Nest of Sorrows (43 page)

‘When? When, though?’

‘Soon. That’s all I can tell you, Dora. Are you feeling better now?’

Dora sniffed and blew her nose. ‘I’ve . . . missed you. I hate to say it, but I have. And Geoffrey has too. I know there have been . . . other women, Kate, but—’

‘You knew?’

‘I’ve always known. He’s been spoilt. I spoiled him. He sees what he wants and goes for it.’

‘Thank you.’

‘What for?’

‘For saying that.’

Dora wept anew. ‘He loves you, Kate. Only you . . .’

‘I’ll see him soon. Don’t worry. I have to go now. Goodbye, Dora.’

‘Goodbye, Kate.’

Dora replaced the receiver, then mopped her eyes with the sodden handkerchief. Perhaps madam would deign to come home after all. Perhaps Dora would be able to die in peace?

Phil Carter scraped avidly at the last drops of his brandied chocolate mousse, not noticing that the three other occupants of the table were laughing at him.

‘Why don’t you lick the bowl?’ asked Maureen. ‘That was delicious, Chris. Absolutely perfect. Tell me, how do you two manage? For food and . . . well . . . religion and so on? Aren’t there a lot of differences?’

Chris shrugged. ‘I suppose there were. But we got over them, didn’t we, Santosh? He bought me a cookery book and I learned to do his meals. And he’s learning how to eat a bit of English food. It’s give and take, all give and take.’

‘And what about church?’ asked Phil.

‘We don’t bother.’ Chris’s face wore an air of serenity. ‘My lot doesn’t want to know me, but Santosh says they’ll all come round in time. I don’t care whether they do or whether they don’t. We’ve got one another and that’s all that counts. Me, Santosh and our little Robert.’

Santosh Mathur smiled benignly upon his new wife. She was everything he needed. Chris had proved to be an excellent companion, a diligent student at night school, a good cook and a caring stepmother for Robert. ‘I have a wonderful woman,’ he declared solemnly. ‘Sometimes she is too wonderful. I am afraid that I shall grow fat.’

‘Give over,’ chided Chris, though her face was stretched into a wide grin. ‘It’s not in your nature to be fat. You’re like a beanpole, you are. Shall we have our coffee in the lounge?’

They repaired to the other room, where the atmosphere suddenly became serious as they drank their Kenya blend from thin Susie Cooper cups. The real business of the evening was about to commence. Santosh took charge of the meeting, while Phil, who was hearing certain facts for the first time, sat back looking amazed during much of what followed.

‘It’s better at Maureen and Phil’s house,’ began Santosh. ‘This must be done with delicacy, and our house is too close to Geoff’s. It cannot be done in a public place. If they were to meet in a restaurant, things could go very wrong. At least in Maureen’s kitchen they will be able to shout.’ He nodded. ‘Yes, I fear there will be much shouting.’

Chris shook her head. ‘Kate says there’ll be no arguing. She’s arranging something so there’ll be no arguing. The first sign of a raised voice and she’s off, she says.’

Phil sipped his black coffee. ‘What’s this all about?’

Maureen rounded on him. ‘Listen, you. You’ll know in a minute. And don’t you say one word about this, Phil Carter. Not to Geoff, not to anyone. As Santosh says, it’s a delicate business.’

They spent ten minutes or so working out dates and times. The Carter children would go to their grandmother, while the senior Carters would stay with Santosh and Chris until the all-clear telephone call.

‘Will somebody put me in the picture, please?’ yelled a frustrated Phil. ‘Why do Geoff and Kate Saunders need my house?’

Maureen fixed him with a steely stare. ‘Who mended our marriage?’ she snapped.

‘Kate did . . .’

‘Then button your lip while Santosh tells you.’

A stunned Phil sat motionless and silent while the story unfolded itself. At the end of the discussion, the Carters walked home hand in hand. ‘He’ll go bloody mad,’ muttered Phil more than once.

‘Let him. She’s doing the right thing.’

‘A bit late in the day, though. And what’s going to come of it? Kate can never live with Geoff . . .’

‘Kate can do anything.’ There was grim confidence in Maureen’s tone. ‘Anything she sets her mind to. Perhaps she’s forgiven him after two years’ breathing space. And she knows Dora’s dying. She’ll not leave Mel and Geoff on their own. Kate’s a strong woman, she’s had to be.’

