The Truth About You

by Susan Lewis

  It was amazing, she’d always thought, how easily he could turn the children’s mishaps into giant adventures and end up putting a smile back on their faces. They adored him, as he did them.

  He hadn’t become particularly involved in the remodelling of Bannerleigh Cross; he’d simply left it to Lainey to make sure he had a place to work that was spacious and light with direct access to the garden, but not a part of the garden that was used by anyone who might disturb him. Even the gardener was encouraged to mow the lawn or strim the hedges on the days Tom wasn’t around. So Tom’s study was now where the old drawing room and library used to be, at the front of the dual-aspect manor with views across the sloping meadow that tipped into a bubbling stream at the edge of the three-acre estate. Since the lane leading from the village up to the house took a sweeping curve to the right when it became their beech-lined drive, the daily comings and goings took place out of his sight, mainly because Lainey had erected a sign directing everyone to the kitchen door, instead of the front.

  The kitchen itself, which sprawled across most of the back of the house with several double French windows opening on to the patio, a hopeful-looking knot garden and the fields beyond, was still the true heart of the place, though it was twice its former size after absorbing the old back parlour, butler’s pantry and garden room into its embrace. (All original features such as cornicing, ceiling roses and fireplaces had been lovingly restored and replaced; even the old flagstones were back where they belonged.) These days this bustling centre of activity was far more than a kitchen with a glossy black Aga at one end and vast inglenook fireplace at the other; it was a place to eat, watch TV, do homework, catch up on emails, stare at nothing if you were Peter, and occasionally relax on huge sofas around a roaring log fire with friends, glasses of wine and opinions that needed to be shared if you were Tom and Lainey.

  Lainey never forgot how lucky she was to be here. In spite of the difficulties she had experienced with her mother, she harboured a sense of belonging here in the way that grass belonged to fields and stars belonged to night skies. Her father had always understood that and so did Tom, though what her sisters, her mother’s favourites, thought, was never entirely clear, since they saw so little of them now.

  ‘You’re a good girl,’ Peter said, as Stacy sat him into his comfy armchair at the window end of the battered old dining table, ‘You drove your car into mine the other day, didn’t you?’

  Stacy feigned a collapse. ‘And there was me hoping you wouldn’t notice,’ she groaned.

  He patted her hand affectionately. ‘Don’t worry. We won’t tell Sandra,’ he assured her, using the very words he had at the time it had happened. Everyone had been nervous of Sandra’s fiery temper, with the exception of Peter, who’d always seemed more enchanted than fazed by her operatic tantrums.

  ‘Where’s Sherman, Dad?’ Lainey asked, referring to his faithful old golden Lab. As if she needed to ask. There he was, lying where he always lay when he brought Peter back from a walk, just outside the door waiting for permission to come in. It was Sandra who’d taught him to wait. Left to her he’d probably never have been allowed into the house at all. However, this was one of the few issues about which Peter had put his foot down. He loved his dog possibly as much as he loved his children, and as far as he was concerned Sherman had as much right to sit in front of the fire, or belly-flop on to the floor in the kitchen, as the rest of them. These days Sherman, who was getting on himself at thirteen, even slept on a rug at the foot of Peter’s bed, and should Peter wake up in the night and seem not to know where he was, or if he got into some kind of difficulty anywhere, Sherman would bark to raise the alarm. This was partly why Lainey and Tom had recently moved Peter back into the manor from the annexe, to make sure they always heard the dog. Now Peter’s private living space, with its own shower room, cosy sitting area, fireplace, TV and beloved antique-book collection, was on the first floor, securely sandwiched between Tom and Lainey’s master suite and the main family bathroom.

  The children’s rooms were on the second floor. Max, in the two-bedroom annexe, had turned it into a tip by day and party central by night. He invariably found his way into the manor at mealtimes, or for booze when his supplies ran out, or just to get under everyone’s skin, with outstanding results.

  ‘There you are, old boy,’ Lainey was saying to Sherman as she ushered him in through the door. ‘You come and lie down with Peter now. I expect you’re both ready for a nap.’

