Jill Mansell: Falling for you

‘ I didn’t say that,’ croaked Pauline McKinnon. ‘I swear.’

‘We were told you’d said it.’ Marcella was defiant.

‘Outside the court? I remember. I heard someone else saying those words, but it wasn’t me.

I’ve been truthful with you all afternoon,’ Pauline went on. ‘After everything else, why would I bother to start lying to you now? With a bit of luck by the end of next week I’ll be dead. What’s the matter with you, anyway?’ Her clouded eyes had dropped to Marcella’s front. Marcella realised that without even being aware of it, she had been gently rubbing her stomach.

‘Nothing.’ It was the truth; there was no pain or discomfort. Her family would have a fit if they knew she’d run the risk of coming here today to confront Pauline McKinnon but she had come through it without mishap. Some inner instinct reassured Marcella that her baby was just fine.

‘I’m tired,’ said Pauline McKinnon tetchily.

‘I’m not going to forgive you, if that’s why you wanted to see me.’

‘I didn’t want to see you. This was all Den’s idea, not mine.’

Marcella looked at her, experiencing a mixture of hatred, revulsion and disgust. And pity, too. But not for Pauline McKinnon.

As she turned to leave the room, Marcella said, ‘My daughter, April, was worth five hundred of you.’

Chapter 58

Outside, Marcella took lungfuls of much-needed fresh air. A warm dry breeze rippled the front of her loose, dark blue shirt. The manicured grounds were deserted apart from a solitary figure sitting on a bench some distance away, beneath a spreading cedar tree. From here it was impossible to tell whether the figure was male or female; all Marcella could make out was longish dark hair, sunglasses, a white shirt and faded jeans.

But she knew at once who it was. Without hesitating, she descended the stone steps and made her way across the freshly mown grass.

He took off his dark glasses as she approached and Marcella saw the eleven years of strain etched on his face. Here was someone who had suffered almost as much as she had. It beggared belief that any son could have a mother like that.

Her heart went out to him. She had spent all these years blaming him for something he hadn’t done.

He may be a McKinnon, but he was innocent.

‘ Do you believe her?’ Den searched her face, his voice taut with uncertainty.

Nodding, Marcella said, ‘I do.’

‘It’s the truth.’ Den nodded too and she saw that he was shaking. ‘I didn’t do it. It wasn’t me, I swear.’

Marcella held out her arms and drew him to her, making soothing noises and patting his back as he sobbed on her shoulder like a small boy.

‘God, I can’t believe it. I haven’t cried for years,’ Den said finally, using his sleeve to wipe his eyes.

‘Not since I came out of prison.’

‘You’ve been bottling it up. Don’t worry.’ Marcella stroked his face. ‘It’s all over now.’

‘I didn’t know she was drunk, that’s the stupidest thing.’ Den cleared his throat, determined to say it. ‘I could have driven that day. If she had only let me drive, it would never have happened. But she didn’t want me to know how much she’d had to drink, so she made out she was fine. I should have taken the keys off her—’

‘Sshh, stop it.’ Her earlier words to Den’s mother came back to Marcella now: it hadn’t been April’s fault she was born handicapped. Well, it wasn’t Den’s fault either that he had been handicapped by the fact that Pauline McKinnon was his mother.

Marcella briefly closed her eyes, remembering those dark, desperate days after the accident. Her grief had been so overwhelming that directing her hatred at only one person hadn’t been enough, she’d needed to encompass the whole family. And that had been wrong, she could see that now.

‘Is this what I think it is?’ Being hugged by Marcella had brought the curvature of her stomach to Den’s attention. Pulling away, he gazed down at the small bump.

‘Always one of those embarrassing moments,’ said Marcella, ‘when you really hope I’m not just fat.

And no,’ she went on, ‘I’m not just fat.’

Den shook his head. ‘Congratulations. That’s fantastic.’

It was also interesting, Marcella felt, that he clearly hadn’t been expecting it, which meant that Kerr McKinnon hadn’t warned him.

‘Shall I tell you something stupid?’ Den was smiling now, crookedly. ‘Before the accident, I used to wish you were my mother. I’d seen the way you were with your kids. I really envied them. I thought you were fantastic.’

Overcome, Marcella hugged him tightly. ‘Thank you. I hope I’ll carry on being fantastic. Now, let’s talk about your brother.’

‘Kerr?’ Den gave her a blank look. ‘What d’you want to know?’

He didn’t have a clue.

‘Kerr and Maddy,’ said Marcella.

Den gave her a doubtful look. ‘Your Maddy? Why, does she like him?’

‘Just a bit.’ Amused, Marcella realised that he was picturing Maddy as she had been eleven years ago with her metal braces, bony knees and those funny NHS specs. All in all, an unlikely contender for his brother’s attention.

‘Kerr hasn’t told you.’ As they turned and began to walk across the grass, Marcella tucked her arm companionably through Den’s. ‘Know where he is?’

‘What, right now? At work.’ Den looked surprised. ‘He’s lent me his car.’

‘Excellent. Posh one?’

‘Very posh,’ said Den.

‘Even more excellent. So,’ Marcella said brightly as another thought struck her, ‘does he know about me coming here today?’

Den shook his head. ‘I didn’t tell him. This was what I wanted to happen. He might have tried to talk me out of it.’

Almost certainly, Marcella thought with secret amusement.

As they headed for the car park – she really hoped Kerr’s was the gleaming midnight-blue Mercedes – Marcella said, ‘Why don’t we go and pay your brother a little visit?’

‘Now?’

She gave Den’s arm a complicit squeeze. ‘Right now. Come on, it’ll be a laugh.’

Realising what she was planning, Den said, ‘He’ll be scared witless when you walk in.’

‘But we’ll find it hilarious.’ Marcella broke into a dazzling, ear-to-ear grin. ‘Anyway, if your big brother’s serious about my darling daughter, he’s just going to have to get used to it.’

Blowing up several dozen balloons had taken it out of Maddy. She was exhausted, but the back garden of Snow Cottage was looking sensational enough for it all to be worthwhile. There were balloons at the front of the cottage too, along with a huge handmade Welcome Home banner and enough curly streamers to tie up an entire herd of wildebeest. Should a herd of wildebeest choose to stampede through Ashcombe.

‘Looking good,’ said Nuala, carrying out a pile of rugs and cushions.

‘Thanks.’ Maddy smiled.

‘Not you. You look appalling. I was talking about the garden,’ said Nuala. ‘Poor Tiff’s going to take one look at you and have a relapse. Go and put some make-up on or something, before everyone gets here.’

As if moving house and organising the party wasn’t enough, Maddy thought, she was expected to get creative with mascara too. And where was everyone else, anyway? Tiff was coming home from the hospital at three o’clock. Jake had driven into Bath to pick up Tiff and Juliet. Marcella had disappeared hours ago, blithely claiming that she needed to buy maternity knickers and promising faithfully to be back before three. Similarly, Kate and Dexter wouldn’t be over until after the pub was shut for the afternoon. Sophie had spent hours colouring in the Welcome Home banner. Bean had leaped about like a mini Tigger-on-springs, doing her best to burst the balloons as fast as they were inflated.