Honeycote (40 page)

Lucy was allowed to go and see her husband before he went down to theatre; they were getting ready for him now. James squeezed her hand as she was led away. She was warned that Mickey wasn’t a pretty sight, probably unrecognizable.

James peered through the blinds into the room and saw Lucy at Mickey’s bedside, her head bowed, holding his hand. Her lips moved silently. Her eyes were closed. Was she praying? He thought she probably was, and in that moment he realized he’d lost her. No matter what happened now, she’d slipped through his fingers. He’d possessed her for a few golden moments only, moments that he would treasure as long as he lived.

He stared at his brother’s motionless figure, at the wires and drips and apparatus that were keeping him alive. There was one chance, he supposed… But no matter how hard James tried, he couldn’t quite bring himself to wish his brother dead.

As soon as the call came through from James outlining Mickey’s predicament, Keith swung into action. Patrick had insisted on driving, but Keith wouldn’t hear of it. He’d take them all over to the hospital in the Landcruiser. The girls were woken and stood, shocked and dazed, in the hallway, shivering even though the central heating never went off at The Cedars.

Sandra was hovering on the fringe of the action. The news was sobering by its very nature and she was horrified by what had happened, but not really sure what role she should take. It didn’t help that she was being totally ignored. Until everyone was about to leave. Keith turned to her.

‘I don’t suppose I’ll be back before tomorrow. I’ll hang on until I know exactly what’s going on. See what help I can be. I’ll bring the girls back here if necessary.’

Sandra nodded, grateful that this new drama was going to take the heat away from the earlier incident.

‘Shall I get some shopping in?’

Keith looked at her coldly.

‘No. I think the best thing you can do is be gone by the time I get back.’

Sandra’s mouth dropped open slackly. He could see every single white filling he’d paid for, to replace the myriad black ones. He jabbed the car keys in her direction to emphasize his seriousness.

‘I mean it.’

The front door slammed shut and Sandra sank to her knees. Somehow she knew that Keith was deadly serious.

In the car, Keith had flicked the speakers to the back. A soothing Enya track was playing for the girls, who sat pale and anxious in their seats, unable to sleep but not wanting to talk either. Mandy had insisted on coming and Keith had relented: better that she gave Sophie and Georgina her support than found herself subjected to Sandra’s hysterical ranting.

Keith looked at Patrick sideways. The shock, rather than ageing him, had taken years off him, and he looked like a young boy, white with the fear of the unknown. He was trying to look calm and in control, but Keith could see his jaw was clenched, and his fists. He felt a surge of almost paternal protectiveness. Patrick wasn’t really much more than a child, in spite of the confident air he carried with him.

‘Are you OK?’

Patrick nodded.

‘I just want to get there. See dad.’ His voice trembled, ever so slightly. ‘I can’t believe it.’

‘You know, if there is anything I can do to help…’

‘You are helping. By driving us.’

Patrick smiled his thanks. Keith persisted.

‘I meant with the brewery.’ He paused. He had to be tactful. He didn’t want to seem as if he was fishing for information; poking his nose in where it wasn’t wanted. ‘I get the feeling things are a bit…’

He trailed off, suddenly feeling that no matter how he put it he was intruding. After all, he was only working on instinct. None of the Liddiards had hinted there was anything amiss; but Keith was perceptive. And Mandy had told him she thought there might be money worries, out of concern for her friends.

Patrick sighed. This wasn’t how it was supposed to happen. He’d wanted to be in control when he laid the bait down for Keith. But perhaps now was the time, otherwise events were going to take over and the golden window of opportunity would be lost. At least if the seeds were sown in Keith’s mind, they could move forward quickly, for Patrick felt sure that speed was of the essence if the brewery was to be saved. Anyway, they had another thirty miles to go before they got to the hospital. It would take his mind off things. He didn’t want to think about what had happened to Mickey, or indeed what might happen. Deep down he had a naive faith that his father was invincible, immortal, that he would walk away from the accident unharmed. He had to cling on to that belief, otherwise he was terribly afraid he might break down. And he had to be strong, for Lucy, for Sophie and Georgina, for himself.

‘You’re right. Dad’s been worried sick for months.’

‘What’s the problem?’

