‘He’d know all about that, of course.’ Eileen lips were pursed. ‘Anyway, would you go to him for business advice? He’s killing the goose that lays the golden eggs. You mark my words, the whole shooting match is going to go down the pan. Anyway, he can’t sell the pub over our heads without offering us an alternative.’
‘He has. The Blue Boar.’
Eileen looked at Ted in disbelief.
‘He can’t be serious.’
The Blue Boar was the one Honeycote establishment that stuck out like a sore thumb. A purpose-built pub on a housing estate to the east of Eldenbury, it had been a tactical investment by Mickey’s father in the early seventies. It boasted satellite TV and karaoke nights. Vast quantities were consumed therein, ensuring regular visits from the local constabulary. It was profitable, but at what cost?
‘You realize that if he offers us that and we turn it down, he’s under no obligation to find us an alternative.’
Eileen sat down heavily and looked at the walls around her.
‘Twenty years in February.’
‘I know.’
Eileen’s eyes filled with tears.
‘I don’t understand. We’ve done no wrong. We’ve worked all the hours God gives and more, poured our heart and souls into this place. While he’s been drinking and wenching and gambling – ’
‘You don’t know that.’
‘Don’t I just. I could smell whisky on his breath for a start. Dutch courage, no doubt.’
She spat the words out vehemently. Ted was surprised. Eileen was normally so tolerant, non-judgemental, ready to see both sides of the story. He was usually the one who overreacted and had to be calmed. The truth was, though, he was still in shock and the news hadn’t really sunk in, while Eileen had just had her worst fears confirmed. He patted her awkwardly on the shoulder and was wondering whether to get her a medicinal brandy, when the door swung open and Kelly walked in, now immaculate in a pair of black trousers and a polo neck.
‘What is it, mum?’
Eileen was dabbing at her eyes with the tea towel she’d slung over her shoulder earlier. It stank of onion and accelerated rather than staunched the flow of her tears. She looked up at her daughter.
‘Never work for anyone else, love. Always be your own boss.’
Kelly looked at her dad for confirmation of what she already feared. He’d aged about ten years in as many minutes.
‘Liddiards are selling the pub out from under us.’
‘They can’t!’
‘Of course they can.’
‘But why?’
‘He’s in trouble, isn’t he? You’ve heard the gossip.’ Kelly digested the enormity of what she’d just heard. Her first thought was that the news would explain Patrick’s behaviour the night before. Why he’d been so distant, so anxious to keep her at arm’s length. She went to give her mum a reassuring hug.
‘I’m sorry, mum, but I’ve got to go out for a bit. I’ve promised someone a manicure. Will you be OK?
Eileen took in a deep breath, nodded and smiled. ‘Of course. There’s no point mithering. Things might change. And even if they don’t, we’re still here and I’ve got lunch to make.’
‘I’ll be back at tea.’
Kelly dropped a kiss on her mum’s forehead and smiled at her dad. Ted managed a wan smile back. Bless her, he thought. She doesn’t realize the implications of what’s happening. Even if they got a generous pay-off from Honeycote Ales, which they weren’t entitled to if they turned down the Blue Boar, there was no way they were going to be able to afford a house that resembled the accommodation they enjoyed at the Honeycote Arms. They’d be lucky to be able to afford a three-bedroomed box on the sprawling estate that the Blue Boar customers inhabited. Every week in the paper there was another horror story of drug addiction, violence, robbery, car theft… even though it was nestled in the very heart of the picturesque Cotswolds that most people assumed was immune from the grim realities of the underworld. Ted shut his eyes to close out the picture. He’d always wanted the best for his family. Another ten years and they’d have made it. Kelly and her brother Rick would have been settled in their own lives and he and Eileen could have retired to the B&B on the North Devon coast that they’d always dreamed of. He supposed that dreams were there to be broken, even if you kept your copybook unblotted. Ironic really, that Mickey, who must have the most blotted copybook for miles around, was going to walk out of this unscathed while they paid for his misdemeanours.
