Hugging their pints of Honeycote Christmas Ale, as rich and as satisfying as a three-course meal, Ned and Patrick squeezed themselves into a corner by the window to drown their respective sorrows. Ned was ahead of Patrick, as he’d been taking surreptitious nips from his hip-flask on the treasure hunt, to keep out both the cold and his conscience, so it wasn’t long before he slipped into morose self-flagellation about his predicament.
Patrick was unsympathetic. As far as he was concerned, he’d made his own bed. Ned protested that sleeping with Mayday just didn’t count, she was a rite of passage, fair game. Patrick just raised an eyebrow and suggested he tell that to Sophie. Ned sulked. Patrick clearly wasn’t going to give an inch, or allow him any way out of his dilemma. He didn’t care, because it wasn’t his problem.
Patrick did care, very much, but was wrapped up in an even bigger dilemma that he couldn’t voice to Ned. He had been deeply shocked by Lucy’s revelation about Kay the night before. He was confident that whoever’s baby Kay was carrying it wasn’t his. If life had taught him one thing it was to always have safe sex. Patrick liked risks, but riding bareback wasn’t one of them. On the other hand, he was pretty sure his father never gave safe sex a second thought from one day to the next. He’d be of the old school that considered contraception a woman’s responsibility, if he considered it at all. Moreover, he knew Mickey never learned from his mistakes, and Patrick had been one of his biggest. Add to that the fact that Kay wasn’t of the generation to carry a condom in her handbag and bingo – you could see how it had happened. Apparently Lawrence had been pretty confident it wasn’t his, for whatever reason. Presumably they hadn’t been having sex. So there it was, somewhere Patrick had a half-brother or sister that was destined for the incinerator, if it wasn’t already there. It left him with a sour taste in his mouth, particularly because he knew that if the child had been his, he’d have fought tooth and nail for its survival. For Patrick was all too well aware that if it hadn’t been for his own mother’s liberal outlook on life, he could have ended up being hoovered out himself. He didn’t suppose Mickey had been too thrilled when Carola had announced her pregnancy all those years ago, but she’d stuck to her guns and he’d gone along with it. It was one of the few things Patrick was grateful to his mother for.
He couldn’t help feeling sorry for Kay. He’d tried calling her that morning, but her phone was switched off. He’d have liked to have given her a bit of support, a kind word. She was a bit of a loner, was Kay – he knew instinctively she wouldn’t be getting tea and sympathy from an old school friend. But he couldn’t feel responsible for her predicament. More pressing was his father’s. Mickey must know the baby was his and must be feeling the pressure. As if he wasn’t under enough already. If he could just steer his father through the next few weeks without him cracking…
Patrick went to the cigarette machine to replenish his supply and found himself cornered by an indignant Mayday, hands on hips, tossing back her mane of hair defiantly.
‘OK, so what’s the matter with you two? Why are you blanking me? What have I done?’
Patrick put her straight in no uncertain terms.
‘Why the hell did you give Ned a lovebite? You knew he was after Sophie…’
Mayday looked blank.
‘Did I? I didn’t realize…’
‘Oh, come on – ’
‘I didn’t do it on purpose! It must have been the heat of the moment. You know what I’m like when I get going.’
Patrick rolled his eyes. He knew only too well. Mayday was stricken.
‘Christ, I’m sorry. Why the hell didn’t he wear a polo neck? What does he think they’re for?’
‘Why couldn’t you have exercised some self-control for once, Mayday? I know you think that everything in trousers is fair game – ’
Mayday chuckled, a deep throaty cigarette and whisky rumble that sounded like a Harley Davidson starting up.
‘Or a skirt.’
There had been rumours that she was bisexual. Patrick narrowed his eyes.
‘Basically, anything with a pulse.’
‘And you, of course, set an example to us all.’
She smiled sweetly at Patrick. She didn’t like being chastised. She never pretended to be anything other than pathologically promiscuous, so why should she be reprimanded? But Patrick persisted.
‘At least I think about the possible consequences. Who might get hurt. Sophie was devastated.’
