Just a Family Affair

by Veronica Henry

  James swallowed. He could see the glimmer of a tear in her eye.

  ‘I’m just saying enjoy them,’ she croaked. ‘They’re beautiful. And so is Caroline.’ She stood up. ‘I’ve got to go. I want to put another coat of paint on the front door before lunch.’

  She put her cup in the sink and walked over to the door. She was so perfect. So fucking unbelievably perfect. She should have been his. But she wasn’t.

  ‘Thanks, Lucy,’ he managed, raising a weary hand in farewell. And when she’d gone, he put his head in his arms.

  A moment later, Henry came tearing in, skidding across the floor.

  ‘Dad, we’re bored. And Percy’s puked. Can we go somewhere? ’

  James’s initial reaction was to refuse, to snarl at Henry to bugger off and leave him alone. But something in what Lucy had said sank in. Maybe he should try taking her advice.

  ‘Oh dear, poor old Percy. Let’s get a cloth, shall we?’ he said cheerfully, standing up. ‘And where would you like to go?’

  ‘Birdland!’ yelled Henry.

  Great, thought James. Penguins, peacocks, pelicans. Fucking marvellous.

  ‘What a good idea.’

  While Lucy went to see James, Mickey swept the whole of the stableyard until it was clean enough to eat his lunch off. He stopped for a breather, leaning over the stable door, staring at Pudding. He could feel his chest tighten, and a sharp pain under his ribs. It was difficult to breathe. He hoped he wasn’t having a heart attack. Not now. It would ruin the wedding. The sale of the brewery. Kay. Everything. He tried to keep himself calm, but the pain just intensified.

  It was the pony that was doing it. Every time he looked at the little creature, he imagined Flora on his back. How the hell could he give him away when his own daughter, his own flesh and blood, would undoubtedly get as much pleasure from him as Sophie and Georgina had? For Flora was as much his as they were.

  Mickey knew he couldn’t carry on. He couldn’t deny Flora’s existence any longer. He had to come clean to Lucy. He knew he would never be able to sleep at night if he went ahead with the plan as it was. Even though Kay wasn’t pressing him for recognition, it was the honourable thing to do.

  Besides, he owed it to Patrick. He couldn’t let his son start married life with a slur on his reputation that he wasn’t even responsible for. OK, so it hadn’t been made common knowledge, but at the end of the day Mickey realized he had used Patrick shamelessly, taken advantage of his sense of honour. He couldn’t continue the deception. Even if he lost everything, Mickey decided, then at least he would know he had done the decent thing for once in his life.

  Pudding lifted up his chin as high as he could and rested it on the stable door, peering over at him in a quizzical fashion. Mickey took another breath in, and the pain in his chest seemed to dissipate. Maybe he’d just overdone the sweeping.

  ‘Don’t give him his nuts yet. He’ll guzzle them down. I’ll give him a net of hay to be getting on with.’ Lucy was back. She was striding across the yard with a smile. ‘Puds, you’ve had a reprieve. It looks like we’re stuck with you.’

  She scratched the pony between the ears and looked at Mickey ruefully.

  ‘James doesn’t want him. He’s really on his uppers, apparently. Practically bankrupt. Do you think there’s anything we can do to help?’

  Poor, sweet, generous, naïve Lucy. She hadn’t a clue that the treacherous Liddiard brothers had already conspired to sell their birthright to get them out of their respective holes. Mickey pushed his hair back out of his eyes. He reeked of sweat from the morning’s work. He’d go and have a bath, get a bottle of wine out of the fridge, sit Lucy down—

  No. That was another of his faults. Procrastination.

  ‘Lucy. I’ve got something to tell you.’

  Her face went pale. ‘Don’t tell me Sophie’s not going to make it back.’

  She was living for seeing her eldest daughter again.

  ‘No,’ said Mickey hastily. ‘Nothing like that.’

  ‘Oh. What, then?’

  He could just say that the fridge they were using for drinks wasn’t going to fit into the stable because the extension cable wouldn’t reach.

  ‘Kay Oakley. She came to see me. A few weeks ago.’

