by Jill Mansell
“OK,” said Maddy, “I think you do know. But just in case you don’t, I’d rather not say.”
This time Kate didn’t hesitate. “I’m sorry. I haven’t a clue what you’re talking about.”
That sounded genuine enough. Phew, the relief. My mistake, thought Maddy. Jumping to the wrong conclusion as usual.
“Unless you mean the thing about you and Kerr McKinnon,” said Kate.
Bugger.
“Well, yes, that’s the thing I mean.” Humiliatingly, Maddy heard her voice wobble halfway through, making her sound like a petrified fourteen-year-old boy asking a girl out on a date.
“Thought it might be.” Kate sounded annoyingly confident; she had the upper hand and she knew it. “Well, well, you and Kerr. I take it Marcella doesn’t know yet.”
Maddy braced herself.
“No, and that’s why I need to talk to you, because—”
“She’ll go ballistic? Disown you? Disembowel you?”
“No,” said Maddy. “That’s not the reason.”
“It must give you a bit of a thrill,” said Kate. “I bet you never thought you’d get a look-in with Kerr McKinnon.” She paused, allowing Maddy to recall the time, all those years back, when Kerr had caused every girl’s heart to beat faster. At seventeen and physically irresistible, he’d been as out of reach to ordinary mortals as Robbie Williams or David Beckham today. As for those so-called ordinary mortals with tragic haircuts, beer-bottle spectacles, and knock-knees, well, who in their right mind would spare them so much as a second glance? Whereas Kate, already precociously advanced in the bosom department and supremely confident of her own looks at thirteen, had undoubtedly felt that, before long, she would have her chance with Kerr…
Anyway, now wasn’t the time to dredge up silly childhood rivalries. Especially ones she’d so spectacularly lost.
“Marcella’s pregnant,” said Maddy. “She’s forty-three and she’s just found out she’s pregnant.”
This stopped Kate in her tracks.
“But I thought she couldn’t—”
“That’s what we all thought. But it’s happened, which is why I need to talk to you. The doctor’s warned Marcella that she has to take things easy, not exert herself, not get upset about anything.”
“Oh, I get it.” Kate’s lip curled. “Emotional blackmail.”
Maddy swallowed. “This isn’t blackmail.”
“Come on, of course it is. You’re worried sick about your big secret getting out, and you’re warning me to keep my mouth shut. Because if I don’t, Marcella might lose the baby and then it would all be my fault.”
That wasn’t fair. OK, so it might be kind of true, but it was still unfair.
“I’m just saying,” Maddy hesitated, “it’s pretty obviously Marcella’s only chance. You wouldn’t want it to go wrong, would you?”
They’d reached the entrance to Dauncey House. Facing her, Kate said, “Don’t you think you’re going about this the wrong way? Hasn’t it even occurred to you to stop seeing Kerr McKinnon?”
Maddy felt sick. Why did people have to keep on saying that, as if it was the simplest thing in the world?
“I’m going to. I will.” Seeing that Kate was turning away, about to disappear up the drive, she blurted out, “How did you know?”
“You mean how did I find out about you and Kerr? You really want me to tell you?”
Gripped with desperation, Maddy said, “Yes.”
“I don’t think so.” Kate smiled. “You see, that’s the whole point. You think you’re being so careful, but there’s always that chance you’ll be caught out. I’ll just leave you to think it over, wonder where you slipped up.”
What a cow.
“You haven’t told Estelle, have you?” Maddy blurted out, because Kate was heading up to the house.
“I think you’d have heard, don’t you?”
“And you won’t say anything to Marcella?”
“She’s probably tougher than you think,” said Kate.
Yes, but what if she isn’t?
“Please,” Maddy called out, but all she heard was Kate’s laughter as she disappeared from view.
* * *
Not a lot of work was getting done when Maddy arrived at the offices of Callaghan and Fox the next day. The air was thick with hair spray, the women were all wearing far more makeup than usual, and Sara, the receptionist, was busy brushing bronzing powder into her pillowy cleavage.
“Blimey.” Maddy plonked the cooler onto the desk. “Are we auditioning for Baywatch?”