‘Look, I didn’t hold a gun to Ned’s head, you know.’
‘You got him stoned. He told me. And you know how randy it makes him.’
Mayday pouted defensively.
‘Doesn’t she know sleeping with me doesn’t count?’
‘Of course she doesn’t. Sophie’s an innocent. A romantic. She believes in love at first sight, happy ever after.’
‘She’d better get real, then, hadn’t she?’
Patrick didn’t like to admit it, but Mayday had a point. There wasn’t much hope for the likes of Sophie in this world. But he didn’t want her to change. He didn’t want her hardened and cynical – he wanted her notion of a fairy-tale romance to live on. And he truly believed that Ned, even though he could be an utter clot at times, was her Prince Charming. He was one of the few people on earth that Patrick respected and trusted, and considered worthy of his little sister. He wanted to make things right for them.
He looked at Mayday and was shocked to see that her eyes were glassy with unshed tears. He felt consumed with guilt all of a sudden – he’d been hard on her. She’d been in the line of fire and she couldn’t really be held responsible for all his problems. Just the fifteen stone one steadily getting pissed in the corner.
‘Hey, listen…’ He lifted his finger to catch a tear before it fell. He’d never thought of Mayday crying.
‘I do have feelings, you know. I can’t just be used and abused…’
Patrick enveloped her in a comforting hug. She’d always been a good friend to him. In fact, apart from Ned she was one of the few people he really trusted. But sometimes Mayday was her own worst enemy. She was the archetypal tart with a heart; she laid herself open to abuse. Fuck, thought Patrick. Was she someone else he was going to have to save from themselves?
He went through a mental checklist of his Herculean tasks. Winkle his way into Mandy’s knickers and get some dosh out of her dad for the brewery. Try to see if Kay was all right. Sort out Ned and Sophie. Placate Kelly – he still felt a prick of conscience when he thought about her. Save Mayday from herself. Christ, there wasn’t going to be any time to relax and have fun.
He took a couple more pints back to their table. Ned downed his pint in one. It made him even more morose and Patrick was worried if they carried on he might start a fight. Ned wasn’t aggressive, but he was clumsy and this sometimes landed him in trouble when spirits were high.
‘Come on, Ned. Let’s get you back home. You can go and sleep it off.’
Patrick thought it was time he got back home anyway. Boxing Day evening was usually open house at Honeycote House. Lucy cooked a huge ham and a side of spiced beef, which were laid out on the dining table surrounded by jewel-bright salads and pickles and chutneys. There was always a terrifying display of puddings, too, trifles and syllabubs and port wine jellies made in traditional moulds. People wandered in and out all evening helping themselves until well into the early hours – friends, relatives, the vicar, the girls who helped muck out the horses. Patrick thought it was time he went back to help lay out the spread. He’d left the house very early that morning, before either Lucy or Mickey was up, and he had felt a pang of guilt at the sight of the washing-up from yesterday as he passed through the kitchen. Never mind, he’d make up for it by doing all the washing-up this evening, and making sure Lucy put her feet up. She deserved a bit of TLC – even if she didn’t know it.
As soon as Mickey had gone upstairs, Caroline set to work. Every decanter in the dining room was emptied down the sink. She was sure some of it was outr
ageously expensive stuff, but she didn’t care. This called for drastic measures. Then she gathered up every bottle she could find that hadn’t been drunk, which wasn’t many, and took them back down to the cellar. There was a huge iron key in the lock. She snapped it shut with a grim finality and tucked it in her bra. She checked the fridge. There were a few beers – she flipped the tops and emptied them too.
Her first task finished, she turned to the washing-up. She looked everywhere she could think of but she couldn’t find a dishwasher. What was it with the Liddiards and their apparent fear of anything that made life easier? Even her parents, who hardly had a bean to rub together, had had a dishwasher since she could remember. There was nothing for it. Caroline, who never washed up if she could help it – only a coffee cup in the morning and a wine glass in the evening – braced herself, pulled on some rubber gloves and filled the sink with hot, soapy water.
