Just a Family Affair (16 page)

So when Kay dropped her bombshell, Mickey resolved to bring it out into the open. Marriage was about sharing, after all. And as he drove back the short distance from the Honeycote Arms, still reeling with shock, he came to the conclusion that he wasn’t actually guilty of anything. Just because Kay had got pregnant as a result of their affair it didn’t make his original misdemeanour any greater. A shag was a shag was a shag, whatever the outcome, and he’d already been hung for that. And forgiven. So in theory he should be able to come clean to Lucy about Flora’s existence without any reprisal. As he drove through the pillars and up the drive, he decided they would get through this by sticking together.

There was, however, another car at the front of the house as he pulled up, a sleek navy blue sports car that was coiled like a panther ready to spring. Shit. Bertie Meredith. Fond as Mickey was of Bertie, he wanted his wife to himself. And Bertie meant several glasses of wine and supper. There was no chance of getting rid of him before ten o’clock at the earliest. Since Bertie’s girlfriend Erica had gone back to Zimbabwe to run her father’s game reserve - less dangerous than living with Bertie - he had been in need of constant entertaining.

Mickey climbed wearily out of his car. His head was still throbbing, and his bad leg felt stiff, making him feel his age. Actually, no, older. He wasn’t even fifty yet, but as he limped to the front door he felt positively geriatric. It was astonishing how quickly middle age came upon you when in your head you were still a young buck with the sap rising. He pushed open the door, smelt the delicious waft of Lucy’s cooking from the kitchen, heard the sound of carefree chatter and James Blunt droning out of the new speakers. He stood for a moment, wishing desperately that he could saunter into the kitchen and enjoy his simple surroundings with a clear conscience. But somehow he suspected life was never going to be quite the same again.

Just as he guessed, Bertie was lolling at the head of the table, impossibly long legs stuck out in front of him, glass in hand, while Lucy stood chopping flat-leaf parsley with a mezzaluna. She looked up as Mickey came in.

‘Darling. I’ve asked Bertie to stay for supper. You look shattered. Was the meeting bloody?’

‘Worse than you can ever imagine.’ Mickey’s tone was dry, although only he was privy to the joke.

‘Oh dear.’ Lucy looked anxious.

‘Have a glass of wine.’ Bertie waggled the bottle at him. ‘It’s only Viognier, but quite a good one. As recommended by Matthew Jukes in the Mail on Sunday.’

For a moment, Mickey hesitated. He didn’t want to have the conversation later with a drink inside him. But if he had nothing, they would think it was odd. He’d just have one. He got himself a glass from the cupboard.

‘Top up?’ He proffered the bottle to Bertie, who nodded.

‘Thanks. I was just admiring your wife’s new kitchen. Oh, and by the way. I hear congratulations are in order.’ Bertie looked at him meaningfully.

Mickey started. Had word got out already? He was under the impression that Kay hadn’t told anyone else. But perhaps he’d been seen at the pub, and someone had put two and two together. Barney, perhaps? Though he was usually pretty discreet.

‘What?’ he asked nervously.

‘Patrick and Mandy. Wedding bells?’ Bertie waved his glass around in an expansive gesture.

‘Oh. Yes, of course! Fabulous news, isn’t it?’ Mickey poured himself a hefty slug of Viognier and took a gulp. ‘We’re really looking forward to it. Aren’t we, Lucy?’

Lucy turned from the chopping board, her eyes sparkling.

‘Bertie’s been an absolute star. He’s going to lend me loads of stuff for the garden. Furniture, and statues, and pots.’

‘Great.’

‘And he can get all the accessories at trade prices. Candles. And lights. And extra plants.’

‘That’s very kind of you, Bertie. Thanks.’

‘No problem. I’ve told Lucy to come over and choose whatever she wants and I’ll get the lads to bring it over in the truck.’

Bertie had a reclamation yard, dealing in antique garden furniture and statuary, but times being what they were, had to resort to a bit of retail as well, just to keep the cash-flow going. He wasn’t as much of a snob as James about the antiques trade, which meant he did rather better. Mickey often thought James could take a leaf out of Bertie’s book. Where business was concerned, anyway. Not in his personal life. Bertie was nicknamed Tall, Dark and Hands, because of his looks and inability to keep his mitts off anything female, whether she was spoken for or not. Mickey was just about sure that he’d stopped making passes at Lucy after all these years - she kept a special wooden spoon in a pot by the Aga for thwacking him when he got out of hand.

