by Jill Mansell
“Oh, right.” Maddy nodded, relief washing over her as the car’s interior light came on. Raising her voice, she called across to Annalise, “Is that your boyfriend?”
In the passenger seat, Annalise gave the driver a significant, that’s-the-barking-one look. Slowly, all three occupants of the car nodded.
Completely unable to help herself, Maddy blurted out, “How do you know Kerr McKinnon?”
Annalise’s plucked eyebrows shot up. “Kerr McKinnon? The guy from Callaghan and Fox? His company does business with our company.” She paused, bewildered. “Why?”
“Oh, no special reason.” Feeling as if a ton weight had been winched from her chest, Maddy smiled and waved at them. “Just wondered. Bye!”
The Volvo pulled away. Feeling fifty times happier, Maddy headed back toward Trash.
From the shadows, she heard a male voice say, “You should have told me before.”
Spinning around, Maddy said, “Dave?”
He emerged from his darkened doorway, looking mildly apologetic. “Sorry, didn’t mean to eavesdrop. I came out to see where you were—the girls were worried about you.”
“I’m fine. Much better now.” Maddy smiled reassuringly at him, because Dave was giving her a sympathetic head tilt.
“You know, there’s absolutely nothing wrong with being gay,” said Dave.
“I know.” Gosh, it was such a relief, knowing that Kerr wasn’t seeing Annalise.
“You don’t have to be ashamed of who you are.”
Hmm? “I’m not ashamed of who I am,” said Maddy. Well, slightly embarrassed, maybe, to think that she’d practically stalked the girl, just because—
“Nuala and Kate don’t know, do they?”
“God, no, they’d be furious.” Maddy was completely sick of their lectures on the subject of forgetting Kerr McKinnon ever existed.
As if.
“Well, that’s just crazy. This is the twenty-first century,” Dave said crossly. “Nobody should have to pretend to be something they aren’t. Right, shoulders back,” he instructed, linking his arm through Maddy’s. “Chin up, and be proud. We’re going to march right in there and tell them now.”
Chapter 54
Coming face-to-face with his brother after a gap of almost ten years was an emotional experience. Kerr had almost given up on the idea of hearing from Den again following that initial strained phone conversation. When the days had stretched into weeks without any further word, he told himself that at least he’d done his best.
And then, on Monday, his cell phone had rung and Den had asked without preamble, “Is she still alive?”
Stunned, Kerr said, “Er…yes.”
“Still want me to come over?” Stupid question.
“Yes.”
“OK. I’m flying from Sydney tonight. I’ll give you another ring on Wednesday, when I reach Bath.” Den paused. “I can stay at the house, right?”
“Of course.” Kerr’s chest tightened as he realized Den’s main reason for visiting was to stake his claim on half the property.
“I mean, I’ll visit her at the old folks’ home, but I don’t want to spend hours there.”
“That’s up to you,” Kerr said stiffly, because heaven forbid that Den, who had succeeded in ruining his mother’s entire life, should have to spend a minute longer than absolutely necessary at her deathbed.
“Fine. OK, I’ll see you,” Den concluded laconically, before hanging up.
That had happened forty-eight hours ago. And now he was here. It was Wednesday afternoon and Kerr had taken the message on his phone twenty minutes ago. Leaving the office at once, he had driven out to Hillview. As he rounded the last bend of the driveway, he saw Den sitting on the top step, leaning back against the front door.
He was twenty-eight years old. God, unbelievable. Wearing narrow faded jeans, sneakers, and a scruffy yellow T-shirt, he looked like a typical backpacker. Kerr wondered if their mother’s first comment when she saw Den would be to tell him to get his hair cut.
Exhaling slowly, Kerr switched off the ignition and climbed out of the car. What was he supposed to do now? Before the accident, they had been close, but after it—hardly surprisingly—Den had undergone an abrupt change of personality, cutting himself off from his family and refusing to talk. Kerr had visited him in prison at first, then been sullenly told not to bother anymore. By that stage, Kerr had been guiltily relieved to have an excuse not to. Thanks to a single careless moment, Den had succeeded in ruining not only the lives of the Harvey family, but his own as well. By then, their mother had sunk into alcoholism and was also refusing all offers of help. It hadn’t exactly been the greatest incentive to come home. Yet until the fateful day of the accident, he and Den had been close, Kerr reminded himself. A part of him badly wanted to hug his younger brother and tell him how good it was to see him again.