When Patrick walked in at three o’clock, he was amazed to find Caroline in the kitchen, surrounded by piles of gleaming crockery and cutlery, with her arms up to their elbows in suds, about to start on the glasses. He eyed her suspiciously.
‘What the fuck are you doing here?’
‘Lovely to see you too, Patrick. Merry Christmas.’
Caroline held out her cheek for a kiss. Patrick ignored her. He’d never trusted Caroline an inch. ‘Where’s Lucy?’
Caroline threw him a tea towel.
‘I’ll wash. You dry.’
Patrick threw it back.
‘Where’s dad?’
‘Upstairs. Washing away his sins.’
‘What?’
Caroline sighed. Patrick was going to have to find out sooner or later. And he might help with the damage limitation. She was worried about Sophie and Georgina, and how they would react to the situation. She was pretty sure Patrick would be useful when it came to pulling the wool over their eyes. If they could get this mess sorted out as quickly as possible, the ramifications would be minimal.
‘Your dad’s been having an affair. With Kay Oakley. Lucy’s found out and gone running to James.’
‘Stupid, stupid bitch.’
‘Who – Lucy?’
‘No. Kay. How the hell did Lucy find out? Did Kay tell her?’
He’d bloody kill her if she had. He’d put his hands round her throat and choke the life out of her. But Caroline was shaking her head.
‘One of the great clichés of modern life. Last number redial.’
Patrick groaned. He wished fervently he’d had nothing to drink, as it was stopping him from thinking clearly. All the plans he’d been neatly laying were out the window now. Caroline interrupted his train of thought.
‘Look – if you’re not going to help dry up, at least do something useful. Phone round all the people who are supposed to be coming tonight – fob them off. Tell them everyone’s gone down with cholera or TB or something. The last thing we need is anyone else turning up and interfering.’
‘Just out of interest, why are you?’
‘What?’
‘Interfering.’
‘Believe it or not, I care about this family.’
She fixed him with a steely glare. Patrick was feeling particularly uncharitable, so he fired a shot that he knew he shouldn’t.
‘Well, you needn’t think you’re ever going to be part of it.’
Caroline took in a sharp breath. Patrick had hit her right below the belt, without realizing it. She turned on him, eyes blazing.
‘What is this, some sort of conspiracy? What is so awful about the prospect of me marrying James? Your father seemed to find it absurd as well. He as good as accused me of only being after him for his money. I can assure you if that was the case I’d be after someone a lot older and a lot wealthier.’ Caroline looked at him knowingly. ‘You’ve never liked me, have you? Any of you. Is it because’ – mock gasp of horror – ‘my mother was a dinner lady?’
‘I’d no idea your mother was a dinner lady. And if I had, it wouldn’t make any difference. You’re being paranoid.’
‘I’m not.’
Caroline wanted Patrick to admit it – that his family didn’t like her, that they didn’t think she was good enough for James.
‘Caroline – it’s not your parents that make you not good enough for him. It’s the way you treat him. You stand him up, you show him up. You get pissed in public and humiliate him – ’
‘Me?’
‘James just isn’t the sort of person who appreciates dancing on tables.’
No, Caroline thought to herself, he isn’t. Because Lucy would never dream of dancing on a table. She’d never feel the need to draw attention to herself because she always had it, undivided, from everyone around her. Caroline sighed. Should she change who she was to please James? Actually, she didn’t think she could. You couldn’t go from being loud, extrovert and assertive to being gentle and unassuming. And there must have been something about her he’d liked in the first place. It had been over a year, after all. And actually, they never argued about anything.
Was she really that bad? Was she really as unattractive a proposition as Patrick was suggesting? She had a career, didn’t she? If you wanted to talk about gold-diggers, then you only had to look at Kay Oakley. And come to think of it, what about Lucy? James had mentioned once that she had been Mickey’s au pair or nanny or something.
She was aggrieved. Here she was trying to help Mickey out of the mire – he was obviously totally out of his depth and she’d been trying to get him to look at things objectively and apply a modicum of common sense to the whole mess. How dare Patrick swan in and judge her?
