‘It’s very nice to meet you again,’ she said. ‘Mum says you have “busy” hair, but I like it.’
Michel laughed, his eyes crinkling up, his mouth open in genuine amusement at Angel’s comment. Hayley remembered that expression and her body warmed in response. She carried onwatching as Michel took hold of his daughter’s hand and gave it a small shake. ‘It is very nice to meet you too.’
‘I’m glad you came back,’ Angel continued, her eyes fixed on Michel.
‘Me too,’ he responded, his voice coated with emotion.
‘My friend at school wants me to bring home random things from New York.’ She reached for her sketchbook on the breakfast bar and pulled it into her arms. ‘We need to finish that picture.’
‘I’m not sure you need me to finish it. You are an excellent artist,’ Michel said.
‘Well, Mum can only draw dresses and stuff, so I guess I must get it from you.’ She smiled, holding out a pencil to him.
Hayley’s heart swelled as Michel accepted the pencil. It was a start.
53
DEAN WALKER’S APARTMENT, DOWNTOWN MANHATTAN
Hayley had been making phone calls all morning to organise the McArthur Foundation fundraiser whilst keeping one eye on Michel and Angel. They’d drawn quietly for half an hour or so, Angel looking up from her pad every now and then, blinking like she couldn’t believe Michel was real. Hayley had also seen Michel doing exactly the same thing. When he looked at his daughter, it was as if he were gazing at an object of wonder, something beautiful he couldn’t quite believe was so close, something he didn’t quite understand yet. And now, as it neared lunchtime, they were going ice skating. Angel had thrown that out there with all the finesse of someone who was used to getting their own way and, as Michel had shown no obvious signs of wanting to leave, Hayley felt duty-bound to give in.
‘What do you think?’ Hayley asked, twirling around in the kitchen. ‘Ice skating chic or ice skating chic?’
‘Those aren’t gloves,’ Angel remarked, staring at Hayley’s hands covered by long woollen sleeves.
‘No, I gave you my gloves. These are hand-warming couture.’ She stretched them out for Angel to see.
‘They look like sleeves off a jumper.’
‘Ha! But the people of New York won’t know that. They will think, “Ooh look at that fashionista wearing hand-warming couture”.’
‘Are you OK with doing this?’ Michel asked her.
‘Of course,’ Hayley said. ‘I’ve got my hand-warming couture which is going to stop me getting my fingers sliced off. I’m all good.’
‘Thank you,’ Michel whispered as Angel focused on buttoning up her coat.
‘What for?’
‘For this second chance,’ he said. ‘I behaved so badly last night and?—’
‘See that girl over there?’ Hayley interrupted. ‘She hasn’t stopped smiling since you walked in here this morning.’ She laid a hand on Michel’s arm. ‘That’s all I want.’
He nodded as if he understood.
‘OK then,’ Hayley said, addressing Angel. ‘Let’s get this over with… I mean… let’s go and have some fun.’
The Rockefeller Center Ice Rink, New York
‘Have you skated before?’ Angel asked, holding onto the side of the ice rink, her feet as still as she could keep them.
‘Of course,’ Michel answered, turning his body and expertly moving backwards like a winter Olympian.
Hayley hadn’t even taken a step onto the ice yet. This small patch of white in the middle of the brick, steel and chrome of the surrounding buildings was almost surreal. As was the giant treetowering over them like a triffid and the gilt statue of some old god surrounded by a waterfall.
‘It’s Prometheus,’ Angel said, looking at Hayley.
‘Is that another word for freezing?’ Hayley asked, her teeth chattering together.
