Just a Family Affair (47 page)

‘She’s staying at the Peacock. In the flat.’

Lucy digested this new piece of information. Patrick and Mickey waited tensely for her reaction. How would she feel, knowing her nemesis had been billeted only a few miles away?

‘That flat’s . . . uninhabitable,’ she said finally.

‘We made it as comfortable as we could,’ replied Patrick.

‘You have been busy.’ Lucy looked back and forth between the two of them. ‘Right. Well, we better phone her. Sit round the table and thrash it all out.’

‘Today?’ Things were happening too quickly for Mickey.

‘The others are back from Puerto Banus on Tuesday morning. Sophie and Ned get in that evening. I think we need everything straight by then. So we can tell everyone what’s going on.

Mickey quailed at the thought of his daughters knowing his sordid past. But he knew Lucy was right. He marvelled at her fighting spirit, her ability to see the bigger picture, her determination to keep everything together for them. Though he doubted he was completely off the hook. Surely in a quieter moment, when they were alone together, there would be recriminations.

Patrick picked up his car keys.

‘Come on, Dad. I’ll drive you over.’

Mickey was about to protest, but Patrick looked pointedly at the empty bottle on the table.

‘Ask her for supper.’ Lucy stood up decisively. ‘Get her to bring Flora over so we can meet her. She’s going to be one of the family from now on.’

 

At the Peacock, Kay watched from the window as Patrick and Mickey got out of the car and walked across the courtyard to the flat’s entrance. She felt a cold chill settle around her heart. They looked so serious. She saw Patrick glance up to the window nervously, and she stood back so he couldn’t see her.

For a moment she compared them. Which, she wondered, would she choose now? Mickey, very much the English country gent, distinguished but slightly unkempt, always looking as if he had just jumped off a horse or a woman. Or Patrick, with those Byronic features, haughtier than his father but with that decadent edge. They were so similar, yet so different. As she knew. Her cheeks burned slightly as the memories fast-forwarded through her mind - her and Mickey in the back of a horse box, her and Patrick in a gazebo. Those stolen moments that had such far-reaching consequences for all of them.

Why were they here? Had they come to tell her that they weren’t going to play ball? That there wasn’t going to be any money? She knew she shouldn’t have counted her chickens. She’d been to look at a couple of houses - nothing special, because she would never be able to afford what she wanted. But she longed to be settled and to have a roof over their head that they could call home, so Flora could feel secure and have her things around her.

She’d also made the mistake of booking Flora in for a trial day at Hazlehurst, the little prep school in Eldenbury. They had a place for her in September if she wanted it. And Kay knew that if she wanted anything for her daughter, it was that. She would make every sacrifice and work her fingers to the bone to pay the school fees. But if the Liddiards weren’t going to contribute, it was out of the question.

Of course, she’d get money out of them in the end. But it would be a long, drawn-out and humiliating process and she didn’t think she had the strength to fight. She felt so weary. Depressed. The doctor had told her it was hardly surprising, and to make sure she looked after herself - eat well, get plenty of fresh air. She got plenty of that all right - the wind whistled through the cracks in the window panes.

She heard the knocker on the flat door go. Flora was colouring quietly in the living room. She rushed into the bathroom to look at her appearance. She’d need at least half an hour to even start to look human. She ran her fingers through her hair to try and give it a semblance of body, then gave up.

Her heart felt heavy as she went to open the door.

‘Hey!’ said Patrick as soon as he saw the expression on her face. ‘It’s all right. We’ve only come to ask you for supper.’

Mickey stepped forward. ‘I’ve told Lucy everything, Kay. I don’t want to keep you and Flora a secret. You shouldn’t be locked away here. We want you to be . . . part of the family.’

‘Oh.’ She looked from father to son warily.

‘We want to offer you Little Orwell Cottage,’ Patrick went on. ‘It belongs to me, but it would be perfect for you and Flora.’

Kay blinked. This wasn’t what she’d expected. She’d been convinced they were going to try and fob her off somehow.

‘Of course, if you don’t like it we can think again,’ Mickey finished.

Kay couldn’t help it. She threw herself on his shoulder and wept. She was tired of being strong and brave. She was tired of doing the maths and coming up with zero on the bank balance. Most of all, she was tired of being alone. But now it seemed as if she might have a future.

