by Karen Clarke
‘So how come Harry knows?’
Her eyes darted uncomfortably away. ‘I tried to forget Steven, I really did, but years later, when I was living here for a while, I bumped into him on the beach. He was with Harry, who must have been about eleven.’ She hesitated.
‘Go on.’ I folded my arms, certain I wouldn’t like what was coming.
‘Harry went to get an ice-cream and Steven and I got talking.’ She looked at the table, as though replaying the scene there. ‘I ended up kissing him,’ she said quietly. ‘He pushed me away almost immediately, but Harry saw us.’
‘For god’s sake, Mum.’ I tried to imagine how he must have felt. ‘Couldn’t you keep it in your pants?’
‘That’s disgusting, Marnie.’ Her expression was pained. ‘I still loved him, but he didn’t feel the same about me. He really adores Jacky.’ She sounded vaguely puzzled, and I could see it must have been hard for her to understand why he’d chosen Harry’s plain, cosy mum over her.
‘Is that why you left again, in case Harry told his mum what he’d seen?’
The air seemed to leave her body, as though now the truth was out she could relax a little. ‘In a way, I’d have been pleased if he had,’ she admitted. ‘I wanted Jacky to throw Steven out because then he might have come to me.’
‘Oh, Mum.’
‘I know, I know,’ she said, lifting her hands as if warding off my disapproval. ‘But Harry’s a good boy, and he cares deeply for his mother. He wouldn’t have wanted to hurt her.’
What a horrible burden that must have been for him to carry.
‘I don’t know if Steven ever talked to him about it, or what he said if he did. We never spoke again.’
An even worse thought brought me to my feet.
‘What is it?’ Mum’s face paled further.
‘Is Steven Fairfax my father?’
As the words flew out my heart went into overdrive. If they’d had an affair, it made sense. It would explain why she went to India and came back heavily pregnant, and was vague about my father – why Steven had gone out of his way to be nice to me whenever he saw me over at Beth’s house.
‘Is Harry my brother?’ My voice was a panicked squeak.
‘Marnie, don’t be silly.’
Mum’s voice seemed miles away.
‘Marnie?’
I couldn’t breathe.
I flew to the back door and dragged it open, gulping in fresh air.
‘Darling, are you OK?’ As Mum placed a hand on my back I twisted away, almost falling over Chester pushing into the garden.
‘Answer me.’ My throat felt raw.
‘Oh, Marnie.’
‘MUM!’
Her face was creased in faint lines of bewilderment.
‘You are silly,’ she said, tentatively patting my arm. ‘I was in love, I hadn’t had a lobotomy, for goodness sake. And the dates don’t add up, if you think about it.’
‘So Steven’s not my father?’
‘No, Marnie, he isn’t.’ She sounded almost amused now. ‘What an idea!’
I reeled into the kitchen and gripped the edge of the worktop. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Of course I am.’ She clicked her tongue. ‘Your father was Juan … somebody or other,’ she flapped her hand, ‘and I’m sorry I can’t remember the details, I really am, apart from that he was very good-looking, but it definitely wasn’t Steven.’
My lungs deflated. ‘Thank Christmas for that.’ I didn’t want to be related to the Fairfaxes. The ramifications were too huge to even begin to contemplate. ‘Oh god, I’m so relieved.’
‘Me too,’ said Celia, and I sprang round to see her emerging into the kitchen. ‘I did wonder once or twice, but had no intention of opening that can of worms.’ She padded over to squeeze my arm. ‘The dates do just about add up,’ she said to Mum, ‘but I must admit, I couldn’t see Marnie as a Fairfax.’
‘You only had to ask me,’ Mum said, a wrinkle between her eyebrows, as if it had all been a terrible fuss over nothing. ‘We could have done DNA, or something.’
‘Well I think it’s probably played on Steven’s mind over the years,’ said Celia, her voice less stern than it might have been under the circumstances. ‘He was always asking after Marnie, and about you. And he even asked me to train his dog a while ago.’ She sniffed. ‘He must have known that I knew about the affair, because I could hardly be civil to the man.’
‘But he never asked outright whether he might be my father?’
‘He probably daren’t, not if it meant he might lose Jacky and the boys.’
