by Jill Mansell
“God, yes, absolutely. I’m starting to get bored with you already. Any minute now I’ll roll over, fall asleep, and start snoring like an elephant seal,” said Kerr. “That’ll be your cue to prod me awake and say in a whiny voice, ‘Why can’t you give me a cuddle? Why can’t we just lie here and talk about us?’ Then I’ll chuck you my phone and tell you to call yourself a taxi. Ten minutes later, you’ll wake me up slamming the front door as you let yourself out of the apartment, and when I get up the next morning, there’ll be rude words scribbled in lipstick on my bathroom mirror.”
“Wow, you really are a pig,” Maddy marveled, deeply impressed. “Who pays for my taxi?”
“What am I, a walking cash machine?”
The trouble was, nothing he said was managing to put her off. In desperation she asked, “Do you snore?”
“Like a tractor. Stick around and you’ll find out.”
“I’m not staying. I can’t.” Maddy knew she couldn’t bring herself to go to Marcella’s barbecue, to just turn up as if nothing had happened, but she couldn’t stay here tonight either. Jake, who didn’t miss a trick, was suspicious already. When he’d seen the new bra and panties earlier, the look he’d given her had made her flush with guilt.
It was so unfair. When it came to the opposite sex, Jake was no saint; if she had a pair of shoes for every girl he’d slept with, she’d be Imelda Marcos and Tara Palmer-Tomkinson rolled into one. But now, just when it was her turn to have some fun, he was threatening to come over all disapproving simply because of who Kerr was related to.
“Sure I can’t change your mind?” Kerr’s hand disappeared beneath the rumpled duvet, sliding down her hip.
Maddy shook her head. Why did everything have to be so difficult?
“I have to get back.”
“But not just yet.”
Oh God, this wasn’t just difficult; it was completely impossible. But he was right: it was still only nine thirty. Giving herself up to a fresh surge of lust, Maddy smiled and insinuated one leg between his own.
Not just yet.
* * *
Marcella and Vince’s yard bore all the morning-after signs of a truly successful party. Discarded cans and bottles were strewn across the lawn and in the flower beds, plastic glasses glinted in the sunlight, leftover burger remnants were being helpfully wolfed up by Bean, and the tables on the patio were piled high with overflowing ashtrays, discarded CDs, and empty bowls that had once contained mayonnaise, pickles, and Cajun dip.
Vince, busy cleaning the well-used barbecue, waved when he saw Maddy and called out, “You’re too late! You’ve missed it!”
“Morning, darling!” Marcella, wearing a scarlet satin nightgown and dark glasses, was busy filling a black trash bag with empty lager cans. The party might have gone on until five a.m., but Marcella and Vince would still have been up at eight to make a start on the clearing up. Pointing to the honeysuckle-covered gazebo, she said, “I need to get up there. You couldn’t be an angel, could you, and fetch the stepladder from the garage?”
Maddy carted out the stepladder, then watched as Marcella climbed to the top step, reached into the depths of the honeysuckle, and shook out three mismatched shoes, a string of uncooked sausages, and a pink sequined T-shirt.
“Don’t ask,” said Marcella.
“So it was a good party.” Maddy held the ladder steady as her mother jumped down.
“The very best. You don’t know what you missed.” Turning, Marcella enveloped her in a hug. “And how did your night go? Did you have a lovely time?”
A lovely time? It had possibly been the best night of Maddy’s life. Adding to her litany of shameless lies, she said, “Great. Jen’s got her eye on one of the new barmen at Brown’s. Susie’s convinced he’s gay. We ended up at the Crash Club.” Even as the words were tumbling out, she realized she was going to have to warn Jen and Susie, explain to them that they were her alibis and that if Marcella should bump into them, they had to back her up. Preferably without knowing the real reason why she needed alibis, since it went without saying that the fewer people who knew about this, the better.
God, getting complicated already.
“Oof, my poor head.” Marcella groaned as she bent down to pick up an empty Côtes du Rhône bottle.
“Hangover?”
Looking rueful, Marcella said, “Ozzy Osbourne impression. We had a bit of a karaoke thing going. Should have stuck with Diana Ross—far less headbanging involved.”
