The Real Katie Lavender (26 page)

Just as Simone had done to Neil.

The sound of a horn beeping impatiently from behind him had him moving forward. Twenty yards later the queue of traffic ground to a halt once more.

Thirty years on, and Fay still had the power to change his life. She had bequeathed him a gift like no other. When the time was right, he was looking forward to getting to know Katie better. He hoped that by then Rosco and Scarlet would be over their shock and would accept that Katie was a very real part of him, and therefore a part of the family.

He didn’t know what to think about Gina. He understood completely her saying she couldn’t bear to be in the same room as him, and that she wanted a divorce – it was a classic knee-jerk reaction to his betrayal – but was it really what she wanted in the long term? For now he was prepared to go along with whatever she said or did, if only so as not to antagonize her yet further.

He had told Simone all this as they’d walked through the park in Oxford and strolled down to the river. They had stood for a moment on a bridge to watch the amusing spectacle of some inept punting going on below them, and she had asked him what it was he actually wanted. ‘Do you want to stay married?’ she had asked.

‘I don’t know,’ he had replied with more candour than he could have owned up to with anyone in his family. ‘It’s all I feel I know. It’s all that I’m familiar with.’

‘Is that enough?’

‘Again, I don’t know.’

‘Do you love Gina?’

‘I don’t
not
love her, if that makes any sense.’

Simone had looked directly at him, unnervingly so. ‘It makes perfect sense. But you still have to decide if that’s enough.’

He had found her company surprisingly refreshing, and for a couple of hours he had known a fleeting moment of peace.

The cars in front of him were moving again, and he pressed down on the accelerator. He drove the rest of the journey back to Sandiford as though returning to the battlefield with fresh purpose and intent.

It was Saturday morning of the August Bank Holiday weekend and Cecily was sitting on her balcony drinking her first cup of tea of the day. From a cloudless blue sky, the sun was shining brightly. The day promised to be good. Cecily was glad. For Pen’s sake, she wanted everything about the weekend to go well.

After the disgraceful behaviour of those perfidious turncoats on the hospice committee and their refusal to accept any more contributions from Pen’s garden open days, Cecily had urged Pen to find another charity to raise funds for during the Bank Holiday weekend. She knew from experience – when her own husband died fifteen years ago – that keeping busy was a vital part of battling one’s way through the debilitating loneliness and sense of everything being utterly pointless. It didn’t solve anything, but it did distract the mind sufficiently to be an effective tonic.

As luck would have it, no sooner had Cecily made the suggestion than a good cause landed in their laps. Although the Reverend Roger Batley probably wouldn’t think it was lucky that St Oswald’s had recently been inspected by the church structural boys and found wanting in the roof department. But thank God Roger was a robust, old-style, no-nonsense man of the cloth who was more than happy to take a donation from Pen. Stirling and Lloyd had backed the idea whole-heartedly and so a plan was drawn up. It had been just the thing to distract Pen, to give her a new sense of purpose and drive.

With The Meadows open to the public for the whole of the Bank Holiday weekend, the next few days were going to be busy. Doubtless more than just garden lovers would come; there would be an element of local nosy parkers rolling up to have a snoop round the garden of a man who had committed fraud and then suicide. When Cecily had warned Pen of this, Pen had said, ‘Let them come and gawp. So long as they pay their entrance fee, let them poke and pry as much as they want.’ Cecily had never felt more proud of her daughter-in-law. Too often, because she was so easy-going, people were inclined to underestimate and dismiss Pen, but she had backbone aplenty, and had been proving it ever since Neil’s death.

As Cecily knew it would, life had begun to settle down and a degree of normality had crept back into their lives. Thankfully the press had backed off, bored with a story that was now
sub judice
, and this meant that Stirling was able to devote time to establishing a meaningful relationship with Katie.

Obviously this wasn’t going down too well in certain quarters, but sooner or later Rosco and Scarlet were going to have to accept that they had a half-sister. Sibling rivalry was one thing, but spiteful prejudice was another. Cecily knew that initially, when emotions were running high, Rosco and Scarlet had refused point-blank to meet Katie. Then they’d softened their view and said they’d consider it. But whenever Stirling proposed a meeting, they had always found some reason or other as to why they couldn’t make that date or time. Shame on them. Didn’t they realize how churlish this made them look?

