Just a Family Affair

by Veronica Henry

  ‘My nan lives in the council houses. She brought me up. Or as good as.’

  Patrick looked surprised. Mayday gave a twisted little smile.

  ‘You see? You never even noticed me. Why would the likes of you notice the riff-raff from the bottom of the village?’

  ‘You’re not riff-raff—’

  ‘I watched you drive past in your big car. Ride past on your horses. But you never saw me.’

  ‘So you knew who I was all along?’ Patrick suddenly felt set up. As if he’d fallen into some trap. Had she deliberately seduced him, just to prove she could? He felt sick. ‘You did this on purpose,’ he said angrily.

  Mayday bit her lip. The dark purple had long been kissed away.

  ‘OK,’ she said. ‘I admit it. I dared myself. I wanted you to want me, to get you back for all those times you drove past without noticing me.’

  For the second time that evening Patrick wanted to cry. So his seduction had been a trick, a little diversion for Mayday’s amusement. He’d just been a pawn in her game, her pathetic attempt to redress the class barrier, because everyone was the same lying down. And to think he’d felt this was the most important thing that had ever happened to him. He clenched his jaw, not sure whether to walk off into the night. This was a first for Patrick, being made to feel awkward, foolish, unsure. He usually had the upper hand in his relationships, and he knew he could be thoughtless and possibly a little bit selfish. But not premeditatedly cruel.

  ‘Well, I hope it’s made you feel good,’ he said in a strangled voice.

  She cupped his face in her hands, stroking his cheekbones with her thumbs.

  ‘I was wrong,’ she said softly. ‘You’re not what I thought you were going to be at all. And I’m sorry. Will you forgive me?’

  She drew her face towards his and kissed him again. And how could he resist? He had tasted pleasure and he wanted more, even if it brought with it the pain of humiliation and rejection.

  Some time later she looked up at him, eyes glazed with satisfaction.

  ‘I guess that means we’re friends again?’

  Patrick propped himself up on one elbow, smiling.

  ‘More than friends, surely?’

  Her face clouded. She shook her head.

  ‘No. That would spoil it.’

  ‘Spoil it?’ He sat up in alarm. ‘We can’t do what we’ve just done and walk away from each other. It was . . . amazing. How can you not want this to go on for ever?’

  Mayday signed. ‘Sweetheart,’ she said. ‘That’s sex for you. It’s not me that’s made you feel like that, I promise you. You’ll feel like that with the next person. And the next.’

  Patrick felt himself blush. She’d known it was his first time.

  ‘Trust me,’ she went on. ‘It would end in tears. And I don’t want to hate you, Patrick. I want you as my friend. For ever.’

  Ten years on, and they were still firm friends. Patrick was no longer in awe of Mayday and her sultry allure. And he was no longer the embarrassed schoolboy she had seduced; far from it. He’d gone on to learn that she was right, that sex was pretty bloody amazing whoever it was with, unless you were very unlucky. And their relationship had endured the test of time; their loyalty to each other knew no bounds. They could trust each other with secrets, share their misgivings and give their honest opinions. And occasionally, very occasionally, if they found themselves alone together and the mood took them, then they went back to rediscover that magical night, because there had been a chemistry that was hard to forget . . .

  Patrick snapped out of his reverie as the others filed in. First his uncle, James, in a beautifully cut tweed suit and a lilac shirt, his features so much more chiselled than his brother Mickey’s so he always looked rather arrogant and haughty. Which he was a lot of the time, though Patrick was very fond of James, who was his godfather. He’d given him sound advice on several occasions.

  Then Mickey, in a Honeycote Ales polo shirt and a pair of jeans. His dark hair was dishevelled and he was badly in need of a shave. He always spent Mondays with the men, checking over the brewery and seeing what maintenance needed doing. Mickey loved being hands on, and as the master brewer, the keeper of the secret recipes which gave Honeycote Ale its reputation, he liked to keep things clockwork. For someone who couldn’t organize a piss-up in his own brewery, he was surprisingly meticulous about the machinery, and spent hours ensconced with Eric the handyman, who was familiar with its workings down to every last nut and bolt.