“Here, let me do it.” Taking the black trash bag away from her, Maddy said, “I’ll clear this lot up. You go put the kettle on.”
“You should have come along,” said Marcella. “We missed you. Nuala and Dexter came up after the pub shut—you haven’t lived until you’ve seen Dexter doing his Rod Stewart impression.”
You haven’t lived until you’ve been to bed with Kerr McKinnon, thought Maddy, not daring to look at Marcella and busying herself with the black bag.
“So do you think he’s gay?”
Good grief, no! Startled, Maddy said, “What? Who?”
“The new barman at Brown’s.” Marcella laughed. “Dear me, you’re away with the fairies this morning.”
“Sorry. Too busy picturing Dexter singing, ‘Do ya think I’m sexy?’” Bending down, Maddy picked up a charred baked potato. “And yes, I think the barman was gay—it’s always a bit of a giveaway when they wear a Barbra Streisand T-shirt. But that’s the kind of luck Jen has with men.”
“She’ll find the right one sooner or later. There’s plenty of lovely men out there if you know where to look. Jen’ll end up with her Mr. Perfect one day.” Marcella glanced fondly across at Vince as she spoke. “And so will you.”
Guilt swept through Maddy like a bushfire.
Raising a teasing eyebrow, Marcella went on, “That is, unless you’ve already found him.”
“Honestly, I do the decent thing, turn up early to help you with the clearing up, and you start having a go at me.”
“I’m not having a go. I’m on your side,” Marcella protested. “Look at how happy your dad and I were. And now I’ve got Vince and he’s every bit as wonderful. Sweetheart, I just want you to be happy too.”
Last night’s bedroom antics had left Maddy with aching, trembly limbs. Dumping the black bag on the grass, she said, “And when I do find him, I’ll tell you. Come on. We’ll finish the rest of this later. Let’s have a cup of tea.”
* * *
No one ever escaped with just a cup of tea at Marcella’s house; she was physically incapable of not cooking for anyone who happened to drop in. Vince carried on clearing up outside. Maddy, who adored the cozy, comfortably cluttered kitchen, sat in one of the sunny window seats with Bean on her lap while Marcella got busy with the frying pan. Within minutes, two vast plates of crispy smoked bacon, eggs, potato and mushroom hash, grilled tomatoes, and buttered toast were on the table. Fifteen thousand calories each, no problem, Maddy decided. Then again, she’d probably used up that many during last night’s shenanigans, five thousand calories per—
Oh God, stop it. Don’t even think about that now.
“I invited the Taylor-Trents last night,” said Marcella.
“What, all of them?” Maddy paused between mouthfuls of perfect bacon. “Not Kate, surely.”
“Come on, give the girl a break. I popped up to borrow Estelle’s lovely big serving dishes for the potato salad. How could I not invite Kate?”
“She’d kill any party stone dead.” Maddy envisaged Kate Taylor-Trent throwing herself into a bout of no-holds-barred karaoke. Surely not.
“Well, they couldn’t make it anyway.” Marcella shrugged comfortably. “They already had dinner booked at the Hinton Grange. And they have a guest staying with them for a few days.”
“Lucky guest.” Maddy pulled a face.
“I met him. He seems charming. H
is name’s Will and he’s going to be making a TV documentary about Oliver. And for your information, they were all in the pub on Friday afternoon and Kate gave Dexter Nevin a bit of a tongue-lashing. He’d been yelling at Nuala, so Kate laid into him big-time. She and Nuala have buried their differences, by the sound of it.” Meaningfully, Marcella went on, “You could do worse than follow their example.”
Bloody Nuala. What a traitor.
“She called Nuala fat. Once.” Maddy gestured irritably with her fork. “It’s hardly the same as spending years making someone’s life a complete misery.”
“Just a thought, darling.”
“And you’ve got streamers in your hair.” Reaching across the table, Maddy gently removed a tangle of rainbow-colored paper ribbons.
“We couldn’t get hold of any fireworks, so it was party poppers at midnight. Oh, we had such a good time.” Marcella beamed. “You really should have come along.”