  Taking his biscuit to Peter’s chair, Sherman slumped down next to his master and started to chew in a languidly satisfied sort of way. Peter wasn’t watching him; his vague, rheumy eyes were gazing out of the window, though his hand automatically dropped towards the dog’s head.

  ‘You’re a little miracle, Sherman,’ Stacy declared, going to fill his drink bowl. And he was, because no one had ever trained him to bring Peter back from his walks, or to get him safely across a road, or to alert the family if Peter was distressed, he simply seemed to know what needed to be done and got on with it. ‘I wish the male human species was a bit more like you,’ she lamented, as Lainey answered the phone for the fourth time since Stacy had arrived. ‘Trusting, loving and endlessly faithful.’

  Smiling, as Peter turned to look at her, she gave him a wink and drew up a chair to keep him company while Lainey chatted to Hugo, Tom’s publicist. Those calls usually went on for some time, since Tom was in high demand for various media or charitable events, even when he didn’t have a book coming out. Apart from being a full-on housewife and mother, it was Lainey’s job, for which she was very well paid, to organise Tom’s diary in a way that never took him away from the house when he wanted to write. Those dates were always carefully worked out between them to take into account his annual deadline, the research trips that needed to be made, and the occasional visits to the set of the latest TV adaptation. Being a writer herself, Stacy was as admiring of Tom’s success as she was, in some ways, indebted to it, since her regular column in one of the Sunday supplements was known to be loosely based on the hectic Hollingsworth family. Unfortunately the column had recently been axed due to a takeover at the paper, so, being freelance, she no longer had a regular source of income.

  Though Stacy and Lainey had known each other since school, during their time at uni they’d drifted apart, until Lainey, in her capacity as junior publicist at Winlock’s, had rung Stacy, who was just starting out on a local paper, to offer her an interview with the new le Carré, as Tom was being billed back then. The piece Stacy had concocted had not only turned into her very first double-page spread, it had gained her the interest of one of the nationals who had later offered her a job.

  Since that time they’d barely gone a day without speaking. They’d been bridesmaids at each other’s weddings; had often holidayed together with their husbands and later Lainey and Tom’s children – Max too, when Emma had felt inclined to let him come. Stacy had even been present at Zav’s birth, though only because the baby had come early and Tom hadn’t made it back from the States in time. Over the years they’d become closer to each other than they were to their respective sisters. In fact, Stacy often claimed that she’d never have survived the break-up of her marriage without Lainey’s unflinching support. During that time she’d spent far more time at Bannerleigh Cross than she had at her own home, the other side of the village, mainly because Derek had refused to move out. He’d even thought it was OK to carry on his affair under the same roof, and Pauline, the little tart with no heart, had been happy to oblige.

  When he’d heard what was happening Tom had informed Derek, a senior correspondent with CNN, that a man who behaved with no respect for his wife deserved no respect from others, so he needn’t bother coming to Bannerleigh Cross again. Derek had moved out of the village soon after that, but then the house had to be sold so the proceeds could be divided, and thanks to a massive slump in the market he and Stacy had ended up with less than they’d paid for it. He’d also gone off with ten of the tw
enty thousand pounds Stacy had inherited from her gran, who had never been able to stand him, plus half the proceeds from the sale of her gran’s cottage. That, more than anything else, was why she detested him with such a passion now. He needn’t have taken his share of her inheritance, and he knew it.

  These days she was renting the flat above her cousin’s gift and accessory shop in Stroud, while Derek and Pauline, a Texan model with more teeth than hair, and more front covers than brain cells, were living it up on New York’s Upper East Side.

  At least her best friend was less than five miles from Stroud, and now Martin had appeared, the owner of a small but thriving nursery just off the A46, life was finally looking up again. She felt sure Lainey and Tom were going to love him when she got round to arranging a meeting. Certainly Lainey would, because Lainey generally loved everyone, and Tom probably would too, because as far as Stacy could make out there was nothing not to love.

  ‘Sorry about that,’ Lainey said, putting the phone down and typing a quick message to herself into the laptop she kept in the kitchen. ‘Is Dad drinking his tea?’

