Just a Family Affair

by Veronica Henry

  Ginny thought she would quite like to slide under the table and die of embarrassment. Alejandro was slicing up a pineapple as if they hadn’t had wild animal sex not ten feet away from this very table.

  Sandra stood in the hospital corridor, incandescent with fury.

  She had no idea of her next move, and she wasn’t very good at losing.

  Her instinct was to chuck her mobile at the nearest wall and throw an almighty wobbler. That was what she usually did. But there would be nobody there to take any notice. Besides, that was just a cover-up for what she really wanted to do, which was to sit down and weep.

  She had to face up to it. She had to acknowledge the fact that she was never going to be truly happy if she carried on behaving the way she had all of her adult life: scheming, manipulating, bullying and having tantrums. She’d come out on top materially by behaving that way. She was worth a bomb. But inside, she was worth nothing. Even Alejandro was desperate to get away from her. Was she that repellent?

  Of course she was.

  She had tried to get back the man she loved by tricking him, laying traps, pretending to be something she wasn’t. And even if she had succeeded, she wouldn’t have been able to keep up the pretence for long. Keith would have soon seen her for what she was and always had been. And how many lives would she have ruined into the bargain, just so she could get her own way?

  She couldn’t face going to say goodnight to him. She was terrified of breaking down, pouring out her heart and confessing all. No, decided Sandra. She would slip away, keep what was left of her dignity intact. Nobody need ever know.

  She slipped out into the car park. Tears were streaming down her cheeks. She hoped nobody saw her; they might think that someone had passed away. She hurried to the door of her car. It was tempting to drive straight to the airport and see if she could get on a flight, but she had to stay another week. She would see the wedding through, see Patrick and Mandy married. And then she would take stock. Decide what to do with her life, see if she could find a way to repair the damage. Rebuild herself into the kind of woman who deserved a man like Keith.

  A woman like Ginny. A kind, patient, giving, warm-hearted woman with the strength to resist flattery and temptation because she believed in love.

  Nineteen

  On Sunday afternoon, Patrick left the train at Eldenbury station and got into his car. He wasn’t sure what to do. He didn’t fancy going straight home. The cottage would be empty and he would be left alone with his thoughts, which he didn’t want as they made him feel too uncomfortable. He wasn’t particularly proud of his behaviour.

  He decided to drive over to Honeycote House to see how the preparations were going. Lucy would give him supper, he was pretty sure. And tomorrow, after a decent night’s sleep, the weekend would be a memory that he could bury. His conscience was only pricking because he was tired and a bit hungover. Misdemeanours always seemed greater when you were under par.

  He and Mayday had skirted round each other that morning somewhat awkwardly, having woken up tangled in each other’s limbs. Luckily, breakfast arrived not long after, bringing a welcome distraction. It was wheeled in on a trolley, Hollywood movie style. There were silver domes, white plates, exquisitely prepared fruit, a basket of tiny warm croissants and Danish pastries, as well as a dish of bacon and scrambled egg. The two of them shared their meal and pretended to immerse themselves in the Sunday papers.

  Each sensed that the other wanted to make their escape, but neither vocalized it. Nor did they talk about what had happened in the early hours. Discussing it would turn it into something it wasn’t.

  As checking-out time loomed, Mayday announced that she had decided she was going to stay another couple of days.

  ‘I’ve never spent any time in London,’ she said. ‘And I want to explore. It’s a total change of scene for me. I think it’ll take my mind off what’s happened recently. Gran dying,’ she added hastily in explanation, in case Patrick misunderstood.

  Patrick had agreed it was a good idea. He was relieved not to have to sit on the train together, or worry about being seen when they got back to the station.

  ‘Thank you for the most fantastic weekend,’ he said, hugging her goodbye as the taxi pulled up to the kerb. ‘I’ll never forget it.’

  He didn’t look back as the taxi drove off. He had to look forwards now. It was less than a week to the wedding.

  Now, as he drove up the drive to Honeycote House, he was amazed at the transformation. The tyres of his car crunched merrily over the newly laid chippings, and the air was filled with the sweet smell of freshly mown grass. He suddenly felt guilty that he had left Mickey and Lucy with all the preparations while he’d been lording it up in Claridges.

