Falling for You (31 page)

“Hi,” Dave exclaimed. “I was beginning to wonder where you'd gotten to!”

“Oh, right.” It was hard to concentrate on Dave when all she could think about was Annalise currently queuing up for drinks at the bar less than six feet away.

“I bought you a glass of wine,” Dave said eagerly, waving it in front of Maddy's face. “You don't need to line up.”

“That's so kind.” Maddy looked suitably grateful. “And I'll buy you a drink in return, I promise, but could you do me a huge favor and leave me alone for five minutes? It's just, there's someone I really want to talk to.”

Dave's pudgy chipmunk cheeks quivered with disappointment. He held up his paws…
hands
, in defeat. “Fine, I know when I'm not wanted.”

Feeling terrible, but not
that
terrible, Maddy said, “You
are
wanted—”

“But not until the better-looking bloke's turned you down.” Dave sighed. “Don't worry. I'm used to it.”

Honestly, life would be so much easier if only she could fall for a nice man who looked like a chipmunk.
Ooh, gap in the crowd…

“Hello again!” Having wriggled through, Maddy beamed at Annalise, who was with her blond friend.

“Oh, hello.” This time Annalise's shoulders visibly stiffened and her tone was wary. Since flattery had seemed to work well last time, Maddy exclaimed, “Gosh, look at your eyelashes!”

Which, in the absence of a mirror, was probably impossible.

Startled, the girl said, “What?”

“Your eyelashes. They're so long! You lucky thing. How on earth did you get them to grow like that?”

“They've, um, always been long.” Annalise was attempting to back away now. “Actually, I don't think we'll have that drink. Maybe I'll ring my
boyfriend
and ask him to come pick us up.”

Maddy tensed. Why had she deliberately emphasized the word
boyfriend
? Did she know? Why were she and her friend exchanging significant glances? For heaven's sake, it wasn't as if she was a mad ax-woman—why couldn't she just ask Annalise a few simple questions and find out what she wanted to know?

Then again, nothing ventured…

“What's your boyfriend's name?”

Annalise said, “Right, we really should be making a move. Come on, Bren. Let's go.”

Avoiding her eyes, the two girls slipped away. As they left, Maddy saw Annalise take a cell phone out of her bag. Honestly, why did life have to be so complicated?

And where was Paul McKenna when you needed him? He could have quickly hypnotized Annalise, asked the relevant questions, discovered all he needed to know, then dehypnotized her, leaving her none the wiser.

In fact, why wasn't Paul McKenna a member of the Special Air Service?

Or was he?

“You're not dancing!” shouted Kate, materializing, hot and breathless, at her side. “Come on, you're missing out on all the fun!”

Maddy was touched by her concern. Kate's eyes were shining. After all her exertions, her foundation was starting to melt, but she clearly wasn't bothered. Still out on the dance floor, Nuala and Dave and a group of Dave's friends were having a whale of a time lowering the tone of Bath's trendiest club and competing with each other to see who could dance in the least cool manner. Tonight was Kate's first foray into nightclub land since her accident, yet you wouldn't know it. Belatedly, she was discovering that if you smiled instead of scowled, laughed instead of glared, people were far more likely to smile back.

At this rate Dexter was going to have his work cut out keeping her under control.

“Bit hot.” Maddy fanned herself by way of apology.

“
What
?
”

“BIT HOT.” Above the noise of the music, Maddy bellowed, “I'm just going outside for a few minutes, to cool down.”

“Then you have to come dance,” shouted Kate.

Maddy nodded. “Definitely. Just give me five minutes. I'll be back.”

Outside, she made a point of proving she was hot, in case any CCTV cameras were pointed in her direction. Well, it
had
been tropical inside the club. What could be more natural than wanting to gulp down a few lungfuls of fresh air, unstick your top from your torso, and fan yourself with your hands, Al Jolson–style?

She only had to wait a couple of minutes before Annalise and her friend emerged from the club.