This was easier said than done.
“Hi,” said Kerr, realizing that by remaining seated on the step, Den was effectively making sure he couldn’t be hugged.
“Hi.” Den waited, his jaw tense. He was very brown, and there were lines around his eyes that anyone else would have called laughter lines. Somehow Kerr couldn’t picture him laughing that much.
“It’s good to see you,” Kerr said awkwardly.
“Is it?”
Kerr nodded, silently conceding that he had a point. Thanks to Den’s actions, he wasn’t allowed to be with the only girl he’d ever truly wanted to be with. When he thought of it that way, he wanted to punch him.
But that wasn’t why Den was here, and what good would it do anyway? Apart from making me feel better, thought Kerr.
Taking out his keys, he stepped past Den and opened the front door.
“Come on in. There’s hot water if you want a shower.”
Lifting his knapsack over one shoulder, Den said, “Why? Do I smell?”
It was so long since they’d last seen each other that Kerr wasn’t sure if he was joking.
“It’s OK.” Catching the wary look in his brother’s eyes, Den said with a brief smile, “Yeah, a shower would be great.”
In the kitchen, Kerr put together a couple of king-size omelets. It wasn’t much, because he didn’t keep a great deal of food here at Hillview, but it was easier than taking Den out for a meal. Sitting at a table in a restaurant, forced to make polite conversation for ninety minutes, was a daunting prospect. The awkward silences would be more than he could handle.
So omelets it was. A couple of cold beers wouldn’t go amiss either. Maybe there’d be something sporty on TV and they could watch that.
“Are you tired?” asked Kerr when Den came downstairs, having showered and changed into a creased cotton shirt and a different pair of jeans.
“No. Slept on the plane. Which one’s mine?”
He was combing his fingers through his wet hair, surreptitiously surveying the plates on the kitchen table. It was as if they were teenagers again and Den was trying to decide which of the omelets was the biggest.
Kerr plonked down the pepper mill. “Either. They’re both the same. If you want to rest tonight, we can visit the nursing home tomorrow.”
Pulling out a chair, Den began to wolf down his omelet.
“Why wait? I’ve come all this way, like you told me to.”
“Asked you to,” Kerr corrected, because there was an edge to Den’s voice.
“Whatever. May as well get over there tonight and see what she has to say.” Den shrugged. “Be a shame if she popped her clogs just before I got there.”
Maybe he didn’t mean to be so callous. Maybe he was secretly dreading seeing his mother again, thought Kerr. For the first time, he was about to witness what he’d reduced her to.
“OK,” he told Den. “We’ll go tonight.”
Den held up his empty bottle of Beck’s. “Fine. Got anothe
r beer?”
But as he reached out to take the second bottle, Kerr saw that his nails were bitten and his hands were shaking. Den, it seemed, wasn’t quite as flippant and careless as he liked to make out.
* * *
An hour later they drove over to Dartington House.
“Pretty nice place,” Den remarked as they approached the big old nursing home. “Must cost a bit, keeping her here.”
She was their mother. Where did Den think she should end her days? In a dog kennel?
“She couldn’t carry on anymore at home.” Kerr led the way through the wood-paneled painted hall. Spotting Esme Calloway through the open door of her tasteful eau de nil office, he paused and said, “How is she?”
“Oh, Mr. McKinnon! Not so well, I’m afraid. And somewhat agitated, I should warn you. We may have to ask the doctor to give her a little something to calm her down. She’s still asking to see her other—oh.” Rising from behind her desk and catching sight of Den, Esme Calloway’s manicured eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Is this…”
“Her other son,” Kerr confirmed.
“From Australia!” Esme clapped her beringed hands together with delight. “Well, well, this is excellent news! Wait till Pauline finds out you’re here—she’ll be so thrilled!”
