Jill Mansell: Falling for you

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 licence for drink-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, in order 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,’ said Den, 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.’

‘I suppose.’ Kerr couldn’t believe the change in his brother, in the space of just a few short hours. He couldn’t stop looking at Den, his eyes brighter now, his whole body seemingly more alive. ‘You should have told me. I can’t believe that you didn’t tell me after it happened.’

‘Straight after the accident, I was in a state of shock,’ said Den. ‘None of it seemed real. It didn’t occur to me that I’d end up actually going to jail. After a while I began to panic, but by then it was too late. I realised that if I did try and tell them that Mum had been driving that day, they wouldn’t believe me. And there’d be no proof if she denied it, just her word against mine –

the respected JP versus the seventeen-year-old tearaway.’ He pulled a wry face. ‘Of course they’d believe her.’ Anyone would. And I’d just come out of it looking worse, even more despicable, than ever.’

This was true. Kerr felt terrible, recalling how he had regarded Den even while he’d been visiting him in prison. No wonder his younger brother had been sullen and uncommunicative during their meetings. No wonder Den had told him not to bother any more.

‘You never told anyone,’ Kerr burst out, appalled by the injustice of it all.

‘I lied to Mum. I did tell someone once.’ Tipping his head back, Den took a swallow of beer. ‘A girl I met in Canberra. Moira, her name was. Pretty girl. We started seeing each other.

Anyway, one night we got talking about my life in England, where I’d grown up, that kind of thing. I told her about the accident, sticking to the official version. She was horrified. Well, basically, I was a bit drunk and I could see I was losing her. So I panicked and told her the truth. What really happened. Disaster,’ he announced with a shudder. ‘I saw Moira’s face change as I was saying it.

Then she called me pathetic, said I was a bullshitter and a sad desperate loser. We were sitting in a restaurant at the time. Moira walked out on me, between the starter and the main course.

And that was it, I never saw her again. So much for being honest. I learned my lesson after that.’

‘No more telling the truth,’ said Kerr.

‘No more women.’ Den shook back his hair. ‘None I cared about, anyway. I’m not saying I was celibate, but I made bloody sure I never got emotionally involved.’ He paused. ‘How about you?’

Kerr was tempted to tell him everything, but couldn’t bring himself to do it. How would it sound?

OK, so you’ve suffered in your own way, but hey, I’ve suffered too. Don’t think you’re the only one who’s had his life fucked up by what happened. No, that would be just ... cheap. It wasn’t a competition.

It may have felt over the last few weeks that his life had been well and truly fucked up, but compared with what Den had been forced to endure

‘Do the Harveys still live in Ashcombe?’ said Den.

‘Um, yes.’ Kerr nodded. ‘Apart from the father. Robert Harvey died a few years ago.’

‘God, what that family have been through.’ Yawning, Den finished the last of his beer and hauled himself upright. ‘I’m shattered. It’s been a hell of a day.’

‘You can say that again.’ Kerr rose to his feet too. After a moment’s hesitation – because it wasn’t something they were accustomed to doing – he gave Den an emotional hug. ‘I still can’t believe it. I’ve got my brother back.’

‘You think that’s weird.’ Den’s smile was crooked. ‘For the first time in eleven years, I’m going to be sleeping in my old room. Any idea what happened to all my old M. C. Hammer records, by the way?’

At seventeen he had been devoted to M. C. Hammer. Bracing himself for outrage, Kerr said,

‘I think they went to a charity shop.’

‘What was I thinking of?’ Den shook his head with heartfelt relief. ‘You’re sure they’ve all gone? Thank God for that.’

‘I can’t,’ said Pauline, afraid. ‘That’s blackmail.’

‘So? It’s what I want you to do,’ Den said evenly. ‘You have to, it’s only fair. You owe me that much at least.’

Pauline closed her eyes. Her eyelids, flickering with anxiety, were paper thin; she looked defeated and dreadfully ill.

‘Don’t make me do it. Please.’

‘Listen to yourself.’ There was an edge of irritation to Den’s voice as he paced up and down his mother’s room. ‘This isn’t about you any more. I’m asking you to do this for me, and I happen to think I deserve it.’

‘But—’

‘I’ll wait outside,’ said Den. ‘You just get on and do what you have to.’ As he turned for the door, he added over his shoulder, ‘I’ll be back in twenty minutes.’

Den spent the twenty minutes sitting on a bench beneath a vast cedar tree in the grounds of the nursing home, telling himself he wasn’t being unreasonable. OK, so Kerr now knew the truth, but it wasn’t enough. And their mother was dying, so what difference did it make to her? He hadn’t talked this over with Kerr but he knew he’d understand.