Falling for you

‘Ugh, no thanks, with your germs on them.’

‘ Right.’ Jake seized Sophie’s hand. ‘If all you’re going to do is argue we’ll go home now and—’

‘No!’ bellowed Sophie and Tiff in unison.

Jake raised his eyebrows. ‘So if we stay, you think you can manage to be nice to one another?’

Tiff and Sophie exchanged glances, then both nodded vigorously.

Jake smiled across at Juliet and said, ‘OK.’

‘I should think so too.’ Juliet gave Tiff a behave-yourself look. ‘Getting stroppy with your first proper visitor really isn’t on. You’re supposed to be nice to people who—’

‘Sophie isn’t my first visitor,’ said Tiff. ‘Mr Taylor-Trent was here yesterday.’

Juliet stiffened. Of all the subjects to crop up. She’d spent the entire morning attempting to pluck up the courage to explain the necessary facts to Tiff, but the right moment simply hadn’t arisen.

Plus, of course, she was a big wimp. ‘Did he do you a card?’ Sophie’s tone was accusing. Tiff scowled. ‘No.’

‘Well then, he’s not as good as me, because I’ve done you six cards. Anyway, he doesn’t count as a proper visitor,’

‘he went on scornfully. ‘He only came here because he’s your father.’

Juliet felt all the blood drain from her face, although where it went she couldn’t imagine. Casting an anguished glance over at Jake, she willed someone, somewhere, to press the rewind button so the words could slither back into Sophie’s mouth. Unable to move, she looked across at Tiff.

‘What?’ Tiff was frowning. ‘Mr Taylor-Trent? How can he be my father?’

Sorry, Jake mouthed across at Juliet.

‘You remember, the seed thing. Carrie Carter from school told us about it.’ Sophie assumed an air of superiority. ‘It’s called mating.’

Jake was doing his best not to snort with laughter. Juliet was glad he found it so funny.

‘Oh, mating.’ Tiff nodded equally sagely, like an eminent professor. ‘Seeds, yeah.’ He paused, his expression thoughtful. ‘Mr Taylor-Trent’s a bit old, isn’t he?’

‘He’s very old,’ Sophie grandly announced. ‘But quite rich. So that’s good, probably.’ She beamed at Tiff. ‘For when you need a new bike or an Xbox or something. Now that he’s your dad, he’ll have to buy you presents.’

Tiff blinked up at Juliet. ‘So you really mated with Mr Taylor-Trent?’

Never mind hiding under the bed, she wanted to crawl away and die.

‘Um ... yes.’

Behind her, Jake was by this time almost crying with silent laughter.

‘Do we have to go and live with him?’ said Tiff. Wordlessly Juliet shook her head.

‘That’s all right then.’ Visibly relaxing, Tiff turned his attention back to Sophie. ‘They’ve got a Playstation 2 on this ward, one of the nurses told me. Do you want to have a look at the tube going into my arm?’

This was the invitation Sophie had been waiting for. Next moment she was perched on the bed next to Tiff, avidly poring over the spot where the plastic tubing actually disappeared through the skin, and bombarding him with questions about how much it had hurt.

Jake drew Juliet to one side, away from the bed.

‘Damn, so that’s what I’ve been missing all these years — the ultimate chat-up accessory, an IV

drip. Think of the girls I could have pulled if only I’d known.’

Scarcely able to believe that the question of Tiff’s paternity had apparently been answered and dismissed as not terribly interesting in half a minute flat, Juliet breathed a shaky sigh of relief and leaned against Jake.

‘You didn’t do so badly.’

‘Ah, but you might not have been able to resist me in the first place if only I’d had an IV tube to enthral you with.’

Juliet smiled, enjoying the feel of his hand on her back. ‘You were pretty irresistible as it was. I just told myself that was the problem.’

‘You weren’t so shabby yourself.’ Lowering his voice further still, Jake murmured into her hair, ‘Is it time to tell them, d’you think?’

‘Tell us what?’ said Sophie immediately, her head jerking up like a meerkat’s.

Jake and Juliet glanced at each other.

‘Something soppy,’ Tiff observed with a sly smile. ‘Your dad’s got his arm round my mum.’

‘So?’ said Jake.

‘Bleeeuurrgh, gross,’ Sophie and Tiff cried in unison, breaking into fits of giggles and pointing at Juliet and Jake. ‘You’re in lo-ve, you’re in lo-ve.’

It wasn’t the first time this had happened. Any fleeting demonstration of affection between adults was routinely greeted with jeers and the same chanted accusation. As a rule, the best way for the adults concerned to deal with it was to ignore them.

‘Yes,’ Jake said simply, ‘we are.’

That stopped Tiff and Sophie in their tracks.

‘What? Are you joking?’ Sophie narrowed her eyes, suspecting a trick.

‘No,’ said Jake. ‘Deadly serious.’

‘What, you mean you really love each other?’

Jake nodded. ‘We really do.’

Juliet held her breath.

Tiff and Sophie looked at each other, then started to snigger again.

‘What’s so funny?’ said Jake.

‘You’ve been mating.’ Sophie rocked backwards on the bed, whooping gleefully into her cupped hands.

‘That’s what you do,’ confirmed Tiff. Interestedly he added, ‘If you’ve mated, you’ll have another baby. What are you going to call it?’

‘This could be one of those conversations you wish you’d never started,’ Juliet whispered in an undertone to Jake.

‘Where’s it going to live?’ Sophie’s eyes were bright with interest. ‘I know, if we give it to Mr Taylor-Trent, it can live with him. Then everyone will have a child to look after.’

‘Interesting thought,’ said Jake. ‘But we’re not having a baby. Not just yet, anyway.’

‘Right. But when you do, can we choose its name?’

Not over-keen on the prospect of any child of his being called Spiderman, Jake said, ‘Mind out of the way, the nurse is trying to get through. So are you OK with that, then? Me and Juliet, you and Tiff?

All four of us living together?’

‘Great!’ Sophie beamed as the nurse squeezed round to her side of the bed. ‘Just so long as you don’t get married, because I’m not wearing a sissy bridesmaid’s dress for anyone. Oooh.’ She leaned forward ghoulishly as the nurse unwrapped a syringe. ‘Are you going to take blood? Can I watch?’

Chapter 50

Kate was working the lunchtime shift at the Angel. Out by the pool at Dauncey House, Norris lay on his side on the sunbaked flagstones, lazily flicking his ears at passing insects and keeping one eye open should anyone feel like volunteering to take him for a walk.

Anyone being Oliver, the only human being currently on the premises. Norris sighed and closed his eyes; he wasn’t getting his hopes up.

Inside the house, Oliver was unable to relax. For the past hour he’d found himself pacing restlessly from room to room, visualising the wreckage that was his life. For as long as he could remember, he’d used his position to control people. They did what he said. If the fact that he was a powerful man didn’t intimidate them, he resorted to money instead. Whichever, he was used to getting his own way.

Until now.

Oliver paused in the doorway leading through to the drawing room. In a matter of days, his world had spun out of control. Estelle was gone, God knows where. She’d been having an affair with a younger, poorer, scruffier man and there was nothing he could do about it. The extent of his reaction had come as quite a shock; it was like assuming that if you had a big toe amputated you wouldn’t miss it that much, then discovering afterwards that, actually, you couldn’t stay upright.

Too late, he was discovering that Estelle was in effect his big toe and that for some time now he’d been taking her for granted.

In truth, he’d taken his entire life for granted. And where did that leave him now? With a seven-year-old son who didn’t know him. A defunct marriage. A daughter who was siding with her mother. And an ex-mistress about to leap into an affair with the local Casanova.

Oliver closed his eyes briefly and rubbed his forehead; if he was honest, he possessed a begrudging admiration for Jake Harvey. Jake had done a good job of raising his daughter. He clearly thought the world of Tiff, and Tiff in turn adored him. The thing between Jake and Juliet wouldn’t last, no question about that, but at least they thought it would. And Jake was no tycoon; he might have the looks but he’d never have money. Yet it didn’t seem to bother him, he truly didn’t care. How people could live like that, Oliver would never understand, but for the first time in his life he found himself almost envious of Jake.

God, what was happening to him? As the emotions welled up, Oliver found himself having to swallow hard. The next moment a sudden noise made him jump; having come in search of companionship, Norris had raised himself up on his hind legs and was pressing his wet nose against the closed French windows. Oliver hurried across the room to let him in before he started frantically scrabbling and leaving paw marks on the glass.

Norris licked his hand and Oliver realised that, just now, Norris probably liked him more than anyone else in the world. If that wasn’t enough to reduce a grown man to tears, what was?

‘Ugly mutt,’ he told Norris gruffly, giving the dog’s broad silky head a rub.

Norris gave him a not-very-hopeful look.

Oh, what the hell, it wasn’t as if he had anything else to do.

‘Go on then,’ said Oliver, clicking his fingers and pointing out to the hall. ‘Fetch your lead.’

Norris couldn’t believe his luck. Was he hearing what he thought he’d just heard? This was the one who never took him for a walk. Mesmerised, Norris hesitated, awaiting the magic word that would put him out of his misery.

‘Walk,’ Oliver said at last.

Yay! That was the magic word. Joyfully Norris scrambled out to the hall, locating his lead on the cushioned window seat. It was weird, when he’d first come here he hadn’t enjoyed going for walks at all. Who’d have believed that these days they’d be his absolute favourite thing?

The phone began to ring as Oliver and Norris were leaving the house. Since it couldn’t be anything to do with Tiff – Juliet would have rung his mobile, not the landline – Oliver locked the front door and set off without answering it.

Twenty minutes later, a taxi pulled up the drive. Gulping a bit at the sight of Oliver’s car, Estelle dialled the number again and breathed a sigh of relief when it went unanswered. Oliver was probably still at the hospital, at Tiff’s bedside. With Juliet.

‘I’ll be half an hour,’ she told the taxi driver. ‘There’s a nice pub in Main Street if you want to wait there, then come hack and pick me up at two.’

The look on the taxi driver’s face suggested that if Estelle had an ounce of decency about her, she would invite him into her vast house and make him a nice cup of tea and a sandwich. But for once in her life Estelle didn’t care. She didn’t have the energy to make polite conversation with a complete stranger. This was her home, where she’d lived for the last twenty-seven years, and she needed to be alone in order to say goodbye to it.

Having watched the disgruntled driver execute a three-point turn and head off down the drive, Estelle fitted her key into the front door.

It felt strange to be back, stranger still to be tiptoeing through her own house. Except there was no need to tiptoe, was there? Everyone else was out. She was here to collect the rest of her clothes, hopefully without interruption.

In the kitchen, which smelled heartbreakingly familiar, Estelle located the roll of black bin liners in the cupboard under the sink and took them upstairs. The suitcases, dauntingly, were piled on top of the wardrobe in the unused spare bedroom. Wasting no time, she rifled through her own wardrobe, pulling out anything she was likely to wear again. When she’d finished doing the same with the chest of drawers and dressing table, she stuffed everything willy-nilly into the bin liners. Oh God, that looked terrible, she couldn’t do it. Was there anything more naff than leaving home with your belongings in a bunch of bin bags?

Checking her watch - heavens, five to two already - Estelle told herself not to be such a wimp and braced herself for an assault on the wardrobe in the spare room. This entailed pulling a chair over to the front of the wardrobe, carefully balancing a foot on each of the rolled arms, then reaching up until she was juuuust able to grasp the dusty handle of the large blue suitcase stored on top of it.

It was the most ridiculous place to keep them. Estelle couldn’t imagine whose bright idea it had been in the first place. Now, maintaining her balance on the padded arms of the chair, she had to ease the cobalt-blue case slowly forward then tip it at just the right angle, so that it slid gracefully into her arms rather than crashed unceremoniously down onto her head.

Panting a bit with the effort, Estelle managed this. She was doing fine, absolutely fine, all she had to concentrate on now was— ohhh .. .

Falling backwards, falling backwards .. .

‘ Fuck,’ gasped Estelle, finding herself flat on her back on the floor with the suitcase over her face.

Pushing it off, she clutched the side of her head and felt the sticky warmth of blood where the metal-edged corner of the case had gouged a hole in her scalp. Oh well, at least the damage wouldn’t be visible, it was only in her hair.

At least, it wouldn’t be visible once the bleeding stopped.

Gingerly levering herself into a sitting position, Estelle brushed dust from her shirt and felt her head begin to throb. Actually, it hurt quite a lot. Having righted the chair and returned it to its original position, she was about to lug the case through to the master bedroom when the sound of the front door opening downstairs reached her ears.

Damn, damn. It was too soon for Kate to be back from the Angel, which meant it had to be Oliver.

Far too humiliated to face him, Estelle prayed it was only a flying visit home and that in a matter of minutes he’d be off again. Gazing wildly around, she realised that hiding under the bed wasn’t an option -

the gap between the base and floor was less than six inches, which was completely hopeless with a bottom like hers. Plus she’d drip blood all over the carpet.

Hearing movement downstairs and panicking, Estelle pulled open the door of the wardrobe and plunged in. The door wouldn’t close completely, thanks to the absence of a handle on the inside. But that was OK, she didn’t want to be trapped in total darkness. Breathing heavily, squashed like a sardine between a musty overcoat and one of her own ancient taffeta ballgowns, Estelle listened to the sound of footsteps on the stairs and prayed she wouldn’t sneeze.

Bloody dog, bloody animal, Oliver raged as he squelched up the staircase. How was he supposed to have known that Norris could swim? They’d been walking alongside the River Ash when Norris had suddenly spotted a mallard and taken a flying leap into the water. Oliver had experienced no more than a mild jolt of alarm but the next moment, struggling to free himself from a tangle of underwater reeds, Norris had started yelping and scrabbling in a genuinely help-I’m-drowning kind of way. In a complete panic, Oliver had promptly slithered down the steep river bank into the water. Revolting – and disgustingly cold, compared with his own heated pool – but at least he was only in up to his thighs.

That was until he had waded across to heroically rescue Norris, whereupon the bloody animal, wriggling and splashing, had freed his legs from the weeds and launched himself at Oliver, knocking him off his feet.

Spluttering, gasping and spitting out fronds of weed, Oliver had come up for air just in time to see Norris, sleek as a seal, swimming effortlessly past him with something that looked suspiciously like a smirk on his face.