‘It’s OK,’ said Mickey, patting her shoulder. ‘Everything’s going to be all right.’

‘Sorry.’ Kay pulled herself together, wiping the tears away, thinking that she must now look even worse, if that was possible.

Flora appeared in the doorway, clutching her colouring book.

‘I need a purple,’ she announced, totally ignoring the visitors. ‘And I haven’t got one.’

Kay sighed. If only real life was that simple, and all you wanted was a purple. How easy would that be?

Mickey was insistent that she should only come for supper if she felt up to it. He didn’t want her to feel intimidated.

‘You’re joking,’ she said. ‘I’m desperate for a meal with other human beings. I’d have dinner with Genghis Khan and Hannibal Lecter, given half the chance.’

‘Anyway,’ said Patrick. ‘We’re not going to eat her.’ Mickey was gazing through the doorway at the little girl, still engrossed in her colouring. ‘What do we tell Flora?’ he asked.

Kay had liked the idea of moving into Little Orwell Cottage. And she nearly bit Mickey’s hand off when he suggested working at the brewery.

‘At least I’ll have a sympathetic boss,’ she managed to joke, ‘if Flora gets chicken pox.’

But they hadn’t really discussed how to explain everything. Kay sighed.

‘Can we cross that bridge another day?’ she asked. ‘I just don’t know. I think she’s too little to take much in. Can we just say . . . we’re friends? For the time being while she gets to know you?’

Mickey nodded, marvelling yet again at how complicated the situation was. Every time you solved one problem, it threw up another, which was astonishing given the split second it had taken to get into the situation in the first place. With a bit of luck, things would get easier now.

 

An hour and a half later, Kay’s mouth was dry with nerves as she drove towards Honeycote. She’d had a shower, blow-dried her hair properly, put on some make-up. She was wearing a fresh pair of jeans and a cream cotton twin set; comfortable, but low key. She knew Lucy would look stunning. She always did.

Was Lucy Liddiard actually a saint? Kay wondered. How could anybody be quite so good, welcoming her husband’s ex-mistress into the family home? Kay hoped sincerely it wasn’t some sort of trap. Maybe Lucy planned to push her down the cellar steps, lock her in and keep Flora for her own?

Kay told herself not to be paranoid. Lucy was just being practical and grown-up. As she came to the outskirts of Honeycote, she wondered if she should have stopped off for chocolates or flowers. It seemed rude to turn up empty-handed when Lucy was going to so much trouble at short notice. But the village shop was closed and she wasn’t going to turn round and go into Eldenbury just so she could appear with a box of After Eights.

Anyway, she pointed out to herself, they were family now.

As she turned into the drive of Honeycote House, she suddenly felt another flood of nerves. The house looked stunning in the early evening sun and the scent of freshly cut grass evoked a wave of nostalgia.

Lucy appeared on the doorstep. Kay felt her courage leaving her. What if Lucy turned on her?

She wouldn’t. She was far too gracious. Kay got out of the car, and busied herself helping Flora get out. Together they walked hand in hand to the front of the house.

‘Kay,’ said Lucy, and ran down the few steps to greet her. Kay felt her arms around her, her cool cheek against hers.

‘I’m so sorry about Lawrence,’ Lucy kept her voice low, so Flora wouldn’t hear. ‘You poor thing . . .’

‘Thank you.’ Kay had learned to accept condolences automatically and without emotion.

‘And is this Flora?’ Lucy knelt down and looked into Flora’s face with a smile. ‘Flora, I’m Lucy.’

Flora gave an uncertain smile, and held on to Kay’s hand. Lucy stood up, and ushered them into the house.

‘It’s only shepherd’s pie,’ she said. ‘Pot luck, I’m afraid. And everything’s a bit chaotic, because of the wedding.’

 

Half an hour later, Kay was eternally grateful for the wedding. It had given them all something neutral to talk about while drinks were prepared and Lucy put the finishing touches to the meal.

‘How long’s supper?’ asked Mickey.

‘About ten minutes.’

‘Can I take Flora outside? I want to show her something and it will be too dark after we’ve eaten.’

Kay nodded her consent, and Flora seemed quite happy to trot outside with him.

