by Sharon Booth
'Gosh,' said Honey.
'That's downright creepy,' said Freya.
'But then, you say, your dad sent you to Africa?' Cain said.
'Yes, he found out what was going on and he was furious. He said I'd end up in jail, or something, and said I was to go away until I learned some sense.'
'I always did like Rex,' said Freya.
'Anyway, I stayed in Africa for three years,' said Teddy. 'Then Dad agreed I could come home and start working for the Foundation from this end. Of course, he assumed I'd got over Honey.'
'But you hadn't?' Cain asked.
'Of course not! Look at her.' Teddy looked dumbfounded that anyone could think that even possible.
In spite of her anger, Honey felt herself softening.
'So, you started following her again.'
'I didn't intend to! I saw her, quite by accident, in a queue at some traffic lights. She's noticeable, especially in that cute yellow car when the roof's down. I couldn't resist going after her. I meant to talk to her, introduce myself properly, but she met up with him.' He looked disgusted. 'What could I do? I knew Cavendish's reputation. I knew he'd break her heart. I had to stop it before she got too involved.'
'Control freak,' said Freya.
'Then you messaged me on Facebook,' said Cain, 'calling yourself Romeo Lovegod.'
'Hmm. Sorry about that. I made a shortlist and drew names out of a hat. It was that or Ferdy Feelgood, and I wasn't sure you'd take that seriously.'
'Oh, well, God forbid you'd choose anything stupid,' said Cain.
Teddy evidently missed the sarcasm. 'Anyway, nothing happened for ages, and I was beginning to despair. Then she went off radar completely for days. Not a sign of her, or the yellow car. I was worried sick, so I changed tactics and started following Cavendish instead. Saw his wife head off to the airport and realised something could be happening very soon, so I stuck close. Sure enough, he met up with Honey and her,' he said, nodding at Eden, 'in a layby. I didn't know what was going on. Honey got in his car, and she got back in the Beetle, and then he drove off, so I had to follow. I had no idea I'd be driving for so long. Ended up in bloody Dorset. Didn't even have any luggage with me.'
'The red Mini,' said Eden and Honey in unison.
'I'm so sorry, Honey,' he said miserably.
'I should hope you are. Bleeding deceitful,' said Cain. 'And have you any idea how much bother it caused, you taking them photos of her and that bloody awful singer?'
'It's not only deceitful,' said Freya. 'It's creepy, stalkerish, and weird. I think you want locking up, or at the very least, aversion therapy.'
'I think that's the most romantic thing I've ever heard,' said Honey with a sigh.
Teddy's face lit up, as she rushed over to him and threw her arms around him.
'So, you did mean it that day in bed? All the things you said.'
'What bloody day in bed?' Cain demanded. 'Christ, this gets worse and worse.'
'If you stay with that man, you deserve everything you get,' Freya warned.
'Shut up, Mother,' said Honey. 'I love him.'
'Oh, Honey!' said Teddy with a devoted sigh.
'Cain, this is entirely your fault,' said Freya. 'I blame you for the way she's turned out. She's had such a poor male role model, she's got nothing to aspire to. Take me home immediately, you sorry excuse for a man.'
'It will be my pleasure, you frigid old bat,' said Cain.
Honey stopped listening at that point. She had far more important things to think about, and if her parents didn't have the decency to look the other way, that was their look out.
Chapter Thirty-Two
'You can't mean it? After everything we've been through? After everything Honey put you through?' Cain shook his head, obviously baffled. 'I don't get it Eden. What you wanna go and resign for?'
Eden wrapped her arms around herself and stared out of the window. Even through the rapidly approaching darkness, she could see that the garden was already changing colour — the summer green leaves turning to shades of autumn gold and russet. September was almost over. There was a distinct chill in the air, and in her heart. 'You don't need me now, and neither does Honey.'
'We'll find something for you to do. There's always some job needs doing, you know that. Besides, you're part of the family.'