Esme Calloway clearly wasn’t in possession of the full story, thought Kerr, as, still gushing, she swept around the desk to shake Den’s hand. Needing to see your long-lost son before you died was one thing, but thrilled wasn’t the emotion he suspected would be uppermost in Pauline’s mind.
Esme Calloway, who evidently adored emotional family reunions, led the way upstairs to their mother’s room, chattering nonstop about the time she’d visited her cousins in Melbourne and almost ran over a kangaroo. Finally she paused outside the door, sapphires flashing on her fingers as she raised her hand to knock.
“Pauline? Coo-ee! Are you awake, dear?”
Behind her, Den glanced in disbelief at Kerr.
“Oh God,” they both heard their mother’s irritable voice say through the closed door. “What now?”
“Visitor, dear!” Turning, Esme gave Den an isn’t-this-exciting look and turned the handle. “Very important visitor, in fact! Here we are—brace yourself for a surprise!”
And that was it. The door swung open, revealing Den to his mother. Pauline was sitting up in bed like a faded, yellow-tinged shadow of herself, wrapped in a cream cashmere cardigan and with her wispy gray hair fastened in a loose bun.
She was only sixty-eight. It wasn’t such a great age, Kerr thought. She looked a good twenty years older than that.
He stayed well back, along with Esme, allowing Pauline to gaze in silence at Den. At least his mother didn’t appear to have been drinking today; the smell of alcohol was, for once, absent from the room.
Finally Pauline said, “Oh, Den…” And there was a quaver in her voice that made it obvious how much this moment meant to her.
By contrast, Den’s face was entirely without expression as he said, “Hello.”
Esme Calloway looked shocked. This wasn’t the deliriously joyful reunion she’d been anticipating. Thinking angrily that Den could at least have the decency to pretend to be pleased to see her, Kerr resolved to leave them to it. Maybe Esme’s presence was an inhibiting factor. Placing his hand on her elbow he murmured, “I think they’d prefer to be alone,” and saw Den’s shoulders stiffen.
“No,” said Pauline, shaking her head at Kerr. “She can go, but I want you to stay.”
“I don’t—”
“You will,” Pauline said evenly. “It’s important.”
“Ooh, I’ve had an idea! Why don’t I bring you all a nice tray of tea?” Esme beamed at them like a deranged nineteen-fifties air hostess.
“Just get rid of her.” Pauline shook her gray head in disgust. “The last thing I need is an audience.”
Offended, the tilt of her eyebrows signaling despair of the see-what-I-have-to-put-up-with kind, Esme swept out of the room.
Silence reigned. Kerr leaned against the wall with his arms folded across his chest. Den was gazing out of the window like an insolent teenager summoned to the headmaster’s study. If Pauline had been hoping for a hug from the son who had all but destroyed her life, she was going to be bitterly disappointed.
Finally Pauline spoke again.
“How did Kerr persuade you to come back?”
Den shrugged. “Told me you were…unwell.”
“Unwell, that’s one way of putting it.” Snorting at the euphemism, Pauline shakily smoothed the eiderdown over her lap.
“Dying, then,” Den said bluntly.
“That’s more like it. On my way out. Not long to go now.” Glancing past Den to Kerr, she said, “Did you bring anything?”
“I brought Den,” Kerr said pointedly.
His mother reached for a tissue and wiped the palms of her hands. “A bottle of Jack Daniel’s would make this easier.” She looked over at Den. “So. How have you been?”
“How d’you think I’ve been?” Den shoved his hands deeper into his pockets and stared back at her. “I went to prison, didn’t I? Served my time. Came out, left the country, went to Australia where no one else knew what I’d done, but somehow never quite managed to put it behind me. Still, never mind, eh? I’m young, healthy, life goes on. There are plenty of people worse off than me. I just need to get a grip, sort myself out—”
“Den, don’t.” Stricken, Pauline shook her head.
“Why not? You asked me how I’d been. I’m just telling you.”