“I was shattered.” At least this wasn’t a lie. “Drove home, fell into bed at one o’clock, didn’t even hear Jake and Sophie come in.” Also true, but at least when they had arrived home, Jake would have seen her car outside and known she was back. In her current guilt-ridden state, this had seemed particularly important.
“I know it’s never going to happen, but I do wish Jake and Juliet could get together.” Regretfully Marcella shook her head. “They’d make such a great couple. They did Sonny and Cher last night.”
“Sonny and Cher got divorced,” Maddy pointed out. Then she asked, “What?” because Marcella’s expression had abruptly changed.
“Kerr McKinnon. Heard anything about him lately?”
Maddy almost fell off her chair. The air was knocked from her lungs as if she’d just been punched by a giant fist.
Was this some kind of test? No, it couldn’t be. Marcella wasn’t the game-playing type. If you’d done something wrong she confronted you outright, more often than not with a frying pan in her hand. She didn’t pretend everything was fine, then suddenly launch into an attack.
“Who? Kerr McKinnon? Why would I have heard anything?” Her skin prickled all over with the effort of sounding normal.
“Oh, I know, daft question. It was just something Kate Taylor-Trent said last night. We were in the kitchen when she asked if he was back living around here. Gave me a jolt, I can tell you.”
She wasn’t the only one. Staring at Marcella, who was looking decidedly fierce, Maddy said, “What made her say that? I thought he’d moved to London for good.”
“Let’s hope so. It was just that Kate thought she saw him the other day, driving down Gypsy Lane.” Marcella’s mouth narrowed as she jabbed a fork into her tomato, splattering juice.
“She probably made a mistake. Nobody’s seen him for years. They wouldn’t even know what he looked like these days. People change,” said Maddy, her legs wound rigidly around each other like barbed wire under the kitchen table.
“Ha!” Marcella’s eyes were colder than ice. “Not that family. I’d recognize any of them, and that’s a promise.”
Oh Lord. “I’m sure it wasn’t him.”
“Better not have been. Driving through Ashcombe as if nothing had ever happened.” Bitterly, Marcella went on, “Although as far as they’re concerned, I’m sure nothing ever did. Arrogant bastards, the lot of them. I daresay they’ve forgotten all about it by now. Oh, don’t let me get started on that family…”
That was the trouble with Marcella, Maddy decided helplessly. She didn’t differentiate between the various McKinnons, just lumped them together as a single entity. It was no good trying to explain to her that Den McKinnon had been the one driving the car and that Kerr had been out of the country at the time. They were brothers and as far as Marcella was concerned, that was all that mattered. Anyone who was a McKinnon could rot in hell.
“Now look what they’ve made me do.” Crossly Marcella rubbed at the mark on the front of her scarlet silk nightgown, as if Kerr McKinnon had personally erupted into the kitchen and fired tomato juice down her front. Glad of a diversion, Maddy jumped up and fetched a cloth from the drainer. Her cell phone, lying on the kitchen table next to her plate, promptly began to chirp.
“Nuala.” Having glanced at the caller display, Marcella handed over the phone in exchange for the damp cloth. Taking it with trepidation, Maddy thought that on balance, she’d have preferred to keep the cloth.
Chapter 16
True to form, Nuala wasted no time in coming straight to the point.
“‘Sex bomb, sex bomb,’” she sang down the phone, evidently still in raucous karaoke mode. “So don’t hold back. Tell me everything. How did it go?” Then she laughed dirtily, like Benny Hill. “Or should that be, how’s it going? Are you still at his place? Been getting jiggy-jiggy, have we? Come on, come on. I need to know!”
Maddy had the phone pressed so tightly against her ear, it was a wonder it hadn’t burst through the other side. Nuala could be nerve-rackingly loud when she wanted.
“Yes, I’ve been hearing all about it,” she replied brightly. “I’m here at Mum’s house now. She was just telling me about Dexter doing his Rod Stewart thing—”
“OK, OK, I get the message,” Nuala interrupted. “Just give me a few clues to be going on with. I know—we’ll play the yes/no game. First, did you—?”