“Oh, hi!” sang Maddy, her Al Jolson hands going into overdrive. “Hot in there! Just came out for a breather.”

“It's all right,” Annalise murmured out of the corner of her mouth. “He'll be here any second.” Turning to Maddy, she added, “My
boyfriend's
coming to pick us up.”

Well, good, because that's why I'm out here
, thought Maddy.
Duh.

Oh dear, was she getting a bit carried away here? If Annalise's boyfriend did turn out to be Kerr, was she going to be tempted to jump into his car and run away with him? Would she be able to curb the impulse to—

“Look, you've made a mistake,” Annalise began to say as a white Volvo drew up, illuminating them in its headlights. Muttering, “Thank God for that,” and visibly relaxing, she returned her attention to Maddy. “I'm very flattered, but the thing is, I'm not…that way.”

Puzzled, Maddy said, “What way?”

“Oh, come on, don't be offended. You know what I'm trying to say. I'm sure you're a very nice, um, person,” Annalise said hurriedly, “but I'm straight.”

“Hmm?” Not really concentrating, Maddy was far more interested in confirming that the driver of the white Volvo wasn't Kerr.

“You've got the wrong night,” Annalise's friend explained kindly as Annalise wrenched open the Volvo's passenger door. “
Wednesday
is gay night at Trash.”

“Oh, right.” Maddy nodded, relief washing over her as the car's interior light came on. Raising her voice, she called across to Annalise, “Is that your boyfriend?”

In the passenger seat, Annalise gave the driver a significant, that's-the-barking-one look. Slowly, all three occupants of the car nodded.

Completely unable to help herself, Maddy blurted out, “How do you know Kerr McKinnon?”

Annalise's plucked eyebrows shot up. “Kerr McKinnon? The guy from Callaghan and Fox? His company does business with our company.” She paused, bewildered. “Why?”

“Oh, no special reason.” Feeling as if a ton weight had been winched from her chest, Maddy smiled and waved at them. “Just wondered. Bye!”

The Volvo pulled away. Feeling fifty times happier, Maddy headed back toward Trash.

From the shadows, she heard a male voice say, “You should have told me before.”

Spinning around, Maddy said, “
Dave?
”

He emerged from his darkened doorway, looking mildly apologetic. “Sorry, didn't mean to eavesdrop. I came out to see where you were—the girls were worried about you.”

“I'm fine. Much better now.” Maddy smiled reassuringly at him, because Dave was giving her a sympathetic head tilt.

“You know, there's absolutely nothing wrong with being gay,” said Dave.

“I know.” Gosh, it was
such
a relief, knowing that Kerr wasn't seeing Annalise.

“You don't have to be ashamed of who you are.”

Hmm? “I'm not ashamed of who I am,” said Maddy. Well, slightly embarrassed, maybe, to think that she'd practically
stalked
the girl, just because—

“Nuala and Kate don't know, do they?”

“God, no, they'd be
furious
.” Maddy was completely sick of their lectures on the subject of forgetting Kerr McKinnon ever existed.

As if.

“Well, that's just crazy. This is the twenty-first century,” Dave said crossly. “Nobody should have to pretend to be something they aren't. Right, shoulders back,” he instructed, linking his arm through Maddy's. “Chin up, and be proud. We're going to march right in there and tell them
now
.”

Coming face-to-face with his brother after a gap of almost ten years was an emotional experience. Kerr had almost given up on the idea of hearing from Den again following that initial strained phone conversation. When the days had stretched into weeks without any further word, he told himself that at least he'd done his best.

And then, on Monday, his cell phone had rung and Den had asked without preamble, “Is she still alive?”

Stunned, Kerr said, “Er…yes.”

“Still want me to come over?” Stupid question.

“Yes.”

“OK. I'm flying from Sydney tonight. I'll give you another ring on Wednesday, when I reach Bath.” Den paused. “I can stay at the house, right?”

“Of course.” Kerr's chest tightened as he realized Den's main reason for visiting was to stake his claim on half the property.