Kelly, contrary to her father’s belief, was very much in the picture. She jumped into her car and drove very fast away from the pub, not entirely sure where she was going. She’d felt red-hot rage before, but only very occasionally, for she was a good-natured creature in general. This time, as she drove, the anger she felt was white hot and molten, and out of its ashes emerged a very clear resolution.
Anyone who passed Kelly off as naive was mistaken. Patrick in particular had always underestimated her and assumed her to be unobservant. But in fact Kelly missed very little. And now she had been alerted to a hidden agenda, she started to look back over the events of the past few days and read a great deal into them indeed. Her image as a bimbo beauty therapist was very useful, for it meant people weren’t as careful as they might be in covering their tracks. Usually it wouldn’t matter, for she wasn’t vindictive or spiteful – people could carry on as they liked as far as she was concerned. Until someone she loved was harmed.
More than anything, Kelly was fiercely protective of her parents. Despite their hardworking and hectic lifestyle, they had always managed to put their children first, sacrificing hard-earned time off which could have been spent on themselves and spending it with Kelly and Rick. Selfless support and encouragement meant Kelly and Rick had been able to pursue the paths they had wanted, knowing they always had a warm and loving home to come back to, and spare cash had gone into paying tuition fees, financing courses and equipment that the children had needed. Dependent as they were on their trade, both Eileen and Ted realized the value of independence and wanted their children to do well for themselves.
Kelly had a few snippets of information in her mind that, until now, she had chosen not to piece together, as she had always been fond of Mickey and had given him the benefit of the doubt. But now she was putting together a collage that made a very interesting picture. The other night at the brewery, for instance. That had definitely been Kay’s car. She must have known Mickey was there. And she wouldn’t have expected Patrick to be there. So why disappear up the hill as if the hounds of hell were after her unless she had a guilty conscience? And last night’s little tryst in the gazebo merely confirmed Kelly’s suspicions.
So, if Kay and Mickey were having secret little meetings, Kelly was all for putting a spanner in the works. She’d sat next to Lawrence Oakley at dinner last night long enough to get the measure of him. He wouldn’t take kindly to being cuckolded. He was the deadly, manipulative type. And also, Kelly knew by the way he had put his warm hand on her thigh, just high enough to feel the top of her stockings through her dress, he was the type that was putty in the hands of fluffy young blondes. He’d joked about being a guinea pig for her massage exam; told her to give him a ring if she needed practice. She’d got his card in her pocket. As soon as she was far enough away from her parents not to arouse suspicion, she pulled over, got out her mobile phone and began to dial.
He answered after three rings.
‘Lawrence Oakley.’
‘Mr Oakley…?’ She affected a little tremor in her voice, to heighten the drama.
‘Who is this?’
‘It’s Kelly. From last night?’ She allowed the tremor to break. In her experience, turning the taps on full worked every time. ‘Oh, Mr Oakley, it’s awful. I just didn’t know whether to tell you or not. I hope I’m doing the right thing…’
Lawrence frowned, swivelling round in his leather chair, wondering what on earth the girl was on about. He remembered her from last night. Pretty little thing.
‘What is it?’
‘It’s your wife. And Mickey Liddiard.’ Kelly gulped. It wasn’t in her nature to drop people in it, but it was the only way she could think of to punish Mickey. She couldn’t backtrack now.
‘What do you mean?’ Lawrence had a horrible feeling he knew exactly what Kelly was going to say. His fingers clenched the phone wire as she answered him.
‘They’re having an affair…’
Lawrence managed to keep his voice under control as he thanked Kelly politely for letting him know and hung up. He was surprised that he wasn’t overcome by anger, as he would have expected, but a terrible cold dread right in the centre of his heart.
*
Keith arrived at Honeycote just after midday. Lucy greeted him warmly and made him his fourth coffee of the day.
‘I’m sorry about you and your wife. If there’s anything we can do – Mandy’s welcome here any time…’
Keith was a little taken aback by her confronting the issue so boldly and for a moment wasn’t quite sure what she was talking about. Then he remembered: he’d been deserted and left holding the baby, albeit a comely eighteen-year-old baby quite capable of looking after herself.
