The Real Katie Lavender (27 page)

In the kitchen, and while Lloyd tidied away the breakfast things, Katie started ferrying cakes from the larder and laying them out on the kitchen table. Since arriving here three days ago, she had done nothing but bake and help Pen in the garden – she had another stash of cakes in Pen’s chest freezer for tomorrow and the day after. In years gone by, Pen had only laid on tea and coffee and shop-bought biscuits as refreshments, but at Cecily’s suggestion, and on the basis that Katie would organize it all, cakes were now being offered as an extra way to raise money.

It was something Katie had helped her mother do for the annual summer fete in the village where she’d grown up. The cake stall had easily been the busiest of all the stalls. They would usually have everything sold within the first hour and then they’d be free to help on the plant stall, which Dad ran and which was mostly stocked with cuttings from their garden.

The day Cecily and Lloyd had visited her in Brighton, and at Cecily’s request, Katie had shown them some old photographs of her as a child. One photograph in particular had caught Cecily’s eye – a picture of Katie wearing a chef’s hat and grinning like an idiot for the benefit of the camera as she held up a large mixing bowl whilst stirring the contents with a wooden spoon. Katie had explained how she had been helping her mother prepare for the village fete. This, she supposed, explained why a few days later Cecily phoned and asked if she had any plans before and during the Bank Holiday weekend. She was beginning to learn that Cecily was a wily old girl.

When she had all the foil and cling-film-wrapped cakes set out on the kitchen table and work surfaces, Lloyd said, ‘That’s a lot of cake; do you really think we’ll sell them all?’

‘Breaking news, Cousin Lloyd! We’ll be lucky to have the plates left after the feeding frenzy is over.’

He gently flicked a hand towel at her. ‘Are you always going to call me Cousin Lloyd?’

She hesitated. Something in his tone confirmed her suspicion that he was tired of the joke. Trouble was, it was her way of reminding herself not to get any funny ideas about him. She could not go around fancying a cousin. No, no, no, it was too
ee-uw
for words.

In the time since she’d last seen him in Brighton she had managed to convince herself that he really wasn’t that cute, but then last night when he’d turned up for dinner and to help with the garden, she had had the same reaction to him as before.
SHOCKY MOMENT! SHOCKY MOMENT!
her tingling body had squealed, wanting suddenly to dance around the room. With admirable restraint she had greeted Lloyd with a small smile and a polite ‘hi’. He had mirrored her greeting exactly. Which had helped immensely to call her overexcited body to heel. But really, he had no business being so attractive. ‘I rather like the formality,’ she said lightly, in response to his question, ‘especially as I’ve never had the pleasure of knowing a cousin before.’

There was a quiet intensity to him as he stared back at her – it was an integral part of him she was coming to know. She’d noticed also that he sometimes had a way of looking at her that was slightly unsettling, as if he was trying to figure something out about her. She saw a muscle tense at his jaw and he looked as if he was about to say something but then seemed to think better of it. ‘I don’t know how Cecily persuaded you to come here,’ he said in an abrupt change of tone, ‘but I know my mother really appreciates your help. As do I.’

‘Well I don’t think you need me to tell you what a persuasive force Cecily is,’ she said with a laugh. ‘Plus being here gives me the opportunity to see Stirling again.’

‘Even so, it’s still good of you to come and muck in like this.’

‘To be honest, I’m enjoying myself. And it’s good to see your mother looking so much better.’ She glanced at the wall above the cooker. ‘Right, Cousin Lloyd, we’re up against the clock here; we need to get the tables organized in the pavilion.’

‘Already done,’ he said. ‘I did that earlier.’

‘With tablecloths?’

‘Is there any other way?’

‘In that case, let’s get these cakes rocking and rolling!’

Ten minutes later they had everything in place. The pavilion was a spacious hexagonal structure of glass and teak that could comfortably seat thirty people. ‘This is where we’ve always had Christmas lunch,’ Lloyd said, looking about him. ‘We had underfloor heating put in a while back and Dad used to . . .’ He stopped short. He pushed his hands deep into his pockets and hunched his shoulders. Katie had seen him do this a few times now, usually when he was uncomfortable about something. The first time was when he came to Brighton with Cecily. He’d done it twice last night, once when Rosco had phoned him on his mobile and then again later in the evening when he’d been saying how cross he’d been at the way the hospice committee had treated his mother.