‘I think most people knew about the affair,’ said another voice. We rotated to see Doris Day on the doorstep, wearing sheepskin Uggs, and a coat flung over her stripy pyjamas with a notebook peeking out of the pocket. ‘It was one of those unspoken secrets among locals,’ she said, stepping inside. ‘Because no one wanted to see Jacky get hurt.’ She threw Mum a glacial look.
‘Come in, Doris, why don’t you?’ Celia didn’t hold back on the sarcasm.
I had a dizzying urge to giggle. ‘What are you doing here, Doris?’
‘It’s the middle of the night,’ Mum observed, glancing at the window in mild surprise, as if she’d just noticed the inky, star-sprinkled sky.
‘I was disturbed by noises from a neighbouring house,’ Doris said, tipping me a wink, and I guessed she meant Isabel Sinclair’s. ‘Then I saw your lights were on, which was unusual in itself, so thought I’d investigate in case someone needed help, and discovered Chester in the garden.’ She paused, as if building up to an Agatha-Christie-style denouement. ‘And I couldn’t help overhearing your conversation.’
‘So you’ve kept it a secret all this time?’ Celia asked, her nightie billowing as a breeze blew in. ‘I appreciate your discretion, Doris.’
‘Nobody else’s business,’ she said, with a bristle. ‘I might not have approved of their behaviour,’ another arctic glance at Mum, ‘but family’s family, and that little boy didn’t deserve a broken home.’
‘Steven was hardly innocent,’ Celia pointed out, leaping to Mum’s defence. ‘He was the one who was married, albeit far too young, and Laura was an impressionable girl.’
Mum didn’t look keen on this description. ‘I knew what I was doing,’ she said, as though that was a good thing. ‘I was sure he’d leave Jacky for me, but he obviously regretted what happened between us. They even had another baby.’ She gave a rueful half-shrug, but I remembered the look from earlier and knew he’d broken her heart. ‘I just couldn’t stay around here.’
We fell silent for a moment, lost in our own thoughts. I guessed Beth had no idea, or she’d have told me. Which meant Harry had kept it to himself all these years, making me the outlet for his resentment after he got together with her.
Poor Harry.
I longed for Alex, suddenly. I wanted to feel his arms around me, and for him to reassure me the way he had when my grandfather died.
‘Well, I’d best be off,’ announced Doris, as though she’d been round for dinner. ‘I must say, it’s nice to see you all under the same roof for once.’
We stared after her as she swept out, clumping across the garden in her Uggs, and there was new respect in Celia’s eyes.
Chester came inside and clambered into the armchair, as if he’d had enough excitement for one night.
‘When you used to come back, was it to see him or me?’ I said to Mum, arms belted around my waist.
Her face crumpled. ‘Marnie, you don’t have to ask.’ She came over and prised my arms away from my body. ‘It was you, you, always you, my little bird.’ She placed a palm to my burning cheek. ‘But after a while I’d start thinking about him, and knew I couldn’t stay.’ She dashed a tear from her cheek. ‘It was easier when they moved to Wareham, and then I met Mario and …’ she paused. ‘And I really think he’s the one.’ She gave a little wondering laugh, as if the truth had just hit her.
‘Did Dad know?’ she said to Celia. ‘About Steven?’
Celia nodded. ‘He never judged you, you know that,’ she said. ‘Not like I did.’
‘Oh, Mum.’
‘What do you think of Mario?’ I asked Celia, sensing things were about to get more emotional. I’d never heard her express an opinion about him, guessing she’d assumed – as I had – that their relationship wouldn’t last.
‘He’s what I’d call a real man,’ she said, lifting her chin. ‘Someone you can rely on.’
Pleasure spread over Mum’s face. ‘He is,’ she murmured, as if realising it for the first time. ‘How he puts up with me, I don’t know.’
‘Mind you, he’s hairier than a Newfoundland. I half-expected him to moult when you brought him here.’
Unexpectedly, Mum spluttered with laughter and Celia and I joined in, and then we did the most un-Appleton-like thing we’d ever done in our lives.
We had a group hug.
