Just a Family Affair

by Veronica Henry

  ‘No, no, no. Of course I don’t feel threatened.’ Ginny laughed, thinking she sounded slightly hysterical. ‘It’s just a bit strange, that’s all.’

  ‘Good. Then let’s finish our tea and go up the road to Liberty. We’re supposed to be looking for outfits for ourselves too, remember?’

  Ginny finished her tea with a sinking heart. The last thing she wanted to do was try on outfits, especially after the fiasco with the red jersey dress. The assistant in Eldenbury had been very snippy when she’d taken it back the next day.

  ‘You liked it enough when you tried it on in here,’ she had said accusingly. Ginny had longed to retort that as it was obvious she didn’t have a clue what suited her, the assistant had been criminally irresponsible to sell the dress to her in the first place. But she hadn’t; she had just stood there helpless with tears stinging her eyes while the assistant had stroppily re-credited her bank card. There was no way she could ever go back there now, so she had to try and choose something today, because she wouldn’t be able to afford another day off now for weeks. But what a nightmare, having Lucy as a shopping buddy. Not because she would be horrible - far from it - but because Lucy would look good in a sack.

  Before they could make their escape, however, Sandra swept in with the twins and Mandy in tow.

  ‘We’re going to Liberty,’ she announced. ‘I am convinced that Vera Wang is the only way forward. And by the way—’

  She fell into a vacant chair, looking round at her expectant audience.

  ‘The hen night.’ She smiled triumphantly. ‘I’ve had the most fantastic idea.’

  Mickey left the meeting with a sour taste in his mouth. He felt thoroughly disgusted with himself. He’d sold his family business down the river because of a moment’s indiscretion. And sat back and watched his son take the rap for it. What a wanker.

  He went into his office and began sketching out a draft contract to take in to Robert Gibson. Every point he made was like a dart piercing his heart. Seeing it in black and white made him sink deeper and deeper into gloom. He struggled manfully through until the clock in the corner struck six, when he glugged down two inches of brandy. For the last few years he had kept his office a booze-free zone, but in view of recent events he had sneaked a bottle of Courvoisier in. He was monitoring his drinking, trying to be careful not to go down that road again, but there was no denying it was a comfort.

  This evening it didn’t seem to help, however. The sense of self-loathing and shame almost seemed to increase with every drop he swallowed. Mickey slammed his glass down on his desk. Why should he have to suffer this? He wasn’t the only guilty party, after all. And what say had he ever had in the decision-making process? It was Kay who had told him she couldn’t get pregnant. Kay who had chosen not to tell him about Flora and then come out of the woodwork when it suited her . . .

  He phoned Lucy and left a message to tell her he wouldn’t be home until late - the girls wouldn’t be back from their shopping trip yet anyway. Then he scooped up his car keys and strode out to the car park. As he jumped into the driving seat, he told himself that he was probably over the limit, but he didn’t bloody care. He accelerated up the steep drive that led out of the brewery, shot out onto the road without looking and belted out of the village.

  He hadn’t calmed down by the time he reached the Peacock Inn. If anything, he was more incensed. He unlocked the door of the flat and strode in without knocking. Kay was in the kitchen, and looked up in alarm.

  ‘Mickey? You frightened me to death. How did you get in?’

  Mickey dangled a key in front of her.

  ‘You could have knocked. I might have been . . .’

  She trailed off. Mickey leant against the doorjamb, staring at her. ‘You’ll be glad to know the board agreed this afternoon to sell off Honeycote Ales. You’ve successfully brought about its demise, after a hundred and fifty years. But don’t worry - the cheque will be in the post.’

  She went rather pale. ‘I didn’t know you’d have to sell. I thought you could . . . borrow it or something.’

  ‘It’s not really a bona fide reason for a loan, is it, paying off your mistress? I think we’d have had trouble raising the money.’

  Mickey knew his words were harsher than she deserved. Kay’s eyes were huge.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she stammered.