  The front door was ajar. It had been repainted in a muted grey-blue. Lucy had pinned up a notice warning of wet paint. He pushed the handle gingerly and walked in, thinking that the house sounded very quiet. Maybe they’d gone off to the pub.

  He knew exactly what had happened as soon as he walked into the kitchen. Mickey was sitting there, head in his hands, a bottle of wine on the table in front of him.

  Patrick sat down next to him. His father looked at him dully, his eyes red-rimmed. Not from tears, probably, but from drink.

  ‘Lucy knows.’

  Patrick sighed. ‘I suppose it was too much to expect that it wouldn’t get out. Did somebody see Kay?’

  ‘No. I told her.’

  Patrick looked at his father, aghast.

  ‘I’m sick of living a lie. I couldn’t keep it quiet any longer.’

  Patrick ran his fingers through his unfamiliarly short hair, wishing he still had the length to tug at.

  ‘How did she take it?’

  Mickey’s smile was grim. ‘She punched me.’

  ‘Lucy?’ Patrick had never known Lucy hurt a fly.

  ‘I’ve never seen her so upset. Not even when she found out about Kay in the first place.’

  ‘Couldn’t you have kept your mouth shut? At least until after the wedding?’

  ‘I’m sorry, Patrick. The last thing I wanted to do was to ruin your day.’

  Patrick felt absurdly angry. After everything he had done. After all the sacrifices he had made to keep the Liddiard name intact. He was even marrying Mandy for the family’s sake. Well, partly. Not that he would ever admit it, not in a million years, but there had been a split second last night . . . Patrick pushed the thought to the back of his mind. Dwelling on what might have been wasn’t going to help.

  ‘For heaven’s sake, Dad,’ he exploded. ‘Everything was in place. We had it all sorted out. Why did you have to go and blow it?’

  Mickey reached out automatically to fill up his glass, but the bottle was empty. He slammed it back down on the table, suddenly feeling resentful that the blame was always laid at his door, that he was always the bad guy, the loser. It wasn’t his fault. He hadn’t bumped off Lawrence Oakley. If anything, he thought he was being rather brave.

  He scowled at his son. Perhaps Patrick didn’t like him behaving well. Perhaps Patrick had got used to the glory and got rather a thrill from having to make up for his father’s deficiencies. Mickey decided he was tired of having to make excuses for his behaviour, and letting other people run rings around him just because he felt eternally guilty. If he was open about what he had done and how he felt, people would have to fall in with him for once. It was a liberating thought.

  ‘I can’t keep Flora hidden away for the rest of my life. I just can’t.’ He was uncharacteristically emphatic. ‘Look at the fun you lot had here. In the fields, and the woods, on the ponies. Here, in this kitchen. All the birthdays, all the Christmases, bonfires, barbecues, camping . . .’ Memories came flooding back. ‘Why should Flora be deprived of the chance to have all of that? She should be allowed the sort of childhood you all had, not an isolated existence. Why can’t everybody just see past all of the scandal and make the best of what I agree is the most monumental fuck-up of all time but can’t be changed?’r />
  Patrick had never seen his father so impassioned. Mickey’s eyes were blazing. He leaned in to his son, and grabbed him by the shirt.

  ‘I fought for you, Patrick. Do you know that? I went through hell, battling against your mother because I believed Honeycote House was where you belonged. I wanted you to have all of this, not some shitty little sub-standard flat in the arse end of London. I didn’t give up. I could have done the easy thing and bunged your mother a load of cash to bring you up with. But I didn’t. You were my flesh and blood. I brought you back here. So please - don’t stand in my way when I want to do the same for Flora. The rules are the same for both of you. She has the same amount of my blood as you do.’

  Patrick lit a cigarette, his hand trembling. His father had never spoken to him like that before, and he felt chastened, realizing that in his desperate attempt to save everyone’s feelings, perhaps his father’s had been left out.

  ‘I’m sorry, Dad,’ he managed. ‘I didn’t mean . . .’