  ‘I thought the Oakleys had gone to Portugal. Are they back?’ Lucy flicked back the stable bolt and went to get Pudding’s haynet. ‘Why did she want to see you?’

  ‘She’s got a daughter. A little girl called Flora. She’s . . . she’s . . .’

  ‘What?’ Lucy paused in the doorway. Pudding nudged her with his nose, reminding her of the task in hand.

  ‘She’s mine, Lucy. Flora’s mine.’

  Lucy said nothing for a moment. She stepped out of the stable and shut the door, still holding the net in her hand.

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘Well . . . Kay told me.’

  ‘Can she prove it?’ The tone of her voice had altered completely. It was flat, hard.

  ‘She doesn’t need to prove it. The dates add up. And . . . Lawrence was sterile, apparently.’

  ‘Was?’

  ‘He’s dead. He died in a car crash, a few months ago.’

  There was a moment as Lucy took in this information. Then she started to laugh. ‘For God’s sake, Mickey. You haven’t fallen for that old trick? Surely you know Kay well enough? She’d say the Pope was the father if she thought she could get something out of it—’

  Mickey spoke as gently as he could. ‘I’ve seen the child. I don’t need to do a paternity test.’

  Lucy stopped laughing. She took in a deep shuddering breath. ‘You’ve seen her?’

  ‘She’s beautiful. She’s just like Sophie, but with a bit of—’

  The words were knocked out of him as Lucy dropped the haynet and punched him in the stomach with all her might. ‘You bastard!’

  Mickey slumped back against the wall, winded, gasping for air. Lucy stepped forward again, her fists still clenched, and he cowered, appalled by the extent of her rage.

  ‘You complete and utter shit. You knew I wanted another child. And all along you had your own. How could you do that to me, Mickey?’

  ‘Hold on. I didn’t know about Flora. Not until—’

  ‘Don’t waste your breath lying to me.’

  ‘It’s true. Kay came to me for money. Lawrence left her penniless.’

  ‘My heart bleeds.’

  ‘Lucy, we’re talking about a little girl. A little five-year-old girl. I can’t just cut her out of my life. I’ve got to support her.’

  He’d told her this much. He had to get it all out.

  ‘I’m selling my shares in the brewery. And so is James. We . . . think Keith wants out as well.’

  Lucy stepped back, brushing her hair out of her eyes. ‘You’re selling the brewery?’

  ‘Selling our share. It’s probably not as bad as it sounds. We’ve got someone who’s interested in investing. And Patrick will still be on board. We think it’s for the best, getting out now.’ Mickey spoke as fast as he could in an effort to convince her that the decision made sense. ‘The brewery needs heavy investment if it’s going to survive, and we don’t have the resources—’

  ‘Not if you’re having to pay for illegitimate brats. And houses you can’t afford. No.’

  Mickey flinched. Lucy crossed her arms.

  ‘Well, you’ve obviously all discussed it. Does Ginny know you’re selling? Or Caroline? Or Mandy, for that matter?’

  ‘We . . . didn’t want to worry any of you. Until things were definite.’

  ‘How very emancipated of you.’

  ‘Lucy. Please. I’ve tried to do the right thing. For everyone.’

  Mickey had never seen such a terrible expression on Lucy’s face. Disappointment, hurt, betrayal. Loathing. Disgust.

  She finally spoke. ‘Rubbish,’ she said bitterly. ‘If I know you, you’ve tried to slither out of it, keep it quiet, get everyone else to cover your back. Anything but face up to reality.’<
br />
  Mickey felt the words slice through him like the sharpest sabre. Is that really how little she thought of him?

  Lucy walked away from him, then broke into a run, disappearing around the side of the house. He heard her car start up, then drive off.

  Pudding gave an impatient whinny. He could see the bloody haynet. Mickey picked it up wearily and went to tie it onto the ring.

  ‘OK, Pudding,’ he sighed. ‘What the hell do I do now?’

  James had summoned up all of his courage and taken the children to Birdland. It had taken him an hour and a half to get them dressed and ready and to remember all the stuff he had to take with him, but he had managed it. As they stood in front of the flamingos, he felt an overwhelming sense of achievement. Henry and Constance were jumping up and down with excitement, Percy was crowing with delight in his pushchair and against his better judgement James had bought them packets of sweets to stuff in on their way round.