  ‘Only for as long as it takes you to fuck off with my hard-earned. Tell me, Kay: would you ever have told me, if Lawrence hadn’t pegged it? Probably not. It might have jeopardized your life of luxury, after all. Far more important to hang on to the villa and the pool and the yacht—’

  ‘We didn’t have a yacht,’ retorted Kay. ‘And anyway, when did you ever care about me? You knew Lawrence threw me out that Christmas. You knew I was pregnant. And surely it occurred to you that the baby might be yours?’ She looked at him accusingly. ‘But did you try and get in touch? No. You just thought “Thank God she’s gone.” Didn’t you?’

  Damn. She’d been so determined not to throw this accusation at him, knowing it wouldn’t help her cause. But she felt entitled to defend herself.

  Mickey felt the brandy rise up in his gullet. ‘I did try to phone,’ he stammered.

  ‘Not hard enough. I was terrified.’ Kay was into her stride now, filled with righteous indignation. ‘I would have given anything for just a single word of reassurance from one of you Liddiards. But none of you could wait to see the back of me. In the end, it was only Lawrence who was man enough to find me. He stood by me. And he loved Flora. From the moment he set eyes on her.’

  Kay was trembling. All the colour had drained from her face. She grabbed onto the kitchen work surface for support as she felt her knees about to buckle underneath her. Mickey stepped forward and caught her just in time.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said gruffly. ‘I’ve behaved appallingly. Yet again. It was a bit of a tough day, that’s all. I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.’

  Kay was taking in big shuddering breaths. ‘Why did he have to go and die? None of this would have happened . . .’

  ‘Shhh.’ Mickey stroked her hair until he could feel her relax. They stood together, very still, for a few moments.

  ‘What’s going on?’ demanded a small voice.

  Mickey and Kay sprang apart. Flora stood in the doorway looking indignant, wearing a white cotton nightdress sprigged with roses, her teddy slung over her shoulder.

  ‘This is . . . Mr Liddiard. He’s the landlord.’ Kay was satisfied that this wasn’t a lie. ‘He’s come to see if there’s anything we need.’

  Flora surveyed Mickey as a headmistress might a new pupil on the first day of term. ‘This place is a dump,’ she informed him. ‘If it wasn’t for the ducks, we’d be off.’

  Kay clamped a hand over her mouth, suddenly desperate not to laugh, where only a moment ago she’d been on the brink of falling apart. But that was the beauty of children: they could bring you back to your senses in a second.

  Mickey was flabbergasted. Standing before him was a hybrid of his three children. The wide eyes and the flowing curly hair belonged to Sophie. The righteous indignation was pure Georgina. And the urge to protect was Patrick. Mickey wouldn’t dare put a foot wrong with the redoubtable Flora in the room.

  ‘Darling, go back to bed,’ said Kay. ‘Mr Liddiard and I have a few things to discuss. I’ll come and tuck you up in a minute.’>

  Flora looked Mickey up and down. He felt himself shrivel under her gaze.

  ‘Goodnight,’ she said, rather primly, and turned on her heel.

  When she’d gone he turned to Kay, who was still trying not to laugh.

  ‘She’s . . . quite a character,’ he said weakly.

  ‘It’s not surprising, is it?’ Kay replied. ‘Look at the parents.’

  Mickey suddenly had the sense that things had taken a wrong turn. He should never have come here. He was on very dangerous ground indeed. There were feelings stirring inside him that he couldn’t control. He had to get out before he starte
d compromising himself, making foolish promises he couldn’t keep.

  As he made his escape, it was all he could do not to rush back in and look at Flora. Yet again, he cursed himself for drinking. If he hadn’t been half-cut, he wouldn’t have come looking for Kay. And if he hadn’t come looking for Kay . . .

  As he drove back to Honeycote House, all he could see was that little face, those accusing eyes, that determined tilt to the chin. Pride and curiosity surged up inside him in equal measure. He longed to turn around, drive back to the Peacock, scoop them both up and bring them home. He felt an overwhelming sense of shame that the two of them were locked away in that hovel, even though he knew Patrick was on top of it, and was making sure they had everything they needed.

  Mickey just about managed to keep the car pointed towards Honeycote. He mustn’t crumble now. It was only a matter of time before he would have the means to give Kay what she wanted. If he gave in before then, all hell would break loose. He gritted his teeth and clutched the steering wheel, telling himself to focus on the wedding. It was the least he could do for Patrick, who had gone beyond the bounds of loyalty yet again.