  ‘I know you didn’t.’ Mickey pulled his son to him for a moment and held him. Patrick suddenly wanted to cry. Everything was unravelling too fast. He felt confused about what was right. What his role was.

  Who he loved.

  No. He had no room in his head for that one.

  ‘What about Lucy?’ he asked. ‘Where’s she gone?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Mickey replied. ‘To find James, I expect. He’ll be only too thrilled to have her weeping on his shoulder. He’s been waiting years for me to slip up again,’ he added bitterly.

  ‘Actually,’ came a voice, ‘I’m here.’ They both looked up to see Lucy standing in the doorway, pale-faced but defiant. She walked across the room with her arms folded. She took up her familiar position, her back to the Aga, and shook out her hair.

  ‘I have spoken to James,’ she announced. ‘I got it all out of him. Eventually.’

  She glared at Mickey.

  ‘I don’t know why you inspire such loyalty in people. I really don’t. And Patrick, don’t you ever, ever take the blame for your father again.’

  ‘It was to protect you!’ protested Patrick.

  ‘Only because you were all worried about what I might think or do or say.’ Lucy was scathing. ‘Kay was smart enough to see that. How else did she think she was going to get her hands on half a million quid? Only if you were all running round scared witless of me.’

  Mickey and Patrick looked at her warily.

  ‘There’s no way I’m going to let Kay Oakley come back here and blackmail us. And ruin Patrick and Mandy’s wedding into the bargain.’

  ‘We can’t just throw them out onto the street,’ Patrick pointed out.

  Mickey shot his son a grateful glance.

  ‘Of course we can’t,’ replied Lucy. ‘The child is Mickey’s daughter. And none of this is her fault.’

  She came and sat down at the table with them. ‘I spent the afternoon driving round thinking about what to do. My first reaction was to shoot Kay. After I’d shot you, of course.’

  She glared at Mickey, who managed a weak smile.

  ‘But actually, that didn’t really solve anything. And it didn’t help Flora, who really is the innocent party in all of this. So I started looking at practical solutions. Obviously we haven’t got five-hundred-thousand to shell out just like that. Unless you’re keeping something else from me?’

  ‘Of course we haven’t.’ Mickey had managed to find his tongue. ‘That’s why we were trying to raise the money. By selling our shares . . .’

  Lucy picked at a piece of candle wax on the table.

  ‘I know James wants to sell. And maybe Keith too. But I don’t see why you should be forced to sell all of your interest, Mickey. Especially not now you’ve got someone wanting to invest. This could be really exciting. You might have the chance to do things with Honeycote Ales that you’ve always dreamed of. Why should Kay get in the way of your dreams?’ Lucy paused for breath. ‘I came up with another idea. Which would mean you wouldn’t have to give up the brewery.’

  Mickey and Patrick looked at each other.

  ‘Fire away,’ said Mickey.

  Lucy waved her hand around the room. ‘This place is far too big for us now. We’ve been rattling around for the past six months. So, I thought . . . if Patrick and Mandy moved in here, Kay and Flora could have Little Orwell Cottage to live in for as long as they need to. Without actually giving it to them, of course. It still belongs to Patrick, but at least they’ve got a roof over their head while she’s growing up.’

  Mickey frowned. ‘What about us?’ he demanded. ‘Where do we live? Are you suggesting we stay here with Patrick and Mandy? Only that doesn’t seem fair on them—’

  ‘No. This is their home. After all, they’ll probably be starting a family before long.’

  ‘So we live in a caravan, then? Or go on a cruise?’

  ‘We convert the stable-yard.’ Lucy dug in her pocket and spread a piece of paper on the table. On it she’d drawn some rough sketches. ‘There’s enough space to create a three-bedroom house with a decent-sized kitchen and living room. We should get planning permission without any problem. We can design it exactly as we want it. I think it could be . . . fun.’

  There was a stunned silence.

  ‘What if Mandy doesn’t want to live here?’ Patrick wished he hadn’t opened his mouth as Lucy’s steely glare slid round to meet his gaze.

  ‘She’s got to accept what she’s marrying into. And if she doesn’t like it, there’s still time to cancel the wedding.’