Twenty-Nine
A bolt of sunshine bounced through the window and woke me at eight o’clock the following morning and, despite having barely slept, I felt recharged.
I rolled out of bed and crossed to the window. The sea glittered and danced under a faultless blue sky, and it was such unusual weather for a bank holiday I decided to hold my sweet-tasting session outside.
After washing and dressing, and arranging a hairband low on my forehead to disguise my lack of fringe, I marched outside and wrenched a trestle table from the back of the shed that my grandfather last used when he wallpapered the living room in 1979.
After dusting off the cobwebs I hauled it into the kitchen, where I was distracted for five minutes by a deluge of photos pinging onto my phone from Beth. All were of Bunty, and all identical as far as I could tell. She was lying in a little Perspex crib, wearing one of the onesies I’d bought for her, patterned with yellow rabbits.
Meet your god-daughter, crumble-face. Isn’t she gorgeous? Can’t wait for you to meet her xxx
I blinked back a rush of tears.
She’s got her mother’s looks – half-alien, half bombshell ha ha. Seriously, she’s beautiful. Hope you’re OK. Can’t wait to see you both xx
I’ve never been happier, though my pretty duckies are already leaking like dodgy milk cartons. Might see you sooner than you think xx
‘I’ve got some nice tablecloths you can put on that,’ said Celia, striding into the kitchen, seeming to grasp immediately what the trestle table was for. She seemed remarkably refreshed, considering the night we’d had, and was fully dressed in a stiff-collared white blouse, black corduroy culottes, and snow-white trainers. As she fished the tablecloths out of a drawer, I found some card and a pen, and prepared to write out some sweet labels as Mum drifted in, as dewy as if she’d showered beneath a waterfall.
‘Shouldn’t you be at the shop?’ she said to me, filling the kettle.
‘I open at ten on Sundays and bank holidays.’
Her eyes scanned Celia’s outfit, but although her eyebrows convulsed, she refrained from commenting. ‘I’d like to help out, if you’ll let me.’
‘Of course,’ I said, amazed she was even out of bed. Mum had never been an early riser. ‘You did make most of the sweets.’
‘I thought it would be nice to do something together,’ she said, pulling a band from the pocket of her white denim skirt, and twisting her hair into a knot. ‘I kind of wish sometimes I’d helped out more when Dad was alive.’
Celia made a harrumphing noise but didn’t retaliate. I had a feeling we’d turned a corner the night before, and none of us was willing to break the fragile bond that had sprung up.
I guessed it wouldn’t last. For a start, I’d need to talk to Harry at some point, and I privately thought Mum should apologise to him for what happened between her and his dad. And she definitely needed to let Steven Fairfax know that I wasn’t his daughter.
Shoving these thoughts aside, as well as the ones of Alex that kept creeping in, I focused on writing out peanut brittle in my fanciest handwriting.
I felt oddly nervous as I loaded the trestle table into the back of Celia’s car, now she’d decided she was ready to drive again. I wanted things to go well – particularly as Sandi Brent, and that awful reporter, Chris Weatherby, were bound to turn up in the hope things would go badly wrong.
And I had no doubt that Isabel Sinclair had plans.
‘I’ve got my session with that dog today,’ announced Celia as we kangarooed past Isabel’s cottage in the car. She’d never been the best driver, even before she broke her leg.
‘That’s no way to talk about Isabel,’ I said.
Mum gave a shout of laughter. She was sitting up front with Celia, while I flailed in the back, trying to stop the trays of sweets from sliding onto the floor.
‘I’ll drop you two off, but I’ll be down later on.’ Celia seemed to be semaphoring me a message with her brows in the rear-view mirror, but I couldn’t decipher their meaning.
‘Will you be bringing Paddy?’ I said, with mock innocence.
‘Paddy?’ Mum’s eyes bulged. ‘Paddy-next-door?’
‘We’re friends,’ said Celia, not rising to the bait. ‘And he’s working today.’
‘Ooh, you and Paddy,’ Mum said, nudging Celia’s arm, which had the effect of making her swerve into the middle of the road.
‘Christ, Mum, are you sure you’re OK to drive?’
Celia responded by slamming her foot on the accelerator, while Mum squealed like a child and clutched the sides of her seat.