  After all, if his son deserved anything, it was a happy wedding day.

  Kay sat on the sofa in the living room, gazing at the screen of the small portable television Patrick had brought over, but not taking anything in. She was still in turmoil from Mickey’s interruption. The encounter had unleashed a torrent of emotions in her. She’d gone from wanting to punch him in the face to longing for the comfort of his arms around her. She couldn’t help wondering where things would have led if Flora hadn’t walked in on them. He’d left the scene of the crime pretty quickly, as if he couldn’t face the physical evidence of his guilt. Bastard. Coward. But then, that was Mickey all over and always had been.

  For a moment she felt tempted to grab her car keys, drive over to Honeycote House and confront him in the comfort of his own kitchen. She wasn’t going to be his dirty little secret any more. But she couldn’t face the fallout. More than anything, she couldn’t bear the thought of Lucy. Lucy was always so calm, so dignified. She would never in a million years get herself into a predicament like Kay’s. And Kay didn’t need to be made to feel any more worthless than she already did.

  She told herself to sit tight and be patient. She tried to visualize herself in a year’s time, when she had her money. She pictured a tiny cottage on the edge of a village. A coat rail in the hall with Flora’s school blazer hanging on it, and a pair of red wellies underneath. A rabbit hutch in the garden. A friend round for tea, with Marmite sandwiches and Jaffa cakes. Simple things.

  Surely none of it was too much to ask.

  ‘Look,’ Kitty was saying firmly to Mandy. ‘Forget all the crap we’ve seen today. It was all over-designed, tarty rubbish made for people with no imagination. I think I know what you like. I’ve seen every outfit you possess. I understand your personality. I know the sort of wedding you’re having. Let me do some simple sketches.’

  They were all having a debrief back in the kitchen at Keeper’s Cottage - everyone except Lucy who’d gone back to Honeycote House.

  Mandy nodded gratefully. Her head was whirling.

  ‘I didn’t think it would be so difficult. It’s not as if I even care that much. I mean, I want to look nice, obviously. But I want to feel myself.’

  ‘My point exactly,’ said Kitty. ‘None of those dresses was made with you in mind.’

  ‘Let’s see what Kitty comes up with.’ Sandra looked extremely dubious. ‘But for my money you looked like an angel in the Collette Dinnigan.’

  ‘I don’t want to look like an angel,’ said Mandy. ‘I want to look like me.’

  ‘Trust me.’ Kitty grinned. ‘I’m a fashion student.’

  Sandra looked rather dubiously at Kitty, who was wearing a pinstripe waistcoat over tweed shorts and footless leopardskin tights, then opened up her white leather wedding planner with a flourish. Mandy peered inside her mother’s folder. It was bulging with brochures, quotations, catalogues, sample CDs, swatches of material and snippets of ribbon.

  ‘Mum, what is all this?’

  Sandra snapped the folder shut. ‘Never you mind.’

  ‘No, seriously. What have you got planned?’

  ‘What haven’t I got planned?’ Sandra’s eyes were twinkling. ‘Don’t you worry. It’ll be all right on the night.’

  ‘We are just having a disco and a pig roast?’ Mandy suddenly felt very nervous. ‘That’s what we agreed.’

  She thought she and Patrick had been quite firm about not going over the top. In the end, they had decided to invite everyone from the brewery to the evening do. There had been certain key members of staff who they wanted to invite, but it was hard to know where to have the cut-off point without causing dissension amongst the troops, so the most diplomatic solution was to ask them all. But she thought they had made it quite clear to Sandra that they wanted something down to earth. Anything too flash would be sending out the wrong message.

  Perhaps they hadn’t been clear enough.

  ‘You are keeping it simple?’ Mandy persisted.

  ‘I’m just arranging a couple of little surprises.’

  ‘Like what?’

  Sandra gave a tinkling laugh. ‘Don’t panic. There’s not a lot I can arrange anyway at such short notice. Just a few little embellishments to make it a night to remember.’

  Mandy knew that if she protested, her mother would dig her feet in further. So she decided to keep quiet. After all, how bad could it be? At least the wedding breakfast was safe in Lucy’s hands. She trusted her future mother-in-law implicitly. Anyway by seven o’clock, when the evening guests arrived, everyone would be completely sloshed.