‘OK – maybe I’m not top of the list when it comes to choosing eligible wives for your precious uncle. But let’s put it another way, Patrick. Who would you rather have as your auntie? Me – or your stepmother?’
Patrick winced. He hated it whenever anyone referred to Lucy as his stepmother. It was too ugly a word.
‘Because it’s James she’s gone running to. And he’s welcomed her with open arms, I can tell you.’
Patrick snapped.
‘Why don’t you just shove off, Caroline? You’re nothing to do with this family. You don’t understand what’s going on. Just get out.’
‘How dare you? I’m only trying to help – ’
‘Why? What’s in it for you?’
‘I think you’ve misjudged me.’
Patrick gave a short, cynical laugh.
‘Really?’
‘You’re an arrogant little shit.
‘Better than being a gold-digger.’
Caroline had never slapped a man round the face before – in her view it was a sign of defeat, a sign of verbal weakness – but she came pretty close. Instead, she took a deep breath, swallowed, smiled graciously and left.
For the third time that day, she jumped in her car seething with rage. She was furious with the Liddiards, all of them. Why didn’t she just accept that they were a bunch of selfish, arrogant shits, and go out with someone normal?
Mickey came downstairs, washed and brushed and gleaming, to find Patrick in the kitchen poring over the business plan he and Caroline had spent so long agonizing over.
‘Where’s Caroline?’
‘She had to go.’ Patrick’s tone was casual. He indicated the business plan. ‘What’s all this?’
‘Some sort of business plan she made me bash out. Bloody good, actually.’
Patrick went to the fridge to look for a beer. There wasn’t any. He frowned, and went to the cellar door for another tray of cans. The door was locked.
‘Who’s locked the door?’
‘It must have been Caroline. She seems to think I drink too much.’
A further inspection revealed that all the decanters were empty. Mickey was silently impressed. This girl meant business. Patrick, however, was furious.
‘Bitch. Who does she think she is? I’ll go out and get something.’
‘No’
‘What?’
‘She�
��s right. If I can’t do without a drink for twenty-four hours then I’ve obviously got a problem – ’
‘She said that?’
‘Look, Patrick. If Lucy walks in here, I want to be able to defend myself with a clear head, not breathe fumes all over her’.
He couldn’t quite meet Patrick’s eye.
‘I suppose she told you?’
‘Yes.’
Neither father nor son knew quite what to say. Patrick couldn’t bring himself to rebuke his own father, and certainly couldn’t tell him the deal he’d done himself with Kay. He couldn’t believe the cruel twist the cards had dealt, and hów in a split second the whole deck had collapsed when it could so nearly have been all right.
‘What are you going to do?’
Mickey sighed. ‘I don’t know. Talk to Lucy, I suppose. But Caroline says…’
He trailed off. He couldn’t tell Patrick what Caroline had said, about his own brother worshipping his wife. Luckily, Patrick wasn’t going to give him the chance to say anything.
‘Who cares what Caroline says?’
Mickey sprang to her defence.
‘You can think what you like about Caroline, but she’s actually a good sort underneath it all. I wish she hadn’t just gone like that. I wanted to say thanks.’
Patrick felt a bit sick. Perhaps he’d been too harsh on her. But she’d been her overbearing self, bossing him around, treating him like some little boy who didn’t know the implications of what was happening around him. And he’d been pissed, tired and confused. Overwhelmed by his responsibilities. He pushed her to the back of his mind. The last person he was going to worry about was Caroline.
17
Keith had thought he’d made it pretty clear to Sandra what her position was the night before. That she was to keep her head down and make herself scarce as soon as possible. Yet here she was again, the next morning, making her presence known when she’d been told quite clearly that she wasn’t wanted. Any humbler person would have got the message, but here she was in the kitchen, letting rip as she realized there wasn’t going to be room at the theatre for her. Keith remained impassive as she railed at him. He was bloody well not going to let her go to the pantomime, even if she had booked the tickets in the first place. As far as he was concerned, she’d given up her right to a seat the minute she’d walked out of the house. But she, of course, didn’t see it that way.
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