Mistakes We Make

by Jenny Harper

  ‘There may be a chance,’ he said lamely.

  Logan reached across the table and grasped his hand.

  ‘I never knew the meaning of friendship,’ he said, ‘until now.’

  Malkie Milne stood looking at a point somewhere past Caitlyn’s right ear and said in a voice that was quite unlike his normal cheery tone, ‘I think we should stop seeing each other.’

  Caitlyn stared at him, speechless.

  Malkie didn’t seem to be able to look at her. She watched, appalled, as a wave of blood suffused his skin, starting at his neck and creeping all the way to his scalp.

  ‘I really care about you, Caitlyn, you know that, but you don’t want what I want.’

  ‘If you’re talking about living together—’

  He seemed to gather courage, and although the blush was still hot on his cheeks, his gaze was now steadfast.

  ‘Aye. That’s what I’m talking about. I want my life to be full that way. I want to have someone in my arms at night when I go to sleep and in the morning when I wake. I want to hold hands in front of the telly when I’m tired, and have someone by my side when I visit my ma. I want,’ he said with uncharacteristic resolution, ‘commitment.’

  ‘I see.’ Insight flashed. ‘And you’ve found someone who’d like to play this role in your life.’

  ‘No! Well,’ the blush had returned, ‘I’ve done nothing yet, we’ve just talked. I wouldn’t cheat on you, Caitlyn, you know that.’

  That was the hardest part. She did know it. Malcolm Milne was fundamentally a good man. She could look a long time before finding a better one.

  He caught her hand and held it, even when she tried to pull away.

  ‘Look at me, Caitlyn Murray. Look at me and tell me this isn’t what you want, because if it is—’

  But she couldn’t say what he wanted to hear.

  ‘How’s that pile of work coming along, Caitlyn?’

  Caitlyn blinked away the tears that had been threatening, pulled a hankie from her sleeve and gave her nose a good blow.

  ‘Just one more document to do after this one, Mr Armstrong.’

  ‘Not getting a cold, are you? Can’t have our best worker coming down with flu.’

  ‘No, it’s nothing. I’m fine. Thanks.’

  She’d been at Fraser, Fraser and Mutch for six months. She was good at the work because she was efficient and organised – years of having to create order out of chaos at Farm Lane had endowed her with many useful skills. Mr Armstrong seemed to appreciate what she had to offer. He’d let her take charge of some refurbishments and the office already felt like a brighter, fresher, more welcoming place. She’d made friends with Donna, the part-time bookkeeper, and Janet Reid, the senior legal secretary, who’d shown her lots of new things. She’d even managed, by a combination of cajoling and bossiness, to get Gemma, the girl on reception, to smarten up and learn to smile.

  Caitlyn finished the document she was working on and read it through carefully. She prided herself on not letting Mr Armstrong find any mistakes.

  Perfect. She laid it aside.

  Not perfect.

  She blinked.

  I’m not going to cry.

  Trouble was, it was all so recent. It still hurt. A lot.

  Concentrate on the good things.

  Good thing number one – Reg West had moved in with her mother.

  This led to good thing number two – she’d begun renting a tiny box of a flat in one of the new estates across the river. Losing Malkie was the price she had paid for realising this dream. Maybe the jury was out on whether she’d made a monumental mistake or taken the right decision, but the real truth was, she was loving living there. She didn’t care how small it was. She didn’t mind that when you sat on the loo you could just about wash your hands in the basin at the same time, or that the kitchen area was so small that she could reach everything from one spot. She’d managed to squeeze a double bed into the bedroom, and if there was little room for clothes it didn’t really matter because she hardly had any. What was important was that it was her space. Hers. She could have the telly on – or not. She could listen to music, or enjoy complete silence (apart from the sound of occasional arguments from the couple above, or the music from the guy through the wall).

  Privacy was a treasure beyond price.

  She picked up the last document.

  Good thing number three – Ailsa had settled down to study and was planning on going to college to do a childcare certificate.

  ‘I’ve looked after kids all my life,’ she joked to Caitlyn when she dropped round one evening to share some supper. ‘I reckon I won’t have to study too hard.’