  Just then Sandra’s mobile trilled. She leapt on it and walked across the room.

  ‘Hello?’ Her face broke into a smile as she listened. ‘Oh, that’s absolutely marvellous. I knew you’d swing it for me. I’ll pop you a deposit in the post straight away.’

  She snapped her phone shut. Everyone looked at her expectantly. She closed her folder and zipped it up defiantly.

  ‘You’re not getting anything out of me. You’ll all have to wait.’>

  When Keith came in ten minutes later, he was hugely relieved to find the kitchen full, the wine open, and everyone chattering nineteen to the dozen. He had been dreading finding Ginny on her own, because he couldn’t have kept quiet about what had gone on at the brewery that afternoon. It was killing him as it was, keeping quiet. The temptation to give in and spill the beans was enormous. But it wouldn’t be fair. He couldn’t burden her with it all. Keith simply didn’t believe that problems were halved by sharing them. To his mind, they were doubled. So the fact that he clearly wasn’t going to get a word in edgeways in his own house was, for once, a huge bonus.

  ‘Dad!’ Mandy jumped up, clearly pleased to see him. She pulled out a chair and poured him a glass of wine. ‘We’ve got so much to tell you.’

  ‘How was the wedding-dress hunt?’

  ‘Disastrous. But Kitty’s got a plan. And Mum’s had the most brilliant idea.’

  Keith looked at Sandra warily. She was looking particularly smug.

  ‘The hen weekend,’ she said dramatically. ‘I’ve arranged for them all to go to the villa. The weekend before the wedding. Puerto Banus is becoming a very popular hen-night destination. They’ll have a wonderful time. They’ll all be able to top up their tans, get a bit of rest and relaxation before the big day. And it’s a fantastic night spot. Bars, clubs, restaurants, millionaires . . .’

  ‘Bring them on!’ cheered Sasha.

  ‘That sounds a very good idea.’ He looked around the table. ‘So who’s going?’

  ‘Everyone, I hope,’ said Sandra.

  ‘Not me,’ protested Ginny. ‘I’m far too old to go on a hen weekend.’

  ‘No you’re not!’ protested Mandy. ‘You’ve got to come. You need a break. Doesn’t she, Dad?’

  ‘Yes,’ agreed Keith. ‘I think a week
end in the sun is probably just what she needs.’

  He smiled over at Ginny, but she flushed and looked away. He remembered the night before with shame. She’d been so sweet. He’d longed to follow her upstairs, but the prospect of his humiliation had been too much to bear. It wasn’t long now, he told himself. He would soon know his fate.

  ‘Can I ask Caroline as well?’ Mandy had a flashback of her soon-to-be sister-in-law looking exhausted the weekend before. ‘Caroline’s a real party animal given half the chance.’

  ‘Good idea,’ said Sasha. ‘Get her away from that arrogant pig of a husband.’

  ‘Sasha!’ chided Ginny automatically.

  Sandra beamed. ‘You can ask whoever you like. There are five double bedrooms in the villa. The more the merrier, as far as I’m concerned. And you’ll have Alejandro to look after you.’

  ‘Who’s Alejandro?’ everyone chorused.

  ‘Alejandro,’ replied Sandra, ‘is my man that does. Everything. ’

  She smiled, giving herself a private recollection of exactly what.

  ‘Everything,’ she repeated. ‘He’ll make sure it’s a hen weekend never to be forgotten.’

  Later, as Ginny took a load of pizzas out of the freezer and chopped up a salad, she felt overwhelmingly depressed. Keith could barely look her in the eye any longer. He’d deliberately - or at least she felt sure it was deliberate - sat at the other end of the table. And he’d been so adamant that she should go on the hen weekend, when they could have taken advantage of the girls being away to spend some time together. But he’d gone straight on line and booked all their flights. And paid for them. Ginny knew she should be grateful, but she felt as if she was being shunted out of the way.

  Lucy wasn’t coming. They’d phoned her and asked, but she’d protested that as it was the last weekend before the wedding she would take the chance to get the house and grounds into shape. Caroline had been asked too, but wasn’t sure. She’d never left Percy for any length of time, and James wasn’t exactly keen on the idea. But they could work on her.