Sara beamed. Having overdone the bronzer on her face, she’d gone an alarming shade of George Hamilton.
“God, could you see me in a bikini? But we are going to be on TV,” she went on brightly. “Kerr had a call from someone at HTV this morning, asking if they could come do a piece for a careers slot on the local news—you know, what it’s like to work in PR kind of thing. Isn’t that so cool? I’ve never been on the telly before, apart from the time I told all my friends I was off to Glastonbury Festival and they saw me on TV queuing up with my mum for The Antiques Roadshow. Which didn’t do wonders for my street cred.” Sara pulled a face, then added chirpily, “But this is completely different. I won’t be wearing a sad old anorak this time, oh no! Everyone’s going to see me looking dead cool, working in a trendy PR agency for my hunky boss. How about you, Maddy? You’re single, aren’t you? D’you think Kerr’s hunky?”
Rather sweetly, Sara had begun dropping hints like this over the last week or so. Absolutely unaware that anything was going on between Kerr and Maddy, she was making unsubtle attempts to pair them up.
Since she could hardly deny that Kerr was attractive—because that would be like saying, “George Clooney? God, yuk, he’s got a face like a warthog”—Maddy shrugged and smiled. “Kerr? He’s not bad. I’ve seen worse.” She tapped the cooler. “Now, d’you want me to leave this in the coffee room?”
“Don’t worry. I’ll take care of it. Ooh, I’ve just had a brain wave!” Excitedly Sara said, “The TV crew are going to be here from eleven till two, so why don’t you go off now and do the rest of your deliveries, then come back with our stuff while they’re in the middle of filming. Wouldn’t that be great? Then you can be on telly too!”
Maddy pictured the scene: Marcella watching TV at home, initially repulsed by the sight of Kerr McKinnon, then boggling in disbelief as her own daughter pranced into view behind him. Oh yes, that’d do Marcella’s blood pressure the world of good. Plus, they’d have to buy a new TV set to replace the one she’d smashed.
“I can’t.” Maddy looked regretful. “I’ve got a million deliveries, then Juliet needs me back at the shop. When’s it going to be shown, anyway?”
“They can’t say for sure. Maybe tonight, maybe next week. But they’ll let us know,” Sara said confidently. “I made Kerr ask, so my mum could phone everyone she’s ever met in her life.”
“Well, I’ll definitely watch it,” promised Maddy. “Is Kerr in his office?”
“He is.” Beneath the troweled-on makeup, Sara’s eyes gleamed with matchmaking interest. “Do you want to see him?”
“No need.” Maddy knew she’d be seeing Kerr at seven o’clock tonight. “Just tell him that he wanted white bread with his BLT, but we ran out. So just for today he’ll have to make do with whole wheat instead.”
Chapter 27
Nuala was lying on the sofa devouring the book that was about to change her life when the knock came on the living room door. As guiltily as a teenager caught with a copy of Playboy, she shoveled the paperback behind a green velvet cushion and called out, “Who’s that?”
“Only me.” Pushing the door open, Kate Taylor-Trent said, “Sorry, I didn’t know if you were asleep. Dexter needs to send paperwork off to the accountants. He says the folder should be in the filing cabinet in his office, and y
ou’ll know where to find it.”
“I’ll get it.” Levering herself awkwardly up off the sofa with her good arm, Nuala watched as the book slithered out from under the cushion and landed with a plop on the floor. Just as well it wasn’t Playboy.
By the time she returned from the office with the relevant folder, Kate had picked up the book and was leafing through the pages.
Flushing, Nuala said defensively, “I know, I’m pathetic.”
“At least you’re doing something about it. These things are huge business in the States. My roommate had hundreds. I’ve never read one,” said Kate.
“It was you who made me buy it,” Nuala confessed, blushing more deeply than ever but feeling emboldened.
“Me?”