Trudging back up Gypsy Lane, trailing the contents of the River Ash in his wake, hadn’t been Oliver’s finest hour. Norris, trotting along ahead of him, had begun wagging his stumpy tail as they reached the house and Oliver had lost patience with him. Shooing Norris through the side gate into the back garden, he had let himself in through the front door and made his way upstairs.

With the shower running, Oliver had already stripped off his wet muddy clothes when the doorbell began to ring. Heaving a sigh of annoyance but incapable of not answering the door – what if the bell carried on ringing? – he wrapped himself in a towelling robe and padded downstairs.

‘Yes?’ Oliver brusquely demanded of the man on the doorstep. On the driveway behind him stood a taxi with the engine still running.

Uh ... I’m back.’

‘ What?’

‘OK,’ said the man, clearly discomfited. ‘Could you just tell your wife I’m back?’

Oliver frowned. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘I’m here to pick up your wife.’

‘My wife isn’t here. There’s no one else in this house. I’m sorry, but there’s been some kind of mistake. You’ve got the wrong address.’

Oliver waited for the taxi driver to turn and leave, but the man was giving him a decidedly odd look.

‘I dropped your wife at this house half an hour ago,’ he told Oliver. ‘She said she was here to pick up a load of her stuff and that she’d need a hand carrying it out to the cab. This is where I left her.’ His eyes narrowing, he said, ‘She’s definitely expecting me.’

It was Oliver’s turn to be taken aback. Why was the man sounding so suspicious?

‘ My wife?’ He double-checked. ‘Blonde-ish? Plump-ish? About this tall?’

‘That’s the one. Disappeared into thin air, has she?’

Could Estelle be here and he hadn’t even realised? Bemused, Oliver said, ‘Hang on, I’ll see if she’s around,’ and closed the front door.

There was no sign of Estelle downstairs. Upstairs, it wasn’t until he rounded the corner of the L-shaped master bedroom and spotted the bulging black bin bags that Oliver realised the taxi driver hadn’t been hallucinating. Calling out Estelle’s name a few times and getting no response, it occurred to him that if she had come back to Ashcombe she may well have popped over to visit Marcella.

Downstairs once more, he yanked open the front door.

‘You’re right, my wife was here,’ said Oliver, ‘but she’s gone now. Look, she might not be back for a while, so I wouldn’t bother waiting if I were you. When she needs one, we’ll call another cab.’

The man didn’t leave. He backed away a couple of steps, his gaze flickering over Oliver’s towelling robe, bare feet and wet hair.

‘What’s going on here, mate? Your wife asked me to come back for her. Look, is everything all right?’

All right? For crying out loud, his life was in pieces; how could everything possibly be all right?

But Oliver knew he wanted the man to go, so he shook his head and said wearily, ‘Don’t worry, everything’s just fine.’

Clearly unconvinced, the taxi driver said, ‘Look, mate. Has something ... happened?’

Upstairs, Estelle could bear it no longer. The taxi driver, it was blindingly obvious, thought that Oliver had murdered her in a fit of rage and was taking a shower in order to wash away the evidence. If she didn’t show herself, the man would be on the phone to the police in a flash.

Creeping along the landing, cupping the side of her head so as not to leave a trail of blood, Estelle reached the top of the staircase. Her heart lurched at the sight of Oliver, standing in the front doorway with his back to her. Clearing her throat, she called out, ‘It’s OK, I’m not dead,’ and saw Oliver spin round in disbelief.

Chapter 51

Astounded, Oliver said, ‘Estelle?’

The taxi driver looked pretty taken aback too. Squinting up at Estelle through the gloom, he said,

‘Jesus, what happened to you?’

Pulling her shirt collar to one side, Estelle saw that while she’d been squashed away in the wardrobe, a fair amount of blood had trickled down her neck and soaked into the shoulder of her white shirt. No wonder the taxi driver sounded so horrified, she must look like something out of a Hammer horror film.

Unable to bring herself to look at Oliver, Estelle said, ‘I fell and hit my head. It’s really not that bad.

Look, if you could come up and give me a hand with my stuff, that’d be great. As soon as everything’s loaded into the taxi, we can be off.’

Did he do that to you?’ demanded the taxi driver.

‘Of course I didn’t bloody do it to her.’ Oliver spoke through clenched teeth. ‘I didn’t even know she was here. You heard me calling her name—’

‘Sshh,’ said Estelle, because Oliver was raising his voice. ‘He didn’t do it, I promise,’ she told the taxi driver. ‘Now, can we get my things into the cab?’

‘No,’ said Oliver.

‘Please, I just want to go.’ Estelle wondered why she couldn’t get anything right, not even leaving her husband.

‘We need to talk,’ Oliver told her.

‘She doesn’t want to talk, mate.’ The taxi driver wasn’t taking his eyes off Oliver for a second, he was on his guard should Oliver suddenly produce a machete from the pocket of his dressing gown.

‘Talk about what?’ Estelle’s eyes filled with tears, something she’d dreaded happening. ‘What a complete and utter idiot I’ve been? Thanks, but I already know that.’

Oliver shook his head. ‘Please. We need to do this properly, without an audience. Just tell him to leave, will you?’ Estelle hesitated at the top of the stairs.

‘Go on,’ said Oliver.

‘Look, love, shouldn’t you be getting that head of yours seen to? Needs a few stitches, if you ask me.’

Checking her scalp again, Estelle encountered a fair amount of stickiness but scarcely any fresh blood. The last thing she felt like doing was spending the next six hours in casualty waiting for some overworked, sleep-deprived doctor to sew her up.

‘It’s OK,’ she told the taxi driver. ‘You can go.’ He looked up at Estelle. ‘Sure?’

Estelle nodded. ‘Sure.’

‘OK.’ With a shrug, the taxi driver said, ‘That’ll be sixty-five quid, then.’

When Oliver had paid him and the cab had disappeared from view, Estelle ventured down the stairs.

‘I’ll make a cup of tea, if that’s all right.’ Finding it hard to meet Oliver’s gaze, she headed for the kitchen.

‘Here. Sit down.’ While the kettle was coming to the boil, Oliver pulled out one of the carver chairs. ‘Let me take a look at that cut.’

Reluctantly Estelle did as she was told. She felt Oliver gently exploring her scalp with his fingers and wanted to cry. ‘How much does it hurt?’ said Oliver.

You mean compared with finding out my husband has another child? Hardly at all, thought Estelle. She shrugged and said, ‘I’m OK.’

‘It’s not deep. No need for stitches. So where were you hiding?’

‘In the wardrobe, in the spare room.’ She’d probably smeared blood all over the taffeta ball gown and Oliver’s old overcoat; it had been a tight fit in there. ‘You’ve got mud on your leg.’

‘Fell in the river,’ said Oliver, ‘trying to rescue Norris. I could picture the headlines,’ he went on. ‘Dog drowns; negligent businessman responsible.’

‘He jumped in and started splashing and yelping,’ Estelle guessed. ‘The reeds tickle his tummy.

He loves it.’ She paused, watching steam billow from the kettle. ‘How’s Tiff?’

The kettle clicked off and Oliver dropped teabags into the pot. Carefully he said, ‘Doing well.

Making a fantastic recovery.’

Estelle nodded, relieved. ‘I thought you’d be at the hospital.’

‘No. They don’t need me there.’ He paused. ‘How’s Will?’

Tit for tat, thought Estelle.

‘Sorry!’ Oliver blurted out. ‘I’m sorry, you don’t have to answer that. None of my business. I’m just sorry about .. . everything. The whole lot,’ he said tiredly. ‘God, what a mess.’

Estelle was speechless; she’d never heard him sound so defeated. Finally she said in a small voice,

‘Yes.’

He massaged the back of his neck. ‘I never meant to hurt you.’

‘Didn’t you?’ What the hell, thought Estelle, the worst had already happened. Feeling suddenly reckless she said, ‘Sure about that?’

‘You were never supposed to find out. There’s nothing going on between Juliet and myself.’

Oliver shook his head. ‘I just wanted to see my son growing up.’

Estelle swallowed as the old ache of longing came back. She and Oliver had tried so hard for another child of their own, but it had never happened. Anyway, that was irrelevant now.

‘I’m not talking about Tiff.’ Her eyes were bright, her tone accusatory. I’m talking about the way you endlessly criticise me, tell me my clothes don’t suit me, sneer at the novels I read, complain that my roast potatoes aren’t crispy enough. Those are the things that hurt, Oliver. Being treated like a second-class citizen is what hurts.’

This outburst was greeted with a stunned silence. She was able to see Oliver mentally checking off each item on the list.

‘Do I?’ he said at last, clearly shaken. ‘Is that what I do? My God, I’ve never even thought about it before. I suppose I have done all those things.’

‘Trust me. You have.’

‘And Will was the one who pointed it out to you,’ said Oliver.

‘I suppose.’ Estelle was reluctant to give Will Gifford credit for anything. ‘But we were in a rut long before he came along. He just brought it all out into the open.’

‘And that’s why you ran to him.’

Oh God, she had run, practically the length of platform 4 at Paddington station. Wincing at the memory of having thrown herself ecstatically into Will’s arms, Estelle swallowed hard and forced herself to nod.

‘At least we aren’t in a rut now. This is the opposite of arut,’ Oliver said wearily. ‘I don’t blame you for getting out. Maybe Will’s what you need.’

Hadn’t he read the papers?

Dry-mouthed, Estelle said, ‘I’m not with Will any more.’ Physically, Oliver didn’t react.

‘No? Where are you staying?’

‘Cheltenham.’ She may as well tell him; dammit, he was going to be the one settling the Amex bill.

‘In a hotel at the moment. But I’ve been looking at flats to rent.’

‘Flats?’

‘Well, just the one.’ Despite doing her best to sound flippant, Estelle heard her voice crack.

Her twenty-eight-year marriage was over, she’d made a complete fool of herself with a younger man and now she was searching for somewhere to live. Waving her arms helplessly, she floundered on, ‘It’s, you know, a chance to re-think my life, make new friends ... I thought I might, um, get a job ...’

‘Or you could stay here,’ said Oliver.

Had he really said that?

Estelle’s eyes filled with tears. ‘What?’

‘OK, maybe stay isn’t the right word, seeing as you’ve already left. But you could come back,’

Oliver said hesitantly, ‘and we could try again. I never wanted to lose you. Maybe I didn’t always show it, and I know I’ve taken you for granted, but I do love you.’ He cleared his throat. ‘I’ve learned my lesson. If you come back, I’ll treat you so much better. No more being critical. I’ll cut down on my hours, we can go away more often, spend a lot more time together. You wouldn’t regret it, I—’

‘How many others have there been?’ Estelle said abruptly. ‘Women, mistresses – other ones like Juliet?’

‘None. That’s the truth.’ Oliver shook his head vigorously, then groaned. ‘Oh God, I know what you’re thinking, that that’s just another lie. But I swear there haven’t been any others.’

Estelle paused, then shook her head. ‘It’s no good. We can’t, Oliver. Too much has happened.’

‘We can!’ There was an edge of desperation in his voice. ‘You don’t know how much I’ve missed you. I’ll do anything you say!’

‘But—’

‘Do you want me to retire? Give up work completely? I’ll do it.’ Oliver nodded, as if work was already nothing but a distant memory.

‘Oliver. You love your job.’

‘Not as much as I love you.’ His eyes began to glisten and instinctively he half turned away, unaccustomed to revealing this much of himself. Rubbing his face with his hands, he said desperately, ‘Estelle, you mean everything in the world to me.’

‘Oh God.’ She was trembling now; this was Oliver as she’d never heard him before. ‘But how could I come back here? Everyone in Ashcombe knows what’s happened. They’d be laughing at me behind my

—’

‘They wouldn’t.’ Vehemently Oliver shook his head. ‘Everyone loves you, this is where your friends are, but if you don’t want to stay here, fine. We’ll sell this place and move.’

‘Move?’ Heavens, Dauncey House meant the world to Oliver. ‘Move where?’

‘Wherever you like. Anywhere in the world.’

In a daze, Estelle said, ‘You’d do that?’

‘Anything.’

Estelle looked at him. Finally she nodded and said in a voice she barely recognised, ‘OK.’

‘OK what?’

‘I’ll come back. We don’t have to move. We’ll start again.’

Oliver was gazing at her, his expression incredulous. ‘You really want to?’

‘Of course I want to. You’re my husband.’ She managed a watery smile as a great wave of relief swept over her. ‘You made a mistake, I made a mistake. Some people never make mistakes, but we did.

And we’re both sorry. That’s allowed, isn’t it? If I forgive you and you forgive me, we can try again – oh Oliver, I love you too ...’

This time Estelle couldn’t control the tears, because they weren’t only rolling down her own face.

Sobbing and laughing at the same time, she jumped up from her chair and fell into Oliver’s comfortingly familiar arms. He was still wet and muddy from the river, wearing his dark blue towelling robe, and damp-haired. Thanks to the rapidly drying blood, the hair on one side of her own head was a mass of spiky bits and matted chunks. But when you’d been married for twenty-eight years, Estelle joyfully discovered, it really didn’t matter how ridiculous you might look. After twenty-eight years, all that counted was what was going on in your heart.

Chapter 52

‘Right, that’s sorted then,’ Nuala announced. ‘The three of us, tonight, nine o’clock, Trash.’

Nuala had been wittering on for ages. Having tuned out long ago, Maddy came to with a start.

‘Hmm? What was that?’

‘Honestly, you don’t deserve a friend like me.’ With exaggerated patience, Nuala finished pricing the last few bottles of Tuscan olive oil. ‘I’m organising your social life, cheering you up, stopping us all ending up like this.’

‘ What?’ Now Maddy was definitely lost.

‘Extra-virgin.’ Bossily Nuala tapped the label on the rectangular bottle in her hand. ‘I mean, let’s face it, when was the last time any of us saw any action? It’s not natural! We’re young and in our prime! Which is why we should be going out to celebrate and have a bloody good night. It’s also about time you cheered up,’ she told Maddy. ‘The best way to get over a man is to find a better one, and Trash is the place to do it. Just nod and say, Yes, Nuala.’

Oh dear, had she really been that grumpy? Maddy experienced a spasm of guilt. Poor Nuala was doing her best; she was lucky to have her around. At this rate she was in danger of ending up a right Nellie No-Friends.

‘Yes, Nuala.’ Nodding obediently, Maddy wondered if Trash would be as classy as it sounded.

‘We’ll have abloody good night.’ They would, she’d manage it if it killed her. ‘What is it we’re celebrating, again?’