“Actually,” Maddy broke in hurriedly, “we’re just having breakfast and my sausages are getting cold. Why don’t I ring you back later?”
“Boring! No, you aren’t wriggling out of it that easily.” Bossily Nuala said, “I’m the one who persuaded you to go over there, remember? And there’s nothing wrong with a cold sausage, so I want to hear all about it now.”
Confiding in Nuala had been a huge mistake, Maddy realized. How could she have been so stupid?
“OK, thanks, I’ll call you back in an hour.” Cutting off Nuala’s outraged protests with a flick of a switch, Maddy slid the phone into her shirt pocket and said to Marcella, “You know what Nuala’s like. She’ll be wittering on for hours. Is there any more coffee in that pot?”
“I’m not deaf, you know.” Marcella shook her head, surveying Maddy with resignation. “I know what’s going on.”
Oh hell.
“What? Mum, I keep telling you, nothing’s going on.”
“And you’ve always been a hopeless liar.” Refilling their cups, Marcella said, “You’re seeing someone and you don’t want me to know about it.”
Prevaricating, feeling sick, Maddy stammered, “Why would I do that?”
“Oh, come on, it’s pretty obvious, isn’t it? He’s married.”
Married. Going red had its uses, Maddy discovered. Marcella, automatically mistaking fervent relief for miserable guilt, said, “There you see, I knew it. Oh, darling, what have you gotten yourself mixed up in? How did this happen? How long has it been going on?”
Lost for words, Maddy shook her head helplessly.
“A married man,” Marcella continued. “Someone with a wife.” She heaved a sorrowful sigh. “Sweetheart, this is bad news. You have to think about how you’d feel if you were married to someone who was cheating on you.”
Maddy shifted uncomfortably in her seat. What had seemed like a brilliant idea twenty seconds ago was turning out to be less brilliant than she’d thought. Marcella’s disappointment was almost as hard to bear as her incandescent fury would have been.
Almost, but not quite.
“He’s separated from his wife,” Maddy mumbled defensively. “Well, pretty much. As good as. They’re getting a divorce.”
“Are they? Truly? Or is that just what he tells you?” Pushing her plate to one side, Marcella lit a cigarette and exhaled, the ruler-straight stream of smoke signaling her disapproval. For all her unorthodox lifestyle, she was a woman of high moral standards, with a strong sense of right and wrong.
“They’re getting a
divorce,” Maddy promised.
“Children?”
“Oh, no.”
Marcella raised an eyebrow. “And is that true? Or could he be fibbing about that too?”
Outraged at the implied slur on her imaginary boyfriend’s character, Maddy wailed, “Why are you so suspicious? Of course he doesn’t have any children.”
“Have you met his wife?”
“No!”
“Does she know you’re seeing her husband?”
Actually, make it too much of an amicable separation and Marcella might want to meet him too. Hesitating, Maddy said, “Well, no.”
Marcella sighed. “And you wonder why I’m so suspicious. Sweetheart, he lied to her. What makes you think he wouldn’t lie to you?”
“He just wouldn’t. Anyway, don’t lecture me. I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”
“It’ll end in tears. You have to finish it now,” Marcella said gently. “Sweetheart, you know you must.”
“Like I keep telling you, with your cigarettes.” Maddy glanced pointedly at the Silk Cut smoldering in her mother’s hand. “And look how much notice you take of me.”
“Fine.” Marcella ground the half-smoked cigarette into the ashtray and fixed her with a challenging stare. “Let’s both give up what’s no good for us, shall we?”
“It’s not the same thing!”
“You just said it was.”
Maddy jutted out her chin like a teenager. This was ridiculous. They were about to have an argument about a boyfriend who didn’t even exist.
Except…he did. He just wasn’t married.
He was Kerr McKinnon, which was worse.
“OK, I won’t see him again. But you mustn’t nag me about it. And,” she said truculently, “you have to give up smoking.”
Marcella looked as if she’d like to say a whole lot more but was holding it inside her with enormous difficulty. Finally she said, “I’m only worried because I love you. Getting involved with someone like that won’t make you happy, sweetheart. You aren’t the marriage-wrecking type.”