“That title: Don’t Be a Doormat. I mean, look at the way Dexter treats me. I’ve gotten so used to it, I just put up with it, but you don’t let him get away with anything. And you’re absolutely right, which is why I’m going to change.” Grabbing the book back from Kate, Nuala found the relevant chapter headings and jabbed at them eagerly with her index finger. “See? ‘Lay Down the Law!’ ‘You’re a Person Too!’ ‘Startle Him to His Senses!’ It’s all here in black-and-white. I can’t believe I’ve been such a wimp. From now on, I’m going to give as good as I get and really stand up to Dexter.” Proudly, she straightened her spine and concluded, “I’m going to be just like you!”
Kate looked impressed. At that moment Dexter shouted up the stairs, “Hasn’t the silly bat found it yet? What is she, blind?”
Hurriedly Nuala handed over the folder bulging with tax receipts.
“Look, I’m only up to chapter seven. Anyway, I can’t do it yet. Not in front of other people.”
Kate raised an eyebrow. “When then?”
When indeed?
“Later,” said Nuala, feeling determined and panicky. “I promise.”
* * *
Don’t Be a Doormat was hidden inside a Marks & Spencer bag and stuffed out of sight at the back of the wardrobe, but Nuala could still hear it whispering to her as she and Dexter lounged on the sofa together watching TV. She’d finished the rest of the book earlier this afternoon and every word of it had made absolute, earth-shattering sense. It was like picking up the Bible and suddenly becoming a born-again Christian, without having to wear unflattering headbands and flat sandals. And it wasn’t as if she had anything to lose, Nuala reminded herself. They would be redefining their relationship, that was all. Nothing but good could come of it. How did that song go? Oh yes: “thiiiiiiiings can only get betteeeeer…”
Hell. Put like that, what on earth was she waiting for?
“Do you mind?” complained Dexter, turning up the TV.
“Hmm?”
“That bloody awful noise. You’re singing under your breath. Stop it.”
Thiiiiiiiings can only get betteeeeer…
“I like singing,” said Nuala.
“Well, that’s fine. I’m glad. I just don’t like having to listen to it,” Dexter snorted. “You sound like a cat being neutered.”
Don’t Let Him Diss You, Nuala recalled being instructed by one of the chapter headings in the book. You Deserve Respect. And I do, Nuala thought indignantly, because I’m a Human Being Too, and if I want to sing, I jolly well can…
Exasperated, Dexter said, “You’re doing it again.”
“So?”
“It’s horrible.”
“You always have to criticize me, don’t you?” Bravely, Nuala turned to face him. “Every single thing about me is wrong, according to you.”
Dexter shrugged and yawned. “I wouldn’t say every single thing.”
“Yes, you would! OK, how about those trousers?” Pointing accusingly at the TV screen, where Kylie Minogue was currently twirling and pouting along to her latest single, Nuala demanded, “What would you say if I bought a pair like that?”
Kylie’s trousers were primrose yellow, shimmery, and skintight. Her perfect little bottom was now wiggling fetchingly this way and that in time with the music.
“Are you serious?” Dexter asked in amazement. “With your thighs? You’d look bloody awful.”
“You see? That’s exactly what I mean.” Nuala’s voice rose an octave. “You have no respect for me. You criticize me all the time and I’ve had enough. I’m not going to put up with it anymore.”
“OK,” said Dexter.
“And you can stop watching that!” Realizing that his attention had been drawn back to Kylie’s pert, gyrating bottom, Nuala snatched the remote control away from him and switched off the TV. “This is important! We’re having a discussion here and the least you can do is listen!”
Actually, the authors of the book advised that all discussions be carried out in a calm and civilized manner, but this was easier said than done.
“We aren’t having a discussion,” Dexter pointed out. “You’re just having a rant. All I’m trying to do is watch the TV in peace.”
“You treat me like dirt,” Nuala exploded. “Like a piece of old rubbish! And I’m not putting up with it anymore.”
“You’ve said that already.”
Empowerment, thought Nuala. Self-respect. Don’t be a doormat.
“I’m serious,” she insisted. “I mean it. You have to stop belittling me, criticizing me, making me feel small.”
“Or you’ll do what?” Dexter was sounding supremely disinterested.
Right. Shock Him to His Senses.
“Or it’s all over between us,” said Nuala, her heart beginning to clatter. “Finished.”