‘Tiff’s better. My shoulder’s better.’ Smugly Nuala waggled her sling-free arm like a ventriloquist who’s forgotten her dummy. ‘Jake and Juliet together at last, and I haven’t even been the tiniest bit jealous. I mean, it’s all fantastic news, isn’t it?’

Of course it was. Ashamed of herself, Maddy smiled. ‘Definitely worth celebrating.’

‘Great. I’ll just go and tell Kate.’

Already planning what she’d wear tonight, Nuala scuttled happily over to the Angel. It was almost three o’clock and the pub would be closing for the afternoon. A group of customers was trailing back to the last remaining car in the car park. By the way they were waddling, Nuala guessed they’d had lunch followed by syrup sponge pudding and custard.

They were American tourists, she discovered, overhearing them as they passed her on the pavement.

‘What a double act, those two in there,’ drawled the taller of the males. ‘Like Lucy and Desi all over again.’

‘I thought she was going to brain the guy with an ashtray,’ said his wife. ‘Did you notice if they’re married?’

Stifling a smile, Nuala reached the entrance to the Angel. Just wait until she told Kate and Dexter what the Americans were saying about them. Pushing open the door, she entered the pub and exclaimed,

‘Hey, you two, you’ll never guess—’

That was as far as she got. The rest of the words died before they even reached Nuala’s mouth.

Behind the bar Dexter and Kate sprang guiltily apart, but there could be no mistaking what had been going on during those brief seconds before her arrival.

Nuala gaped. Kate and Dexter? Dexter and ... and Kate? It was unthinkable, like discovering that Jake had been carrying on a torrid affair with, crikey, Princess Anne. In fact, given Jake’s wicked track record, that was actually less unlikely than the scenario she’d just walked in on.

‘God, sorry,’ gasped Kate. ‘Nuala, I meant to—’

‘Lock the door?’ Nuala tilted her head enquiringly.

‘No. Well, yes ... I mean ...’ Kate stammered, her face the picture of guilt.

‘Hopeless.’ Dexter rolled his eyes. ‘Can you believe it? This is the girl who isn’t scared of anyone or anything, and look at her now.’

But incredibly, he was saying it in a good-natured rather than an irritated way.

Unable to resist it, Nuala said, ‘You jumped away from Kate pretty smartish.’

He nodded, acknowledging the dig with a wry smile. ‘OK, but it’s something you needed to know.

Kate was the one who didn’t want to upset you.’

‘Upset me?’ Nuala echoed in disbelief. ‘Upset me? Damn right I’m upset!’

Kate was looking even more distraught. Dexter put a protective arm round her. ‘Now you’re being unfair,’ he told Nuala. ‘It’s nothing to do with—’

‘Good grief, I’m not upset about you.’ Nuala pulled a face. ‘I’m upset because I’ve just arranged a girls’ night out for me, Maddy and Kate so we can go out and pull loads of men, but I don’t suppose Kate will want to come along now.’

‘On a manhunt? Poor sods,’ said Dexter. ‘Anyhow, Kate doesn’t need to any more. She’s got me.’

They actually looked like a proper couple. It took a bit of getting used to, but the more Nuala thought it through, the more sense it made.

‘I’m really sorry,’ Kate apologised again. ‘It happened acouple of days ago, took us both completely by surprise, talk about a bolt from the blue

‘It’s fine,’ said Nuala, ‘honestly. You don’t have to worry about me.’

Kate looked unconvinced. ‘But you seemed a bit put out just now.’

‘That’s because I thought the three of us could go out tonight and have a great time, then if Maddy got a bit, you know, mopey,’ Nuala pulled a Maddy-type face to demonstrate, ‘we could gang up on her and force her to cheer up. It’s OK, I can still manage it on my own,’ she said bravely.

‘It’s just going to take that bit more effort.’

‘Like climbing Everest with a motorbike strapped to your back,’ Dexter observed.

‘Thanks. That’s a great help.’ As she looked at him, Nuala realised she was well and truly cured. In all honesty, she and Dexter had been the most mismatched couple since that scary egg woman and John Major.

‘I’ll come with you,’ said Kate unexpectedly.

‘You will?’ Not that Maddy was that much of a liability, not really, but Nuala’s heart lifted as if it had been pumped full of helium.

‘If it’ll help.’ Kate was clearly eager to make up for having got together with the ex-boyfriend Nuala was more than happy to be rid of.

‘I’d rather you stayed here,’ Dexter complained. ‘You might get chatted up.’

Kate gave his cheek a consoling pat.

‘Don’t get stroppy. You don’t just drop your friends when you bag a man. Anyway, it’s my night off. I can go where I like.’

By the sound of it, Nuala was delighted to discover, Dexter had finally met his match.

‘You.’ He pointed a warning finger at Nuala. ‘Make sure she doesn’t get up to anything.’

Grinning, discovering that he no longer had the power to scare her, Nuala said chirpily, ‘You’d have to pay me loads of money to do that.’

Mustn’t be a killjoy, thought Maddy as they piled out of the taxi and headed across the road to Trash. Mustn’t, mustn’t be a killjoy, going to have masses of fun, drink loads, chat up heaps of men and not even think about Ke— thingy, the one I’m not even going to think about.

Easier said than done, maybe, but she owed it to Nuala and Kate. And to herself. So she couldn’t have the man she wanted. So what? Compared with war and famine it was a pretty unimportant reason to go around with a face like, well, the face she’d been going around with for the last fortnight.

Trash was a new club in the centre of Bath, hugely popular and a bit trendier than Maddy was truly comfortable with, but Nuala had been longing to come here for ages, ever since reading in a magazine that it was where the city’s movers and shakers went. Nuala, Maddy suspected, was under the impression that this meant everyone would be leaping around, dancing with abandon to Las Ketchup.

Oh well, if she had to join in, she would.

‘Cheers,’ said Kate, clanking glasses and blissfully unselfconscious of her scars. ‘I still can’t believe everything that’s happened. This morning I was the tragic victim of a hopelessly broken home. Now Mum’s back, and she and my father are giving it another go. When I left the house they were being so lovey-dovey together it’d make you sick.’

‘Cheers.’ Maddy, who could clank with the best of them, said, ‘Good for your mum and dad.’

‘It may be good for them, canoodling away like teenagers, but what about me? They’re my parents.’

Kate grimaced. ‘It’s embarrassing. They’re too old for all that.’

Too old. Taking a sip of wine, Maddy envisaged herself in fifty years’ time. Marcella, aged ninety-something and feisty to the last, had just died in a tragic rollerblading accident. Finally, finally, she and Kerr had a chance to be together. Except she was seventy-seven herself and Kerr was eighty. Gazing dreamily into the distance, Maddy pictured the two of them on their Zimmer frames, inching their way across the shabby linoleum floor of the nursing home, dribbling a bit with the effort, peering short-sightedly at each other before she croaked, ‘Kerr? It’s me, Maddy. I’m free! We can be together at last ...’

And Kerr, typical man, would pause, bemused, and say, ‘Eh? What are you on about, woman? Do I know you?’ Bastard, thought Maddy, outraged.

‘Excuse me?’

Oops, maybe she hadn’t just thought it, perhaps she’d accidentally said it aloud.

‘Sorry.’ Turning, Maddy addressed the man behind her. ‘Just thinking about someone.’

He gave her a sympathetic look. ‘Ex boyfriend?’

‘You could say that. Anyway, we’re here to have fun.’ If she said it often enough, it might come true.

‘That’s a coincidence, it’s why we’re here too.’ The man beamed down at her; he wasn’t what you’d call drop dead gorgeous, but he had a friendly chipmunky face and a decent enough body. ‘My name’s Dave. Hi.’

Oh well, look where being fussy had got her in the past. ‘Maddy,’ said Maddy, resolving not to mind about his teeth. He had friends with him as well. Keen to get started on the moving and shaking, Nuala was already eyeing them up.

‘Who wants to dance?’ she said loudly.

Gosh, they were big, thought Maddy. His teeth, not his friends.

An hour later, on the dance floor with Dave, Maddy spotted a face in the crowd that stopped her dead in her tracks. Dave, boogying on regardless, landed on her right foot and leaped off again yelling, ‘Sorry!’

Maddy didn’t even notice. She was too busy gazing across at the brunette whose features were indelibly imprinted on her mind.

The last time she’d seen her, the girl had been having lunch with Kerr. If they were seeing each other, did that mean he was here too? Bobbing up and down on her toes, Maddy did her best to see over the heads of the clubbers thronging the dance floor, but it was no good, she couldn’t see him. Although actually, surely that was good .. .

‘Hey!’ Abandoned in mid-bop, Dave shouted out, ‘Where are you off to?’

‘Um, just to the loo.’

The brunette was wearing a pale green strappy silk dress with gorgeous lilac high heels and a matching lilac clutch bag. It was hard to hate someone, Maddy discovered, whose accessories you coveted. Anyway, she might not need to hate her. There was no sign of Kerr; the girl appeared to be with her plumper, blonder friend – ooh, and now she appeared to be on her way to the ladies’. Fantastic.

By the time the brunette emerged from her cubicle, Maddy had installed herself in front of the sinks and was brushing blusher onto her cheeks. She smiled at the brunette in a friendly fashion, via the mirror in front of them both, and the brunette politely smiled back.

See? That was all it took to show other people you were a nice person.

‘Busy tonight,’ said Maddy, by way of getting the conversational ball rolling.

‘Um, yes.’ The brunette squirted liquid soap onto her hands and began washing them.

‘Quite hot, too. I’m baking!’ Maddy beamed and energetically fanned herself. ‘Good music, though.’

‘Absolutely.’ Having finished at the sink, the girl gave her hands a good shake and moved over to the hot-air dryer.

Hmm, not exactly a chatterbox. In desperation, Maddy said, ‘I just love your shoes. They’re incredible!’

‘Uh, thanks.’

‘Where did you get them?’

The brunette frowned. ‘Gosh, I can’t remember. Faith, I think.’

‘Well, they’re brilliant.’ This was definitely the way to go about it. Since marching up to complete strangers and asking really quite personal questions was generally regarded as impertinent –

unless you were Michael Parkinson – Maddy had decided to go the more subtle route and become the brunette’s friend. Then with a bit of luck, once they were chatting away as if they’d known each other for years, the subject would just naturally crop up. OK, maybe with a bit of a nudge in the right direction, but still. ‘I bought a great pair of boots in Faith last year,’ Maddy said brightly. ‘Grey denim, with silver studs up the sides. Remember them?’

The brunette frowned. ‘Remember them? I’m sorry, do I know you?’

‘Oh no, I just meant do you remember seeing them in the shop?’ Seizing the opportunity, Maddy put down the lipstick she was currently applying and held out her hand. ‘How rude of me not to introduce myself. My name’s Maddy.’

‘Right!’ After a moment’s hesitation, the brunette shook hands. ‘Um, Annalise.’

Annalise. Nice name. Maddy pictured Kerr saying it and had to force herself to smile. Was there a way she could ask yet about boyfriend-type stuff without sounding pushy? How about if

‘Well, bye.’ Having hastily gathered up her lilac bag, Annalise made a dash for the door and disappeared.

Chapter 53

‘Hi,’ Dave exclaimed. ‘I was beginning to wonder where you’d got to!’

‘Oh, right.’ It was hard to concentrate on Dave when all she could think about was Annalise currently queuing up for drinks at the bar less than six feet away.

‘I bought you a glass of wine,’ Dave said eagerly, waving it in front of Maddy’s face. ‘You don’t need to queue up.’

‘That’s so kind.’ Maddy looked suitably grateful. ‘And I’ll buy you a drink in return, I promise, but could you do me a huge favour and leave me alone for five minutes? It’s just, there’s someone I really want to talk to.’

Dave’s pudgy chipmunk cheeks quivered with disappointment. He held up his paws ... hands, in defeat. ‘Fine, I know when I’m not wanted.’

Feeling terrible, but not that terrible, Maddy said, ‘You are wanted—’

‘But not until the better-looking bloke’s turned you down. Don’t worry,’ Dave sighed. ‘I’m used to it.’

Honestly, life would be so much easier if only she could fall for a nice man who looked like a chipmunk. Ooh, gap in the crowd .. .

‘Hello again!’ Having wriggled through, Maddy beamed at Annalise, who was with her blonde friend.

‘Oh, hello.’ This time Annalise’s shoulders visibly stiffened and her tone was wary. Since flattery had seemed to work well last time, Maddy exclaimed, ‘Gosh, look at your eyelashes!’

Which, in the absence of a mirror, was probably impossible.

Startled, the girl said, ‘What?’

‘Your eyelashes. They’re so long! You lucky thing, how on earth did you get them to grow like that?’

‘They’ve, um, always been long.’ Annalise was attempting to back away now. ‘Actually, I don’t think we’ll have that drink. Maybe I’ll ring my boyfriend and ask him to come and pick us up.’

Maddy tensed; why had she deliberately emphasised the word boyfriend? Did she know? Why were she and her friend exchanging significant glances? For heaven’s sake, it wasn’t as if she was a mad axe-woman – why couldn’t she just ask Annalise a few simple questions and find out what she wanted to know?

Then again, nothing ventured .. .

‘What’s your boyfriend’s name?’

Annalise said, ‘Right, we really should be making a move. Come on, Bren. Let’s go.’

Avoiding her eyes, the two girls slipped away. As they left, Maddy saw Annalise take a mobile phone out of her bag. Honestly, why did life have to be so complicated?

And where was Paul McKenna when you needed him? He could have quickly hypnotised Annalise, asked the relevant questions, discovered all he needed to know then de-hypnotised her, leaving her none the wiser.

In fact, why wasn’t Paul McKenna a member of the SAS? Or was he?

‘You’re not dancing!’ shouted Kate, materialising hot and breathless at her side. ‘Come on, you’re missing out on all the fun!’

Maddy was touched by her concern. Kate’s eyes were shining. After all her exertions her foundation was starting to melt, but she clearly wasn’t bothered. Still out on the dance floor, Nuala and Dave and a group of Dave’s friends were having a whale of a time lowering the tone of Bath’s trendiest club and competing with each other to see who could dance in the least cool manner. Tonight was Kate’s first foray into nightclubland since her accident, yet you wouldn’t know it. Belatedly, she was discovering that if you smiled instead of scowled, laughed instead of glared, people were far more likely to smile back.

At this rate Dexter was going to have his work cut out keeping her under control.

