ve yet to peel back. I know I can’t push him on this.

“This was taken when he graduated.” Barbara beams, handing me the last photo. “It was a glorious late July day. Do you remember, Art? You were absolutely baking in your gown.”

“Mmhmmm.”

I smile at him, dressed in a white shirt and black hood, standing in front of a pair of heavy-duty-looking oak doors, grinning. He’s clean-shaven, and his hair is cut in a shorter style.

“Oh, wow. That suits you much better than it did me,” I say. “I looked a right idiot in my graduation gear.”

“Where did you study,” asks Barbara, “and what – was it something hospitality-related?”

“Yes, I did hospitality management at Bournemouth University.”

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