And the pert breasts that looked like they were loaded and ready to annihilate him.
‘You’ve had a boob job.’
She shrugged. ‘Everyone has their tits done, Thomas. Don’t sound so stuffy.’
‘New nose as well?’
‘Stop trying to change the subject.’
‘I see you’ve made good use of my money, then.’
He had a strange urge to ask if the aforementioned breasts were rigid, or if they bounced when she ran. Then quelled it. That would be stupid. Tamara didn’t run. Not for anyone.
‘Don’t you want to know what your father wanted?’
‘Nope. He doesn’t feature in my life any more than you do, sorry did.’
‘You can’t just write people off.’
‘Can’t I? You did.’
‘Now you’re being petty and stupid.’
‘No, Tamara. You’re being stupid coming here. I can’t think of a single good reason for us meeting face to face, unless there’s something urgent with Tab.’ His stomach suddenly dipped, like he’d hit the bottom of a bungee rope. Not that he knew how that felt.
Tamara had told Tab she was heading over, they talked, they must, and if he was honest, he didn’t like it. But, whatever her faults, Tam was Tabatha’s mother. She’d given birth to her, if nothing else. And he wasn’t going to inflict the same rift on his daughter that had been shoved on the adolescent boy he’d once been. But what had Tab told her mother? Had she said she hated it here? If he’d had an iota of sense, if he’d not been busy ogling Lottie and playing with horses, he’d have found out what it was all about the second Tab had mentioned it. Instead of hoping it would go away. He should have headed her off – perhaps even have got in his bloody car and driven down to London.
‘Well, is it Tab?’ He hated having to ask.
‘No.’ The single syllable was voiced with reluctance.
Tom felt relief rush through him. If it wasn’t anything to do with Tabatha, then they were good. She was happy. She was here to stay.
‘I told you, it’s your father.’
‘So why not just tell me the rest, Tam. Then you can do us both a favour and go.’
‘Tamara.’ She glared, and forgot for a moment that she was supposed to be being nice, on a mercy mission. ‘He wanted to know why you’re here, so I offered to come and find out. I mean, it is weird, even for you. Why not Oxfordshire, or somewhere remotely civilised?’
‘It is civilised.’ He tried to keep the weary note out of his voice, and failed.
‘But it’s in the middle of nowhere. It’s miles away from everywhere.’ The way she said miles suggested another planet. Tom had forgotten how small Tamara’s world was. It consisted of London and a few key cities scattered around the world. Tam simply got in a taxi to the nearest airport and identikit boutique hotels and catwalks magically, after a couple of drinks and a nap, appeared. Nothing else counted.
‘And why are you in touch with my father?’ It was years since Tom had seen his parents. Years since they had upped sticks and moved to Australia. And then they’d sent him back, alone, to boarding school because his father said that was best.
He’d not gone back. He’d not seen them. They’d not attended his wedding, the birth of his daughter or any other major, or indeed minor, event. And, come to think of it, they had never met Tamara. ‘Since when have you been talking to my family? Thought they might add some coins to your coffer, did you?’ Tom gave a rueful laugh. If she’d thought she could extract anything from Mr Strachan senior she’d been barking up the wrong tree.
‘I haven’t. He called me, because he couldn’t get hold of you. He contacted my agent, in fact. You haven’t been answering your emails, apparently. Do they even have broadband here?’ She gazed around as though expecting to see some evidence of the Dark Ages.
‘I don’t look at my emails anymore. I set up a new account.’ To avoid you, he could have added.
‘Why here, Tom?’
‘Why not? And what’s it to do with you, or him?’
She shrugged. ‘He asked me to give you this.’ She delved into the depths of what seemed to him a ridiculously large, and fairly empty, bag.
Tom looked at the envelope with suspicion. ‘So, what does it say?’
She gave a slightly edgy laugh. Tom knew from the past that she had no compunction at all about opening other people’s mail. Back in the last few limping weeks of their marriage she’d been scrupulous in searching through his emails, letters, text messages, in the hope of something damning she could use as grounds for divorce and a massive settlement. ‘How should I know?’