With Kylie no longer doing her twirly thing on TV, silence filled the room. Finally, nodding slowly, Dexter said, “OK. If that’s what you want.”
What? What was that supposed to mean? Nuala’s eyes widened in panic. Surely she’d misunderstood.
Tentatively she said, “So…you’ll stop doing it?”
Dexter gave her a measured look. “Come on, it’s not working, is it? You’re absolutely right. Ending it now would be the best thing all around.”
“B-but…you can’t mean that!” Feeling as though she was sinking into a hole of her own making, Nuala croaked desperately, “I only said it to give you a scare.”
“No you didn’t.”
“I did! I don’t want us to split up,” Nuala wailed.
“You say that, but subconsciously you do,” said Dexter, “and you’re right. I mean, look at us. We’re hardly love’s young dream, are we? You couldn’t call us happy. One of the old blokes in the bar the other night asked me if I’d blacked your eye. Can you imagine that? He actually thought I’d thumped you and chucked you down the stairs.”
Numbly, Nuala said, “So did Maddy.”
“Well then, there you go. If that’s what people think I do to you, there has to be something seriously wrong.”
Oh God, panic attack. This wasn’t supposed to be happening. Beginning to hyperventilate—and jettisoning the first and most important rule of Don’t Be A Doormat—Nuala whimpered, “But I love you!”
“No.” Shaking his head, Dexter hauled himself to his feet. “You don’t. You’re just scared of being on your own.”
“Don’t do this to me,” begged Nuala, scarcely able to take in what she was hearing. “I didn’t mean to say it. I was only trying to be more like Kate.”
“Exactly. You can’t try to be more like somebody else”—Dexter’s tone was almost sympathetic now—“because it never works. You’re you, Nuala. You shouldn’t have to change. We aren’t right for each other, that’s all. And deep down, you know it as well as I do.”
“Where are you going?” Nuala whispered as he headed for the door.
“I’ve got a pub to open up.”
A sensation like cold cement trickling into her stomach caused Nuala to grip the side of the sofa. Fearfully she said, “And where…w
here am I going?”
Pausing in the doorway, Dexter ran his fingers through his receding hair.
“That’s up to you. I’m not a monster, Nuala. I’m not about to kick you out into the street. I’ll sleep on the sofa until you find somewhere else to stay.”
Oh God, this was unbearable. Already he was being far nicer to her than he’d been in months. Maybe if she hung on for a while, he might—
“I’m not going to change my mind,” said Dexter, who had always possessed the uncanny ability to know what was going on inside her head.
In desperation Nuala blurted, “But you don’t know that for sure! You might realize you’ve made a horrible mistake.”
“I won’t, because I haven’t.” Calmly, Dexter checked his watch. “Nuala, I’m sorry, but I have to open the pub. Trust me, you’ll be fine. In fact, give it a few weeks and you’ll thank me for this.”
Which just goes to show how stupid you are, Nuala thought hysterically, tears filling her eyes as Dexter made his way downstairs. Because all I want to do is die.
Chapter 28
“OK, OK, this isn’t going to help.” Jake was seriously beginning to regret opening the front door now. Girls with boyfriend trouble, hell-bent on unburdening themselves, weren’t his forte at the best of times, but when he had a night out planned in Bath, they were a complete pain in the bum.
Jake was fond of Nuala, it went without saying, but she had only come over to the cottage to regale Maddy with her woes. When he’d told her Maddy wasn’t here, he’d expected Nuala to leave, but she’d come in and started off-loading her woes onto him instead.
“I don’t care! I’m going to sue the bloody woman who wrote this stupid bloody book!” Ripping out yet another page and crushing it into a ball, Nuala wailed, “Eight pounds ninety-nine, can you believe that? I actually paid her eight pounds ninety-nine to completely bugger up my life…aaargh!”
Jake, who’d been in the shower when the doorbell had gone and was only wearing a purple towel, ducked as the balled-up paper missile whistled past his head. The kitchen floor was awash with them and Nuala evidently planned to keep on going until she’d used up every page, fueled by the bottle of Bombay Sapphire gin she’d brought along with her from the Angel.