“I’m sorry.” Her eyes filled with tears. She was squeezing the crumpled tissue between her hands. “I’m so sorry. That’s why I had to see you again, to tell you how sorry I am.” Her fingers shook as she rubbed at her palms. “Have you told your brother?”
Kerr straightened. Had Den told him what?
“I’ve never told a living soul,” Den said fiercely. “You made me promise, remember?”
What? What was this about? Kerr looked from one to the other.
“Right, right. Of course you haven’t. I’ll do it then.” Pauline nodded wearily, the lines on her face suddenly more pronounced than ever. “It was me,” she told Kerr. “Driving the car that day. I was the one who killed the girl, not Den.”
Chapter 55
The only sound in the room was the ticking of the clock on the mantelpiece, a brass carriage clock that Kerr remembered from his childhood. Under any other circumstances, his automatic reaction might have been to say to his mother, “You’re joking.” But since she clearly wasn’t, he was silent.
“That look on your face, Kerr,” said Pauline McKinnon. “That’s why I’ve never told you. God, I thought deathbed confessions were meant to make you feel better. I really want a drink now.”
Kerr looked at his brother. Den was standing there, by the window, with tears sliding down his thin cheeks.
“Tell me what happened,” Kerr said slowly, but Den was incapable of speech. He shrugged and shook his head.
“We’d been to Evelyn Pargeter’s cocktail party.” Pauline’s voice came out as a monotone. “I’d had a few drinks, but I felt OK. When we left the party, I told Den I’d be fine to drive. We reached Ashcombe and I rounded the bend too fast, hit the girl—well, that was it. There was nothing we could do for her. She was dead. Then I realized what this would do to me. I was a justice of the peace, remember. Pillar of the community. I knew I’d fail a breath test. I just couldn’t bear it, couldn’t bear it.” She faltered, shaken by the memory. “But Den hadn’t been drinking, and I thought it wouldn’t be so bad for him. He was only seventeen. Any punishment would be so much easier for him to handle. I was in shock after it happened. And that was it,” Pauline whispered. “Den loved me. We were always so close, I knew he’d understand. I told him to say he’d been driving. And he did. It was our secret. I
wasn’t proud of myself, but I couldn’t face the prospect of going to prison. Losing my license for drunk driving. Killing a sixteen-year-old girl. I thought it would be easier for Den. I’m sorry.” She closed her eyes in defeat. “I was wrong, I know that now. I knew it then, but I couldn’t help myself. And I’ve been punishing myself ever since. I might just as well have taken the blame and killed myself there and then. Anything would have been better than living through the last eleven years, I can promise you that. So you see, I’m glad I’m going to die. In fact, I can’t wait.”
Kerr was having trouble digesting this. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“It was our secret, Den’s and mine.” Pauline shook her head. “You would never have allowed Den to go to prison.”
This was true. Jesus, what had Den been through, to protect his mother? Was it any wonder he’d disappeared to Australia?
“I was wrong,” Pauline blurted out. “I should never have done it. I’ll make a statement to the police.”
“You’re about to die,” Den said baldly. “What good would that do?”
His mother looked at him. “It’ll clear your name.”
“Can they rewind the tape and stop me going to prison? Because otherwise, I don’t see the point.”
“There’s nothing I can do to take that away.” Tears were running down Pauline’s face now, dripping into the folds of her cream cardigan. “I just needed to see you again, to let you know how truly sorry I am. I always loved you so much. I don’t suppose you love me, but thank you for coming back. It means more than you’ll ever know.”
* * *
It was three o’clock in the morning. In the living room of Hillview, Kerr opened two more bottles of chilled Beck’s and handed one to Den.
“I feel like a ton weight has been lifted off me,” Den said for the fifteenth time that night. Shaking his head in wonderment, he stretched out along the length of the sofa and crossed one foot over the other. “You have no idea how it feels, somebody else knowing at last. You knowing at last. If someone had asked me yesterday if I could forgive my mother for what she did, I’d have laughed and said never in a million years. But now…I don’t know. I can almost think about it. Because she’s dying, and that’s what she wants, isn’t it? Forgiveness.”