‘You’re talking to me, remember?’
‘He said that you shouldn’t rake the past up, or something like that. He said they’d moved on and so should you. What did he mean?’
Tom was damned if he knew, but hoped it didn’t show on his face.
‘And he said if you get his name in the papers he will sue your ass off even if you are his son. Those were his words, not mine, by the way.’
‘That’s it?’
‘Do I get a drink before I go?’
‘No.’
‘I’ll have to give your father your phone number if you won’t talk to me.’
‘Do what the fuck you want, Tamara. You always bloody did.’
Tom had never felt particularly bitter about anyone or anything before. He’d never thought he could hate anyone. Until Tamara. Tamara had shown him emotions he didn’t want to own. And that was what he hated most about her. Hate and envy were ugly time-wasters, and now he’d been dragged into acknowledging they existed.
‘You’ve changed.’
‘No. Tam. I remembered who I was supposed to be. This is the real me.’
‘You’ll regret it. You can’t just do what you want, you know. Not anymore; nobody even remembers who you are now. You’ll never get a decent job again.’
‘Finished?’
‘You never used to be this mean, Tommy.’
He opened the door without a word. He never used to have anything to feel mean about.
‘She’s not coming back, is she?’
Tom had stared out of the window for a good ten minutes after his soon-to-be ex-wife had disappeared in a cloud of exhaust fumes. ‘Nope.’
Tab took the word at face value. ‘You promised to take me down to see Lottie and Rory.’
He frowned. Was it his memory that was getting worse these days, or was his daughter’s capacity to manipulate getting better?
‘Why?’
‘To see about a job there. You promised. If you bought me a car you wouldn’t have to.’
‘You’re not old enough for a car, and I can’t remember agreeing to that.’
‘That woman you fancy will probably be there.’
‘What woman?’
Tabby rolled her eyes in teenage despair. ‘The one you had a private party with, remember?’ She gave a very brief, and fairly accurate, imitation of some of Pip’s repertoire of oohs and aahs. Tom glared as she hit the ‘oh yes, more’ and Tab stopped, aware she was stepping into the danger zone.
‘Just watch it, young lady, or you’ll be grounded and not going anywhere.’
‘Anyway, what did she want?’
‘I’m not sure.’ Tom frowned. Whatever his father wanted, he wasn’t interested. ‘So, is Lottie expecting you?’
Tab shrugged. ‘She promised. We did a deal. It’ll be cool, come on. You can stare at her bum.’
Tom grimaced. Did teenagers hear and see everything? And why did she all of a sudden sound so like her mother? The cloud of doom that he had hoped he’d escaped edged its way over the horizon again. This time he wasn’t going to let it take over, to hell with Tamara and to hell with his father.
But the cloud didn’t lift, it intruded that little bit more as he drove Tabatha to the yard. And it was a big black cloud in the shape of his father. As he got closer an idea started to form. Pip. The girl who followed stories like a bloodhound followed a scen
t was his only chance. He knew he had a choice. Wait until his father inevitably ‘sued his ass off’ for something he didn’t know he’d done. Or ask Pip to help him find out exactly why his long-estranged family were suddenly interested in him. He just had to work out how to accomplish it without becoming the main headline himself.
Chapter 16
‘OH-MY-GOD he’s dead.’
Tiggy stared at the wailing girl who had literally run headlong into her and was jabbering out words like a machine gun spitting out bullets.
‘Sorry?’ It was easier to say something than try and pick out individual words, although she was pretty sure the last one had been ‘dead’. Which was a bit worrying.
‘Dead, he’s dead, come on.’
Ah well, she had been right about that bit, then.
Tabatha was now tugging at Tiggy’s arm, an expression of alarm on her normally pale, unemotional features.
‘Who’s dead?’
‘Billy.’
That single word was enough to send Tiggy running towards the open door of the house like a greyhound that had spotted the rabbit, or more realistically like a Golden Retriever that had spotted an unaccompanied morsel of food.
Billy wasn’t dead. But he was sprawled across the living room floor as if he’d been hit by a meteor. And he was muttering.