It was possibly the loveliest thing Cain had ever said to her, but it wasn't enough. Not anymore. Honey didn't need a babysitter. She was so loved up with Teddy that she was rarely at home. To Cain's dismay, she had visited the Scotman family home and thoroughly charmed Rex, against all odds. She'd even started to take an interest in the Scotman Foundation, asking Teddy about his work, and telling Eden all about it with so much pride, it was as if she had started the damn charity herself.
Cain had reluctantly accepted an invitation — which had been no doubt issued with just as much reluctance — from Rex Scotman, to take part in the concert, after all. He'd been in two minds about accepting, but he'd admitted that the thought of Honey's tantrums, if he refused, was too much for him to cope with.
'Besides,' he said gleefully to Eden one evening, 'that will really infuriate Freya. Proper pissed on her bonfire, ain't I?'
He had finished with Roxy, who had cried for all of ten minutes, until he presented her with a cheque and the keys to a rather fabulous Audi. He'd also — unbeknown to Roxy — paid off her sister with similar gifts.
'You can't put a price on a quiet life,' he told Eden. 'To be honest, I'm done in. Can't be bothered with women and all this romance stuff. Reckon I've had me fair share. Time to concentrate on me kids.'
To everyone's astonishment — including his own — he'd finally gone to his daughter's wedding in America and had a wonderful time. He'd since begun putting out feelers to see if he could help his son's musical career, and the two were in constant contact. He'd even gone to visit Marcus and spent some days with his grandson, although when he tried to teach the child to play his biggest hit, Satan in Stilettos, on the recorder, stern words had been exchanged. Emerald, he confessed, was a lost cause. At least for now. She was too busy looking for herself to waste time finding her father, but that was okay.
'In her own good time,' he'd said comfortably, and Eden got the impression that his middle child could take all the time she needed. He was in no hurry.
The Carmichael family seemed happier and more settled than it had ever been. It was time for Eden to move on.
'But The Red Lion! It's such a dump. You're too good for the place.'
'It's only temporary until I find something else. It will do me good to get back to cooking professionally, and at least I'll get a reference.'
'I can give you a reference! A bloody good one. You don't need to go back to that bleeding dive.'
'Thanks, Cain, but I need a reference that's about my ability in the kitchen. Not my ability to sit in a shop, staring at a wall for hours on end.' Or lying, cheating, and deceiving the kindest man you could ever possibly wish to meet, she thought bitterly. That had been one thing she'd proved exceptionally good at, and didn't she know it.
'This is about the farmer, ain't it?' Cain sighed, as she hung her head. 'You got it real bad, bless you. Why don't you call him? Talk to him. He must have got over his sulk by now.'
'Sulk?' Eden gave a hollow laugh. 'I think it's a lot more than that, Cain. You really don't understand.'
'Well, tell me.'
'It's complicated.'
'I got all day. Look, darl, just 'cos I've given up on all that romantic tosh, don't mean I don't remember what it felt like. And it don't mean I don't recognise true love when I see it.'
Eden sighed. 'Am I that obvious?'
'Not you I'm talking about.'
'What do you mean?'
'When I was at that farm, I saw the look in that bloke's eyes. He's got it real bad, too. He loves you, Eden.'
'You think?' She felt a momentary spark of hope, but it refused to ignite, like a wet match. 'It's too late. He may have been developing f
eelings for me, but finding out I was lying all that time, well, it would have killed off any chance we had.'
'I don't see why. If you love someone, it's amazing what crap you put up with.'
'Oh? What did you put up with?'
He shook his head. 'Not me. I was talking about my wives. Proper shit husband, me. They took it all. Mind you, I reckon the size of me bank balance had a lot to do with that. Don't apply in your case. You're both pretty skint, from where I'm standing. Match made in heaven.' He laughed, but Eden said nothing. Cain sighed. 'Come on, darl. This isn't like you. If you can put up with me and Honey and our shenanigans, I'm sure you can take on a farmer who needs putting straight about a few things. Or am I missing something?'
'It's because of Jemima,' she said eventually.
'You mean his dead wife? Are you saying he still loves her? Well, fair enough. You never get over someone you truly love, no matter how long it is since they snuffed it. You can live with that, can't you? Point is, he can still move on and make a new life with you. It ain't disloyal to his wife.'