Her cup of tea finished, Cecily roused herself and went back inside to make her breakfast.

At Willow Bank, breakfast in the garden was proving to be yet another master class in the art of how to punctuate a long awkward silence with an equally awkward burst of meaningless small talk.

Drinking their coffee and hiding behind their newspapers of choice –
The Times
for Stirling and the
Mail
for Gina – they were currently perfecting a long awkward silence. They were conducting themselves in this painfully strained fashion because they were trying too hard to act as if everything was perfectly normal between them, as though, if they pretended hard enough, they could convince themselves that the events of the last few months had never taken place. Tiptoeing round each other with agonizing care, neither one of them was saying what they were really feeling. The tension was getting to Stirling, to the point where he almost welcomed a full-blown argument to clear the air and for them to behave how they used to.

Last week, and much to his surprise, Gina had withdrawn her threat of divorce and had given Stirling the go-ahead to return to Willow Bank. At the same time Scarlet and Charlie had moved back to their own place, which perversely had disappointed Stirling. Having them around might have acted as a human shield, a buffer between him and Gina. But they’d been eager to go home, as they wanted to start work on preparing the nursery for the baby. Their idea to turn Woodside into some kind of therapeutic retreat had gone on hold – probably never to see the light of day again – as Charlie had gone into business with yet another old school friend. Stirling had only a vague idea what work it was: something to do with website design. He had apologized to Charlie for the way he’d spoken to him the day of Neil’s funeral, and Charlie being Charlie had shrugged the apology off, saying he hadn’t given it another thought.

Actually, Stirling wasn’t sorry for his loss of control that day. Nor was he sorry for Katie’s existence. Whilst he was sensitive to Gina’s feelings, he was not going to fall into the trap of repeatedly apologizing for what he’d done thirty years ago. To do that would be to insult Katie.

An exaggerated tut from the other side of the table, followed by a newspaper being vigorously rustled, had him looking up. ‘Something wrong?’ he asked.

Gina closed the pages of the newspaper, put it down on the table and met his gaze with a cool stare. ‘Oh, just another story about a husband betraying his wife.’

‘Oh,’ he echoed. Not knowing what else to say, he returned his attention to the article he’d been reading – a blatantly biased attack on the government by the Institute of Fiscal Studies.

Dangerous seconds passed.

Listening to the sound of doves cooing from the roof of the summer house, he waited for the telltale rustle of Gina picking up her newspaper again.

Nothing.

Was this how it was going to be from here on? he wondered. Watching. Listening. Being perpetually on his guard. He lowered his paper and risked a glance. Gina was staring straight at him. The coolness had gone from her gaze, and in place was a look of disgusted disbelief. ‘You really were going to just sit there and not say anything, weren’t you?’

He carefully folded his newspaper and put it to one side on the table. ‘What do you want me to say? What could I possibly say that would be right in your view?’

Her eyes flared. ‘I want you to react, damn you. I want you not to sit there as if you’re made of stone.’

‘Even though that’s how I feel?’

She frowned. ‘How can you talk about how you feel? What about me? What about how
I
feel? Don’t you ever think of that?’

It wasn’t his intention, but he knew he was giving off an air of detached indifference. He softened his voice. ‘Tell me how you feel, then. Because unless you do, unless I know what you’re really thinking, we’re never going to be at ease with each other again.’

She bristled. ‘You sound as if I’m at fault. As if I’m to blame.’

‘I didn’t say that.’

‘It jolly well came across that way.’

He paused and chose his words with care. ‘Wouldn’t you say that in some respects we’re both at fault for the way we’re behaving now?’

‘No I wouldn’t! And I resent that you could accuse me of any such thing. Honestly, Stirling, I used to think of you as being a decent, fair-minded and understanding man. How wrong could I have been!’ She got up abruptly. ‘And you can forget about me coming with you to The Meadows. I’ve changed my mind.’

‘Fine!’ he snapped, his patience gone. ‘You be as irrational and as difficult as you want. Just don’t expect me to indulge you like a spoilt child.’

The colour rose to her cheeks. ‘Irrational!’ she repeated hotly. ‘You think
I’m
being irrational? What a joke! It’s not me who’s been unfaithful. It’s not my sordid deception that has turned our marriage into a sham. My God, you and your brother, what a pair you make!’