‘Cash flow, mainly. We want to move forward but we’re being dragged under by our existing debts.’

‘Many a good business has fallen at that fence.’

Patrick winced. He didn’t need to hear that. He was going to have to strike a fine line, sound vaguely optimistic while at the same time subtly proffering the begging bowl.

‘Thing is, we’ve got great plans, if only we could get ourselves out of the mire. It’s extremely frustrating.’

Keith nodded in agreement.

‘There must be hundreds of different directions you could take. I can see the potential.’ He chortled self-deprecatingly. ‘Even as a plumber.’

This was encouraging. It gave Patrick the courage to go on to describe the future of Honeycote Ales as he saw it. He’d memorized the bullet points on Caroline’s outline, and he had to admit to himself it sounded convincing, an inviting investment project. Keith listened, interested. Patrick finished with a sigh.

‘Trouble is, we haven’t got any cash. The bank will lend, of course, but the rates are out of the question. It’s that or sell a pub, which would be suicide. What’s the point of having a brewery with no tied houses?’

‘So you’re looking for a… what do they call them these days? A business angel?’

‘I suppose so. But it’s got to be someone who understands the way we do things. Not someone that will try and take over – stamp on everything we’ve done over the past hundred and fifty years. It needs to be someone sensitive, with creative flair, who appreciates it’s a family business. We don’t want anyone stepping on our toes.’

Patrick wanted to make that quite clear from the start. Keith seemed to take on board everything he was saying. He asked a few pertinent questions, which Patrick did his best to answer. He knew he was on dangerous ground, bullshitting like this, but Keith appeared to swallow his answers and be genuinely interested.

‘So how much are you looking for? Two? Three?’

Patrick faltered. He didn’t actually have a clue.

Everything he’d said up to now was pure flannel – he’d been thinking on his feet. He didn’t want to be pinned down to actual figures. He spoke carefully.

‘I suppose we’re looking at three. That’s probably what we’d get if we sold one of our pubs.’

Keith frowned.

‘Three hundred thousand?’

‘Yes.’

‘Oh. Right.’ Keith was silent for a moment and Patrick panicked. Had he overestimated the depths of his coffers? Come across as too greedy? Keith smiled. ‘Actually, I was thinking about millions. Two or three million. If you want to do the job properly, surely that’s the sort of figure you’d be looking at?’

Patrick felt a bit sick. How bloody green could you get? Keith must be laughing his head off inwardly. If he could misjudge the amount needed that badly, Keith must know that everything else he’d been saying was utter bollocks. He’d screwed up big time.

They arrived at the hospital and parked in a cowed silence, the uncertainty of what they were to discover inside hanging over them. Keith ushered the Liddiards forwards through the door, with Mandy following anxiously behind. There was something comforting about Keith’s presence, thought Patrick. He felt sure he was a good bloke. Pity he’d messed up his pitch like that.

As they made their way through miles of luminously lit corridor, Keith thought about what Patrick had been saying. He didn’t have much business experience, that much was obvious. But his ideas were spot on, and you couldn’t get away from the fact that Honeycote Ales was oozing promise, given the right hand on the tiller. And Keith rather liked the idea of being a business angel. An image of himself as a fat little cherub hovering over the brewery giving divine guidance came into his head and he smiled.

One door closes as another door opens, he thought, as they arrived at the forbidding entrance of the Intensive Care Unit. Not that he wanted to step into anyone’s grave. He hoped fervently that Mickey was all right. He thought he was a pretty decent bloke, even if he was a crap businessman.

By the time the girls were reunited with their mother, with many hugs and tears, the news was encouraging, The first operation had gone well. Whatever fears the surgeons might have had about internal bleeding were abated, and Mickey was critical but stable. They were happy enough with his progress to start rebuilding his leg, which was going to be a long and painstaking process. But the initial panic was over.

Lucy sent the girls home with James, with promises to ring if anything went wrong. After all, there was no point in them all crowding up the corridor, speculating and drinking disgusting coffee out of the machine. Mandy and Keith were going to stay on for a while with Patrick, then take him back to Solihull so he could collect the Defender and then go home.