‘Bit hot.’ Maddy fanned herself by way of apology. ‘What?’

‘ BIT HOT.’ Above the noise of the music, Maddy bel lowed, ‘I’m just going outside for a few minutes, to cool down.’

‘Then you have to come and dance,’ shouted Kate. Maddy nodded. ‘Definitely. Just give me five minutes. I’ll be back.’

Outside, she made a point of proving she was hot, in case any CCTV cameras were pointed in her direction. Well, it had been tropical inside the club; what could be more natural than wanting to gulp down a few lungfuls of fresh air, unstick your top from your torso and fan yourself with your hands, Al Jolson-style?

She only had to wait a couple of minutes before Annalise and her friend emerged from the club.

‘Oh, hi!’ sang Maddy, her Al Jolson hands going into overdrive. ‘Hot in there! Just came out for a breather.’

‘It’s all right,’ Annalise murmured out of the corner of her mouth. ‘He’ll be here any second.’

Turning to Maddy, she added, ‘My boyfriend’s coming to pick us up.’

Well, good, because that’s why I’m out here, thought Maddy. Duh.

Oh dear, was she getting a bit carried away here? If Annalise’s boyfriend did turn out to be Kerr, was she going to be tempted to jump into his car and run away with him? Would she be able to curb the impulse to—

‘Look, you’ve made a mistake,’ Annalise began to say as a white Volvo drew up, illuminating them in its headlights. Muttering, ‘Thank God for that,’ and visibly relaxing, she returned her attention to Maddy. ‘I’m very flattered, but the thing is, I’m not ... that way.’

Puzzled, Maddy said, ‘What way?’

‘Oh, come on, don’t be offended, you know what I’m trying to say. I’m sure you’re a very nice, um, person,’ Annalise said hurriedly, ‘but I’m straight.’

‘Hmm?’ Not really concentrating, Maddy was far more interested in confirming that the driver of the white Volvo wasn’t Kerr.

‘You’ve got the wrong night,’ Annalise’s friend explained kindly as Annalise wrenched open the Volvo’s passenger door. ‘Wednesday is gay night at Trash.’

‘Oh, right.’ Maddy nodded, relief washing over her as the car’s interior light came on. Raising her voice, she called across to Annalise, ‘Is that your boyfriend?’

In the passenger seat, Annalise gave the driver a significant, that’s-the-barking-one look. Slowly, all three occupants of the car nodded.

Completely unable to help herself, Maddy blurted out, ‘How do you know Kerr McKinnon?’

Annalise’s plucked eyebrows shot up. ‘Kerr McKinnon? The guy from Callaghan and Fox? His company does business with our company.’ She paused, bewildered. ‘Why?’

‘Oh, no special reason.’ Feeling as if a ton weight had beenwinched from her chest, Maddy smiled and waved at them. ‘Just wondered. Bye!’

The Volvo pulled away. Feeling fifty times happier, Maddy headed back towards Trash.

From the shadows she heard a male voice say, ‘You should have told me before.’

Spinning round, Maddy said, ‘Dave?’

He emerged from his darkened doorway, looking mildly apologetic. ‘Sorry, didn’t mean to eavesdrop. I came out to see where you were – the girls were worried about you.’

‘I’m fine. Much better now.’ Maddy smiled reassuringly at him, because Dave was giving her a sympathetic head tilt.

‘You know, there’s absolutely nothing wrong with being gay,’ said Dave.

‘I know.’ Gosh, it was such a relief, knowing that Kerr wasn’t seeing Annalise.

‘You don’t have to be ashamed of who you are.’

Hmm? I’m not ashamed of who I am,’ said Maddy. Well, slightly embarrassed, maybe, to think that she’d practically stalked the girl, just because-

‘Nuala and Kate don’t know, do they?’

‘God, no, they’d be furious.’ Maddy was completely sick of their lectures on the subject of forgetting Kerr McKinnon ever existed.

As if.

‘Well, that’s just crazy, this is the twenty-first century,’ Dave said crossly. ‘Nobody should have to pretend to be something they aren’t. Right, shoulders back,’ he instructed, linking his arm through Maddy’s. ‘Chin up, and be proud. We’re going to march right in there and tell them now.’

Chapter 54

Coming face to face with his brother after a gap of almost ten years was an emotional experience.

Kerr had almost given up on the idea of hearing from Den again following that initial strained phone conversation. When the days had stretched into weeks without any further word, he told himself that at least he’d done his best.

And then, on Monday, his mobile had rung and Den had asked without preamble, ‘Is she still alive?’

Stunned, Kerr said, ‘Er... yes.’

‘Still want me to come over?’

Stupid question.

‘Yes.’

‘OK. I’m flying from Sydney tonight. I’ll give you another ring on Wednesday, when I reach Bath.’

Den paused. ‘I can stay at the house, right?’

‘Of course.’ Kerr’s chest tightened as he realised Den’s main reason for visiting was to stake his claim on half the property.

‘I mean, I’ll visit her at the old folks’ home, but I don’t want to spend hours there.’

‘That’s up to you,’ Kerr said stiffly, because heaven forbid that Den, who had succeeded in ruining his mother’s entire life, should have to spend a minute longer than absolutely necessary at her deathbed.

‘Fine. OK, I’ll see you,’ Den concluded laconically, before hanging up.

That had happened forty-eight hours ago. And now he was here. It was Wednesday afternoon and Kerr had taken the message on his phone twenty minutes ago. Leaving the office at once, he had driven out to Hillview. As he rounded the last bend of the driveway, he saw Den sitting on the top step, leaning back against the front door.

He was twenty-eight years old. God, unbelievable. Wearing narrow faded jeans, trainers and a scruffy yellow T-shirt, he looked like a typical backpacker. Kerr wondered if their mother’s first comment when she saw Den would be to tell him to get his hair cut.

Exhaling slowly, Kerr switched off the ignition and climbed out of the car. What was he supposed to do now? Before the accident, they had been close, but after it — hardly surprisingly — Den had undergone an abrupt change of personality, cutting himself off from his family and refusing to talk. Kerr had visited him in prison at first, then been sullenly told not to bother any more. By that stage, Kerr had been guiltily relieved to have an excuse not to. Thanks to a single careless moment Den had succeeded in ruining not only the life of the Harvey family, but his own as well. By then, their mother had sunk into alcoholism and was also refusing all offers of help. It hadn’t exactly been the greatest incentive to come home. Yet until the fateful day of the accident, he and Den had been close, Kerr reminded himself. A part of him badly wanted to hug his younger brother and tell him how good it was to see him again.

This was easier said than done.

‘Hi,’ said Kerr, realising that by remaining seated on the step, Den was effectively making sure he couldn’t be hugged.

‘Hi.’ Den waited, his jaw tense. He was very brown, and there were lines around his eyes that anyone else would have called laughter lines. Somehow Kerr couldn’t picture him laughing that much.

‘It’s good to see you,’ Kerr said awkwardly.

‘Is it?’

Kerr nodded, silently conceding that he had a point. Thanks to Den’s actions, he wasn’t allowed to be with the only girl he’d ever truly wanted to be with. When you thought of it that way, he wanted to punch him.

But that wasn’t why Den was here, and what good would it do anyway? Apart from making me feel better, thought Kerr.

Taking out his keys, he stepped past Den and opened the front door.

‘Come on in. There’s hot water if you want a shower.’ Lifting his rucksack over one shoulder, Den said, ‘Why? Do I smell?’

It was so long since they’d last seen each other that Kerr wasn’t sure if he was joking.

‘It’s OK.’ Catching the wary look in his brother’s eyes, Den said with a brief smile, ‘Yeah, a shower would be great.’

In the kitchen, Kerr put together a couple of king-sized omelettes. It wasn’t much, because he didn’t keep a great deal of food here at Hillview, but it was easier than taking Den out for a meal.

Sitting at a table in a restaurant, forced to make polite conversation for ninety minutes, was a daunting prospect. The awkward silences would be more than he could handle.

So omelettes it was. A couple of cold beers wouldn’t go amiss either. Maybe there’d be something sporty on TV and they could watch that.

‘Are you tired?’ said Kerr when Den came downstairs, having showered and changed into a creased cotton shirt and a different pair of jeans.

‘No. Slept on the plane. Which one’s mine?’

He was combing his fingers through his wet hair, surreptitiously surveying the plates on the kitchen table. It was as if they were teenagers again and Den was trying to decide which of the omelettes was the biggest.

Kerr plonked down the pepper mill. ‘Either. They’re both the same. If you want to rest tonight, we can visit the nursing home tomorrow.’

Pulling out a chair, Den began to wolf down his ome lette.

‘Why wait? I’ve come all this way, like you told me to.’

‘Asked you to,’ Kerr corrected, because there was an edge to Den’s voice.

‘Whatever. May as well get over there tonight and see what she has to say.’ Den shrugged. ‘Be a shame if she popped her clogs just before I got there.’

Maybe he didn’t mean to be so callous. Maybe he was secretly dreading seeing his mother again, thought Kerr. For the first time he was about to witness what he’d reduced her to.

‘OK,’ he told Den. ‘We’ll go tonight.’

Den held up his empty bottle of Beck’s. ‘Fine. Got another beer?’

But as he reached out to take the second bottle, Kerr saw that his nails were bitten and his hands were shaking. Den, it seemed, wasn’t quite as flippant and careless as he liked to make out.

An hour later they drove over to Dartington House.

‘Pretty nice place,’ Den remarked as they approached the big old nursing home. ‘Must cost a bit, keeping her here.’

She was their mother. Where did Den think she should end her days? In a dog kennel?

‘She couldn’t carry on any more at home.’ Kerr led the way through the wood-panelled painted hall. Spotting Esme Calloway through the open door of her tasteful eau de Nil office, he paused and said,

‘How is she?’

‘Oh, Mr McKinnon! Not so well, I’m afraid. And somewhat agitated, I should warn you. We may have to ask the doctor to give her a little something to calm her down. She’s still asking to see her other –

oh." Rising from behind her desk and catching sight of Den, Esme Calloway’s manicured eyebrows shot up in surprise. ‘Is this ...’

‘Her other son,’ Kerr confirmed.

‘From Australia!’ Esme clapped her beringed hands together with delight. ‘Well, well, this is excellent news! Wait ‘til Pauline finds out you’re here, she’ll be so thrilled!’

Esme Calloway clearly wasn’t in possession of the full story, thought Kerr as, still gushing, she swept round the desk in order to shake Den’s hand. Needing to see your long-lost son before you died was one thing, but thrilled wasn’t the emotion he suspected would be uppermost in Pauline’s mind.

Esme Calloway, who evidently adored emotional family reunions, led the way upstairs to their mother’s room, chattering nonstop about the time she’d visited her cousins in Melbourne and almost run over a kangaroo. Finally she paused outside the door, sapphires flashing on her fingers as she raised her hand to knock.

‘Pauline? Coo-ee! Are you awake, dear?’

Behind her, Den glanced in disbelief at Kerr.

‘Oh God,’ they both heard their mother’s irritable voice say through the closed door. ‘What now?’

‘Visitor, dear!’ Turning, Esme gave Den an isn’t-this exciting look and turned the handle.

‘Very important visitor, in fact! Here we are, brace yourself for a surprise!’

And that was it. The door swung open, revealing Den to his mother. Pauline was sitting up in bed like a faded, yellow-tinged shadow of herself, wrapped in a cream cashmere cardigan and with her wispy grey hair fastened in a loose bun.

She was only sixty-eight; it wasn’t such a great age, Kerr thought. She looked a good twenty years older than that.

He stayed well back, along with Esme, allowing Pauline to gaze in silence at Den. At least his mother didn’t appear to have been drinking today; the smell of alcohol was, for once, absent from the room.

Finally Pauline said, ‘Oh, Den ...’ and there was a quaver in her voice that made it obvious how much this moment meant to her.

By contrast, Den’s face was entirely without expression as he said, ‘Hello.’

Esme Calloway looked shocked. This wasn’t the deliriously joyful reunion she’d been anticipating.

Thinking angrily that Den could at least have the decency to pretend to be pleased to see her, Kerr resolved to leave them to it. Maybe Esme’s presence was an inhibiting factor. Placing his hand on her elbow he murmured, ‘I think they’d prefer to be alone,’ and saw Den’s shoulders stiffen.

‘No,’ said Pauline, shaking her head at Kerr. ‘She can go, but I want you to stay.’

‘I don’t—’

‘You will,’ Pauline said evenly. ‘It’s important.’

‘Ooh, I’ve had an idea! Why don’t I bring you all a nice tray of tea?’ Esme beamed at them like a deranged nineteen fifties air hostess.

‘Just get rid of her.’ Pauline shook her grey head in disgust. ‘The last thing I need is an audience.’

Offended, the tilt of her eyebrows signalling despair of the see-what-I-have-to-put-up-with kind, Esme swept out of the room.

Silence reigned. Kerr leaned against the wall with his arms folded across his chest. Den was gazing out of the window like an insolent fourth-former summoned to the headmaster’s study. If Pauline had been hoping for a hug from the son who had all but destroyed her life, she was going to be bitterly disappointed.

Finally Pauline spoke again.

‘How did Kerr persuade you to come back?’

Den shrugged. ‘Told me you were ... unwell.’

‘Unwell, that’s one way of putting it.’ Snorting at the euphemism, Pauline shakily smoothed the eiderdown over her lap.

‘Dying, then,’ Den said bluntly.

‘That’s more like it. On my way out. Not long to go now.’ Glancing past Den to Kerr, she said, ‘Did you bring anything?’

‘I brought Den,’ Kerr said pointedly.

His mother reached for a tissue and wiped the palms of her hands. ‘A bottle of Jack Daniel’s would make this easier.’ She looked over at Den. ‘So. How have you been?’

‘How d’you think I’ve been?’ Den shoved his hands deeper into his pockets and stared back at her. ‘I went to prison, didn’t I? Served my time. Came out, left the country, went to Australia where no one else knew what I’d done but somehow never quite managed to put it behind me. Still, never mind, eh? I’m young, healthy, life goes on. There are plenty of people worse off than me, I just need to get a grip, sort myself out—’

‘Den, don’t.’ Stricken, Pauline shook her head.

‘Why not? You asked me how I’d been. I’m just telling you.’

‘I’m sorry.’ Her eyes filled with tears; she was squeezing the crumpled tissue between her hands.