“I mean, I'll visit her at the old folks' home, but I don't want to spend hours there.”

“That's up to you,” Kerr said stiffly, because heaven forbid that Den, who had succeeded in ruining his mother's entire life, should have to spend a minute longer than absolutely necessary at her deathbed.

“Fine. OK, I'll see you,” Den concluded laconically, before hanging up.

That had happened forty-eight hours ago. And now he was here. It was Wednesday afternoon and Kerr had taken the message on his phone twenty minutes ago. Leaving the office at once, he had driven out to Hillview. As he rounded the last bend of the driveway, he saw Den sitting on the top step, leaning back against the front door.

He was twenty-eight years old. God, unbelievable. Wearing narrow faded jeans, sneakers, and a scruffy yellow T-shirt, he looked like a typical backpacker. Kerr wondered if their mother's first comment when she saw Den would be to tell him to get his hair cut.

Exhaling slowly, Kerr switched off the ignition and climbed out of the car. What was he supposed to do now? Before the accident, they had been close, but after it—hardly surprisingly—Den had undergone an abrupt change of personality, cutting himself off from his family and refusing to talk. Kerr had visited him in prison at first, then been sullenly told not to bother anymore. By that stage, Kerr had been guiltily relieved to have an excuse not to. Thanks to a single careless moment, Den had succeeded in ruining not only the lives of the Harvey family, but his own as well. By then, their mother had sunk into alcoholism and was also refusing all offers of help. It hadn't exactly been the greatest incentive to come home. Yet until the fateful day of the accident, he and Den had been close, Kerr reminded himself. A part of him badly wanted to hug his younger brother and tell him how good it was to see him again.

This was easier said than done.

“Hi,” said Kerr, realizing that by remaining seated on the step, Den was effectively making sure he couldn't be hugged.

“Hi.” Den waited, his jaw tense. He was very brown, and there were lines around his eyes that anyone else would have called laughter lines. Somehow Kerr couldn't picture him laughing that much.

“It's good to see you,” Kerr said awkwardly.

“Is it?”

Kerr nodded, silently conceding that he had a point. Thanks to Den's actions, he wasn't allowed to be with the only girl he'd ever truly wanted to be with. When he thought of it that way, he wanted to punch him.

But that wasn't why Den was here, and what good would it do anyway?
Apart from making me feel better
, thought Kerr.

Taking out his keys, he stepped past Den and opened the front door.

“Come on in. There's hot water if you want a shower.”

Lifting his knapsack over one shoulder, Den said, “Why? Do I smell?”

It was so long since they'd last seen each other that Kerr wasn't sure if he was joking.

“It's OK.” Catching the wary look in his brother's eyes, Den said with a brief smile, “Yeah, a shower would be great.”

In the kitchen, Kerr put together a couple of king-size omelets. It wasn't much, because he didn't keep a great deal of food here at Hillview, but it was easier than taking Den out for a meal. Sitting at a table in a restaurant, forced to make polite conversation for ninety minutes, was a daunting prospect. The awkward silences would be more than he could handle.

So omelets it was. A couple of cold beers wouldn't go amiss either. Maybe there'd be something sporty on TV and they could watch that.

“Are you tired?” asked Kerr when Den came downstairs, having showered and changed into a creased cotton shirt and a different pair of jeans.

“No. Slept on the plane. Which one's mine?”

He was combing his fingers through his wet hair, surreptitiously surveying the plates on the kitchen table. It was as if they were teenagers again and Den was trying to decide which of the omelets was the biggest.

Kerr plonked down the pepper mill. “Either. They're both the same. If you want to rest tonight, we can visit the nursing home tomorrow.”

Pulling out a chair, Den began to wolf down his omelet.

“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 anymore at home.” Kerr led the way through the wood-paneled 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 till 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 around the desk 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 ran 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 gray 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 gray head in disgust. “The last thing I need is an audience.”

Offended, the tilt of her eyebrows signaling 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 teenager 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,” Den said 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.”