  ‘Yes, he’s doing very well, aren’t you?’ Stacy replied, guiding the cup Peter was holding back to his mouth.

  ‘Oh, who’s that now?’ Lainey grumbled as the phone rang again. ‘Hello, Bannerleigh Cross.’

  ‘Lainey, it’s me, Sarah,’ her middle sister announced sweetly. ‘Is this a good time?’

  ‘As good as any,’ Lainey told her, turning to Stacy as she went on, ‘What can I do for you, Sarah?’

  Stacy’s eyebrows rose.

  ‘I thought I’d come and see Dad,’ Sarah replied. ‘Would tomorrow be convenient?’

  Expressing no surprise, Lainey opened up her calendar, though she had no need to. ‘Actually, he has swimming in the morning,’ she said, ‘but you could always take him, if you’re free.’

  Sarah was immediately hesitant. ‘I’m not good with things like that,’ she protested weakly. ‘Perhaps we could do the afternoon?’

  ‘Friday would be better, if you could manage that,’ Lainey suggested. ‘Why don’t you come for lunch?’

  ‘OK, if you’re sure it’s no trouble. I’ll be there around twelve. Esther might come too,’ she added, referring to their younger sister. ‘I’ll give her a ring and let you know.’

  ‘That’ll be lovely,’ Lainey assured her. ‘I haven’t seen either of you for ages, so I’m already looking forward to it.’

  Stacy was eyeing her sceptically as she put the phone down. ‘So what pricked her conscience, one has to ask?’ she commented. ‘How long is it since she was last here?’

  Lainey shrugged. ‘A couple of months, maybe longer, and knowing her she’ll cancel before Friday anyway.’

  With a sigh, Stacy said, ‘You know, what beats me is how they can opt out and let you take everything on yourself, when they’re his biological daughters, for God’s sake.’

  Lainey’s eyes clouded. She didn’t much like to be reminded that Peter wasn’t her natural father, when no father could ever have loved her more. ‘He adopted me when I was four years old,’ she said quietly, ‘so I’m every bit as duty bound to take care of him as my sisters are. Perhaps more so, considering how much he’s given me over the years.’ It was true, he’d never made her feel as though she mattered any less than the others; in many ways he’d seemed to go out of his way to make her feel the most special of all, which she guessed was a large part of why she and her sisters had never really been close. Of course, her mother hadn’t helped, the way she’d so blatantly favoured the other two. This was very probably why Peter had always given her so much attention, to try and make up for it.

  ‘I understand how you feel,’ Stacy said softly, ‘but they really ought to do more to help. It’s not as though they live a million miles away, Cheltenham’s only up the road, and they’ve both got cars and . . .’

  ‘. . . busy lives,’ Lainey came in quickly, ‘and to be honest, I’m quite glad they don’t come more than they do. We always end up in some sort of a row, and as soon as we start laying into each other I swear I can hear my mother cheering them on from the grave.’

  ‘It would be completely typical of the old bat to do just that,’ Stacy muttered, her dislike of Alessandra being no secret between them. ‘Even though it was you who nursed her the entire time she was ill. You never let her down, not once, you even moved here, bought this house so you could take her for all her treatments, be there to deal with the aftermath, cope with her pain and temper . . .’

  ‘Stace . . .’

  ‘And where were your sisters for all that time?’ Stacy pressed on forcefully. ‘Bloody nowhere, that’s where they were. If they managed to visit more than twice a month then it’s more than I ever heard about, and I know they didn’t come, because I was here myself.’

  Lainey sighed wearily and came to dab the drool from Peter’s lips. How much of all this was he managing to take in, she wondered? Almost nothing, from the look of him, and though she was thankful for it, she could hardly bear how much she missed him.

  Realising she’d probably gone too far, as usual, Stacy said, ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to rant, and I know things got better between you and your mother towards the end, but honest to God your sisters don’t even begin to understand how much hurt they’ve caused you, and for your mother to have died without telling you . . .’