‘I’m so sorry. That’s why I had to see you again, to tell you how sorry I am.’ Her fingers shook as she rubbed at her palms. ‘Have you told your brother?’

Kerr straightened. Had Den told him what?

‘I’ve never told a living soul,’ said Den fiercely. ‘You made me promise, remember?’

What? What was this about? Kerr looked from one to the other.

‘Right, right. Of course you haven’t. I’ll do it then.’ Pauline nodded wearily, the lines on her face suddenly more pronounced than ever. ‘It was me,’ she told Kerr. ‘Driving the car that day. I was the one who killed the girl, not Den.’

Chapter 55

The only sound in the room was the ticking of the clock on the mantelpiece, a brass carriage clock that Kerr remembered from his childhood. Under any other circumstances his automatic reaction might have been to say to his mother, ‘You’re joking.’ But since she clearly wasn’t, he was silent.

‘That look on your face, Kerr,’ said Pauline McKinnon. ‘That’s why I’ve never told you. God, I thought deathbed confessions were meant to make you feel better. I really want a drink now.’

Kerr looked at his brother. Den was standing there, by the window, with tears sliding down his thin cheeks.

‘Tell me what happened,’ Kerr said slowly, but Den was incapable of speech. He shrugged and shook his head.

‘We’d been to Evelyn Pargeter’s drinks party.’ Pauline’s voice came out as a monotone. ‘I’d had a few drinks, but I felt OK. When we left the party I told Den I’d be fine to drive. We reached Ashcombe and I rounded the bend too fast, hit the girl — well, that was it. There was nothing we could do for her. She was dead. Then I realised what this would do to me. I was a Justice of the Peace, remember. Pillar of the community. I knew I’d fail a breath test. I just couldn’t bear it, couldn’t bear it.’

She faltered, shaken by the memory. ‘But Den hadn’t been drinking, and I thought it wouldn’t be so bad for him. He was only seventeen, any punishment would be so much easier for him to handle. I was in shock after it happened. And that was it,’ Pauline whispered. ‘Den loved me. We were always so close, I knew he’d understand. I told him to say he’d been driving. And he did. It was our secret. I wasn’t proud of myself, but I couldn’t face the prospect of going to prison. Losing my licence for drink-driving.

Killing a sixteen-year-old girl. I thought it would be easier for Den. I’m sorry.’ She closed her eyes in defeat. I was wrong, I know that now. I knew it then, but I couldn’t help myself. And I’ve been punishing myself ever since. I might just as well have taken the blame and killed myself there and then.

Anything would have been better than living through the last eleven years, I can promise you that. So you see, I’m glad I’m going to die. In fact, I can’t wait.’

Kerr was having trouble digesting this. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

‘It was our secret, Den’s and mine.’ Pauline shook her head. ‘You would never have allowed Den to go to prison.’

This was true. Jesus, what had Den been through, in order to protect his mother? Was it any wonder he’d disappeared to Australia?

‘I was wrong,’ Pauline blurted out. ‘I should never have done it. I’ll make a statement to the police.’

‘You’re about to die,’ Den said baldly. ‘What good would that do?’

His mother looked at him. ‘It’ll clear your name.’

‘Can they rewind the tape and stop me going to prison? Because otherwise I don’t see the point.’

‘There’s nothing I can do to take that away.’ Tears were running down Pauline’s face now, dripping into the folds of her cream cardigan. ‘I just needed to see you again, to let you know how truly sorry I am.

I always loved you so much. I don’t suppose you love me, but thank you for coming back. It means more than you’ll ever know.’

It was three o’clock in the morning. In the living room of Hillview, Kerr opened two more bottles of chilled Beck’s and handed one to Den.

‘I feel like a ton weight has been lifted off me,’ said Den, for the fifteenth time that night.

Shaking his head in wonderment, he stretched out along the length of the sofa and crossed one foot over the other. ‘You have no idea how it feels, somebody else knowing at last. You knowing at last. If someone had asked me yesterday if I could forgive my mother for what she did, I’d have laughed and said never in a million years. But now ... I don’t know, I can almost think about it. Because she’s dying, and that’s what she wants, isn’t it? Forgiveness.’

‘I suppose.’ Kerr couldn’t believe the change in his brother, in the space of just a few short hours. He couldn’t stop looking at Den, his eyes brighter now, his whole body seemingly more alive. ‘You should have told me. I can’t believe that you didn’t tell me after it happened.’

‘Straight after the accident, I was in a state of shock,’ said Den. ‘None of it seemed real. It didn’t occur to me that I’d end up actually going to jail. After a while I began to panic, but by then it was too late. I realised that if I did try and tell them that Mum had been driving that day, they wouldn’t believe me. And there’d be no proof if she denied it, just her word against mine –

the respected JP versus the seventeen-year-old tearaway.’ He pulled a wry face. ‘Of course they’d believe her.’ Anyone would. And I’d just come out of it looking worse, even more despicable, than ever.’

This was true. Kerr felt terrible, recalling how he had regarded Den even while he’d been visiting him in prison. No wonder his younger brother had been sullen and uncommunicative during their meetings. No wonder Den had told him not to bother any more.

‘You never told anyone,’ Kerr burst out, appalled by the injustice of it all.

‘I lied to Mum. I did tell someone once.’ Tipping his head back, Den took a swallow of beer. ‘A girl I met in Canberra. Moira, her name was. Pretty girl. We started seeing each other.

Anyway, one night we got talking about my life in England, where I’d grown up, that kind of thing. I told her about the accident, sticking to the official version. She was horrified. Well, basically, I was a bit drunk and I could see I was losing her. So I panicked and told her the truth. What really happened. Disaster,’ he announced with a shudder. ‘I saw Moira’s face change as I was saying it.

Then she called me pathetic, said I was a bullshitter and a sad desperate loser. We were sitting in a restaurant at the time. Moira walked out on me, between the starter and the main course.

And that was it, I never saw her again. So much for being honest. I learned my lesson after that.’

‘No more telling the truth,’ said Kerr.

‘No more women.’ Den shook back his hair. ‘None I cared about, anyway. I’m not saying I was celibate, but I made bloody sure I never got emotionally involved.’ He paused. ‘How about you?’

Kerr was tempted to tell him everything, but couldn’t bring himself to do it. How would it sound?

OK, so you’ve suffered in your own way, but hey, I’ve suffered too. Don’t think you’re the only one who’s had his life fucked up by what happened. No, that would be just ... cheap. It wasn’t a competition.

It may have felt over the last few weeks that his life had been well and truly fucked up, but compared with what Den had been forced to endure

‘Do the Harveys still live in Ashcombe?’ said Den.

‘Um, yes.’ Kerr nodded. ‘Apart from the father. Robert Harvey died a few years ago.’

‘God, what that family have been through.’ Yawning, Den finished the last of his beer and hauled himself upright. ‘I’m shattered. It’s been a hell of a day.’

‘You can say that again.’ Kerr rose to his feet too. After a moment’s hesitation – because it wasn’t something they were accustomed to doing – he gave Den an emotional hug. ‘I still can’t believe it. I’ve got my brother back.’

‘You think that’s weird.’ Den’s smile was crooked. ‘For the first time in eleven years, I’m going to be sleeping in my old room. Any idea what happened to all my old M. C. Hammer records, by the way?’

At seventeen he had been devoted to M. C. Hammer. Bracing himself for outrage, Kerr said,

‘I think they went to a charity shop.’

‘What was I thinking of?’ Den shook his head with heartfelt relief. ‘You’re sure they’ve all gone? Thank God for that.’

‘I can’t,’ said Pauline, afraid. ‘That’s blackmail.’

‘So? It’s what I want you to do,’ Den said evenly. ‘You have to, it’s only fair. You owe me that much at least.’

Pauline closed her eyes. Her eyelids, flickering with anxiety, were paper thin; she looked defeated and dreadfully ill.

‘Don’t make me do it. Please.’

‘Listen to yourself.’ There was an edge of irritation to Den’s voice as he paced up and down his mother’s room. ‘This isn’t about you any more. I’m asking you to do this for me, and I happen to think I deserve it.’

‘But—’

‘I’ll wait outside,’ said Den. ‘You just get on and do what you have to.’ As he turned for the door, he added over his shoulder, ‘I’ll be back in twenty minutes.’

Den spent the twenty minutes sitting on a bench beneath a vast cedar tree in the grounds of the nursing home, telling himself he wasn’t being unreasonable. OK, so Kerr now knew the truth, but it wasn’t enough. And their mother was dying, so what difference did it make to her? He hadn’t talked this over with Kerr but he knew he’d understand.

A pretty nurse passed by, pushing one of the ancient residents along in a wheelchair.

Glancing across at Den, she smiled shyly at him. So preoccupied that he didn’t even notice until too late, Den watched the nurse’s back view as she headed on up the path. Maybe, once everything was sorted out, he’d feel normal enough to think of forming a proper relationship. Over the past years, not allowing himself to get involved had become second nature to him. Fear of rejection had left its mark.

Right, time was up. Back to his mother’s room. If she hadn’t done what he’d instructed her to do – well, she just better had, that’s all.

‘Finished?’ Den said brusquely.

His mother’s eyes were dull, their whites yellowed, her shoulders slumped back against the pillows in resignation. Prodding at the envelope on her writing tray, she indicated that Den should take it.

‘I’ll just check what you’ve written.’ He pulled out the sheet of cream writing paper and rapidly scanned the contents before nodding with satisfaction. ‘Good. You see? I knew you could do it.’

‘It hasn’t happened yet,’ Pauline croaked. ‘It may not happen.’

‘Oh yes it will.’ Den tucked the all-important letter back into the envelope. ‘After coming this far?

Don’t worry, I’ll make sure it does.’

Chapter 56

As the taxi pulled into Ashcombe, Den reached instinctively for his dark glasses. One thing he would never forget was the look on Marcella Harvey’s face when she had stared at him across the courtroom during the trial.

And who could blame her?

It was four o’clock on a blisteringly hot Thursday afternoon. Apart from the usual groups of mainly foreign tourists meandering along Main Street, the town was fairly quiet. There was no one around whom Den recognised, but his heart was in his mouth nevertheless as the taxi driver slowed the car.

‘This is it then,’ said the driver. ‘Where d’you want me to stop?’

Where indeed? When you were public enemy number one, discretion was the key.

‘Pull into the pub car park.’ Den nodded at the entrance on the right, then twisted round to gaze back across the street at Snow Cottage. Did Marcella still live there? Kerr had said the Harveys were still here in Ashcombe, but who was to say they hadn’t moved house?

The next moment his question was answered as the front door swung open and a small girl raced out, a brown and white terrier at her heels. The girl, who was around seven or eight, had skin the colour of milky coffee, huge dark eyes and hair braided in cornrows. She was wearing pale green shorts, turquoise sandals and a baggy red T-shirt. As Den watched, the girl slammed the front door behind her, jiggled the terrier’s lead and headed off up the street with the dog in tow.

Well, that was good news, at least. He was pleased to see that Marcella had had a daughter of her own.

‘OK.’ Den handed the envelope, now sealed, over to the taxi driver. ‘Just post this through the letterbox of that cottage over there.’

The taxi driver, who had seen it all in his time, said wryly, ‘Come at you with a saucepan, would she, if you tried it?’

‘At the very least,’ Den agreed.

The taxi driver nodded sagely. ‘Restraining order?’

‘Something like that,’ said Den.

‘Not going to get me into trouble, is it?’ The man was running his podgy fingers over the envelope, surreptitiously checking for wires.

‘Don’t worry.’ Den smiled. ‘It’s not a bomb.’

As the taxi driver headed across the road, Den realised he was being watched. For a split second he panicked, wondering if he’d been recognised – but it was OK, no one he knew. The girl, in her late twenties, had reddish-brown hair and real curves. Glad of his dark glasses – thanks to them, she didn’t know that in return he was studying her – Den admired the way the girl’s bottom filled her jeans. Having just emerged from the Angel, she was watching him from the doorway, clearly wondering what he was doing there in the car park when the pub was closed.

Did that mean she worked there?

The next moment the girl had turned left and headed off up the road, out of sight. Something in the pit of Den’s stomach went twaaanngg, dimly recalling the memory of how it felt to be attracted to someone. Anyway, too late now. Across thestreet, the taxi driver had posted the envelope through the letterbox of Snow Cottage and was making his way back to the car park.

‘Right, job done,’ he told Den. ‘Where to now?’

Where to indeed? Without thinking, Den almost said, ‘Home.’ Instead, clearing his throat, he said, ‘Back to Hillview.’

Sophie, returning from the mini-supermarket with fifty pence worth of sweets in a paper bag, let herself into the cottage. Zig-zagging between her feet, Bean homed in on the envelope on the mat.

Post was one of Bean’s all-time favourite things. Launching herself joyfully at the letter, she nuzzled it with her nose, scrabbled furiously with her front paws and finally managed to clamp it between her teeth.

Now that she’d captured it, she could wrestle it to death, tearing it to messy shreds and—

‘ Bad dog,’ Sophie said severely, grabbing the envelope from Bean in the nick of time and whisking it out of reach. ‘Mustn’t do that to letters. No,’ she scolded as Bean leaped up once more,

‘it’s not yours.’

Turning it over, Sophie saw that it had Marcella Harvey written on the front. The handwriting was on the wobbly side but that was OK, Sophie could still read it. Her own handwriting was pretty wobbly too.

‘Dad?’ Raising her voice, she ran upstairs and hammered on the bathroom door. Her father, with a casket to deliver, had finished work early in order to shower and change before driving over to Cheltenham.

Above the sound of gushing water, Jake shouted, ‘Yes?’

‘There’s a letter for Gran. I’m going to take it to her,’ Sophie yelled back. She was allowed to visit Marcella’s house on Holly Hill since there was no road-crossing involved.

‘What?’

She heard the shower door open inside the bathroom, enabling Jake to poke his head out and hear what she was saying.

‘ Me and Bean are going up to Gran’s,’ Sophie bellowed. ‘OK. I’ll be back by six,’ said Jake. ‘I’ll pick you up from there, then we’ll go and see Tiff at the hospital.’

‘OK, see you!’ Clapping her hands at Bean, Sophie galloped downstairs clutching the envelope.

Delivering letters was easy; maybe she’d be a postman when she grew up.

Marcella had been out in the garden doing a spot of gentle pruning when Sophie arrived.

Enveloping her beloved granddaughter in an enthusiastic hug, and feeling her heart expand with love, Marcella wondered if holding a child of her very own could possibly feel better than this.