She was left alone in the kitchen with Lucy, who brought over a thick white envelope and dropped it on the table in front of her. Kay opened it uncertainly. It was an invitation to the wedding, with Kay and Flora written in ink on the dotted line left blank for guests.

‘Thank you,’ said Kay. ‘We’d love to come.’

‘Good,’ replied Lucy. ‘It’s up to you what you want to tell people, by the way. We won’t say anything unless you want us to.’

She smoothed the mashed potato over the top of the mince. Kay watched her evenly. She’d got the measure of Lucy now. She was cleverer than the men gave her credit for. Acknowledging Kay’s presence and bringing her into the family fold like this was damage limitation at its best. Kay now had absolutely no leverage over any of them. Her power had been diminished. She was no longer a shameful secret to be kept at all costs. There would be no danger of her using emotional blackmail. Lucy had made sure, very subtly, that from now on Kay would have to toe the line and play by their rules.

Frankly, she didn’t care. She wasn’t going to rock the boat. She had what she wanted. Correction, she had what she was entitled to. It had been a long haul and now, at last, perhaps she could start looking forwards. Any trouble had already been caused.

But she wasn’t going to let Lucy intimidate her.

She picked up her wine. ‘Anyway,’ she said contentedly. ‘Cheers.’

And she met Lucy’s gaze boldly as they clinked glasses.

 

Outside, Flora stood open-mouthed in front of Pudding’s stable. Pudding peered over the top nosily.

‘I really need somebody to ride him,’ Mickey was explaining. ‘He gets very bored, you see. And my girls are too big for him now. Would you like to come and ride him for me?’

Flora reached out her hand to stroke his nose. ‘Is he naughty?’ she asked.

‘He’s very naughty sometimes,’ replied Mickey. ‘But he needs someone to love him.’

‘I love him,’ decided Flora. ‘Definitely. Will I need a hat?’

‘We can sort you out a hat.’

‘Lift me.’

Mickey hesitated for a moment, then picked her up and held her so she could peer into the stable. All the memories came flooding back, of warm little bodies in his arms. He blinked back tears. He might not have been a model husband, but he thought he’d been a good father. He’d always had time for his children, played with them, taken them riding, built them dens. He could do it all again for Flora.

He heard footsteps behind him and turned. It was Lucy. His instinct was to put Flora down. He felt guilty.

‘It’s OK,’ said Lucy. ‘I don’t mind. Not really. Another baby would have been silly.’

They stared at each other while Flora went on patting Pudding’s nose, oblivious. ‘Supper’s ready,’ said Lucy eventually.

Mickey let Flora drop back down to the floor. ‘You better wash your hands,’ he told her.

As Flora trotted back across the yard to the back door, Lucy and Mickey followed. She slipped her hand into his.

‘It’s going to be fine,’ she said definitely. ‘Flora will fill in the gap before the grandchildren arrive.’

‘Grandchildren?’ echoed Mickey, alarmed. ‘I’m not sure I’m ready for grandchildren yet . . .’

But it was with a considerably lighter heart that he stepped back into the kitchen.

T
he day of the wedding dawned with a dense, hazy sky that would not reveal whether it hid sunshine or rain. In the kitchen at Honeycote House, Mickey, Bertie and Ned stood next to the radio, waiting for the weather forecast with bated breath. The announcer’s dolorous tones informed them that it was going to be dry and sunny, with temperatures in the mid-twenties.

‘Thank God for that,’ said Mickey fervently.

‘Right,’ said Ned, rubbing his farmer’s hands together. ‘Let’s get cracking.’

Bertie stretched out his arm for the teapot and lit another cigarette.

‘It’s barely dawn,’ he grumbled. ‘I’m not awake yet.’

Mickey grinned. Bertie was rarely up before noon, but he’d hauled himself out from between the sheets and driven over with a truck of furniture pillaged from his own home to supplement the chairs and sofas from Honeycote House. It had been Lucy’s idea to ‘bring the inside outside’, but they could only do it once they were sure it wasn’t going to rain.

‘It’s going to be a scorcher!’ Sophie bounded into the kitchen, her curls wilder than ever. ‘I can smell it.’

Lucy and Georgina were lugging in tin buckets of flowers from the scullery where they had been sitting in water overnight.