‘That will happen a lot,’ Katie said to him gently. ‘You’ll find yourself happily talking about your father one minute, and the next, the pain of a memory will wrap itself around you and stop you in your tracks.’

He blinked. Then swallowed. ‘Earlier in the courtyard while we were having breakfast I mentioned him without a flicker, but here . . .’ He blinked again. ‘It just hit me that he won’t be with us at Christmas. It won’t be the same.’ He dropped his shoulders to a more relaxed position. ‘How long was it before you stopped getting these . . . these flashes?’

‘I still get them. For Mum
and
Dad. Less than I used to, but the thing is, I don’t want the ache to stop entirely. It’s a connection, a way of still feeling close to them both.’

He nodded, opened his mouth to say something, but faltered. He suddenly turned away from her, but not before Katie saw that his eyes were dark and glistening. Her throat clenched with the understanding of what he was going through. She put a hand on his shoulder. He breathed in sharply. ‘I’m OK,’ he said, his back to her. ‘Really, I’m OK.’ He took another deep breath.

She didn’t say anything, but with her hand still on his shoulder she felt a tremor running through him and knew that it was taking all his energy to stay in control, to master his emotions. She wondered if he had allowed himself to cry over the death of his father. Perhaps not. Perhaps he had been too busy being the strong one for Pen. Just as she had done with Mum when Dad had died.

When he slowly turned to face her, she felt the compulsion to comfort him, to put her arms around him. He tensed at her touch, then responded by holding on to her, but cautiously, as if she were made of glass and might shatter if he pressed her too tightly.

Seconds passed and then he spoke. ‘You’re the first person to say something that makes sense to me. People talk about closure, about time being a healer, but I don’t want closure. I don’t want to forget Dad. I want to feel connected to him still.’

She lifted her head and looked up into his eyes; they were almost black, the pupils were so large. ‘Without meaning to, people talk a lot of rubbish. Forget what they say. OK?’

He nodded. ‘Thank you,’ he murmured.

His embarrassment was all too acute, and all of a sudden she was conscious of the tautness of his body against hers and the rhythmic thud of his heartbeat. She let go of him and with a hesitant smile said, ‘It’s what any good cousin would do. Come on, we’d better get a move on. We’ve still got all the cups and saucers to organize.’

Nothing like the mundane to bring things back down to earth, she thought.

Or to crush the shamefully uncousin-like feelings she harboured for him.

Lloyd fell silently in step beside Katie as they walked back up to the house. Two thoughts were battling it out inside his head.

Dad and the extent of how much his death still hurt when he was least expecting it.

And Katie.
It’s what any good cousin would do
.

He didn’t want her as a cousin and he wanted very much that she would stop treating him as one. Because technically they weren’t cousins. Which made his feelings for her OK, didn’t it?

But what if that was the only way she wanted to view him?

Odds on it was. Why else would she keep calling him Cousin Lloyd?

Only one way to find out. He’d have to clarify the situation for her.

‘Come on, Scarlet, I thought we’d got this sorted on the phone last night. We’ll do it together, a united front and all that. I’m not asking you to like her. We’re going to show our faces and be polite. That’s all.’

‘I just don’t think I can do it.’

‘Look,’ Rosco said patiently, ‘we can’t go on hiding from her; it gives entirely the wrong impression, as if we’re scared of her. If we meet her, we get Dad off our backs and we’ll have done our duty and it will be an end to it.’

‘Don’t you understand anything, Rosco? There will never be an end to it!’

Scarlet’s voice had risen sharply, shattering the quiet of the morning and further annoying Rosco. His small garden overlooking the river was his private oasis, it was where he liked to start his weekend when the weather was warm enough, sitting here on his own, drinking his coffee, pondering what he’d do to amuse himself. He didn’t appreciate his routine being disrupted by an unplanned visit from his flaky sister. Nor did he appreciate her stomping about the small area of wooden decking he’d only recently had restained. It was why he was so resolutely single: he couldn’t abide the constant mood swings, the never knowing what would happen next. In his experience girls always became hysterical and clingy, and without fail they always wanted to change things. He preferred to dip in and out of relationships at his convenience.