'It's not that!' She stood up, fastening her jacket. 'I'm sorry, Cain. I appreciate you trying to help, but I can't stay. I'm going back to The Red Lion. Time to get my life sorted out.'
'Aw, Eden. I'm sorry.' He stood, too, and she held out her hand to shake. He stared at it for a moment, then pulled her into a warm embrace. 'You're a diamond, you really are. I'm sorry we gave you such a hard time of it. I really hope things work out for you. I'll miss you, darl.'
She stifled a sob and pulled away from him. 'Thanks, Cain.'
'There'll be a bonus and a reference for you. Promise. And Eden …' he added, as she opened the door of the den.
She turned. 'Yes?'
'Don't be a stranger, eh? You're welcome here, any time.'
Eden nodded, unable to say another word.
****
Eliot kissed the girls and walked slowly towards the bedroom door.
'You can read for half an hour,' he said softly, 'but make sure you're quiet. Don't want to wake George up, do we? No talking or giggling.'
He wondered why he'd even said such a thing. The two little faces looking solemnly at him showed no signs of wanting to giggle. They hadn't shown any sign for weeks. In fact, he would give anything to hear their laughter right then, even if it did mean they woke George up. What did it matter, anyway? It wasn't as if he wanted to be alone for the evening, was it?
'Goodnight, Dad,' murmured Libby.
'Night, love.'
He started to close the bedroom door, when Ophelia's voice cut through the silence. 'Dad, have you heard from her?'
He halted on the landing, pressing his hand to his forehead and willing himself to sound normal. 'No, love. Night now.'
'But, Dad, are you sure? Maybe she's been trying to ring us, but you've been working, and we've been at school and George has been with Mrs Thompson. She wouldn't know that, would she? Why don't you ring her and talk to her?'
'Stop it, Ophelia.' Libby's voice came to him, sounding urgent.
'But she'd want to know about Gideon, wouldn't she? She'd be so excited that he sold for such a lot of money.'
He swallowed as he heard Libby hissing at her sister, 'Shut up, Ophelia!'
'But why?' Ophelia hissed back. 'You said you missed her, too. Why can't I mention her?'
'It upsets him. You know it does.'
'So, I have to keep quiet about Honey as well as Mummy? Is there anyone I can talk about?'
'She's not Honey, she's Eden. And you know Dad can't cope hearing about Mummy. Just behave yourself.'
Eliot clapped his hand over his mouth to stifle the sob. He should go in there right now. He should sit beside them on the bed and explain everything to them, about Eden and about Jemima. Well, not everything about Jemima. There were some things he couldn't tell them, at least not yet. Maybe one day, when they were old enough to understand. He hoped they would understand. He hoped they would forgive. But that day was a long way away. Right now, they were young children, and they were confused, and he should do something, anything, to make things better for them. He just couldn't do it while he had no idea how to make things better for himself.
Hating himself, he crept downstairs and straight to the whisky in the kitchen cupboard. He rarely drank, and on the occasions he did, it was usually beer. A couple of weeks ago, though, when the loneliness had been pressing down on him and he couldn't face the thought of another night alone, he'd gone to the shop in Beckthwaite and bought himself a bottle. That had raised eyebrows, for sure. They'd looked stunned when he went back a few days later and bought another two bottles. He knew they were talking about him, discussing his odd behaviour. He wondered how much they knew. Then he realised he didn't care. Let them talk. What did it matter, anyway?
After pouring himself a glass of the warming liquid that he didn't particularly like the taste of, he took a mouthful, shuddered in disgust, and finished the drink. He poured another and carried the glass, and the bottle, back into the living room. He shouldn't do this. He had to be up early the following morning, not to mention the small matter of being in charge of three young children. He would only have three, though. No more. He would put the bottle away after that.
He downed the second glass, finding it wasn't as foul as the first one. Or maybe his mouth had gone numb. He poured a third glass. One more and that was it. He found himself pouring a larger measure that time — almost to the brim, before he screwed the cap back on the bottle. That was his lot. He'd better savour this one.