By the time Celia had jack-knifed the car round the back of the sweet shop my face was avocado-coloured, and we’d only been driving three minutes.
‘Do you think she’s safe with the old beast?’ said Mum as the car roared off, belching fumes.
‘Paddy’s really nice and he’s helped Gran a lot.’
Mum gave me a look that reminded me a lot of Celia. ‘That car’s an environmental hazard.’
‘You know how independent she is,’ I said, slipping my key into the back door. ‘Anyway, the hospital has signed her off so I guess she’s fine.’
‘A feisty old stick, isn’t she?’ Mum said, as if she’d only just noticed. ‘I honestly thought she’d go ballistic last night.’
‘I suppose you couldn’t have blamed her if she had.’
‘Maybe I’ve not always been fair to her.’
Hallelujah, I thought as she followed me through to the shop.
‘Oh wow, this looks amazing!’ she said, twirling around to admire the new décor with shining eyes.
I puffed up with pride, seeing it through her eyes. ‘Good, isn’t it?’
She wafted behind the counter to study my certificate, and the photo of Gramps, and I left her to her thoughts while I brought the sweets in from the car.
Ten minutes later we were out on the pavement, wrestling the trestle table open. It couldn’t have been simpler to operate, but somehow kept collapsing in the middle.
‘I’m not sure this is a good idea,’ Mum said, pink around the cheeks, but with a bit of judicious thumping the hinge finally slotted into place, and I shook the tablecloths over the glue-stained surface.
We were already attracting attention, and passing drivers tooted their horns. The little girl from the guesthouse next door was watching our progress from the dining room window, and gave me a little wave.
As the sun danced through the shop window, I found the long hook to pull down the awning, and after persuading Mum we needed to wear latex gloves, we decanted our sweets onto an eclectic assortment of plates and bowls, and a couple of tiered cake-stands purloined from Celia’s cupboards.
We’d just finished when Agnieszka glided over, her hair in a sleek ballerina bun that showed off her sharp cheekbones.
‘Looks superb,’ she declared, kissing the tips of her fingers as she admired our efforts. ‘May I?’ She helped herself to a salted caramel cup and popped it in her mouth. ‘Mmmmmm.’ She rolled her eyes, and patted her concave stomach. ‘Is very delicious.’
I introduced he
r to Mum, then she went inside to prepare for work.
‘Ah, it looks beautiful!’ she exclaimed, eyes skimming the new-look interior, and gave me a smiling thumbs-up through the window.
‘Is she wearing any knickers under those jeans?’ Mum squinted after her. ‘I can practically see her ovaries.’
‘Mum!’
I left her labelling the sweets with my handwritten cards, and went to put the float in the till – should anyone want any normal sweets – and fetch some chalk to write on the board I used for promotions.
Try my handmade, low-sugar sweets. Free today!
It wouldn’t win the Man Booker Prize.
‘What if no one’s interested?’ I said, looking up and down the street. There were quite a few people about; mostly local dog-walkers, looking longingly at the beach, or taking in the air along the pier.
‘I suppose it’s still early yet,’ said Mum, though it was pushing eleven o’clock.
‘I’ll get the tongs,’ I said, rushing back into the shop.
‘No Josh?’ said Agnieszka, in an overly casual way, as she slipped her gilet off.
‘No Josh.’ I was slightly surprised he hadn’t put in an appearance. Perhaps he’d taken me at my word and decided to stay away – especially after seeing me sprint after Alex the day before.
I noticed Agnieszka was wearing a jewel-green top that looked new. She normally wore the same plain long-sleeved T-shirt, like a uniform …
‘Aprons!’ I said. ‘We’re all wearing them from now on.’ That was a laugh, when I wouldn’t even be here in a couple of months.
I ran to the stockroom to retrieve some fresh ones, having completely forgotten to wash the others. Mine was crumpled in the corner, and Josh’s was hanging from a shelf. I couldn’t help thinking, in spite of everything, I’d prefer to see it on him.
‘What’s this?’ Mum held hers up, nose wrinkled, as though I’d offered her a wetsuit. ‘Do I have to put it on?’
‘It makes us look like a team,’ I said, feeling my ears redden.