  They’d guzzled egg salad with chips from the chippie down the street.

  ‘I want to open a nursery of my own one day. That’s the way to make money, not to work for someone else.’

  Was this Wallace’s influence? Saying goodbye to Ailsa later, Caitlyn had been overcome with admiration for her little sister. They’d do fine, her and Isla May. Look what they’d done with that baking business. Neither of them would get stuck at home raising kids for some layabout.

  She didn’t have that kind of ambition. She’d never be a lawyer, and with all that she’d seen, she wouldn’t want to be. But she was fast becoming queen bee in this little office, and that was the way she liked it. A steady job, well paid, where she could make sure everything was neat and in order, just as it should be. No dodgy accounting. No forged client registrations.

  So the split with Malkie hurt. Well, there’d be other men, nice ones, when she was ready.

  ‘Last Will and Testament’, she typed, ‘Of Jean Muirhead Blair, Forgie Farm Cottage.’

  She paused, her fingers hovering over the keys. This was the trouble with working in a small office in a small town: there was always the risk of knowing other people’s business. Then you had the job of keeping it to yourself. Should she go and tell Mr Armstrong she knew Jean Blair? But she didn’t know her; she only knew of her and that wasn’t the same thing at all.

  She carried on typing, her fingers nimble and resolute. Most of it meant nothing to her; she merely copied the obscure phrases from the templates Mr Armstrong had directed her to.

  I appoint as my Executors and Trustees ...

  It was all the usual stuff.

  Debts and Funeral expenses ...

  Allocation of expenses and tax ...

  Caitlyn yawned and glanced at her watch. She had to get this finished before she went home. She had to have time to wash her hair and change before she met her friend Jenna. They were going clubbing in Edinburgh. She was having a life at last, the kind of life she could never enjoy when she’d had to look after the kids for Joyce. It was mindless and unproductive and she’d almost certainly waste half of Saturday lying in bed wishing she hadn’t drunk so much, but it was fun!

  Bequests of cash sums ...

  Bequest in favour of ...

  Caitlyn sat up and stared at Mr Robertson’s notes. Bequest in favour of Adam McKenzie Blair. Damn and double damn. It was too late. She’d seen it, and now she knew.

  Jean Blair was leaving the entire farm, all its buildings and moveables, to Adam Blair.

  Lucky man.

  She wondered if he knew. She’d have to keep her mouth shut, that was for sure, but then, she was used to keeping secrets.

  She finished typing the document. All that money and land, that was another world, but it didn’t necessarily make you happy. Working to pay your way, even if it was just a small way, that was what was rewarding.

  She printed out the document and put it with the others in a tray.

  ‘That’s everything finished, Mr Armstrong.’

  ‘Thank you, Caitlyn, just leave it on the desk there, will you? Off out somewhere nice tonight?’

  ‘Just a girls’ night out.’ She smiled, thinking that the evening sun would already be coming through the window right into her front room, lighting everything with its golden low-slanting rays.

&nbs
p; Molly finished drying the dishes and draped the tea towel over the ancient plastic rack next to the Aga. She’d love to do something about the kitchen, but it wasn’t their house. They were just tenants. One of these days she might have a chat with Jean about it, but in the meantime, there were too many other things to deal with, and anyway, she and Adam had no money to spare.

  She glanced out of the window. The builders had already started work on the conversion of the old coach house. All the outbuildings would be ready for letting next spring. It was amazing how quickly she and Adam had managed to put together the detailed business plans, get the architects’ drawings finalised, the bank loan approved and planning permission through.

  She smiled. In truth, most of the work had been hers, though Adam’s legal expertise had been invaluable. She couldn’t have done without his eagle eye for detail either.

  They made a good team. Why had they never realised that? They’d both been so focused on what they’d thought was the right path through life that they’d never stopped to think about how they might work together.

  She shrugged on a fleece and headed for the back door. Time to feed the hens. She liked having hens at the big house, even though Jean had most of them at her cottage. Anyway, a few hens would be a great attraction for children when families started coming to the cottages for their holidays.