‘Are those really sharp?’ Beadily, Sophie eyed the secateurs in Marcella’s hand. ‘Can I have a go?’

‘In your dreams, sweetheart.’ Tweaking the end of one of Sophie’s braids, Marcella spotted the envelope and said, ‘What’s that? Love letter from Tiff?’

‘It’s for you. See, it’s got your name on it. What are you going to call the baby if it’s a boy?’

Sophie was extremely keen to be involved in the decision-making process. ‘How about Malfoy?’

‘I thought we’d wait until it’s born, then see what it looks like.’ Taking the envelope, Marcella glanced at her name shakily inscribed on the front and headed over to the garden bench. ‘Where did you get this?’

‘On the floor at home. The toothmarks are Bean’s – I rescued it just in time. Can I have a biscuit’ " said Sophie, because nobody kept a better supply of biscui in their house than Marcella.

‘Hmm? OK, just the one.’ Having. opened the envelope, Marcella’s eye slid automatically to the name at the bottom ofthe letter. It was like bouncing along happily on a cloud, then all of a sudden landing on a tangle of barbed wire. Marcella’s breath caught in her throat and her heart began to race. She wondered if this was someone’s idea of a sick joke.

But the wording of the letter seemed honest enough.

Dear Marcella,

Please don’t ignore this letter. I have liver failure and very little time left to live. I need to speak to you before I die.

This is very important to me, and will be to you too. Please come to Dartington House on Friday afternoon. I’m so very sorry.

Once more, Marcella found herself gazing at the signature at the bottom of the page. It looked like the handwriting of someone hopelessly frail. Pauline McKinnon, no less. Close to death. Saying she was sorry. Well, that was a first.

Without even realising it, Marcella had risen from her seat and was busy deadheading roses.

Needing something to do with her hands she snipped away, doing her level best to block all thoughts of Pauline McKinnon from her

‘ Ouch.’ She snatched her left hand away as a thorn on one of the branches punctured her skin. A bead of blood welled up and Marcella sucked her finger, thinking that if she caught tetanus now, that would be the McKinnons’ fault too.

Why the bloody hell should she go over to Dartington House anyway? What had her doctor told her about avoiding stress? And if seeing that woman again wasn’t stressful, Marcella thought resentfully, she didn’t know what was.

Then again, the woman was dying. Pauline McKinnon had lost her son as a result of the accident, albeit in a less final way than April had been taken from her own family.

And she had just said sorry.

Marcella, barefoot and still sucking her index finger, gazed around the sundrenched garden she loved so much. Her hormones must be getting the better of her; at any other time she would have ripped Pauline McKinnon’s letter to shreds by now, and been stomping around the garden calling her the kind of names no granddaughter should ever overhear.

But as Sophie emerged from the kitchen and came racing across the grass towards her, Marcella found herself sliding the letter into the pocket of her white cotton shirt. Not that this meant she’d definitely be going along to the nursing home tomorrow; she simply hadn’t yet made up her mind.

‘I brought chocolate fingers and Hobnobs, so you can have some too.’ There were telltale chocolate marks around Sophie’s mouth as she generously offered the opened packets to Marcella.

Spotting the letter sticking out of her grandmother’s shirt pocket, and keen to avert attention from the number of biscuits missing from the chocolate finger packet, Sophie said brightly, ‘Was it a birthday card?’

Marcella smiled; as far as Sophie was concerned, post was either birthday cards or bills. ‘No, darling, it’s not my birthday until November.’

Breaking a Hobnob in half, Sophie surreptitiously fed it to Bean – who proceeded to chomp away in a very unsurreptitious manner. Rolling her eyes – and looking uncannily like Jake – she said sympathetically, ‘Another bill then, I suppose. Electricity?’

‘Something like that,’ said Marcella.

Maybe it hadn’t been electricity, but it had certainly given her a shock.

Chapter 57

‘I hope you didn’t mind me coming.’ Estelle dodged out of the way of a porter wheeling a patient past on a hospital trolley.

‘No, no. Jake said you wanted to pop over.’ Vigorously Juliet shook her head.

It was a toss up, Estelle realised, which of the two of them was more nervous.

‘I wanted to clear the air. Get everything sorted out,’

she plunged on. ‘It’s OK, that’s what I’m trying to say. You and Oliver, well, it all happened years ago. Of course it was a shock at first, but I’m used to the idea now, so—’

‘I’m sorry, I never meant to hurt you,’ Juliet blurted out, her cheeks pink with mortification. ‘I’m just so glad you and Oliver are back together.’

‘After me making the world’s biggest fool of myself.’

Estelle’s smile was rueful. ‘With Will Gifford.’

‘Hey, don’t be so hard on yourself,’ said Juliet. ‘If you ask me, it was the best thing you could have done. Made Oliver sit up and take notice, didn’t it?’

Estelle moved to one side to allow a group of medical students to pass. Out here in the hospital corridor, it struck her afresh how much she’d always liked Juliet Price. Rather more astonishing was the fact that Juliet had liked Oliver enough to have an affair with him. But now she and Jake had got it together — at last — and as a pairing they made so much more sense.

‘So anyway, we’re OK,’ Estelle said hurriedly. ‘You and me. No awkwardness, no hard feelings, everything’s fine as far as I’m concerned. And we’re just so glad Tiff’s better.’

‘We are too. He’s always said how nice you were.’

Touched, Estelle said, ‘Hopefully we’ll get to know each other even better now. I’ve never had any nephews or nieces. Maybe I can be a kind of informal auntie.’

‘He’d love that. We’d all love that.’ Juliet smiled automatically as the doors of the paediatric unit swung open, spitting out a doctor she recognised.

‘Ah!’ Having headed past her up the corridor, the doctor did an abrupt about-turn and said, ‘Tiff’s blood test results came through. All clear. The consultant wants to see him at the ward round tomorrow, then if everything’s OK you can take him home after that. Take Tiff home,’ the doctor amended. ‘Not the consultant.’

‘Tomorrow?’ Juliet’s dark eyes glinted with tears. ‘Are you sure?’

‘Unless you want to leave him here,’ the doctor said with a grin, before turning and rushing off.

‘Here.’ Estelle pushed a clean tissue into Juliet’s hand. ‘Oh, thanks. I can’t believe he’s actually going home. Wait ‘til Jake and Sophie hear this.’

‘It’s brilliant news,’ said Estelle, happier than ever that she’d come along to the hospital.

Giving Juliet’s arm a reassuring squeeze, she said, ‘Now you can really celebrate.’

Kate was in her bedroom getting ready to go to work on Friday morning when she heard the doorbell.

ringing downstairs. Norris, who was lying on his side recovering from the exertions of their latest walk, lifted his head and cocked an inquisitive ear as the front door was opened and they were just able to make out the sound of a female voice.

Two female voices, in fact, Estelle being the one who had gone to answer the door. Putting the finishing touches to her lipstick and giving her hair a last hasty swoosh of Elnett, Kate said, ‘Who’s that then, hey? Shall we go and find out?’

Wagging his stumpy tail, Norris trotted downstairs at her heels. Whoever had rung the doorbell was now in the kitchen with Estelle; Kate could hear the mystery voice chattering away in there.

When she saw who it was, she was none the wiser. A tall gangly woman in her mid-fifties was sitting at the kitchen table with a pile of photo envelopes. Her lipstick was a garish shade of orange, her eyeshadow was electric-green and she was waving a photo at Estelle, of herself standing in front of — oh God — the Sydney Harbour bridge.

Looking up, the woman’s eyes widened. ‘And here he is!’ she exclaimed, bending in two like a marionette whose strings have been cut and flinging her arms wide. ‘Norris, baby! Oooh, look how thin you are, have you missed us terribly?’ Peering up at Estelle, she said, ‘Hasn’t he been eating? Hang on, I’ve got some chocolate here in my bag.’

‘Darling, this is Barbara Kendall, Norris’s owner,’ said Estelle, just in case Kate thought their visitor was a stray Jehovah’s Witness. ‘Barbara, this is my daughter Kate.’

‘Hello, dear, nice to meet you.’ Barbara nodded pleasantly. ‘How are you getting on with your face?’

Feeling sick, Kate said, ‘Excuse me?’

‘You know, settling back here in Ashcombe, letting other people get used to the sight of you. It doesn’t do to hide yourself away, you know. After a while they’ll hardly even notice, it’s like when my daughter had that terrible acne, I told her she was making a fuss over nothing, you just have to get out and get on with it, and it’s not as if spots last for ever. Although I suppose it’s different for you ...’

‘Have you come for Norris?’ Maybe this was a daft question, but Kate was struggling to stay calm. Was this scrawny garrulous woman seriously expecting to just roll up here and take Norris away from them?

‘Of course! Why else would I be here?’ As if Kate was mentally subnormal, Barbara explained slowly and clearly, ‘I said we’d be in Australia for six weeks. It’s been six weeks. And now we’re back!’

She might be back, but she wasn’t making much of a fuss of Norris. Having patted him on the head and looked askance at his reduced bulk, she returned with far more enthusiasm to her holiday photos.

Similarly, having lost interest in his owner, Norris had wandered back to sit beside Kate, his head leaning against her leg.

‘Oh, and here we are on the steps of the Opera House.’ Barbara proudly held the relevant photograph out to Estelle. ‘Look at Bernard’s socks with kangaroos on the sides! Aren’t they a scream?’

Kate definitely wanted to scream. ‘We didn’t know you were coming today.’

‘Well, you know how it is.’ Abstractedly, Barbara shuffled through the photos. ‘I was going to give you a ring, then 1 couldn’t find your number – anyway, I’m here now! Poor old Norris, he looks so thin. Has he behaved himself? Hey, Norris, over here – have you been a good boy?’

‘He’s been fantastic.’ Terrified that she was about to cry, Kate said, ‘He was overweight before.

We’ve put him on a diet, taken him for loads of walks – his breathing’s so much better now. We-we’re going to miss him d-dreadfully.’

‘Really?’ Barbara looked incredulously across at Norris. ‘Well, that’s marvellous news! Maybe you’ll end up gettingone of your own. OK, let’s get a move on, Bernard’s expecting us back.’ Since no one was showing her photos the degree of interest she felt they deserved, Barbara gathered them together and slid them back into their packets. ‘Norris, come along, we’re going home.’

Kate gazed beseechingly at her mother. Estelle, clearly distraught, could only shake her head. With a quizzical look at Barbara, Norris rose obediently to his feet.

‘Say thank you very much for looking after me,’ Barbara prompted, causing Norris to wag his tail in a bemused fashion.

‘If you wanted him to stay here, we’d love to keep him,’ Kate blurted out, causing Barbara to look at her even more oddly.

‘But he’s ours, dear. Not yours. Right, off we go.’

Crouching down, Kate put her arms round Norris and felt him rest his paws on her knees. Oh God, how could she ever have thought him ugly? Hot tears dripped down her chin as she kissed the top of his broad head. In return, Norris licked her wrist. It was hard trying to say a meaningful goodbye to someone who didn’t understand what was going on.

‘Bye, Norris,’ mumbled Kate as Barbara clapped her hands.

‘Right, let’s get a wiggle on! Say goodbye to Estelle now,’ Barbara ordered bossily.

Unable to watch Norris leaving the house for good, Kate stumbled to her feet and left the kitchen.

It was time to go to work, for all the good she’d be. No more Norris, it just didn’t bear thinking about.

‘Estelle! I forgot to tell you about our visit to the crocodile farm,’ she heard Barbara trill behind her.

Bloody Barbara Kendall, thought Kate, how she’d love to feed her to the crocodiles.

Wiping her eyes with the back of her hand, feeling as if her heart had just been squeezed by a giant fist, Kate slammed out of the house.

Marcella couldn’t quite believe she was here at Dartington House nursing home, in the same room as Pauline McKinnon. She especially couldn’t grasp what she was hearing.

Feeling light-headed but far too agitated to sit down, Marcella stared at the wizened, yellow-tinged face of Den McKinnon’s mother.

‘I don’t believe you,’ she said flatly. ‘It’s not true. No mother would ask her son to take the blame for something like that.’

‘I did.’ Pauline McKinnon plucked at the pale blue bedspread.

‘I think you’re just lying to protect him. You don’t have long left to live, so you’re trying to persuade me he was innocent all along.’

‘Why would I? I didn’t want to tell you the truth. I’m only doing it now to prove to Den how sorry I am.’

Marcella took a deep breath. Pauline McKinnon didn’t sound as if she were lying. And if Den had spent the last nine years in Australia, why would he need his mother to make up a story like this?

‘Is this to do with Kerr?’ Marcella was still struggling to take it in. Was this his idea? Does he think I’ll change my mind about him and Maddy?’

‘Maddy who? Your daughter?’ Bemused, Pauline McKinnon said, ‘What’s she got to do with Kerr?’

This time it was blindingly obvious that she had no idea what Marcella was talking about.

‘How did Kerr feel about seeing his brother go to prison for something he didn’t do?’ Marcella was having trouble keeping her voice steady.’He didn’t know. He only found out this week.’

‘Does he despise you?’ said Marcella.

‘He hasn’t said so,’ Pauline McKinnon shrugged, ‘but I’m sure he does. Same as Den. I don’t blame them,’ she added. ‘I despise myself.’

‘You were drunk. You killed our daughter.’ Marcella’s voice began to rise, because she had no doubt now that Pauline McKinnon was telling the truth. ‘You forced your own son to take the blame.’

‘And I’ve suffered every single day since then.’

‘ Good,’ Marcella hissed, her eyes blazing. ‘You don’t know how happy that makes me. I hope you rot in hell for what you’ve done to us and to him.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘And it’s taken you eleven years to say that!’

‘I was going to, I swear I was.’ Pauline McKinnon swallowed with difficulty. ‘Before the trial, we weren’t allowed to. Afterwards, Kerr came over to your cottage one day and tried to apologise. You were out. Your husband was there but he didn’t want to hear it. He refused to listen and yelled at Kerr to leave. After a reaction like that, how could I risk trying to do the same? I couldn’t face either of you.

You hated us enough as it was, without even knowing what I’d really done. It was easier to blot it all out,’

she concluded wearily, ‘and have another drink instead.’

‘Look at me,’ Marcella ordered, because Pauline McKinnon was avoiding her eyes. ‘Can you understand how much we loved April?’

Forcing her head up, Pauline nodded without speaking.