Picking up the glass, he leaned against the back of the sofa and closed his eyes. He took small sips, trying to make it last. It had become a comfort blanket, and he knew he would have to be careful. He couldn't let drinking become a habit. He had responsibilities. He couldn't let his children down.
Funny, he thought, staring into the amber liquid in fascination, how he hadn't even turned to drink when Jemima died. If anything was going to make him drink, it should have been that. Yet, it had taken a woman whose name wasn't even her own, and who he knew absolutely nothing about, to make him feel that, just maybe, he'd taken all he could stand, and it was time to surrender.
He knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that if it wasn't for those three little mites upstairs, he would have given up already. He didn't know how he was finding the strength to keep going. He wasn't sure how much longer he could. He took a large gulp of the whisky and stared around him at the empty living room. Funny how all those familiar things looked so bleak and pointless to him now. He missed her. He missed her so much he could barely breathe. He missed her smile. He missed the look she gave him when he was being grumpy. He missed the sight of her standing by the oven when he walked into the kitchen after work. He missed the way she giggled with the girls, or bounced George up and down on her knee, the way she so obviously cared about them and their welfare. He missed the smell of her perfume, the sight of her ridiculously impractical shoes next to his boots in the boot room. He missed the way she looked at him sometimes, the emotion in her eyes, the slight parting of her lips. He missed the way she made him feel — the way his heart pounded when she was close to him, the longing to reach out and touch her, the scent of her skin when she was nearby, the feel of her hair as he'd twisted it through his fingers.
Eden. At first it had seemed alien, strange. But as he'd thought more and more about her over the last few weeks, he'd realised it suited her. And it was appropriate, after all. Eden, so beautiful, so heavenly, yet filled with temptation. And he'd succumbed to that temptation, hadn't he? All was lost. If she'd only told him the truth.
He gulped down more whisky, desperate to rid himself of her image. Why, my love? Why?
Was that a tap on the door? He wasn't sure at first, and didn't much care, anyway. He took another sip of whisky, aware that the glass was almost empty, and he mustn't pour himself another. He mustn't. Then the sound came again, louder that time. Cursing, he put down the glass and heaved himself off the sofa. The r
oom swung slightly, and he stood for a moment, trying to steady himself, before he went through the hallway and opened the front door.
He stared at the woman in shock for a moment. He couldn't remember the last time she'd visited the farm. Then he recalled the exact moment, and misery overwhelmed him yet again. 'Beth. Come in, why don't you?'
She followed him into the hall, her eyes anxious. 'Eliot, are you all right?'
He forced a smile, closing the door behind them. 'I'm absolutely fine. Are you?'
She stared at him, obviously shocked. 'So, it's true! You have been drinking.'
'Just a whisky, or three. It's a day for celebrations, after all! You wouldn't begrudge me that, would you? So, what can I do for you, Beth? This is a rare pleasure, I must say.'
'Oh, Eliot.' Her voice was loaded with pity. He couldn't stand it.
Tears sprang into his eyes, and he turned away, stumbling back into the living room. She followed him and stood there, as he fell onto the sofa, looking down in dismay at the half empty whisky bottle and the glass with just a drop of liquid left at the bottom.
'Since when do you drink whisky?' she demanded, putting down her bag and unbuttoning her coat.
He shook his head, having no energy to reply.
She picked up the bottle and glass and carried them through into the kitchen. A moment later, she returned. 'That's that poured down the sink,' she announced.
He glared up at her. 'Who said you could do that?'
'No one. I made an executive decision. For God's sake, Eliot, you have children upstairs, and a bloody farm to run. What the hell do you think you're playing at?'
He opened his mouth to speak but couldn't think of an answer. He shut it again and hung his head, suddenly ashamed. His kids. They could have come down at any moment. What would they have thought if they'd seen him like this? They'd have been so scared. What if something had happened to one of them? He wouldn't even have been able to help them. He was in no fit state. He was a disgrace. 'I'm sorry,' he murmured.