  Then Keith, in the v-neck and cords that had become his uniform. His face was usually cheery and smiling, but Patrick noticed immediately that Keith didn’t look himself. There was a set to his jaw and a dullness in his eyes, and his face looked drawn. Was he unhappy about the engagement? His congratulations had seemed sincere the day before, but perhaps now he’d slept on it he didn’t think Patrick was good enough for his daughter? Keith doted on Mandy, after all. And Patrick was banking on his approval of the marriage to ensure his continued support of the brewery. If he was against the wedding . . .

  The next moment, Patrick felt mollified. Keith patted him on the shoulder on his way past, in a gesture that was both fond and reassuring. If he looked tense, it was probably because he knew this meeting was going to be awkward; that they were all going to have to face facts.

  Mickey called the meeting to attention.

  ‘Basically, we’re up shit-strasse. Again,’ Mickey said, surprisingly cheerfully. But perhaps he was used to it by now - staring disaster in the face and being dragged back from the brink. ‘Due to a number of factors that we are all aware of.’

  Everyone nodded, looking rather gloomily at the balance sheets that Elspeth had printed out for them.

  ‘The question is - what is our priority? A temporary overdraft, to prop up the Peacock and get that going again? Every week it’s shut we’re losing money. Or do we cut our losses and sell it? Even in the state it’s in, it’s a prime piece of riverside real estate. There’s a lot we could do with the cash.’

  ‘Once we start selling off pubs—’ Patrick began to object, but Mickey held up his hand to stop him.

  ‘Just hear me out. Let’s run through our options. That’s option one. Option two is a whopping great loan, which means we’ll have to find the money to cover the interest every month and we’re struggling as it is. Option three, find another white knight . . .’

  His eyes flickered over to Keith, who had come to their rescue before. Keith was running a hand over his face wearily.

  ‘And we all know what option four is,’ Mickey finished heavily. ‘I took the liberty of getting a valuation. We’d all do quite nicely.’

  He passed a copy of the valuation to each person. Everyone stared at the figures, doing the mental arithmetic.

  James whistled softly. ‘Tempting.’

  ‘That is assuming we find a buyer. But I’m pretty confident we would. There have been enough breweries knocking on the door over the years.’

  Patrick chucked the paper on the table in disgust.

  ‘It might sound like a lot of money,’ he said. ‘But when it’s gone, it’s gone. There’s nothing to fall back on. No bricks and mortar, no income stream.’>

  Keith spoke up. ‘Patrick’s right. He’s the next generation, after all. It’s OK for us, with our mortgages paid off—’

  ‘Speak for yourself,’ snorted James.

  ‘OK,’ demurred Keith. ‘But we have got to think about the younger ones. Patrick and Mandy are about to get married. They need to know they are secure.’

  ‘I wouldn’t have minded starting married life with a million quid in the bank,’ James observed drily.

  ‘A million quid doesn’t go far these days.’

  ‘Try me.’

  Keith frowned. James was being irritatingly flippant.

  ‘Patrick and Mandy have got to be our priority. We have to safeguard their future as well as our own.’

  Patrick cheered inwardly, delighted that his strategy had worked. Keith
was definitely on his side.

  James sat back in his chair, tapping his fountain pen on the table. ‘Just remind me - when is the wedding? I thought we were tightening our belts.’

  Mickey shot his brother a warning glance. Why the hell was James being so mealy mouthed?

  ‘Second Saturday in May, didn’t we decide, Patrick?’ he said heartily. ‘We should get some decent weather by then.’

  ‘Listen, the wedding doesn’t have to be a big deal,’ said Patrick. ‘In fact, I’m beginning to wish I’d never said anything. We should just have nipped off and tied the knot somewhere quietly.’

  ‘Bollocks to that,’ said Mickey. ‘We need a reason for a party. And I can’t think of a better one.’

  Patrick smothered a smile. Good old Dad, running true to form. Focus on something entirely irrelevant; find an excuse to spend money rather than saving it. Though actually, the last thing Patrick wanted was a fuss, and he was sure Mandy felt the same.

  ‘I think we should just do a picnic in the garden and get everyone to bring a bottle of champagne instead of a present. I mean, Mandy and I don’t need anything for the house.’

