Being Emerald (Skimmerdale Book 2)

by Sharon Booth

  'Yeah, I know. I reckon Cassandra failed to teach her any at all,' he said with a big sigh, then shovelled half a cake square into his mouth. 'You know,' he added, through a mouthful of ginger cake, 'I really do appreciate you keeping her here for me. Gawd knows what I'd have done with her. Can you imagine me and her clashing at home?' He shuddered and swallowed. 'Don't bear thinking about — living with Emerald.'

  'No,' she said sarcastically. 'It doesn't.'

  'How's she getting on with this wedding lark anyway?' he enquired, looking longingly at the cake tin and wondering whether he dared risk another square. He didn't want to be accused of having bad manners, after all. 'Everything going to schedule?'

  Eden looked as if she wasn't sure quite how to answer. Eventually she said, in a voice heavy with meaning, 'I believe so.'

  Cain peered at her. 'You don't sound too thrilled about it?'

  'It's just —' Eden handed him his mug of tea, '— to be honest, she doesn't tell us much. She created this mood board, as I told you before, so we know the colour scheme. We know the wedding reception's at The Paradise Hotel, and we've seen a sample of menus. Other than that … we don't know which menu she chose, what car or photographer we're having, nothing really. I didn't even get to choose my own bouquet. She's keeping us in the dark. She's taken all the fun out of it.'

  'But it's your wedding!'

  'Try telling our Wedding Planner Supreme that. She knows it all and she's doing what's best for us. It's like that programme where they keep it a secret from the bride, only in this case the groom's none-the-wiser either. This is your fault you know.'

  'Mine?' Cain was wounded.

  'You remember you told her that she was to make all the decisions for us because we had enough on our plates? Well, she took that literally, so thanks a lot.'

  'Jesus. I meant for her to tell you what she'd done!' Cain was appalled. He'd only meant for Emerald to take the weight from their shoulders, not keep the details of their own wedding from them. Little git. Maybe he'd made a big mistake giving Emerald that credit card. This could be the hippy wedding from hell.

  He could see it now — psychedelic wedding outfits, daisy chains instead of headdresses, a genuine nineteen-sixties Volkswagen camper van instead of a limo, and some beatnik weirdo with a Beatles haircut and a string of love beads taking the photos with his Box Brownie. Nah! This was going to be a nightmare. He'd have to set Emerald straight.

  As if his thoughts had conjured her up, his middle child walked through the kitchen door, carrying a bulging bag on her shoulder. 'You're here,' she said, which Cain thought was stating the bleeding obvious. 'I didn't think you'd make it so soon.'

  'Evidently,' he said, 'since you couldn't even be bothered to be here on time.'

  Emerald's face fell, and he saw the welcoming light in her eyes die, to be replaced by a cold stare. 'Hello to you, too.'

  'Never mind all that. I've bin hearing from Eden that you're taking over this wedding and doing everything you want without keeping them in the loop. Well, you can pack that in right now. I ain't having no hippy dippy types ruining things for Eliot and Eden, and that's a fact.'

  Emerald gaped at him. 'Hippy dippy types? What on earth are you talking about?'

  'Don't be giving me no flannel, Emerald. I know you and your weirdo mates. All that crystal therapy and wacky baccy and joss sticks. This is their wedding, not yours. It's to be done with taste, right? It ain't gunna be no freaky love-in, so whatever you've got planned, forget it.'

  Emerald drew herself up in clear indignation. Cain was reminded of a swan that had once threatened him when he got too near its family, while out fishing on Freya's father's lake. It had reared up out of the water, flapping its wings at him quite threateningly. He'd nearly shit himself, while Freya, who was smoking a fag a few feet away, dressed in hideously expensive country casuals, had almost pissed herself laughing at his panic. Now his daughter was fixing him with the same alarming stare. Cain gulped.

  'For your information I've gone to great pains to ensure this wedding will be everything that Eliot and Eden could wish for, while also taking account of your specific demands.' She slammed the bag on the table. 'And these are for you, by the way. I went to the village to get some for you, since Eliot doesn't have any in the house.'

  Cain peered into the bag and was surprised, and a little ashamed, to see eight cans of his favourite beer inside. She'd lugged them all the way from Beckthwaite? 'Er, well, that's —'

  He broke off as his phone beeped, and his heart began to thump most erratically. He grabbed it and almost proclaimed out loud at the sight of Constance's name on the screen, but luckily remembered himself in time and clamped his mouth shut.

