Jill Mansell - Falling for you

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 sequinned 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 realised 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 binbag away from her, Maddy said, ‘I’ll clear this lot up.

You go and 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 Iater. 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 cosy, 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 doorsteps of 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. His 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 coloured 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 Jakeand 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 said, ‘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.