Jill Mansell: Falling for you

‘Darling, this is Barbara Kendall, Norris’s owner,’ said Estelle, just in case Kate thought their visitor was a stray Jehovah’s Witness. ‘Barbara, this is my daughter Kate.’

‘Hello, dear, nice to meet you.’ Barbara nodded pleasantly. ‘How are you getting on with your face?’

Feeling sick, Kate said, ‘Excuse me?’

‘You know, settling back here in Ashcombe, letting other people get used to the sight of you. It doesn’t do to hide yourself away, you know. After a while they’ll hardly even notice, it’s like when my daughter had that terrible acne, I told her she was making a fuss over nothing, you just have to get out and get on with it, and it’s not as if spots last for ever. Although I suppose it’s different for you ...’

‘Have you come for Norris?’ Maybe this was a daft question, but Kate was struggling to stay calm. Was this scrawny garrulous woman seriously expecting to just roll up here and take Norris away from them?

‘Of course! Why else would I be here?’ As if Kate was mentally subnormal, Barbara explained slowly and clearly, ‘I said we’d be in Australia for six weeks. It’s been six weeks. And now we’re back!’

She might be back, but she wasn’t making much of a fuss of Norris. Having patted him on the head and looked askance at his reduced bulk, she returned with far more enthusiasm to her holiday photos.

Similarly, having lost interest in his owner, Norris had wandered back to sit beside Kate, his head leaning against her leg.

‘Oh, and here we are on the steps of the Opera House.’ Barbara proudly held the relevant photograph out to Estelle. ‘Look at Bernard’s socks with kangaroos on the sides! Aren’t they a scream?’

Kate definitely wanted to scream. ‘We didn’t know you were coming today.’

‘Well, you know how it is.’ Abstractedly, Barbara shuffled through the photos. ‘I was going to give you a ring, then 1 couldn’t find your number – anyway, I’m here now! Poor old Norris, he looks so thin. Has he behaved himself? Hey, Norris, over here – have you been a good boy?’

‘He’s been fantastic.’ Terrified that she was about to cry, Kate said, ‘He was overweight before.

We’ve put him on a diet, taken him for loads of walks – his breathing’s so much better now. We-we’re going to miss him d-dreadfully.’

‘Really?’ Barbara looked incredulously across at Norris. ‘Well, that’s marvellous news! Maybe you’ll end up gettingone of your own. OK, let’s get a move on, Bernard’s expecting us back.’ Since no one was showing her photos the degree of interest she felt they deserved, Barbara gathered them together and slid them back into their packets. ‘Norris, come along, we’re going home.’

Kate gazed beseechingly at her mother. Estelle, clearly distraught, could only shake her head. With a quizzical look at Barbara, Norris rose obediently to his feet.

‘Say thank you very much for looking after me,’ Barbara prompted, causing Norris to wag his tail in a bemused fashion.

‘If you wanted him to stay here, we’d love to keep him,’ Kate blurted out, causing Barbara to look at her even more oddly.

‘But he’s ours, dear. Not yours. Right, off we go.’

Crouching down, Kate put her arms round Norris and felt him rest his paws on her knees. Oh God, how could she ever have thought him ugly? Hot tears dripped down her chin as she kissed the top of his broad head. Inreturn, Norris licked her wrist. It was hard trying to say a meaningful goodbye to someone who didn’t understand what was going on.

‘Bye, Norris,’ mumbled Kate as Barbara clapped her hands.

‘Right, let’s get a wiggle on! Say goodbye to Estelle now,’ Barbara ordered bossily.

Unable to watch Norris leaving the house for good, Kate stumbled to her feet and left the kitchen.

It was time to go to work, for all the good she’d be. No more Norris, it just didn’t bear thinking about.

‘Estelle! I forgot to tell you about our visit to the crocodile farm,’ she heard Barbara trill behind her.

Bloody Barbara Kendall, thought Kate, how she’d love to feed her to the crocodiles.

Wiping her eyes with the back of her hand, feeling as if her heart had just been squeezed by a giant fist, Kate slammed out of the house.

Marcella couldn’t quite believe she was here at Dartington House nursing home, in the same room as Pauline McKinnon. She especially couldn’t grasp what she was hearing.

Feeling light-headed but far too agitated to sit down, Marcella stared at the wizened, yellow-tinged face of Den McKinnon’s mother.

‘I don’t believe you,’ she said flatly. ‘It’s not true. No mother would ask her son to take the blame for something like that.’

‘I did.’ Pauline McKinnon plucked at the pale blue bedspread.

‘I think you’re just lying to protect him. You don’t have long left to live, so you’re trying to persuade me he was innocent all along.’

‘Why would I? I didn’t want to tell you the truth. I’m only doing it now to prove to Den how sorry I am.’

Marcella took a deep breath. Pauline McKinnon didn’t sound as if she were lying. And if Den had spent the last nine years in Australia, why would he need his mother to make up a story like this?

‘Is this to do with Kerr?’ Marcella was still struggling to take it in. Was this his idea? Does he think I’ll change my mind about him and Maddy?’

‘Maddy who? Your daughter?’ Bemused, Pauline McKinnon said, ‘What’s she got to do with Kerr?’

This time it was blindingly obvious that she had no idea what Marcella was talking about.

‘How did Kerr feel about seeing his brother go to prison for something he didn’t do?’ Marcella was having trouble keeping her voice steady.’He didn’t know. He only found out this week.’

‘Does he despise you?’ said Marcella.

‘He hasn’t said so,’ Pauline McKinnon shrugged, ‘but I’m sure he does. Same as Den. I don’t blame them,’ she added. ‘I despise myself.’

‘You were drunk. You killed our daughter.’ Marcella’s voice began to rise, because she had no doubt now that Pauline McKinnon was telling the truth. ‘You forced your own son to take the blame.’

‘And I’ve suffered every single day since then.’

‘ Good,’ Marcella hissed, her eyes blazing. ‘You don’t know how happy that makes me. I hope you rot in hell for what you’ve done to us and to him.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘And it’s taken you eleven years to say that!’

‘I was going to, I swear I was.’ Pauline McKinnon swallowed with difficulty. ‘Before the trial, we weren’t allowed to. Afterwards, Kerr came over to your cottage one day and tried to apologise. You were out. Your husband was there but he didn’t want to hear it. He refused to listen and yelled at Kerr to leave. After a reaction like that, how could I risk trying to do the same? I couldn’t face either of you.

You hated us enough as it was, without even knowing what I’d really done. It was easier to blot it all out,’

she concluded wearily, ‘and have another drink instead.’

‘Look at me,’ Marcella ordered, because Pauline McKinnon was avoiding her eyes. ‘Can you understand how much we loved April?’

Forcing her head up, Pauline nodded without speaking.

‘Actually, I don’t suppose you can,’ Marcella’s voice was cold, ‘but let me tell you this anyway.

She was every bit as precious to us as our other children. I would give everything I own for the chance to hold her again. The fact that April had cerebral palsy wasn’t her fault and didn’t make an ounce of difference to how we felt about her. Yet you seemed to think we had no right to be distraught because it wasn’t as if shewas normal.’