Lucy was smiling at him kindly, and he wasn’t sure whether he should assume a mantle of self-pity, self-defence or self-righteousness. Instead, he merely shrugged. ‘All bad things must come to an end.’ He thought that made him sound bitter, so he grinned and flipped a digestive out of the packet Lucy handed to him. ‘Actually, coming here has made me quite forget. Is it something in the air?’
‘Maybe.’ Lucy smiled. ‘You’d better stay for lunch, in that case. It might keep you in oblivion a little longer.’
‘Absolutely not.’ Keith’s assertion emerged with a vengeance. ‘I’m taking you all out for lunch. To say thank you for having Mandy – ’
‘Too late,’ countered Lucy. ‘I’ve already put a joint in. I’ll just have to do a few extra spuds.’
When Mandy came down with Sophie and Georgina, she gave her father an uncertain smile, part embarrassed, part sympathetic. He was overcome by the urge to hug her fiercely but as they had until now been a singularly undemonstrative family he felt it was not the time to start behaving like an over-emotional Sicilian at his only daughter’s wedding. He thought how wonderful she looked, dressed in jeans and a borrowed sweater, her hair windswept and her skin only coloured by the fresh air.
Mandy had, in the back of her mind, worried that her father would be an embarrassment to her and would shatter the haven she had found at Honeycote. But he wasn’t at all: far from it. From the moment he walked through the door he seemed unusually relaxed and determined to enjoy his surroundings. There was no blustering, no boasting, no cringing references to how much things cost or how much they must be worth. He didn’t, as she’d been convinced he would, play his usual party trick of valuing the property. He was proud of being able to price any house in the West Midlands to the nearest five hundred pounds. But Honeycote House seemed to have worked its charm on him and somehow he knew that this house had no price, that its true worth was in the fact that the bathrooms hadn’t been refurbished for fifty years, and not once did he open his mouth to say, ‘I can do you all this in wipe-clean repro with whirlpool bath, power shower and matching bidet – discount for cash.’
Mickey, who seemed to have come back from his early morning ride with a great weight taken off his shoulders, had been delighted to welcome an extra guest to lunch. Everyone tucked in to roast beef and Yorkshire pudding to bolster up their hangovers. Mickey and Keith hit it off immediately, and Mickey chatted with pride about Honeycote Ales. Keith seemed fascinated by the whole operation and Mandy was relieved. They hadn’t had a moment alone yet to talk about her mother, but her father didn’t seem unduly distressed. She was also grateful for the fact that Patrick had disappeared off somewhere and didn’t join them for lunch. She wanted to escape from Honeycote without seeing him. She wanted to go away and lick her wounds, not have salt rubbed into them. And the next time she saw him, she swore to herself, he’d want her as much as she wanted him.
After lunch, Mickey offered to show Keith round the brewery. As soon as he stepped over the threshold, Keith felt as if he’d gone back a hundred years. He climbed the rickety stairs that led up to the top of the tower, surveyed the gallons of liquor cooling in their copper-lined vat, breathed in the yeasty, hoppy vapour and felt a stab of envy.
He plied Mickey with questions, not because he was nosy but because he was intrigued. He was interested to see that Mickey was very bullish about their position: there was no hint of the troubles the extraordinary girl in the Horse and Groom had warned him of. The little minx must have been winding him up.
Mickey finished the tour by giving him a sample of their best bitter. Keith had never been a real ale man, but found he savoured the beer’s depth, its toasty, nutty top notes and the underlying sweetness that made its name so appropriate. When Mickey offered to invite him back on a brewing day, he leaped at the chance. He hadn’t enjoyed himself so much for ages.
Later, when Keith and Mandy had parted with many thanks and promises to meet again soon, Mickey sat in the quiet of the brewery office, heaved a sigh of relief and congratulated himself on the past twenty-four hours’ work. This time the day before yesterday he’d been sitting in a pizza parlour in Cheltenham in the depths of despair, and now, here he was, almost back on the straight and narrow. Why on earth hadn’t he taken stock of his life sooner? Kay had been surprisingly compliant the night before. And Eileen and Ted – well, of course they weren’t thrilled, but he’d find some way of making it up to them.