  'Oh, you're very welcome!' He was vaguely aware of the sarcasm in Emerald's voice, but he was too busy reading the message to pay much attention:

  IF ANYONE CAN TAKE ME TO PARADISE, IT'S YOU. JUST SAY WHEN. C. XX

  Cain felt a familiar tingling in his nether regions. Suddenly, the wedding plans didn't seem important any more. 'Er, where were we? Oh yeah, so, this business with the custody battle. What's the state of play?'

  Eden fished in a drawer and brought out a letter, which she handed to him. Cain read it in silence trying to put thoughts of the lovely Constance out of his head in order to concentrate. Dimly he was aware of Emerald flouncing out of the room. Evidently, he'd ruffled her feathers. Just like that evil swan.

  'I still can't believe it,' he said, shaking his head as he handed the letter back to Eden. 'You kept all this very quiet, didn't you? Fancy Eliot not being George's dad! Can't believe it.'

  'It wasn't my place to tell anyone,' she pointed out, 'and besides, he's quite paranoid about people finding out. He seems to think that if it becomes general knowledge, somehow that will make George less his.' She sighed. 'He's suffering badly, Cain. If there's anything you can do —'

  'I can tell how bad it must be for him. The fact that he's agreed to me paying for a solicitor says it all,' Cain said.

  'Well, you can imagine how it would be if someone wanted to take one of your children away from you.'

  He could, and the thought wasn't an altogether unpleasant one. Anyway, hadn't his ex-wives and girlfriends all done that to him? Lowri, Cassandra, Sandy — they'd all whisked the kids off out of his life. Even Freya had taken Honey for a while, though she'd soon given her back when she'd had enough. This though was different. He could see how it would affect Eliot Harland, and how much impact it would have on the whole family, not least those little girls of his.

  'I take it the kids don't know?'

  She shook her head. 'Of course not, and we want it to stay that way for as long as possible. It's too much for them to take in. They're so young.' She looked at him through eyes bright with tears. 'Do you think you can help, Cain?'

  'Well, the first thing is to get a good solicitor around here, and I'm pretty sure that will be easy to do.' He hesitated. 'I don't suppose this James Fuller is the sort that could be frightened off? Only, I do have contacts —'

  'Cain!'

  He shrugged. 'Just a thought, darls. There's always bribery, of course. How much do you reckon it would cost to make him back off?'

  Eden sank into a chair beside him. 'Money won't do it. They're loaded. You should see their house, Thwaite Park, for a start. It's going to have to be done properly, legally. Unless —'

  'Unless what?'

  'Well,' Eden said, somewhat hesitantly, 'Beth seems to think that this is all down to James's mother, rather than James himself. The solicitor who sent the letter is hers, not his, so maybe she's right. Perhaps — perhaps she could be reasoned with? If someone talked to her, explained things.'

  'Well have you tried? Why don't you and Eliot go round to Thwaite Park and —'

  'No way.' Eden reared away from him. 'Look, the way things are between us and the Fullers, I sincerely doubt that any talking would get done. One look at James and I honestly think Eliot would lose control. The last thing we need is an assau
lt charge on top of a custody battle.'

  'What about Beth? Couldn't she have a word? I take it she's on your side?'

  'Yes, she is, but that's not an option. She's terrified of Deborah.'

  'Bit of a dragon, is she?'

  'I've never met her, but Beth really doesn't get on with her. She says she's a cold, unemotional sort of woman, very disapproving. She doesn't like Beth and makes it obvious. Barely cracks a smile from what I've heard.'

  'Great. Lovely home they want to take little George into.'

  'Exactly! Can you imagine him cocooned down there at Thwaite Park with those awful people, after he's lived here in all this chaos and noise and laughter and — and so much love.' Eden's voice cracked, and she ran a hand through her hair. 'We can't lose him, Cain, we can't. He'd be so frightened. So lonely. And the girls ...'

  'All right, darls, I get the picture.' He patted her hand, then looked up as the door opened and a very grubby, sweaty-looking Eliot and Jed entered the kitchen. Cain held up his hands as Jed came over to hug him. 'Best not, son. Have you seen the state of yourself? Jesus, I know I told you to help out, but you've really got stuck in, ain't you?'