‘You do realize that this will be the twenty-seventh wedding I’ve been to in my life. Not counting my own aborted attempt.’ Bertie sounded rueful. ‘I’m beginning to wonder if I’ll ever make it up the aisle. Is there someone out there for me, Lucy?’

‘You’ll have to change your ways.’ Lucy was always firm with him. Firm but kind. Dealing with Bertie was like dealing with a recalcitrant horse.

‘Come on. What’s wrong with me? I’m not bad looking.’ This was an understatement. But you only had to look at him to know he was a rogue. ‘I’ve got plenty of dosh, and a nice house.’

‘Actually, your house is the best thing about you.’

Bertie looked hurt. ‘I’m kind. And generous.’

Lucy laughed. ‘And modest?’

‘I’m just pointing out my attributes. I wouldn’t say it to anyone. Only you.’

‘Bertie, you don’t want to get married. Otherwise you would be.’

‘To tell you the truth, I’ve been giving it a lot of thought lately.’ Bertie adopted a rather pained expression. ‘I don’t want to die a lonely old man. I want a wife. And a family.’

Lucy’s eyes widened.

‘Steady on.’

‘It’s what it’s all about though, isn’t it? Don’t you think, Mickey?’

‘What? Sorry, I was drifting.’

‘Bertie’s having a moment. He thinks he’s missing out,’ Lucy explained.

‘Children. Life is nothing without children.’

‘Um . . . No. Yes. No.’ Mickey floundered, not sure what he was supposed to say.

‘Actually, you’re right. Life’s bloody awful without them in the house. I can’t stand it without Patrick and Sophie and Georgina. It’s horrible,’ said Lucy.

‘Ah, well,’ said Bertie. ‘It’s up to me, then. To get myself a pretty little wife and have a clutch of children I can dump on you. So I can take her off to Capri or Sardinia or Cap Ferrat for a long weekend.’

Lucy clapped her hands in delight. ‘I’d love that!’ she cried. ‘I wanted another baby but Mickey said I was mad.’

‘Did you?’ Mickey looked at her, horrified. ‘Did I?’

‘Yes. Remember? Just before you went off for the snip. You couldn’t get to the clinic fast enough.’ She turned to Bertie, eyes shining. ‘I’ll look after all your babies for you, darling. So hurry up.’

As Lucy drained the pasta in the sink, Mickey busied himself finding plates and cutlery so he wouldn’t have to speak as he digested this latest piece of information. Lucy had wanted another baby? Somehow he’d missed that. Obviously they’d talked when he’d decided to go for the vasectomy, and although she had been a bit wistful, he hadn’t appreciated that she’d expressed a real desire. Though perhaps she hadn’t. Perhaps she was just rewriting history. People did that, didn’t they? But then, he wouldn’t have put it past himself to ignore what she’d been saying. He did that all the time. Shut his ears to things he didn’t want to hear.

He hadn’t been able to shut his ears to Kay. He couldn’t gloss over that bombshell. A long-lost daughter wasn’t like a bill that you could shove to the back of the drawer. And the implications were far, far greater. If Flora was five, that was another thirteen years of responsibility. Well, more than that, because you didn’t cut kids off at eighteen, not if Sophie and Georgina were anything to go by. Patrick was pretty self-sufficient and paid his own way, but the girls were always tapping him up for funds. And could he resist them? No . . .

Another daughter. Another little girl. Never mind what Lucy was going to say. What about Sophie and Georgina? Sophie would be a walkover, but Georgie could be very judgemental and unforgiving. And she was a bit of a daddy’s girl. How would she take to a half-sister being dropped like a cuckoo into the nest? And Patrick! Mickey had always worried that he felt a bit of an outsider, because he was only a half-brother to Sophie and Georgina, and a stepson to Lucy. Even though Lucy had been absolutely wonderful to Patrick, treating him as her own, and far better than bloody Carola, his real mother. When Mickey had wrestled Patrick from Carola’s clutches and fought her tooth and claw for custody, the little boy had barely any clothes and no toys at all, because Carola didn’t believe in them. Lucy had soon rectified that.

Darling Lucy. The angel he didn’t deserve. Mickey slid another shot of wine into his glass. She didn’t deserve to have another of his spawn dumped on her this late in life, especially when she’d just expressed a desire for one of her own. It would rub salt into the wound, to have Kay flaunting Flora. Not that she’d do that deliberately, Mickey felt sure. Kay had changed; there had been a softness and vulnerability to her that had shocked him. The tough, ruthless, rather self-centred Kay had gone. Her only motive was to do what was best for her child. She wouldn’t use Flora as a weapon, or rub Lucy’s nose in it.