‘Actually, I don’t suppose you can,’ Marcella’s voice was cold, ‘but let me tell you this anyway.

She was every bit as precious to us as our other children. I would give everything I own for the chance to hold her again. The fact that April had cerebral palsy wasn’t her fault and didn’t make an ounce of difference to how we felt about her. Yet you seemed to think we had no right to be distraught because it wasn’t as if she was normal.’

‘ I didn’t say that,’ croaked Pauline McKinnon. ‘I swear.’

‘We were told you’d said it.’ Marcella was defiant.

‘Outside the court? I remember. I heard someone else saying those words, but it wasn’t me.

I’ve been truthful with you all afternoon,’ Pauline went on. ‘After everything else, why would I bother to start lying to you now? With a bit of luck by the end of next week I’ll be dead. What’s the matter with you, anyway?’ Her clouded eyes had dropped to Marcella’s front. Marcella realised that without even being aware of it, she had been gently rubbing her stomach.

‘Nothing.’ It was the truth; there was no pain or discomfort. Her family would have a fit if they knew she’d run the risk of coming here today to confront Pauline McKinnon but she had come through it without mishap. Some inner instinct reassured Marcella that her baby was just fine.

‘I’m tired,’ said Pauline McKinnon tetchily.

‘I’m not going to forgive you, if that’s why you wanted to see me.’

‘I didn’t want to see you. This was all Den’s idea, not mine.’

Marcella looked at her, experiencing a mixture of hatred, revulsion and disgust. And pity, too. But not for Pauline McKinnon.

As she turned to leave the room, Marcella said, ‘My daughter, April, was worth five hundred of you.’

Chapter 58

Outside, Marcella took lungfuls of much-needed fresh air. A warm dry breeze rippled the front of her loose, dark blue shirt. The manicured grounds were deserted apart from a solitary figure sitting on a bench some distance away, beneath a spreading cedar tree. From here it was impossible to tell whether the figure was male or female; all Marcella could make out was longish dark hair, sunglasses, a white shirt and faded jeans.

But she knew at once who it was. Without hesitating, she descended the stone steps and made her way across the freshly mown grass.

He took off his dark glasses as she approached and Marcella saw the eleven years of strain etched on his face. Here was someone who had suffered almost as much as she had. It beggared belief that any son could have a mother like that.

Her heart went out to him. She had spent all these years blaming him for something he hadn’t done.

He may be a McKinnon, but he was innocent.

‘ Do you believe her?’ Den searched her face, his voice taut with uncertainty.

Nodding, Marcella said, ‘I do.’

‘It’s the truth.’ Den nodded too and she saw that he was shaking. ‘I didn’t do it. It wasn’t me, I swear.’

Marcella held out her arms and drew him to her, making soothing noises and patting his back as he sobbed on her shoulder like a small boy.

‘God, I can’t believe it. I haven’t cried for years,’ Den said finally, using his sleeve to wipe his eyes.

‘Not since I came out of prison.’

‘You’ve been bottling it up. Don’t worry.’ Marcella stroked his face. ‘It’s all over now.’

‘I didn’t know she was drunk, that’s the stupidest thing.’ Den cleared his throat, determined to say it. ‘I could have driven that day. If she had only let me drive, it would never have happened. But she didn’t want me to know how much she’d had to drink, so she made out she was fine. I should have taken the keys off her—’

‘Sshh, stop it.’ Her earlier words to Den’s mother came back to Marcella now: it hadn’t been April’s fault she was born handicapped. Well, it wasn’t Den’s fault either that he had been handicapped by the fact that Pauline McKinnon was his mother.

Marcella briefly closed her eyes, remembering those dark, desperate days after the accident. Her grief had been so overwhelming that directing her hatred at only one person hadn’t been enough, she’d needed to encompass the whole family. And that had been wrong, she could see that now.

‘Is this what I think it is?’ Being hugged by Marcella had brought the curvature of her stomach to Den’s attention. Pulling away, he gazed down at the small bump.

‘Always one of those embarrassing moments,’ said Marcella, ‘when you really hope I’m not just fat.

And no,’ she went on, ‘I’m not just fat.’

Den shook his head. ‘Congratulations. That’s fantastic.’

It was also interesting, Marcella felt, that he clearly hadn’t been expecting it, which meant that Kerr McKinnon hadn’t warned him.

‘Shall I tell you something stupid?’ Den was smiling now, crookedly. ‘Before the accident, I used to wish you were my mother. I’d seen the way you were with your kids. I really envied them. I thought you were fantastic.’

Overcome, Marcella hugged him tightly. ‘Thank you. I hope I’ll carry on being fantastic. Now, let’s talk about your brother.’

‘Kerr?’ Den gave her a blank look. ‘What d’you want to know?’

He didn’t have a clue.

‘Kerr and Maddy,’ said Marcella.

Den gave her a doubtful look. ‘Your Maddy? Why, does she like him?’

‘Just a bit.’ Amused, Marcella realised that he was picturing Maddy as she had been eleven years ago with her metal braces, bony knees and those funny NHS specs. All in all, an unlikely contender for his brother’s attention.

‘Kerr hasn’t told you.’ As they turned and began to walk across the grass, Marcella tucked her arm companionably through Den’s. ‘Know where he is?’

‘What, right now? At work.’ Den looked surprised. ‘He’s lent me his car.’

‘Excellent. Posh one?’

‘Very posh,’ said Den.

‘Even more excellent. So,’ Marcella said brightly as another thought struck her, ‘does he know about me coming here today?’

Den shook his head. ‘I didn’t tell him. This was what I wanted to happen. He might have tried to talk me out of it.’

Almost certainly, Marcella thought with secret amusement.

As they headed for the car park – she really hoped Kerr’s was the gleaming midnight-blue Mercedes – Marcella said, ‘Why don’t we go and pay your brother a little visit?’

‘Now?’

She gave Den’s arm a complicit squeeze. ‘Right now. Come on, it’ll be a laugh.’

Realising what she was planning, Den said, ‘He’ll be scared witless when you walk in.’

‘But we’ll find it hilarious.’ Marcella broke into a dazzling, ear-to-ear grin. ‘Anyway, if your big brother’s serious about my darling daughter, he’s just going to have to get used to it.’

Blowing up several dozen balloons had taken it out of Maddy. She was exhausted, but the back garden of Snow Cottage was looking sensational enough for it all to be worthwhile. There were balloons at the front of the cottage too, along with a huge handmade Welcome Home banner and enough curly streamers to tie up an entire herd of wildebeest. Should a herd of wildebeest choose to stampede through Ashcombe.

‘Looking good,’ said Nuala, carrying out a pile of rugs and cushions.

‘Thanks.’ Maddy smiled.

‘Not you. You look appalling. I was talking about the garden,’ said Nuala. ‘Poor Tiff’s going to take one look at you and have a relapse. Go and put some make-up on or something, before everyone gets here.’

As if moving house and organising the party wasn’t enough, Maddy thought, she was expected to get creative with mascara too. And where was everyone else, anyway? Tiff was coming home from the hospital at three o’clock. Jake had driven into Bath to pick up Tiff and Juliet. Marcella had disappeared hours ago, blithely claiming that she needed to buy maternity knickers and promising faithfully to be back before three. Similarly, Kate and Dexter wouldn’t be over until after the pub was shut for the afternoon. Sophie had spent hours colouring in the Welcome Home banner. Bean had leaped about like a mini Tigger-on-springs, doing her best to burst the balloons as fast as they were inflated.

Quite a few other people from Ashcombe were coming along to the party but none of them had seen fit to offer anything in the way of practical help, evidently more than happy to leave all the boring hard work to her and Nuala.

And what exactly had Nuala done in the last couple of hours, apart from take a long hot shower, paint her toenails turquoise and spend a ridiculous amount of time faffing over what to wear?

‘I needed to shower,’ Nuala had protested when Maddy had pointed this out. ‘We moved house this morning! I had to wash all the dust off, didn’t I? For heaven’s sake, I was a complete mess.’

It hadn’t taken long to move house, and Jake had helped. Juliet and Tiff’s belongings had been brought over to Snow Cottage, and in return Maddy and Nuala had lugged their things over to the flat above the Peach Tree. It was like a neat chess move. Now that there were going to be three of them working in the deli itself, Maddy had resolved to increase the sandwich delivery side of the business. Last night she had designed a flyer to be printed and sent to businesses throughout the city.

Next week she planned to follow this up with visits to the various companies, taking along samples as she’d done with Callaghan and Fox. By this time next year, the Peach Tree delivery service could be a national, international, possibly even a global phenomenon .. .

Oh well, anything to take her mind off the disaster that was the rest of her life.

‘Go and have a shower this minute,’ Nuala bossily announced. ‘And do something with your hair. It’s got cobwebs in it.’

* * *

Den waited outside in the car while Marcella headed up the stairs to the offices of Callaghan and Fox. Entertaining though it would have been to witness in person Kerr having the living daylights scared out of him, Den’s presence would spoil the surprise.

Pushing through the swing doors into reception, Marcella’s eye was caught by the clock up on the wall. Ten to three. Back in Ashcombe everyone would be gathering at the cottage, getting ready to welcome Tiff home.

Anyway, never mind about that now.

Behind the desk, a plump girl looked up and smiled welcomingly at Marcella. ‘Hello there, can I help you?’

‘I hope so.’ Since Den had Kerr’s car, Marcella was rather counting on him being here. ‘I’d like a word with Kerr McKinnon.’

‘Do you have an appointment?’

‘No, but I’m sure he’ll see me.’ Primed by Den, Marcella peered down the corridor on the left.

‘Is that his office, along there?’

‘Er, why don’t I give him a buzz?’ Apologetically the receptionist said, ‘I’m not really supposed to let people in without an—’

‘I’m Maddy Harvey’s mum,’ Marcella confided. ‘Maddy from the Peach Tree. Trust me, it’ll be worth it.’

This captured the girl’s attention. Eagerly she leaned across the desk.

‘Is it about Kerr and Maddy? Oh, fantastic! Something’s going on between those two, isn’t it? I knew there was, I knew it, but Kerr just wouldn’t admit anything, and for the last few weeks he’s been so grumpy. Hang on.’ The receptionist faltered, belatedly taking in the fact that Marcella was black and Maddy wasn’t. ‘You can’t be Maddy’s mother ...’

Marcella said with pride, ‘I’ve been her mother since she was five years old.’

‘OK.’ Rising to her feet, the girl said, ‘You can go and see Kerr. But you have to let me come too.’

The door to his office was closed. The receptionist, having introduced herself as Sara, knocked and said, ‘Kerr, it’s me.’

From the other side of the door a male voice called out, ‘Come in,’ and Sara stepped to one side, gesturing to Marcella.

‘After you, Maddy’s mum.’

‘Why thank you so much.’ Marcella flashed a mischievous smile at her before opening the door.

Kerr McKinnon was sitting behind his desk talking into the phone. Better looking than his brother, Marcella judged;

then again, he hadn’t had to go through what Den had been through. Still, she could appreciate what Maddy saw in him.

In a purely dispassionate way, of course.

She watched the expression on Kerr’s face change as he realised who had just walked into his office. Unsmiling, Marcella stood there and regarded him in silence, exuding menace.

‘Er, sorry, I’ll have to call you back,’ Kerr muttered into the phone. Slowly he replaced the receiver. Marcella couldn’t see his hand shaking, but she wouldn’t mind betting he was quaking inside.

And now ... Oh, this was fantastic, the colour was actually draining from his face! If only she’d thought to bring a video camera.

The silence lengthened. It was like High Noon. Finally M a r c e l l a s p o k e .

‘Scared?’

‘Yes.’

‘Good. I’d hate to think I was losing my touch.’

A muscle flickered in Kerr’s jaw. ‘Does Maddy know you’re here?’

‘No.’

‘Right.’

‘Your brother does, though. He’s downstairs. We’ve just had a long chat,’ said Marcella.

‘Everything’s been sorted out. I went to see your mother this afternoon, too.’

‘You what?’ Kerr shook his head in disbelief. ‘She actually told you ... ?’

‘The whole story, but we don’t have time to go into that now. I’m sure you know how I feel about your mother. As for Den, well, I’m just glad the truth’s come out. Better late than never. Now, about you.’ Marcella paused to check her watch. ‘How do you feel about Maddy?’

Lost for words, Kerr said, ‘Er ... er ...’

‘Come on now, we don’t have all day.’ Marcella widened her eyes enquiringly at him. ‘Still interested? Or no longer interested, that was weeks ago, you’ve met someone else far better since then—’

‘Stop,’ Kerr said hurriedly. ‘Still interested.’

‘Good.’ Marcella’s expression softened.

‘I knew it.’ Behind her, Sara was triumphant. Nudging Marcella she said, ‘Didn’t I tell you?

Ha, nothing gets past me!’

‘Sara? Could you get back to your desk now? I think I can handle this myself,’ said Kerr.

‘It’s OK, we’re going now anyway,’ Marcella consoled the disappointed receptionist.

Taken aback, Kerr said, ‘We?’

‘ You’re the boss around here, aren’t you? Surely you can give yourself the rest of the afternoon off.’ Breaking into a smile, Marcella said, ‘It’s the least I can do for my daughter.’

‘And no gossiping with the others,’ Kerr firmly instructed Sara as he left with his jacket over his shoulder and Marcella in tow.

‘No gossiping.’ Sara obediently zipped her mouth shut.

‘You can count on me.’

‘And if you believe that, you’ll believe anything,’ Kerr murmured as they headed down the stairs.

‘There’s something I don’t get here. When you thought my brother had caused the accident, you refused to speak to me. Now you know it was my mother, you’re fine. But it was still a member of my family. I don’t understand—’

‘Hey, don’t worry.’ Marcella’s tone was soothing. ‘It makes sense to me. And that’s what counts.’

Chapter 59

‘Look, you have to cheer up, you knew it was going to happen sooner or later.’

Kate gave the bar a final violent polish. Dexter was doing his best, but he really wasn’t helping matters. If she was honest, she’d been quietly fantasising to herself that Barbara Kendall might e-mail them from Sydney, announcing that she’d decided to stay there for good.

‘I tell you what, we’ll go out this weekend and get you a dog of your own,’ said Dexter.

If he didn’t shut up, Kate thought she might stuff her polishing cloth down his throat. He might mean well, but another dog wasn’t what she wanted. It wouldn’t be the same.