‘He’ll go bloody mad,’ repeated Phil yet again as they stepped through their own front door. ‘Stark staring raving bonkers . . .’

Rachel Bottomley was as proud as punch, and it showed. Every market day, she arranged her KAZ side of the stall, announcing loudly to each potential customer that she was the mother of KAZ. (Though she didn’t need to tell them, the sign above the counter declared her relationship plainly enough.) There were Boothroyd plates, mugs, infant feeding sets, place mats, tea-towels and aprons. Across the aisle, Shoe-ey Hughie sold Boothroyd slippers, while Maisie Hawthorne’s stall displayed Boothroyd greetings cards, posters and wrapping paper.

Katherine was going to be a millionare at this rate! Rachel bought herself a smart black dress so that the Boothroyd apron she always wore would stand out more clearly. A jeweller friend converted two Boothroyd key-rings into ear rings, while Arthur ordered special paper bags with one of his step-daughter’s cartoons printed on them. Kate was making them all rich.

But something niggled away at the back of Rachel’s mind as she flashed her automatic ‘customer’ smile. Katherine was up to something. Ever since she’d recovered from the glandular fever, the girl had been quiet and thoughtful. When she did speak, it was often about death, her own death, and what would happen to Melanie and who would take care of Michael. It was silly, all of it. Katherine was as well as she’d ever been. With insulin and the right diet, she could survive well into old age.

Rachel paused as she handed a frying pan to Ernie. Aye, that would be it. Their Katherine was about to come clean with Geoff. She was going to tell him about the baby. Rachel retired to a stool and left Ernie to get on with it. Her emotions were mixed, churning about in her chest like the contents of an automatic washing machine. Poor old Dora was nearly out of it, Katherine had told her that. So there’d be no interfering mother-in-law up at Edgeford. But there’d be Geoff. Geoff would be furious. Geoff would hurt Katherine. And what would he do to Melanie when he found out about the child’s deception? Oh God! What a mess! She decided to pack up early that day. She must get home and phone Katherine, warn her against doing anything careless.

But she was too late. By the time she reached home, Kate had already left to keep her assignation with Geoff. Steve, too, was worried about the possible outcome – the tension in his tone almost crackled across miles of telephone cable.

Rachel turned to her husband. ‘Ooh, Arthur. What the devil is she getting herself into this time?’

He patted her shoulder. ‘Look. You’ve always said she was wrong keeping Michael a secret.’

‘Aye. But that was then and this is now. He’s going to lose his rag, love. I mean, he’s had a son for two years and never known! What will he say? What will he do?’

‘You can’t stop it, lass. Kate will do what she’s decided, and that’s that.’

Rachel half-smiled. ‘She always was an awkward little bugger.’

‘Rachel Bottomley! That’s swearing!’

‘Aye, I know. But you don’t know how awkward she was . . .’

They tossed a coin. The agreement was that each could speak for up to ten minutes and that the other would not interrupt no matter how strong the temptation. Kate chose heads and won, then sat there for ages wondering where and how to begin. She gazed round Maureen’s kitchen. It was posh, all newly done out in white and red, everything sparkling clean. A small cobweb hung from a light suspended low over the table, and Kate swatted this away with her handkerchief.

He coughed. She stared at him. He was clean-shaven, but the threat of dark stubble showed blue against the weak jaw-line. His eyes were still soft and brown, gentle, like Michael’s. But lines had clustered around and above them, giving his forehead the appearance of a ploughed field whenever he raised his eyebrows. They were raised now. He was waiting for her to begin. She cleared her throat. It was time.

‘It all goes back to my father, and I’m not going to go over all that again. I hated him, Geoff, yet I loved him desperately. He was so bad to me. No-one can ever know how bad he was. Even my mother doesn’t know. She wasn’t always there.

‘Because of him, I married too young. And I didn’t trust you, because I didn’t trust any man. I loved you, well, I think I did. But there was no trust. And you treated me badly, so this allowed me to carry on disliking the men in my life.

‘Strangely enough, your other women didn’t bother me. Betrayal on that level meant little to me. It was the bigger things. Like the way you dominated me, the way you allowed your mother to put me down. We were married just a short time when I began to realize that your mother had an abnormal hold over you. This power of hers extended to everything she considered to be yours, and that included myself and Mel.