He looked down at the glass of whisky in his hand and considered his resolutions.
Two down, and only one to go.
Maybe this was going to be easier than he thought.
9
After Honeycote House, The Cedars seemed even less welcoming than usual. As Mandy and Keith crossed its threshold, the cocktail of cleaning agents conscientiously applied by the housekeeper assaulted their senses: harsh chemicals barely disguised by the cloying scent of pine or citrus. Honeycote smelled of coffee, dogs, toast, ashtrays and fresh flowers. It smelled of life, whereas Keith found coming home rather like stepping into a morgue, with any sign of life immediately embalmed.
Father and daughter looked at each other self-consciously, both wishing they were somewhere else. Rather than being liberating, Sandra’s absence was inhibiting. She’d left a vacuum that neither of them was sure how to fill. Mandy was exhausted, from lack of sleep the night before and the emotional turmoil Patrick had left her in, while Keith felt suddenly and inexplicably deflated. Buoyed up by his pint of Honeycote Ale and two glasses of rich, thick claret, he had been full of resolve on the drive home, daydreaming, as Mandy dozed in the seat next to him, about the new world he could create for himself now he had a clean slate. But once back on his own territory it all seemed like an impossible dream.
His world was too far removed from the Liddiards’ for him to be able to glide effortlessly from his into something resembling theirs. His was a domain of remote-control garage doors, underfloor heating and self-cleaning ovens, without a speck of spontaneity. Everything was regulated, programmed, timetabled… how could he break the habits of a lifetime?
Depressed, he walked into the spotless kitchen and looked around the sterile environment, where every appliance was discreetly hidden behind a bespoke, hand-built cabinet, as if it was shameful to admit that your dishes needed washing or your food needed chilling. He took a little bottle of French beer out of the refrigerator and reached into a cupboard for a glass. With distaste, he noticed a trace of Sandra’s frosted cappuccino lipstick on the rim. Somehow, this jerked him out of his depression, and he marched over to the bin (also cunningly disguised) and dropped the glass in, listening with satisfaction as it smashed against the stainless steel at the bottom. Then he flipped the cap of the bottle, raised it to his lips and drank defiantly.
Mandy
appeared in the doorway. She looked upset, almost on the verge of tears.
‘What is it, love?’
‘Look what she left in my bedroom.’
She thrust an envelope at him, covered in Sandra’s scrawl: ‘I hope you’ll understand one day, darling. In the meantime, buy yourself something nice for Christmas.’ Inside was a cheque for five hundred pounds.
‘What, exactly, am I supposed to get? To make up for the fact my mother’s gone off with someone half her age?’
Mandy’s tone was uncharacteristically vicious, and Keith was perturbed to see her blinking back tears.
‘I’m sorry, love.’
‘I don’t care that she’s gone. I just care that she doesn’t care.’
‘I know.’
Keith was surprised to find that comforting a sobbing eighteen-year-old wasn’t as disconcerting as he thought it might be. Sandra’s desertion had created an unspoken bond between them. They were united. But they had decisions to make. Choices.
‘I’m thinking of selling the business.’
The words popped out before he’d even realized that was what he’d been thinking. Mandy stopped mid wail and looked at him in surprise.
‘Since when?’
‘Since two seconds ago. I don’t need to put myself through it any more, now your mother’s gone.’ He paused briefly. ‘Why should I carry on doing something I hate?’
‘I didn’t know you hated it.’ To Mandy, his words sounded almost sacrilegious. Her father had always seemed devoted to his work, spending evenings and weekends tying up deals, unable to tear himself away in order to spend time with his family.
‘Once you’ve got on to the treadmill, it’s very hard to get off. And I had to keep your mother in the style she thought she was accustomed to. All this doesn’t come cheap, you know.’ He waved a hand round the room, but the gesture was further-reaching. ‘It was all totally pointless, wasn’t it? Slogging my guts out to make her happy.’
‘So if you’re going to sell up – then what?’
Honeycote Page 15