‘She’s his daughter and she’s always going to be around from now on,’ Scarlet continued with her rant. ‘Look how she’s practically moved in with Pen.’

‘Pen’s a soft touch, you know that as well as I do. She’d take anyone in.’

‘And how soon before she’s invited to our family occasions?’ Scarlet rattled on as though Rosco hadn’t spoken. ‘There’ll be no escape from her. Just you see, Daddy will ask for her to be at Baby’s christening.’

Rosco shuddered at the way Scarlet now referred to the child inside her. Why the hell did women change into these ridiculous beings just because they were pregnant? A girl in the office had gone the same way. Before she announced she was pregnant she had seemed reasonably grounded, but then overnight she changed into a simpering idiot intent on sharing every intimate detail of her pregnancy with anyone who was fool enough to ask how she was. She grew forgetful too, made no end of mistakes and blamed it on her hormones. It had been a relief when she’d left to have the baby: no more sickening baby talk and no more making allowances for her sloppy work.

God only knew what Scarlet was going to be like when she had the child. But that was in the future. Now his immediate problem was convincing her that they had to stand as one and make it very clear to Katie Lavender how they regarded her. He thought of it as Plan B.

Plan A – his original plan to bring their father to his senses – had been put on hold. He’d been about to share it with his mother when out of the blue she had announced she wasn’t going to divorce Dad after all. He had been so relieved at the news that it had seemed eminently more sensible on his part to leave well alone, to let his parents sort things out for themselves.

He changed tack with his sister. ‘Aren’t you just the littlest bit interested?’ he tried. ‘If only to see what she’s like?’

Scarlet flicked at her hair. ‘I vaguely remember her from Granza’s party. But why would I take any notice of her? She was just a waitress.’

Rosco also had a vague recollection; his was of noticeable attitude and equally noticeable legs. ‘If we don’t agree to meet her, she’ll think we’re petty,’ he pressed on, ‘or worse, scared of her. You’re not scared, are you, Scarlet?’ He knew all too well how to play on Scarlet’s insecurities. He’d always been able to do it; ever since they were children it was how he’d got her to do exactly what he wanted.

She looked at him sharply. ‘What do you mean?’

He came and stood next to her on the edge of the decking, where she was watching a moorhen nosing around in the undergrowth on the riverbank. He put his arm around her. ‘I know it’s difficult for you, Scarlet; you’ve always been Dad’s little princess, and now there’s potentially a new princess on the block trying to muscle in. It’s understandable that you’d feel threatened. I just want you to know that I’m in this with you and I won’t let anyone hurt or upset you. As far as I’m concerned, you’ll always be the number one girl in this family.’

Her face crumpled and tears filled her eyes. ‘Oh God, Rosco, you always understand me so well, don’t you? Even Charlie doesn’t appreciate how difficult I’m finding this. He doesn’t see that I’m terrified Daddy will think she’s better than me, that . . .’ Her voice trailed off as she gave in to a full-blown sob.

‘Hey, hey, hey,’ he soothed. ‘That’s not going to happen.’ He held her close and tucked her head under his chin, hoping that she wouldn’t blub too much over his shirt. ‘That’s not going to happen,’ he repeated, ‘and don’t forget you’re carrying Dad’s first grandchild. No one else can top that.’

She sniffed loudly. ‘When you put your mind to it, you can sometimes be a surprisingly nice brother,’ she said.

‘I do my best. So how about we turn up at The Meadows, you and me together, and show this girl what we’re made of, eh?’

She sniffed again and pushed herself away from him. ‘OK,’ she said.

‘And think how proud Dad will be of you,’ he said, slamming home his ace.

Having undergone a U-turn in his thinking, he was almost looking forward to showing up at The Meadows to support Pen’s open day. There was some sport to be had in meeting their half-sister. There were points to be scored.

Let the games begin.

Just as Katie had predicted, they’d been rushed off their feet. The queue for refreshments had been relentless, and with only thirty minutes to go until the garden would be closed, they were left with just half a dozen scones and two slices of ginger cake. Since it was unlikely there would be any new arrivals, Lloyd had gone off to do a head count of those already admitted and still wandering the garden.