  'He's a good worker,' Eliot said, his tone gruff. He watched Cain through narrowed eyes, and Cain realised he was dying to ask if Cain would be able and willing to help with this custody battle but didn't dare in case the answer was negative.

  'Good. That's what I like to hear,' Cain said, nodding at Jed. 'Country life suits you. You're looking a lot better.'

  'I feel a lot better.' Jed grinned at him. 'I love it here. I love the rural life. I love — everything.'

  'Yeah, steady on, mate,' Cain muttered. 'You'll be singing All Things Bright and Beautiful next. Wish some of your happiness would rub off on your sister.'

  'Emerald?' Jed looked around. 'Is she not back from the village yet? She was real pleased you were coming up to see us. She went off to get you some beers as a welcome gift.'

  Cain felt a bit uncomfortable. She'd been pleased? Christ, he hadn't exactly gone overboard with the greetings, had he? He'd have to seek her out later, apologise.

  Eliot went over to the sink and washed his hands and arms while Eden poured two further cups of tea. Jed followed suit and then they all sat round the table staring at each other. Cain decided something was needed to break the ice, so he reached for another ginger cake square and announced, 'Great cake, this.'

  'I gave Cain the letter,' Eden told Eliot. 'He's going to get a top solicitor onto it — the best in the region.'

  Cain shrugged. 'Probably the second best. Let's face it, Lady Snooty Drawers will have hired the best. Still,' he chewed thoughtfully on his cake, 'if worst comes to worst and they're all clueless, I'll get my London solicitor onto it. It would probably scare the bejesus out of them. Might even be a better plan, come to think of it.' He considered the matter.

  'It won't be cheap,' Eliot said carefully.

  'Course it won't, and I know you're going to say that I can't possibly do that, and you can't take charity and —'

  'No,' said Eliot. 'I was going to say thanks.'

  There was a silence as everyone digested this unexpected development. Blimey, thought Cain, the poor bloke really was desperate. He must idolise that kid.

  'Cain wondered if perhaps Beth could talk to Deborah.'

  'That won't happen,' Jed said immediately.

  They all looked at him and he cleared his throat. 'I mean, from what we've heard, Deborah's a bit of a bitch, right? Beth certainly doesn't seem too fond of her, and I guess the feeling's mutual. She might be the worst person to speak to her. Probably make things worse, if anything.'

  'Hmm. Perhaps you're right. And apparently Fuller territory is off limits to Harlands.' Cain put down his cake and let out a loud and rather satisfying belch. 'I dunno. This is like some western or sumfink. You know, guns at dawn and all that rubbish. Right, well, it seems there's only one solution, and I don't mean sending Emerald over enemy lines.' He laughed to himself at the very thought, although maybe it wasn't such a crazy idea after all. One look from his venomous daughter and even this snotty bint might turn to stone. 'I'll have to have a word with her myself.'

  'You!' Three voices chorused in clear disbelief, leaving Cain mortally offended.

  'Do you mind? I can be tactful and diplomatic. Do you think I've survived forty odd years in the music business without knowing when to keep me flaming mouth shut? I could tell you things that would make your hair curl, but I won't.' At least, he thought, not until some publisher somewhere made him a substantial offer for his autobiography. Then all bets were off.

  'Are you sure about this, Dad?' Jed sounded doubtful.

  Cain tutted. 'Leave it with me. I'll go over to Thwaite Park first thing tomorrow morning and have a reasonable discussion with the snooty bag. I can turn on the charm when I want, and I promise, I'll have her eating out of my hand by the time I leave.'

  At their stony silence, he threw up his hands in defeat. 'Look, I can but try. The way I see it, we may as well try diplomacy before we go to war. That's what all the great leaders do, innit? If that fails, believe me, I'll be calling in the big guns, but first let's see if we can settle this between us, nice and friendly like.'

  'I guess you're right,' Jed admitted. 'It would be better, surely, if this could be sorted without lawyers getting involved.'

  Cain nodded, satisfied. 'Exactly.' He glanced at Eden, patting his stomach hopefully. 'Don't suppose you've got any of them nice cheese scones, darls?'