Lucy looked a dreadful colour, almost green under the harsh fluorescent lighting. Her head was throbbing. She’d drunk more than she usually did earlier on in the evening, so she’d probably got a premature hangover, never mind the stress. Half of her longed for her bed, but the other half was too wired. Patrick went off for a cigarette, and she wished fervently that she smoked. If she’d ever come across a chain-smoking situation, then this was it.

Keith put a comforting hand on her shoulder.

‘I know it’s what everyone says, but if there’s anything I can do – ’

Lucy smiled at him gratefully.

‘Thank you.’

Keith felt an urgent need to reassure her.

‘He’s going to be all right, you know.’

Lucy’s chin wobbled. Keith thought it would probably be better if she let it all out. He braced himself for a flood of tears. But she seemed to recover herself. She turned to him with something that seemed like defiance.

‘Actually, it would probably have been better for everyone if he’d died.’

Lucy screwed up her eyes, still fighting to hold back the tears, even though she wasn’t sure exactly where to focus her looming grief: on Mickey’s betrayal, her own shame at what she had done or the accident. She pressed her fists into her sockets for a moment to staunch the flow, then realized Keith was looking at her in utter bewilderment.

‘Mickey’s been having an affair. With Lawrence Oakley’s wife.’

Keith thought back to Christmas Day lunch at Honeycote House and Lawrence’s revelations. He was shocked. So Mickey was the culprit, was he? He hadn’t met Mrs Oakley, but she must be something special for Mickey to jeopardize his marriage. Lucy gave him an ironic smile.

‘So you’re in good company. Our respective spouses have both done the dirty on us. What have we done to deserve it, do you think?’

Keith shrugged.

‘I don’t think you necessarily need to do anything to deserve it. I’m sure you didn’t. And I don’t suppose I did either. It’s an occupational hazard once you get married.’ He paused, then smiled ruefully. ‘Sandra was there when I got home. I’ve told her not to be there when I get back. I’ve told her I want a divorce.’

Lucy started chewing the side of her finger. Her nerves were unravelling, fraying at the edges; she felt light-headed. Almost as if she wasn’t there. But she knew she was.

‘How long do you think I should wait before I ask Mickey for one? Till he comes out of surgery? Or shall I give him a couple of days to recuperate?’ She laughed – a trifle hysterically, but she thought she was entitled to be hysterical. Keith blinked.

‘You don’t want a divorce, surely?’

‘Why not? He can screw who he likes then.’

Lucy knew she was overreacting, but she wanted reassurance and somehow she knew Keith would give it to her. He was a romantic deep down. And sure enough, Keith found himself virtually pleading with Lucy. It mattered to him that what the Liddiards had was kept intact. He didn’t care about his own marriage, but he was determined that the perfection of life at Honeycote House, at Honeycote Ales, should be preserved. That way he could be sure it was attainable, that perhaps one day he could find the same perfection elsewhere. It was the Liddiards who’d given him hope, the courage to change his own life. One little flaw, one minor indiscretion on Mickey’s part, wouldn’t shatter his illusion.

‘I’m not divorcing Sandra because she was unfaithful. In a funny way that doesn’t matter to me. It happens all the time; people get tempted. I’m divorcing her because she never cared about us – me and her and Mandy – never thought about us as a family. She always put herself first. Mickey might have been unfaithful, but he cared – cares – about all of you. Anyone can see that. All of you sitting round that table on Christmas Day… you could feel the warmth. You don’t know how envious I felt. I could never offer anyone that kind of hospitality, not in a million years.’

Lucy was about to open her mouth to protest, but Keith put his hand up to stop her. He was in full flow. What he was saying surprised even himself.

‘I know what you’re going to say. OK, so everything’s been blown a bit off-course. But if you don’t forgive him, think of what you’d be giving up. You don’t know how lucky you are.’

Lucy’s eyebrows shot up in the air. Lucky? Her philandering bastard of a husband had just driven into a brick wall, was on the operating table as they spoke, and she was supposed to be lucky? She’d be lucky if she wasn’t organizing his funeral by the end of the day. She allowed her imagination to wander a bit further – Kay at the graveside, belly swollen with Mickey’s love child, demanding its right to the inheritance. Oh yes, that was OK – she wouldn’t get her hands on that because there wasn’t anything to inherit. Only debts.