Jill Mansell: Falling for you

‘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 another 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 any more at home.’ Kerr led the way through the wood-panelled 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 ‘til 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 round the desk in order 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 run 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 grey 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 grey head in disgust. ‘The last thing I need is an audience.’

Offended, the tilt of her eyebrows signalling 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 fourth-former 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,’ said Den 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 drinks 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 realised 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.’