  Across the field, by the far gate, she spotted Adam. Gone was the business suit and the neat haircut. His shock of brown hair had grown long round his ears and the stiff set of his shoulders had softened. His gait was easy, his stride assured. A collie trotted by his side, glancing up every few steps as if to check he was doing everything his master wanted him to.

  She waved to him. He waved back, smiling.

  Not my husband. She smiled, as she always did, at the thought. Being lovers rather than husband and wife had rekindled the passion they thought they had squandered. Would they ever remarry? That depended, Molly thought, on a great many things.

  It was getting cool. She leaned against the doorpost to wait for her man.

  Deep inside her, she felt something move.

  She laid a hand on her belly, her eyes open wide with amazement. She stood perfectly still, straining for every sound, as though she might hear the new heart that beat inside her.

  Yes! There it was again. A tiny flutter, like a butterfly flapping its wings. She was not mistaken.

  ‘Adam!’ she shouted, gesticulating like crazy. ‘Adam! I felt it!’

  He started to run. The dog ran beside him, delightedly.

  ‘What it is?’ he called when he reached the edge of the yard. ‘What’s happened?’

  ‘It moved!’ She placed her hands on her stomach. ‘Our baby, Adam. I felt our baby!’

  THE END

  Maximum Exposure

  She’s a professional photographer – but is she ready to expose her heart?

  Adorable but scatterbrained newspaper photographer Daisy Irvine becomes the key to the survival of The Hailesbank Herald when her boss drops dead right in front of her. And while big egos and petty jealousies hinder the struggle to save the paper, Daisy starts another campaign – to win back her ex, Jack Hedderwick.

  Ben Gillies, returning after a long absence, sees childhood friend Daisy in a whole new light. He’d like to win her love, but discovers that she’s a whole lot better at taking photographs than making decisions, particularly when she’s blinded by the past.

  When tragedy strikes Daisy’s family, loyalty drives her home. But it’s time to grow up and Daisy must choose between independence and love.

  People We Love

  Her life is on hold – until an unlikely visitor climbs in through the kitchen window

  A year after her brother’s fatal accident, Lexie’s life seems to have reached a dead end. She is back home in small-town Hailesbank with her shell-shocked parents, treading softly around their fragile emotions.

  As the family business drifts into decline, Lexie’s passions for painting and for her one-time mentor Patrick have been buried as deep as her unexpressed grief, until the day her lunch is interrupted by a strange visitor in a bobble hat, dressing gown and bedroom slippers, who climbs through the window.

  Elderly Edith’s batty appearance conceals a secret and starts Lexie on a journey that gives her an inspirational artistic idea and rekindles her appetite for life. With friends in support and ex-lover Cameron seemingly ready to settle down, do love and laughter beckon after all?

  Sand in My Shoes

  A trip to France awakens the past in this heart-warming and tear-jerking short summer read from the author of People We Love.

  Head teacher Nicola Arnott prides herself on her independence. Long widowed, she has successfully juggled motherhood and a career, coping by burying her emotions somewhere deep inside herself. A cancer scare shakes her out of her careful approach to life and she finds herself thinking wistfully of her first love, a young French medical student.

  As her anxiety about her impending hospital tests grows, she decides to revisit the sleepy French town she remembers from her teenage years – and is astonished to meet up with Luc again. The old chemistry is still there – but so is something far more precious: a deep and enduring friendship.

  Can it turn into true love?

  Jenny Harper’s The Heartlands Series

  Face the Wind and Fly

  Loving Susie

  Maximum Exposure

  People We Love

  Mistakes We Make

  For more information about Jenny Harper

  and other Accent Press titles

  please visit

  www.accentpress.co.uk

  http://www.jennyharperauthor.co.uk

  Published by Accent Press Ltd 2016

  ISBN: 9781910939161

  Copyright © Jenny Harper 2016

  The right of Jenny Harper to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  The story contained within this book is a work of fiction. Names and characters are the product of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, electrostatic, magnetic tape, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the written permission of the publishers: Accent Press Ltd, Ty Cynon House, Navigation Park, Abercynon, CF45 4SN