‘There were times when I panicked beyond endurance. I felt trapped, stuck in a hole too deep to climb out of. I looked for footholds. One was my job, another was my drawing. And a third was a brief and meaningless affair with Mike Wray. Don’t look at me like that. I’ve done nothing unusual. And whatever I did, wherever I went, I had to come home to you and Dora.

‘You moved her in. By then, it didn’t make any difference because she was a more or less permanent fixture anyway. I suppose I can forgive you for that. She was lonely, old and miserable. But some things are not forgivable. The psychiatrist falls into the latter category. You sent me to him because I would not dance to your tune. Geoff, I couldn’t even hear your bloody tune! I didn’t need him. I have never needed a shrink. Perhaps you do?

‘When I got diabetes, I began to review my life. It seemed that I didn’t have much apart from a couple of needles and a few bottles of insulin. Your mother had taken over my daughter. You had your women, your job and your various club activities. I was stuck in a vacuum.

‘So I decided to go. Right. I’m a wealthy woman now, Geoff. I made my way in life in spite of you and away from you. That would not have been possible had I remained. At home, you are the only one allowed to shine. But I didn’t go just to become wealthy and successful. I went to become myself, to find out who this woman was, this silly person who had allowed herself to be swamped by you and Dora. Leaving Mel was hard. Just as I left, we were getting close. But that child knew I had to leave. At thirteen, she could see what you and your mother were doing to me.

‘Look at me, Geoff. This is so dificult. Please don’t say anything, not till I’ve finished. If you start on me, I’ll leave. I did not have an abortion. We have a son. He is two years old. I almost died having him, then I nearly keeled over a couple of months ago with glandular fever. I cannot go on hiding him. Michael has a father. You are his father, and he has a right to know you.

‘Please don’t hurt Mel because of this. She had to protect me; I am her mother. You, above all people, should know how a child feels about its mother. She and Michael are good friends. I don’t know what we are going to do about the future, but you must see your son.

‘I judged you, Geoff. I judged you as unfit to be a father. You are perhaps not a good father, but you are certainly an improvement on my own male parent. Anyway, it’s simpler than that. Who am I to decide that I’m such a wonderful mother? Who am I to decree who shall and who shall not see our son?

‘But I know this much. I will not have him brought up to feel superior just because he’s male. I will not have him spoilt. He is a sweet and gentle-natured child, and he is thriving with me and Steve.

‘OK. I must explain about Steve. We share a house, no more than that. The relationship is completely platonic, I have never been a promiscuous woman anyway.

‘It is now my intention to buy a house here in Edgeford so that you will have contact with your son and I will be able to see my daughter.

‘I have nothing more to say to you. Perhaps I had better make some coffee while you compose your reply.’

Kate busied herself with grinder and percolator, her hands trembling as she measured out the beans.

Geoff sat as still as a rock, fingers clasped in front of him, eyes glazed as if he were drunk. He couldn’t take it in! He had a son, a real live two-year-old son! And this . . . this woman had deprived him of his rights as a father. So had Mel. The thought of Melanie plotting and scheming behind his back made his flesh crawl. How devious was womankind? Was Mother out of the same mould? Probably. Poor Mother had never seen this . . . Michael? Was that his name? Mother would be going into hospital soon, possibly for the final time.

He thought about what Kate had said, allowed the words to echo in his brain, tried to absorb the enormity of it all. His reply must be sensible and controlled. If he lost his temper, Kate would disappear forever. And he must be honest. If he tried to defend himself, she would see right through him.

He watched her. Her hair shone gold in the artificial light, and he found that he could not take his eyes off her. Long tapering fingers, a straight spine, slender legs, pride in her stance. She was his! All along, she had been his. So had Mel. So had Michael. But above all else, he wanted Kate back. And to get her back, he would have to prove himself worthwhile. After all, this was now a woman of substance, a woman with power, one who would not suffer fools for any reason. He shivered. It went against the grain but, for the first time, he would have to try to be completely honest with his wife. If he left out one fact, one detail, she would know it.

He sighed deeply as she placed the mug of coffee before him. That sigh tore at his soul. He was admitting, finally, that this person was clever, probably cleverer than he was. He would have to come clean. Completely clean . . .

‘I’m hurt. It’s no use pretending that I’m not. I always wanted a son, and you have taken him away from me. I can’t even ask you what he looks like, because we are not allowed to converse at this point. Leave me a photograph. Of course, I’m very angry too, but there’s no point in blowing a gasket, is there? What’s done is done, I suppose.