  He decided that maybe it wasn’t so hard to bring himself down to their level. He’d always been rather petrified of taking charge, but when you got down to it their needs were pretty simple. OK, it was exhausting, and the whole nappy thing was pretty grim. But once you’d accepted that you had to do it, it wasn’t so bad after all.

  He felt rather proud. So proud that he helped himself to a handful of Haribo from Henry’s bag and ate them without gagging. He would do chicken nuggets and potato smiley faces for lunch, he decided, instead of the calves’ liver and mash he had been quietly determined to make them eat before his conversion.

  His phone rang. Maybe it was Caroline. He went to answer it with a smile. She’d be astonished when she found out where they were.

  But it was Lucy. She sounded strained.

  ‘James. Where are you?’

  ‘Birdland! We’re having a brilliant time. I took your advice—’

  She didn’t seem interested. ‘Did you know? About this child?’ she demanded.

  James sensed he had to proceed with caution. ‘Which child?’ he asked lightly.

  ‘How many are there?’ said Lucy with a heavy irony. ‘Kay Oakley’s. The one she’s using to wheedle a fortune out of our family.’

  ‘Uuh . . . um,’ said James slowly, playing for time, trying to work out what she knew already, and what his story should be. ‘You mean . . . Patrick’s little indiscretion?’ He thought he’d better toe the party line for the time being.

  Lucy let out a hiss. ‘Is that what you’ve been told? That it’s Patrick’s?’

  ‘You mean it isn’t?’ He was treading very carefully.

  ‘You know it isn’t.’ Her tone was deadly. ‘I don’t believe you Liddiard men. Kay Oakley saunters back into your life with her demands and you drop everything and start selling off the family silver.’

  ‘Lucy. We have a duty to the child.’

  ‘What about the duty you have to your own wives and children? You’ve been sitting there in that boardroom, making decisions that affect us all, without asking us what we think. It’s insulting. And chauvinistic. I bet Caroline would have something to say about it if she knew.’

  ‘You’re probably right.’

  ‘Is that all you’ve got to say? You’re just going to stand by and watch while everything falls apart?’

  James looked up at the pale spring sky. He looked at Constance and Henry peering over the wall at the pelicans. He didn’t want to get involved. He shuddered to think that less than two hours ago he might have been up to his neck in it. Common sense, thank God, had prevailed. Now he didn’t have time to sort out Lucy’s marriage. He had his own to deal with.

  ‘It’s not really any to do with me,’ he said mildly.

  ‘How much is she asking for, James?’

  ‘I’m not sure, exactly.’

  ‘You must have some idea.’

  ‘Um . . . I think it was . . . somewhere around . . . half a million. Roughly?’

  Lucy uttered an exclamation of disgust and impatience and hung up.

  ‘Dad, can we go and watch the penguins being fed?’ pleaded Henry.

  ‘Absolutely,’ said James.

  Penguins, he decided, were far more important than paternity suits.

  Eighteen

  Keith smiled happily down at his roast chicken. He didn’t think he had ever been so pleased to see Sunday lunch in his life. The day before, he hadn’t been sure he would even see the choice that Sandra had made for him, let alone feel like eating it. He was starving. He picked up his knife and fork with relish.

  OK, so he was in a bit of discomfort. And he wasn’t all that keen on tubes and catheters, but he had been assured that they would come out soon. Counteracting that was the relief. It was a wonderful feeling and he revelled in it again and again, enjoying the pleasure those few words gave him: the cancer is no longer within me. He felt he deserved to wallow; after all, he had spent so much time worrying.

  With every bite of his meal, he felt strength flowing back into him. Not just physical strength, but mental. He felt ready to take on the world. With his anxiety dispatched into the ether, there was suddenly space in his head for everything he had been neglecting ever since his first trip to see Dr Keller. Before, he hadn’t been able to focus on anything, because the fear had dominated his every waking moment.

  There were so many things to think about. The wedding - he was thrilled to know that he would be able to walk Mandy up the aisle next Saturday, even though he would need to take it easy. But at least he would be able to concentrate on the joy of the occasion, without the dark shadow that had been dogging him.