  ****

  Cain whistled to himself as he drove slowly down the driveway of Thwaite Park. He wasn't sure what era the house was from, not being an aficionado of such things, but he suspected it was quite old. Maybe Georgian or something like that. It was a large, square house, with a pleasing symmetry to it. Compared with the farmhouse at Fleetsthorpe it was a real showstopper, he couldn't deny it. Glancing to the left then to the right, he saw the sweeping lawns and neat gravel drive, and for the first time he began to worry. These people obviously had money. Real money. Old money, no doubt. Old money always talked. For all he knew, these Fullers were related to all the judges and barristers and solicitors in Yorkshire. This could be tricky.

  Pulling up outside the front door, Cain switched off his engine, glad he'd brought his Rolls Royce with him, for once. Having a legitimate reason to be in Skimmerdale he'd not bothered with a hire car. There'd have been some awkward questions if he'd turned up at the farm without his beloved Roller. Everyone knew how much he loved it. Now, as he patted the fender lovingly, he realised that it was giving him courage, and he took a deep breath and headed up the steps to the front door, telling himself that he was as good as anyone and better than most, and of course he shouldn't be going round the back like the servants used to. Possibly still did, come to that.

  The doorbell was as grand as he'd have expected, with deep booming chimes that seemed to sound from far within the house. Cain puffed out his cheeks, hoping he looked more confident than he felt. No way was he going to let some jumped up biddy tell him what to do, and no one was going to take George away from Eliot and Eden. He didn't care how much money she had, or how posh she was.

  Cain's eyes widened as the heavy door swung open and he beheld, not some ancient imperious old bat, but Constance. Constance! Of all people!

  'Jeff! What are you doing here? Are you mad?' She ushered him back down the steps, stopping in surprise when she saw the Rolls Royce. 'Is this yours? Good heavens!'

  'Connie! What the hell are you doing here?' Cain only just managed to get his voice back, but it sounded croaky. Shock could do strange things to a body. 'Do you work here?' It didn't seem likely. God forbid she was a friend of the old biddy. 'Oh, Jesus. Don't tell me you know her!'

  'Know who?' Connie blinked, clearly confused. 'You have to go, right away. If David sees you ... What on earth possessed you to come to my house?'

  'Your house?' Cain was baffled for a moment, then slowly the fog began to lift. 'You're Deborah
Fuller.'

  'Well, of course I am. What else would you be doing here?' She frowned. 'You really didn't know, did you? Then what are you doing at Thwaite Park? Don't tell me you're doing business with David?'

  Cain swallowed. It felt as if his whole world was collapsing in on him. 'Seriously? You're James Fuller's mother?'

  Deborah stiffened. 'What's James got to do with anything?'

  'The Deborah Fuller who wants to take a little boy away from the man who's loved him and brought him up since he was a tiny baby?'

  Now he had her full attention. Deborah's expression changed. No longer confused or anxious, her eyes hardened, and she fixed him with a furious glare. 'What's any of this got to do with you? Why are you here?'

  Cain rubbed his forehead. 'I don't bleeding believe this. How could you do this to me, Connie? How could you do this to Eliot and Eden? To George?'

  Deborah glanced behind her at the house. 'You'd better come in,' she said, a coldness in her voice that he'd never heard before. 'If anyone asks, we've never met before today. Understood?'

  Cain nodded miserably and followed her inside the house. He didn't know this version of her. She sounded hard, brittle even. Where was the loving, affectionate, passionate woman he'd grown to know and — care about. Was it all a lie? Who was this Deborah Fuller anyway?

  He stared around him at the large, formal hall, his eyes widening at the sight of the broad, sweeping staircase that led to a landing where the rays of sunlight, pouring through a huge arched window, shone on the carved mahogany bannister that curved around and upwards to the next floor. The hall was lined with portraits — huge oil paintings in fancy gilt frames that were no doubt of Fuller ancestors. Rich, aristocratic Fuller ancestors.

  Cain had never felt so working class and gauche. He looked at Deborah with new eyes. This was where she belonged? This was her world? Despite his own wealth, she seemed suddenly miles out of his reach. A different league. Something inside him withered and died.

  She ushered him into a small, snug room, with long, shuttered windows that overlooked a formal garden. Cain sank into a chair at her bidding, feeling dazed and worried. How did he handle this?