‘I want Norris.’

‘It’s ten past three. We’ve got this party to go to,’ said Dexter.

Kate heaved a sigh. Tiff’s welcome home party wasn’t what she was in the mood for. Was this how foster mothers felt? Just as you began to truly bond with your charge, he was brutally snatched away? God, it was inhuman.

Except Norris wasn’t a human, he was a dog.

But it was just so unfair. It shouldn’t be allowed. Kate wiped her eyes, which had been leaking, on and off, throughout the lunchtime session. She knew she had to pull herself together, but that was easier said than done. The prospect of never hearing Norris’s lovely snuffly breathing again, or never stroking his velvety jowls, was just ... just .. .

‘Come on,’ said Dexter, ‘don’t cry. I’ll give you five minutes to do your face while I close up, then we’re off.’

Locking the front door behind them, they set off up the road. Kate was touched by Dexter’s concern; he had his arm round her and was being extra nice. What would happen to the two of them in the long term she hadn’t the faintest idea. Would their relationship last? Who knew? She wasn’t under any illusions where Dexter was concerned. Nuala may not have been the right girl for him, but he had treated her poorly. It stood to reason that, as time passed, he might start to take her for granted too.

Then again, he might not. At the moment she still got that squiggly excited feeling in her stomach every time she looked at him, but whether they’d last as a couple was anyone’s guess. She certainly wouldn’t put up with any nonsense. The only thing to do was maintain the upper hand and take the relationship one day at a

‘Watch out,’ Dexter said sharply, yanking her back as she was about to cross the road. A grubby red Audi rounded the corner and shot past in a cloud of dust.

Kate wondered if she was seeing things. Her mouth dropped open and her heart began to bang. Was that really who she thought it was, sitting in the passenger seat?

‘Norris!’ she gasped, and Dexter gave her waist a sympathetic squeeze.

‘Sweetheart, it just looks a bit like Norris. You can’t—’

‘What’s going on?’ Kate, who knew better, held her breath as the red Audi went into a handbrake turn, circling the war memorial at the end of the street before roaring back up the road towards them.

Another squeal of brakes and it drew to a halt beside Dexter and Kate.

‘Oh my God,’ Kate said faintly as Barbara Kendall buzzed down her window and Norris, clambering across her with no regard whatsoever for MaxMara trousers, squeezed like toothpaste through the narrow gap onto the pavement. Hurling himself joyfully at Kate, Norris let out a volley of high-pitched yodelling barks.

Rather than follow him through the open window, Barbara Kendall opened the driver’s door and stepped out.

‘There you are! I just drove up to your house but there’s no one at home. Thank goodness I caught you. All he’s done since we got him home is howl nonstop.’ Her words spilled out in a torrent. ‘It’s driving us insane. We can’t hear ourselves think. Can I be frank with you? Bernard and I have actually enjoyed not having the responsibility of caring for a pet for the last six weeks. If we didn’t have one, we could take so many more breaks, whenever we wanted, and to be honest, neither of us finds it much fun having to take this one for walks. So we wondered if you were serious about taking Norris off our hands, because if you are, well, we wouldn’t mind a bit.’

Kate would have marvelled at Barbara Kendall’s couldn’t care-less attitude but she was too busy kneeling on the hot dusty pavement getting her face thoroughly licked by an ecstatic Norris. Dexter, who had heard what had gone on in the kitchen at Dauncey House this morning, frowned.

‘So why didn’t you say this before? When Kate offered to keep him?’ And save me having to put up with all this grief for the last three hours?

Barbara Kendall, enthusiastically brushing dog hairs from her smart trousers, looked up and said,

‘Hmm? Well, it was one of those silly misunderstandings! Bernard and I have only just admitted the truth to each other. We inherited Norris when his aunt died, you see. Bernard was never wild about dogs, but he tolerated Norris because for some reason he thought I wanted a pet. And of course I wasn’t that keen at all, but I pretended to be because I didn’t want to hurt Bernard’s feelings. So that’s all sorted out,’ she said cheerfully. ‘And the thing is, look at Norris now! He seems so much happier with you than he does at home with us!’

‘I wonder why,’ Dexter muttered, just about beneath his breath.

‘So?’ Barbara was jangling her car keys and looking expectant. ‘What d’ you think?’

I think you’re a cruel heartless witch with a face like a donkey, Dexter was sorely tempted to retort, but heroically he kept this opinion to himself. For Kate’s sake rather than Barbara Kendall’s.

‘We’d love to keep him.’ Kate beamed, hugging Norris so hard she almost lost her balance. ‘Thank you so much.’

‘Well, that’s done.’ Barbara Kendall looked relieved. ‘I must say, from all the things I’d heard about you, I didn’t have you down as a dog-lover.’

Norris lovingly licked Kate’s neck. As she fondled his gorgeous ears, it crossed her mind to demand furiously what on earth Barbara Kendall meant by that.

Then again, did she really want to know?

Honestly, where was Marcella? It wasn’t like her to not be here when she’d promised not to be late. Feeling hot and slightly put-upon, Maddy carried two huge bowls of cherries outside, to add to the food laid out on the trellis table. Everyone else, it seemed, was far too busy being one half of a couple and chatting in a couply fashion to other couples, to bother giving her a hand. Kate and Dexter were here, along with Oliver and Estelle. And Jake and Juliet, doing their best not to fuss over Tiff who was – in honour of the fact that he was an invalid and this was his party – holding court from the shaded hammock.

As for Norris and Bean, they were a picture of perfect coupledom, rolling joyfully around together on the freshly mown grass. Romping together, frisking together, even frolicking .. .

Lucky things, Maddy thought, experiencing a pang of envy. What she wouldn’t give for a romp and a frolic.

Oh dear, it came to something when you found yourself wishing you could be a dog.

Sophie, tugging at Maddy’s elbow, said, ‘Dad says we need more ice for the drinks. We’re running out.’

‘Hang on.’ Feeling like Cinderella, Maddy headed inside to the cool of the kitchen, where Nuala was putting together a Waldorf salad. Of course, how could she even think she was the only one on her own? She and Nuala could be batty spinsters together, growing old and becoming increasingly pernickety as the years slid by.

‘Bugger,’ said Maddy, peering into the freezer. ‘That was the last of the ice.’

‘Bugger.’ Sophie heaved a sigh, rolling her eyes with glee.

‘I can get a couple of bags from the Angel,’ Nuala offered. ‘Dexter’s always got loads, he won’t mind. If you finish this,’ she gestured to Maddy, ‘I’ll get the key to the pub off him and zip over there.’

Maddy washed her hands and obediently crossed to the table to take over from Nuala. Making salads together, this was only the start. Before long they’d be crocheting tea cosies, writing to the council about the state of the highways, tramping about the countryside in matching patchwork waistcoats and floral wellies-

‘ Yowww,’ Maddy yelped. She’d squeezed a lemon with a bit too much vigour and managed to squirt juice into her eye. ‘Oosh.’ Blinking, she managed to dislodge her contact lens and had to bend double in order to pop it out then neatly catch it in the palm of her hand. This was just one of the drawbacks you learned to deal with when you wore contacts; every so often, like babies, they demanded attention this instant.

Luckily her handbag was lying on the window ledge and inside it were the necessary bottles of contact lens cleaning and soaking solution. Grabbing the bag, Maddy headed upstairs to the bathroom, still blinking lemon juice out of her eye.

Chapter 60

‘Right,’ said Marcella, ‘here we go.’ Her dark eyes danced as she climbed out of the dark blue Mercedes. ‘Kerr, you come with me. Darling,’ she turned to Den, ‘would you mind awfully waiting here for a few minutes? It’s just that Jake’s at the party, and I want to be able to explain everything to him first.’

‘That’s fine.’ Den wasn’t offended. ‘No problem. I’ll just sit here on this wall.’ At the sound of a door slamming behind him, he turned and saw a girl emerging from the Fallen Angel, the same girl he’d seen here the other day. Her hair was lit by the sun and she was carrying two hefty bags of ice. As she looked up and saw she was being watched, her eyes widened in recognition. Fumbling with the keys to the pub, she clutched both ice bags to her chest, which surely couldn’t be comfortable.

‘Nuala!’ Marcella clapped her hands in delight. ‘Just the girl! Will you do me a huge favour, darling? Wait out here for two minutes with this charming young man and keep him company?’

‘Um ...’ stammered Nuala, going bright pink and gazing helplessly at Den, then briefly at Kerr, then back again at Den. ‘Er, OK.’

‘You two just have a nice chat,’ Marcella said helpfully, ‘and we’ll give you a shout when we’re ready for you. Now,’ she went on, slipping her arm through Kerr’s, ‘let’s have a bit of fun, shall we?’

Nuala watched Marcella and her mystery companion disappear together through the front door of Snow Cottage. Finding her tongue at last, Nuala said, ‘Hello.’

‘Hi,’ said Den.

‘Um, did I see you here the other day?’

‘You did.’ Den nodded, discreetly taking in the gorgeous curvy legs which had previously been hidden by a pair of jeans. ‘Watch out for frostbite, by the way.’

‘Hmm? Oh!’ Belatedly discovering she still had the bags of ice cubes clamped to her chest, Nuala placed them on the ground beside her feet. Attempting to hide the fact that beneath her white top her nipples (yelping, ‘Ouch, we’re cold!’) were standing to attention, she said, ‘So, um, who was that with Marcella?’

Den wanted to kiss her. OK, not yet, have some decorum. ‘Him? That’s my brother.’

‘And who are you?’ Nuala was studying him with just as much undisguised pleasure as he’d been studying her.

It wasn’t just his imagination, he realised. She really wanted to kiss him too. Feeling as if he’d truly come home, he took a step towards her.

‘I’m his brother,’ said Den.

The ice cubes were beginning to melt at Nuala’s feet. Moving them into the shade of the garden wall would help, but Nuala was finding it hard to care about the fate of a bunch of ice cubes. She hadn’t the faintest idea where Marcella had managed to get hold of these two brothers but she was jolly glad she had. Anyway, that was Maddy’s mother for you; you never knew what she might do next.

In a daze, Nuala wondered if Marcella had met the pair by chance in Bath, running into them in the street and persuading them, in that impulsive, irresistible way of hers, to come along with her to a party in Ashcombe. Or maybe she’d been for one of her antenatal appointments at the hospital and had got chatting to them, as you do, in the waiting room .. .

Oh Lord.

Gulping, Nuala blurted out, ‘Is your wife having a baby?’

‘I don’t have a wife.’ His thin, tanned face – oh, those cheekbones! – registered amusement at the question. ‘Or a girlfriend. And I most definitely don’t have a baby.’

Having screwed the tops onto the plastic bottles of cleansing and wetting solution, Maddy checked her face in the bathroom mirror. The contact lens was safely back in place. She could see again – namely, her own unsmiling reflection, in sharp contrast to all the cheerful animated faces out in the garden. This wasn’t good enough, it really wasn’t, she should be looking jollier, today was a celebration of-

‘Maddy, are you up there?’

Maddy looked in the mirror, reminding herself of a tight lipped, long-suffering mother whose wayward teenage daughter had promised to be home two hours ago.

Except this was no wayward teenager, it was Marcella.

‘So you bothered to turn up at last,’ she called out, unzipping her make-up bag. ‘You were supposed to be back before three.’

‘I know. Sorry, darling. I got held up. But I’m here now,’ Marcella shouted. ‘Are you coming down?’

Why? Did they need her to make more salads? Rustle up a few quiches? Find a mop because someone had just spilled their drink?

Slowly taking out her Maybelline mascara, because all that faffing about with her contact lens had left her with a bald right eye, Maddy called out, ‘In a minute. I’m busy.’

There, see? She wasn’t a pushover.

‘Come down now.’ Marcella’s tone was cajoling. ‘I’ve brought you a present.’

‘What is it?’

‘Something nice.’

Maddy finished with the mascara and gravely regarded her reflection. She loved Marcella more than life itself, but when it came to presents her taste could be inescapably dodgy. The last time she’d done this had been after Maddy had happened to mention in passing that she’d enjoyed the latest Harry Potter film.

Two days later, following a visit to Aldridge’s Auction House in Bath, Marcella had arrived home in a taxi with a moth-eaten stuffed barn owl in a glass case.

‘Come on,’ Marcella said now. ‘You’ll like it, I promise.’

Hmm. Maddy squirted on some perfume in an attempt to launch herself into more of a party mood. Her lipstick had worn off. Should she put more on, or not bother? If it wasn’t going to cheer her up, was there really any point?

No, sod it, why should she?

‘Maddy, will you get out of that bathroom!’

‘I’m BUSY,’ Maddy bellowed.

‘And I’m PREGNANT,’ Marcella shouted back up the stairs, ‘which means I win, because if I don’t get to the loo this minute, I’m going to—’

‘OK, OK.’ Conceding defeat, Maddy irritably straightened the straps on her pink dress then unlocked the bathroom door. As she stomped out onto the landing, she froze.

There he was. Kerr. Maddy blinked and clutched the banister rail, wondering if she was in fact awake.

Right, pinch yourself. Go on, pinch your arm really hard – ow.

It made no sense, but it appeared to be actually happening.

Kerr McKinnon was here in Snow Cottage, at the bottom of this very staircase, with Marcella at his side.

‘Hi,’ said Kerr, his dark eyes glinting with amusement and what looked like love.

Feeling giddy, Maddy stammered, ‘H-hi.’

Marcella said delightedly, ‘You see? I told you it was a nice surprise!’

Determined not to faint Maddy nodded. ‘Um, yes.’

Marcella tucked her arm affectionately through Kerr’s and gave it a squeeze. ‘My daughter doesn’t trust me,’ she confided. ‘I think she thought you might be another stuffed owl in a glass case.’

‘What’s going on?’ Maddy began to descend the stairs. ‘I was kidnapped,’ said Kerr. ‘From my office.’

‘By me,’ Marcella added with pride.

Kerr, propelling Marcella gently but firmly in the direction of the kitchen, said, ‘Thanks, but I think we can manage the rest of this by ourselves.’

When the kitchen door had closed behind Marcella, Maddy ventured further down the staircase.

Scarcely daring to breathe, she whispered, ‘Is it really you?’

‘Damn, don’t tell me you haven’t got your lenses in again.’ Kerr was smiling now; as she reached the last step, he took her trembling hands in his. ‘You’re about to be horribly disappointed if you thought I was Brad Pitt.’

Document Outline

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