  ‘No way. I’m going to put my foot down. You’re having the full works whether you like it or not. Don’t you think, Keith?’

  ‘I think they should have whatever they want.’ In his mild-mannered way, Keith was gently reminding Mickey that this was not his gig.

  ‘Aren’t we straying off the subject?’ asked James impatiently. ‘Much as I would love to discuss the order of service and whether to have matching hymn sheets, Caroline will have my balls for bath plugs if I’m not home to help with the children’s tea.’

  ‘I thought you’d rather like the excuse not to go home.’ Mickey’s tone was loaded.

  Keith looked around the table, worried. The Liddiards always seemed to collapse under pressure. They should be pulling together, not sniping at each other. He sighed. He was going to have to take control. He rapped on the table.

  ‘Enough of this back-biting. I know we’re all under pressure and we all have our own issues.’ Fucking prostate cancer, in my case, he thought, a trifle bitterly. ‘But if we’re going to come up with a strategy we need to pull together. Let’s get all the cards on the table, air all our grievances. James, you seem particularly rattled.’

  James had the grace to look a little shamefaced. ‘OK. I’ll be honest. I was rather hoping one of you lot would buy me out.’

  There was a stunned silence. James had always been a valued member of the board. Not interfering, but a steady head who often had a valuable opinion, when he wasn’t bitching. Not being directly involved with the brewery, his objectivity could be incredibly useful.

  ‘I’m rather up shit-strasse myself.’ He smiled wryly. ‘I’m the first to admit I’ve overstretched myself with this new house.’ The house adjoining James’s antiques shop in Eldenbury wasn’t big enough for a family of five, so he’d rented it out and bought a rather nice coach house on the road to Honeycote. At huge expense. ‘And business is . . . well, frankly, I don’t understand why anyone wants to go to Ikea. But it seems they all do.’

  ‘Because most people can’t afford eighteen grand for a dining table?’ ventured Patrick.

  ‘I don’t just do the real McCoy,’ snapped James. ‘I’ve got plenty of stripped pine - for them wot want it.’

  ‘Perhaps if you weren’t so snotty?’ Mickey always found the way his brother was so precious very irritating.

  ‘Look, I don’t know. All I know is I’m bloody strapped for cash, with Caroline whelping all over the place and too much competition in Eldenbury and Henry starting school, so that’s another ten grand a year to find.’

  ‘What’s wrong with the state system?’

  ‘For Christ’s sake, do you even have to ask?’

  ‘I was speaking to Guy Portias the other day. From Eversleigh Manor? His wife swears by the local primary.’ Mickey could never resist the chance to wind James up. ‘Wouldn’t take her son out when Guy married her, even when his mother offered to pay the fees for Hazlehurst. If it’s good enough for the Portiases . . .’

  ‘Let’s see what happens when they have one of their own, shall we? Anyway, we digress.’

  ‘Keith, you’re very quiet. Any views?’

  Keith had indeed been keeping his counsel, which he had learnt to do whenever the Liddiards were sparring with each other. But now all eyes were upon him. He chose his words carefully.

  ‘I think perhaps we all need to have a good think about where we want to go. Individually. And what Honeycote Ales means to us. Whether . . .’

  As he hesitated, all three of them stared at him in horror.

  ‘You’re saying sell.’ Mickey’s tone was incredulous. ‘A minute ago you were saying hang on.’

  ‘That was before I realized James wanted out. I can’t afford to buy his share.’

  There was a small silence.

  ‘Nor can I,’ admitted Mickey.

  Patrick heaved a big sigh. ‘You don’t even have to ask me.’

  Before all hell broke loose, Elspeth ventured in.

  ‘Mickey, there’s a phone call for you, from your dentist. She says it’s urgent.’

  Mickey looked up, frowning. ‘What?’

  ‘She says she’s had the X-rays back and she needs to talk to you.’

  Mickey was about to say that the last time he’d looked his dentist was a bloke, and he hadn’t had an X-ray for over two years. But suddenly an image popped into his mind, of a pair of wicked green eyes and a mouth curved into a smile. And he heard a voice. ‘If ever I need to speak to you at the office,’ it said, ‘I’ll pretend to be your dentist. I’ll say I’ve had your X-rays back and you need urgent attention.’