But there was the nasty question of half a million quid that wasn’t going to go away. Mickey knew Kay had been serious about that. His stomach churned as the full implication hit him. Where the fuck was he going to get that amount from? He’d been so absorbed in the mere fact of Flora’s presence on this planet that he’d overlooked this minor detail. Could he remortgage the house? Honeycote House must be worth over a million. But no building society in their right mind would give him a half-million-pound mortgage at his age.

‘Mickey!’ Lucy was calling him, holding a vast bowl of steaming seafood linguine. ‘Can you get something to put this on?’

‘Sorry. I was miles away.’

As they sat down to eat, Mickey eyed his supper with distaste. Usually it was his favourite: big fat juicy tiger prawns in a creamy sauce livened up with a slug of Limoncello. But his appetite, not entirely surprisingly, had vanished. He managed to pick through it, sustained by several more glasses of wine. By the time Bertie left, Mickey was half cut. The Viognier had done the trick, blotting out the finer details of his meeting earlier and numbing his emotions. He couldn’t bring it up with Lucy now. He’d be slurring his words, getting everything muddled. Anyway, he reasoned through the fug, it was probably best to sleep on it. See how an illegitimate daughter and a demand for a king’s ransom seemed in the morning.

 

Kay lay in the middle of the bed in the Honeycote Arms, knowing that she should be grateful for the luxury of goose down after her mother’s stretchy brushed cotton sheets, but completely unable to sleep. She thought about burrowing in her handbag for the sleeping tablets the doctor had given her, but she didn’t want to be a zombie when Flora woke up the next morning. The little girl was snuggled up beside her, her curls spread out on the pillow. She always slept like a top, even with the bedside lamp still on and the telly burbling away in the background.

Kay thought she’d reached rock bottom just after Lawrence’s funeral. But now she felt lower than ever. Coming back was a huge mistake. The Honeycote Arms, with its chic-but-low-key designer comfort, its almost tangible Englishness, made her feel homesick - but the irony was she didn’t have a home. This was just a temporary haven. She’d be out on her ear in just a few days’ time, if her bank balance was anything to go by.

Having Mickey in her room, so solid, so real, so normal, had brought home to her just how desperate her situation was. How on earth could she have thought that throwing herself on his mercy was going to be an easy way out? She could picture Mickey now, sitting with Lucy in the kitchen at Honeycote House. She and Lawrence had been there a few times, for drinks parties and post-hunt suppers, because the Liddiards were madly social and seemed to invite all and sundry back to their house at the drop of a hat. At the time, Kay had felt no envy. She, after all, had lived at Barton Court, which was practically a stately home, and was pristine, perfect, almost like a museum. But now she realized Honeycote House was perfection. A warm, slightly shambolic family home, bursting with life and love and laughter. Kay had almost looked down on it - everything covered in dog hairs and the cupboard doors falling off. Now, she’d give anything for a place like that.

She remembered thinking nothing of her affair with Mickey. As far as she had been concerned, it was insignificant, just a bit of titillation for the two of them. She’d never considered Lucy’s finer feelings either; after all, if Lucy was so bloody perfect, Mickey wouldn’t be so horny all the time. She had not considered the truth: that the more sex men had, the more they wanted. She had felt all-powerful, knowing she was fucking him, knowing that if she crooked her finger, he would come running. Now, looking back, she just felt cheap. Worse than a hooker, because she hadn’t even been paid. She despised herself for it. And she despised Mickey. How could he have sacrificed everything that he had? Everything that Kay realized now was important.

Everything that she was never going to have. She had no husband, no house, no money. Though she hoped she had gone some way towards rectifying the last two. Kay knew she had pulled out the pin and lobbed a live grenade into Mickey’s life but actually, she didn’t care. He deserved to face the consequences of his actions. Even if Lucy didn’t. But Kay wasn’t going to analyse that too closely. If it was a toss-up between protecting Lucy and protecting her daughter, Flora won hands down.

For a moment, she wondered what Lawrence would say if he knew what she was doing. He’d probably be furious that she had gone back to the past and got herself embroiled with the Liddiards again. Was it betraying him, to revert to the biological father for support, when Lawrence had loved Flora so unconditionally? He’d never thought much of Mickey, primarily because he was a lousy businessman. Lawrence had always said Honeycote Ales was a potential gold-mine, and that Mickey was a fool. So Kay doubted that he would be impressed by her actions.