  He must focus on the brewery, too. He had only been able to look through the proposal they had received half-heartedly. Now he would be able to go through it with a fine-tooth comb, and draw up a list of questions to fire at their proposed buyer. He knew it was all too easy to make things look enticing on paper. Words cost nothing, after all.

  Most important of all was Ginny. She was due back tomorrow evening. He should do something to welcome her home. Perhaps book a table at the Lygon - he would be able to enjoy it properly this time. And he would tell her everything; ask for her understanding and her forgiveness. He could do that now that he knew he was going to be all right.

  He smiled as he put down his knife and fork, then pulled the bowl filled with apple crumble and custard towards him. As he picked up his spoon, he could hear Sandra’s voice fluting down the corridor. He closed his eyes, wishing that she wasn’t here. For all his buoyant mood, he suddenly felt very tired. Perhaps it was the rather large lunch, or the after-effects of the anaesthetic, but his lids felt heavy.

  Sandra swept in.

  ‘I thought I’d let you rest this morning,’ she said. ‘I went over to Keeper’s Cottage to make sure it was spick and span. Changed your sheets. Hoovered round a bit. Scrubbed the bathroom. You want everything pristine for when you go back - we don’t want you picking up any infections. And to be honest, it needed doing. I suppose everyone just ran off to the airport without a second thought on Friday.’

  Keith felt rather indignant on everyone’s behalf. The cottage had been fine when he left. And to be fair, it wasn’t as if they knew he was going into hospital.

  Sandra sat down on the chair next to his bed.

  ‘I’ve told Mr Jackson he can pop over to the villa for a week’s holiday if he likes. As a thank you.’

  ‘That’s very thoughtful of you.’

  ‘Although he’ll have to hurry up. I’ll be putting it on the market soon.’

  ‘Will you?’ Keith looked at her, surprised. ‘But you’ve only just bought it.’

  She gave him a look that made his heart sink. A look that was part triumphant, part coy.

  ‘We can really go places, Keith,’ she said, her voice simmering with promise. ‘We are going to make such a team. We’ve got the world at our feet.’

  ‘Have we?’ Keith wished he hadn’t guzzled his lunch so quickly. He felt slightly queasy.

  ‘It’s what should have happened at the
very start. We should have worked as a team in the first place, instead of driving ourselves apart. We should have moved together, to the Cotswolds. I should have been at your side. I should have supported you. Honeycote Ales wouldn’t be in the mess it’s in now. But at least it’s not too late.’

  Keith pushed his bowl to one side, his appetite suddenly vanished. ‘Too late?’ he faltered. ‘For what?’

  ‘Keith . . .’ She peered at him from underneath her immaculately coiffed fringe, a smile playing on her lips. ‘We’re meant to be together. We know that. And what a beautiful, beautiful present for Mandy. Her mum and dad back together. It’s almost poetic.’ There was a dreamy expression in her eyes.

  ‘Sorry, Sandra . . . I . . .’ He was scrabbling for any memory that might give him a clue what she was on about. ‘I don’t think I understand.’

  She looked rather put out by his lack of comprehension.

  ‘Last night. You told me that you loved me.’

  ‘Yes. But there are different sorts of love, Sandra. I meant . . .’

  What had he meant? His memory was a bit blurry. Things had been coming back to him in the wrong order all morning, because he had been dozing on and off. He remembered feeling all sorts of things for Sandra the day before. A certain fondness, and appreciation of everything she had done for him. And a definite regret. But not the sort of regret that meant he wanted to start again. Just sorrow that they had caused each other such pain.

  All of those things had obviously combined to send out the wrong message. When he had told her he loved her, she had misinterpreted it as a desire for reconciliation. He had meant that he loved her as a friend. Not husband and wife.

  Keith shuddered inwardly at the prospect. Sandra might have changed, but not beyond recognition. Her assertiveness, her ability to take control, her steely determination had been just what he’d needed the day before, but he knew it would drive him mad before long. She was incapable of getting anything other than her own way. Sometimes that was a strength. It was undoubtedly what had made her a success in business. But Keith knew he couldn’t live with it.