  ‘She says it’s urgent.’ Elspeth was insistent.

  ‘Of course. If you’ll excuse me. I won’t be a moment.’

  Mickey got to his feet and left the room.

  Kay Oakley. Kay bloody Oakley. What the hell did she want? He hoped it was just a quick fuck because she happened to be in the area, but somehow he had a gut feeling that there was more to it. It had been that sort of day.

  Mandy sat in her office chewing the side of her finger, wondering what was going on in the board room. After the euphoria of yesterday, the atmosphere today seemed rather chilled. Both her father and Patrick had been distracted this morning. Keith had whizzed off somewhere and Patrick had spent all morning on the computer, swearing softly as he tried to get the printer to work. It was almost as if the wedding had been forgotten already. She knew she was being a brat, but she felt a bit miffed. But then, that was men for you. They probably wouldn’t give the proceedings another thought between now and the time they had to turn up at the church. But Mandy was longing to plot and plan and scheme and dream.

  She decided to phone her mother.

  Mandy was very fond of Ginny, but discussing your wedding plans with your father’s girlfriend wasn’t quite the same. Besides, Kitty and Sasha always got involved, and they did tend to be a bit overpowering, especially Sasha, who was a devotee of every celeb magazine going and had all sorts of over-the-top ideas. No, this was a time when a girl needed her mum.

  Somehow, the fact that Sandra was in Puerto Banus and she hadn’t seen her for over nine months had made Mandy forget Sandra’s shortcomings. She rarely popped back from her sun-drenched villa, so busy was she with setting up her beauty clinics up and down the coast, offering brow-smoothing injections, thread-vein removal and lip-plumping. Absence, as they say, makes the heart grow fonder, and Mandy had conveniently put to the back of her mind that every time she saw Sandra, she set her teeth on edge and couldn’t wait for her to go. She longed for the sort of camaraderie the twins had with Ginny, who had a knack of communicating with her daughters on a girly level, but also provided the comfort and reassurance that only a mother can give. As she picked up the phone and dialled, Mandy felt filled with a warm glow at the prospect of a cosy chat.

  Moments later, she hel
d the phone away from her ear as her mother gave a blood-curdling shriek of excitement.

  ‘That’s it!’ shrieked Sandra. ‘I’m coming right over.’

  ‘It’s OK, Mum. It’s all under control. We’re not having a big wedding. Just close friends and family. We don’t want to go over the top—’ Mandy was too discreet to say that actually they were all pretty strapped for cash. There were certain things you didn’t reveal to Sandra.

  ‘Amanda. This is what I have been waiting for since the day you were born. Have you any idea how important a daughter’s wedding is to a mother? And you’re far too busy to organize everything. You need help.’

  Mandy gulped. She hadn’t anticipated this level of excitement. But then, you never knew with Sandra. Her reactions usually depended on how bored she was. Clearly, she had nothing else to distract her at the moment. On another day, she might have been utterly dismissive, leaving Mandy feeling lucky to have extracted a promise to attend the wedding.

  ‘This is a stroke of luck! I’ve just sold off two of the clinics. I was wondering what to do with the cash. Fantastic. This is going to be the wedding of the year. No, the century. No!’ Mandy didn’t think her mother’s voice could go any higher. ‘The millennium!’

  ‘Listen, Mum. Honestly. We want to keep it low key.’ Why had she opened her mouth?

  ‘There is no point in a low-key wedding. It’s a celebration of two people’s love for each other. It’s a statement!’

  Mandy could hear Sandra’s nails clicking away on her computer keyboard as she spoke.

  ‘Right. I’ve found a flight. I’m coming over Friday. Is there a decent hotel near you?’

  Mandy knew from experience that absolutely nothing was going to stand in Sandra’s way now that the cat was out of the bag. She sighed.

  ‘I can book you into the Honeycote Arms.’

  ‘Has it got a spa?’

  ‘No, Mum. It’s the village pub. But it’s very comfortable. And the food’s fantastic.’

  Sandra sounded doubtful.

  ‘Don’t worry. I’ll find myself somewhere on the internet. And darling, I’m so utterly thrilled. I’m going to make this a wedding to remember.’