Tiggy put her hands on her hips and waited for her lungs to catch up with her need for oxygen. Running was something she normally did her best to avoid. ‘Dead men don’t talk, Tabatha.’ She nudged Billy’s ample stomach with the toe of her boot and the volume of his muttering went up a notch. ‘William Brinkley, you should be ashamed of yourself, you big oaf.’ But she was worried. She’d not seen him this drunk since, well, since they’d threatened to take Lottie off him.
‘Bastard.’
‘Hey.’ She sat down on the floor next to him. ‘Who’s a bastard?’
‘They’re all fucking bastards.’ Even muttering, it was pretty clear what he was saying.
‘They haven’t sold Folly Lake, have they? Come on, get up Billy, you need to go to bed.’ Billy staggered up, with help, then flopped on to the nearest chair. There was no way, Tiggy decided, that she could get him up to bed in this state. She glanced over at Tab, who she’d briefly forgotten existed. That slip of a girl would definitely not be any use.
The open-mouthed Tabatha, who seemed to be fighting a battle between the horror of stepping back into the house of a man she thought had been a goner and the urge to listen in, was shifting from foot to foot uneasily.
‘Cunt.’ Tiggy flinched. She had never, ever, heard Billy say that word. Plenty more, but not that particular one. Which meant he was either more upset than even she had realised, or still so drunk he didn’t know what he was saying. And considering the amount of alcohol she’d seen him happily put away over the years, she opted for upset.
And the less people that heard Billy’s hangover words the better. She waved a hand. ‘He’s fine, love. You go and do whatever you’re supposed to do with the horses.’
Tab hesitated.
Billy groaned and put a hand to his head, ‘Christ, I feel sick.’ And Tab decided the safer option was to leave. At speed.
***
Billy groaned, and put his head in his hands, as the first whiff of coffee reached his nostrils and turned his stomach. It was the brandy that had done the damage. He never had been able to drink brandy. But once the last dregs of whiskey had disappeared he hadn’t really seen that he had much choice.
‘Drink it. It might help clear your head.’
He pushed the cup further away. ‘Clear my stomach more bloody like. I feel shit.’
‘You look it. What’s up? What’s happened, Billy?’
‘Nothing, I had a drink too many. Go and help Tab for me, Tigs? There’s a good girl.’
‘Don’t you try and “good girl” me, William. You should know me better than that by now. Is it Dominic and Elizabeth again?’
He stared blankly at her for a moment. ‘He’s out to get me, Tiggy. That bastard never did forgive me or accept the truth, did he? It’s always been my bloody fault; never anything to do with him. Oh no, he’s too bloody perfect. He couldn’t have my girl, so now he’s out to screw me once and for all.’
‘Are you sure? I mean, why?’ Tiggy never had heard the full story about that fateful night. No one knew except Billy and Dom, and they weren’t telling. But the bad feelings had never gone away, and as Billy had struggled to rebuild his life, the Stanthorpes had moved in and tried to take the one remaining thing he had away from him. Charlotte.
Tiggy was sure that deep down they’d done it because they wanted the best for her. It couldn’t have just been to pay him back, make him suffer. For God’s sake, the man had suffered enough having to bury the girl he was devoted to.
Despite his reputation and desire to live life to the full, any fool could see that the soft spot Billy had held for Alexa outweighed everything else in his world. Even his horses. And even Elizabeth and her son must have known that, and to punish him more would have taken people far more heartless than them.
But Billy believed otherwise. Billy was sure it was Dom trying to pay him back. A man on a mission. And even though the two men were outwardly civil, there was something that ran deep; some animosity between them that made Tiggy uneasy.
‘I’m going to go and sort the bastard out.’
‘Don’t Billy. Please. You’ll make it worse.’ She wasn’t sure what ‘it’ was, but Billy was in a state, a bull at a gate with a sore head. Yeah, she was mixing her metaphors but right now a bear would have been a godsend, and he wouldn’t be out to mend bridges. He’d be burning them with a vengeance.