  Patrick fell silent. Lucy was right. They were all going to have to cut their cloth.

  ‘As for money,’ Lucy went on, ‘I suggest you give Kay a job at the brewery. She’s a good businesswoman, if I remember. And hard-working. There must be something she can do on the marketing side.’ A thought occurred to her. ‘Where is she, anyway? Where’s she been all this time?’

  ‘She’s staying at the Peacock. In the flat.’

  Lucy digested this new piece of information. Patrick and Mickey waited tensely for her reaction. How would she feel, knowing her nemesis had been billeted only a few miles away?

  ‘That flat’s . . . uninhabitable,’ she said finally.

  ‘We made it as comfortable as we could,’ replied Patrick.

  ‘You have been busy.’ Lucy looked back and forth between the two of them. ‘Right. Well, we better phone her. Sit round the table and thrash it all out.’

  ‘Today?’ Things were happening too quickly for Mickey.

  ‘The others are back from Puerto Banus on Tuesday morning. Sophie and Ned get in that evening. I think we need everything straight by then. So we can tell everyone what’s going on.

  Mickey quailed at the thought of his daughters knowing his sordid past. But he knew Lucy was right. He marvelled at her fighting spirit, her ability to see the bigger picture, her determination to keep everything together for them. Though he doubted he was completely off the hook. Surely in a quieter moment, when they were alone together, there would be recriminations.

  Patrick picked up his car keys.

  ‘Come on, Dad. I’ll drive you over.’

  Mickey was about to protest, but Patrick looked pointedly at the empty bottle on the table.

  ‘Ask her for supper.’ Lucy stood up decisively. ‘Get her to bring Flora over so we can meet her. She’s going to be one of the family from now on.’

  At the Peacock, Kay watched from the window as Patrick and Mickey got out of the car and walked across the courtyard to the flat’s entrance. She felt a cold chill settle around her heart. They looked so serious. She saw Patrick glance up to the window nervously, and she stood back so he couldn’t see her.

  For a moment she compared them. Which, she wondered, would she choose now? Mickey, very much the English country gent, distinguished but slightly unkempt, always looking as if he had just jumped off a horse or a woman. Or Patrick, with those Byronic features, haughtier than his father but with that decadent edge. They were
so similar, yet so different. As she knew. Her cheeks burned slightly as the memories fast-forwarded through her mind - her and Mickey in the back of a horse box, her and Patrick in a gazebo. Those stolen moments that had such far-reaching consequences for all of them.

  Why were they here? Had they come to tell her that they weren’t going to play ball? That there wasn’t going to be any money? She knew she shouldn’t have counted her chickens. She’d been to look at a couple of houses - nothing special, because she would never be able to afford what she wanted. But she longed to be settled and to have a roof over their head that they could call home, so Flora could feel secure and have her things around her.

  She’d also made the mistake of booking Flora in for a trial day at Hazlehurst, the little prep school in Eldenbury. They had a place for her in September if she wanted it. And Kay knew that if she wanted anything for her daughter, it was that. She would make every sacrifice and work her fingers to the bone to pay the school fees. But if the Liddiards weren’t going to contribute, it was out of the question.

  Of course, she’d get money out of them in the end. But it would be a long, drawn-out and humiliating process and she didn’t think she had the strength to fight. She felt so weary. Depressed. The doctor had told her it was hardly surprising, and to make sure she looked after herself - eat well, get plenty of fresh air. She got plenty of that all right - the wind whistled through the cracks in the window panes.

  She heard the knocker on the flat door go. Flora was colouring quietly in the living room. She rushed into the bathroom to look at her appearance. She’d need at least half an hour to even start to look human. She ran her fingers through her hair to try and give it a semblance of body, then gave up.

  Her heart felt heavy as she went to open the door.

  ‘Hey!’ said Patrick as soon as he saw the expression on her face. ‘It’s all right. We’ve only come to ask you for supper.’

  Mickey stepped forward. ‘I’ve told Lucy everything, Kay. I don’t want to keep you and Flora a secret. You shouldn’t be locked away here. We want you to be . . . part of the family.’