  ‘Let’s leave it now,’ Lainey interrupted quietly. ‘We can’t assume Dad doesn’t know what we’re saying, and if he does it’ll only upset him.’

  Stacy immediately backed off, and wishing she was better at thinking before speaking, she took Peter’s cup round the bar to the sink.

  ‘Would you like to stay in the chair for your nap today?’ Lainey asked Peter, holding on to both his hands.

  His eyes came to hers and recognising her, he said, ‘Lainey. How are you, my love?’

  ‘I’m fine,’ she assured him.

  ‘Where’s your mother?’

  ‘She’s gone for a little lie-down.’

  ‘Oh, that’s good. I expect she’s tired after all that . . . business.’

  ‘Yes, she is. And I expect you are too, so would you like a little zizz now?’

  ‘Mm, yes I think so. I’m not in your way, am I?’

  ‘Of course not. You’re never in the way.’

  ‘Are the children home yet?’

  ‘No, I’ll be picking them up in a minute. Stacy’s going to stay with you while I’m gone.’

  ‘Oh, that’s nice. What time are we catching the train?’

  ‘I’m not sure yet. I’ll let you know when I come back.’

  Seeming satisfied with that, he squeezed her hands and closed his eyes in a way that showed he’d had enough for now.

  ‘I guess there’s no train,’ Stacy said, as Lainey came round the bar to join her.

  Lainey shook her head. ‘But I do have to pick the kids up, so is it OK to stay with him? I mean, he should be all right on his own, but I’m worried he might try to cook or . . .’

  ‘Of course I’ll stay,’ Stacy broke in. ‘You don’t even have to ask.’

  Lainey smiled. ‘What would I do without you? Oh, I remember, sink without trace!’ Her eyes started to sparkle. ‘Before I go I just have to tell you what I’ve done.’

  Mirroring the sparkle, Stacy said, ‘I knew there was something going on with you. So come on, spill.’

  ‘I’ve actually booked it,’ Lainey declared.

  Stacy frowned.

  ‘The villa,’ Lainey cried laughingly. ‘In Italy. We’ve got it for the entire month, from mid-July to mid-August while I go in search of my roots. The children are going to be so excited when I tell them. They’re dying to go, and now . . .’ She broke off as something smashed out in the hall. Throwing a curious, alarmed look at Stacy, she went to the door and quickly yanked it open.

  It was no surprise to find Max standing over the shattered pieces of an antique vase, though she hadn’t expected to find her bag in his hands.


  ‘What are you doing?’ she demanded, going to take the bag from him.

  ‘It was an accident!’ he cried. ‘I was just picking it up. Like there’s a crime in that?’

  ‘I’ll get a dustpan and brush,’ she said, glancing meaningfully at the bone-china fragments.

  ‘Don’t tell me, it’s worth a fortune,’ he sneered, clearly trying to mask his concern. ‘It has to be, because everything’s valuable around here in the capitalist’s paradise.’

  Lainey stared directly into his moody dark eyes. Handsome he might be, but when, she wondered, had he last shaved, or washed his shaggy fair hair? His clothes were hanging limply from his gangly limbs, and the smell of beer and tobacco was all over him. ‘If you don’t like the capitalist’s house,’ she responded smoothly, ‘you don’t have to stay,’ and turning on her heel she started back to the kitchen.

  ‘I wonder what Tom would have to say if I told him you were trying to throw me out,’ he called after her.

  I’m not trying to throw you out, I’m just trying to make you grow up, she wanted to shout back, but she knew better than to get into a tussle with him when he wasn’t quite sober. Instead she rolled her eyes at Stacy as she picked up the dustpan and took it back to him.

  ‘Dream on,’ he snarled, and turning around he went back through the door he’d emerged from. Apparently his inner demons had laid full claim to his charm today.

  After clearing up the mess herself, she emptied the pieces into a bag and stored it under the sink just in case she decided to show it to Tom. She knew she probably wouldn’t, since she hated it when those two went at each other. However, she wasn’t prepared simply to dismiss it right away. Something had to be done about Max’s manner, particularly the way he seemed to have turned his anger on her lately. She’d just have to try and work it out at another time.