‘What do you think he’s doing, Billy? It can’t be that bad.’
‘Really? Taking this place from me isn’t bad?’
‘But he can’t! It isn’t his.’
‘So why is he in cahoots with Amanda James then?’ Billy shook his head. ‘I knew when I saw him at the funeral snooping round that woman that he was up to something. I should have sorted him out there and then.’
Tiggy cringed. A punch-up at a funeral would have been a step too far even for Tippermere.
‘But you don’t know that he’s planning anything, do you?’
‘He’ll probably persuade her to sell it to some fucking wanker who will turn the whole bloody estate into a theme park and bury me while they’re at it.’
‘But you don’t know, do you? Do you, Billy?’
‘I’m going to bloody well find out.’
‘Billy, promise me you won’t go and start a row.’ He stared back bleary-eyed. ‘Promise! I’m not going anywhere until you do.’
‘Maybe not today. Not sure I’d have the strength to flatten even a wimp like him.’ He sighed. ‘Actually I can’t be arsed, he’s a complete wanker.’ His weak attempt at a smile held none of its normal love for life and devil-may-care attitude, it didn’t come close to masking the pain on his face and the blank despair in his normally warm eyes.
Tiggy swallowed hard to try and shift the lump in her throat, and wished she could just hold him close and make it better.
‘Be a love and go and keep an eye on that girl, will you?’
‘You’ll be okay, and you won’t go off anywhere?’
‘Tiggy I don’t need mothering. If you want to help me just go and stop that kid doing anything stupid with my horses. Christ, I feel ill.’
***
‘He’s not going to die is he?’
Lottie, who was still recovering from the emergency stop she’d had to execute to prevent her rust bucket of a car colliding with one of her father’s favourite horses (currently towing a wild-eyed Tabatha across the driveway), persuaded her fingers to loosen their grip on the steering wheel and she peered up from her position of forehead on top of said fingers.
‘Sorry, dye what?’ For a brief out-of-this-world moment she had an image of her father dip-dyeing his best show shirt and breeches.
�
��He looked awful, I thought he was dead, and then he kind of groaned and she told me to go away.’
‘He? She?’
‘Your dad. I was so sure he was dead, you know. I’ve never seen a dead body, but he was just lying there.’
‘Tabatha,’ Tiggy’s melodious tones broke into the surrealistic imaginings that had briefly replaced Lottie’s normally prosaic world, ‘isn’t this horse supposed to be in a field somewhere? I’m sure we don’t normally have him just wandering around, do we?’ There was a note of doubt in Tiggy’s voice, as though she really wasn’t quite sure what was normal, but it did spur Tabatha (who was actually far more clued up) into taking charge of the two hundred and fifty thousand pounds-worth of horse at the end of the lead rope and taking him off to a place of relative safety.
‘I’m not sure your father likes cars just being left in the middle of the driveway, does he?’ She smiled warmly at the bemused Lottie, who had concluded that her father couldn’t be dead. Tiggy just wouldn’t have stood for the demise of her hero.
‘He’s not even nearly dead then?’ The only worrying bit was that it looked like he’d left Tiggy in charge, which was totally unprecedented. Even she wouldn’t do that.
‘Oh no, heavens no. Whatever gave you that idea, love? Dead drunk more like.’
‘But you said it was really urgent, that I come over straight away,’ Lottie frowned, trying to remember exactly what the text had said that had sent her grabbing her boots and heading out before she’d even finished her coffee. And coffee was important to Lottie – a vital ingredient of her day. ‘You said one of the horses was ill.’
Tiggy blushed at the accusing tone. She’d not quite known how to get Lottie over here. Saying her father was ill would have been a lie and would have worried her. And Tiggy didn’t want any more upset. The only thing she could think of was to say it was a problem with one of the horses; they didn’t matter that much, did they? It was only a little white lie, and there could actually be something wrong with them soon if Tabby was left to her own devices for too long. And she knew that Lottie was just like her father and would come scurrying at the mention of anything being wrong with one of the horses.
The Little Shop of Afternoon Delights Page 116