He struggled to keep his voice level. ‘Keeping something from you doesn’t make me irrational, Gina. For once, why don’t you calmly ask yourself why I kept it from you?’

‘I’ve asked myself that time and time again. And the only answer I’ve come up with is that you were a coward.’

‘And that,’ he said slowly, ‘is the most astute observation you’ve made about what I did. You’re right, I was a coward, and have continued to be so all these years, but I’m not prepared to carry on being one any more. Which is why I want you to come to The Meadows with me today.’

‘For God’s sake why?’

He steeled himself. ‘Katie will be there and I want you to meet her. And before you dismiss the idea out of hand, put yourself in her shoes. How easy is this for her? If she has the courage to face you and Rosco and Scarlet, don’t you think you could display the same courage?’

Gina stared at him. ‘
She
is going to be there at The Meadows? My God, you’re unbelievable. What were you going to do, spring her on me when I was least expecting it? “Oh Gina, let me introduce you to my illegitimate daughter.” Was that what you had in mind?’

‘Don’t be so melodramatic. I was hoping you’d meet her on your own and anonymously, and form an impartial opinion.’

‘And then what did you think would happen? That she and I would magically form some kind of conveniently happyever-after mother-and-daughter bond?’

‘All I’m asking from you is an open mind. Is that really too much to expect?’

‘In the circumstances, yes it is.’

‘Now who’s being a coward?’

Her expression hardened. ‘What a piece of work you’ve turned into.’

Katie and Pen had been up since six o’clock working in the garden. They hadn’t bothered with breakfast, and now, at nine thirty, with Lloyd calling out that he’d made them something to eat, they didn’t need telling twice.

Sitting in the courtyard, Katie tucked in with hungry relish to the bacon sandwich Lloyd had given her. ‘Mmm . . . sublime,’ she said, wiping the butter from her lips. ‘Cousin Lloyd, can I just say, as of now, you’re my favourite person in all the world?’

He passed her a mug of tea. ‘You may indeed.’

‘He’s a dab hand with a loaf of soft white bread and a packet of bacon,’ Pen said. ‘Always has been.’

‘I do have other culinary masterpieces in my repertoire.’

‘Such as?’ Katie asked.

‘I’ll have you know I make an excellent Thai chicken and coconut curry.’

‘Really? You’ve gone even further up in my estimation. I should have roped you in to help me with the baking.’

‘Ah, now that wouldn’t have been such a smart move. I have what one might describe as limited baking experience.’

Pen laughed. ‘Remember that cake you made for my birthday when you were ten years old?’

‘How could I not remember when you and Dad never let me forget it? My God, the joke went on for years!’

‘He overdid the baking powder, Katie, and the cake literally exploded. I was cleaning the oven for days afterwards.’

Lloyd shrugged. ‘And as a result of being emotionally scarred by parents who wouldn’t let me forget my one little mistake, baking and I never became the brothers-in-arms we were meant to be. It’s a wonder I ever ventured into the kitchen again after such ritual abuse.’

‘But we’re glad you did, especially as you make such first-class bacon sandwiches. Now then,’ Pen said decisively, ‘I must get on.’

‘Slow down, Mum, you haven’t even drunk your tea.’

She stood up, mug in hand. ‘I’ll take it with me.’

‘If you don’t need me for anything in the garden, Pen,’ Katie said, ‘I’ll make a start on getting the refreshments ready.’

‘I’ll give you a hand,’ Lloyd offered. ‘What time do the others arrive?’

‘Speedy Sue promised she’d be here just before the gates open at eleven, and Posh Pam said it would be shortly after eleven thirty when she showed up; she has to take her granddaughter for her horse-riding lesson.’

When Katie and Lloyd were alone and gathering up the plates and mugs to take inside, Katie said, ‘Speedy Sue and Posh Pam; do you and your mum call them that to their faces?’

‘No,’ Lloyd said with a laugh. ‘Dad gave them the nicknames a long time ago. Sue acquired hers after she’d got done twice for speeding in as many weeks, and Pam, well, she’s just uber-posh and has a voice that would make Brian Sewell think he ought to take elocution lessons. They’re both keen gardeners themselves and have always helped Mum with the open days.’