Mistakes We Make (11 page)

‘Great to see you, my boy. Great to see you. I’m so glad you were able to spare the time to make it to your old man’s little celebration.’

Molly swung away with a frown. She couldn’t watch. Why should he be praised just for turning up, when she had spent so much time organising everything? Chiding herself for her pettiness, she headed for the kitchens to give the signal to start service.

A low voice near her said, ‘Is there room for another at table? If not, I’ll leave right now.’

She hadn’t noticed the lean figure standing awkwardly near the door. ‘Adam! What are you doing here?’

‘I dropped by the office and Logan insisted I should come along. I didn’t realise it was a special family occasion—’

Molly gaped at him.

‘Listen, I’ll go.’

She tried frantically to deal with the situation. How dare Logan ask
Adam
to her father’s lunch? And yet – he looked so miserable. His shoulders sagged and he was biting his lip. Logan had put them both in an impossible position.

‘No. Don’t go.’

He lifted his head.

‘It’s not your fault, it’s Logan’s. He’s got about as much sensitivity as a rhinoceros. You can stay. We can be civil to each other, can’t we? And Dad will be so pleased. He was saying just this morning how fond he was of you.’

‘I don’t want to embarrass you.’

She knew every crease of his face. The tiny scar under his chin where he’d fallen off his bike, years ago. The small vertical line between his eyes that deepened when he was worried, but these days didn’t entirely fade. The fine laughter lines at the corners of his eyes were more firmly etched than they used to be.

The small changes touched her. She said, ‘I know you don’t. You’re not. Here—’ she lunged at a glass of champagne, the last on a passing tray, and handed it to him. ‘Drink this,’ she took his elbow, ‘and come and chat to Joe. You remember Joe? Dad used to work with him. I’ll just go and organise another place at table. Joe, here’s Adam, do you remember my husband? Isn’t it lovely he’s been able to come and help us celebrate?’

And so, with a glittering smile that masked her discomfort, she left the guests and got on with what she was best at – organising.

‘How could you?’ she hissed at Logan as he passed.

‘How could I what?’

Molly nodded her head towards Adam, who was standing alone amid the guests, out of place.
No longer family
. But then her younger nephew jumped up at him out of nowhere and she saw his mouth crack into a warm smile. He studied the game on the phone he was handed, bent and put an arm around Ian’s shoulders and conferred with great seriousness. After a minute, Ian walked off, content, his problem solved.

‘Ask Adam to the party.’

‘He was at a loose end. Why not?’

‘I can think of a hundred reasons why my brother should not have asked my soon-to-be-ex-husband to a family celebration.’

‘Dad adores him,’ Logan said blithely. ‘He’s thrilled that he’s here.’

How could she argue with that? But Adam’s appearance might raise hopes of a reconciliation where there could be none, and she could do without the strain of having to be polite all meal.

She gave up.

‘Please,’ she said to Adam, indicating the chair next to her, ‘be seated.’

‘Molly, are you sure—’

‘Sit, Adam.’

He sat. But it was as she had feared. The conversation steered a jaggy course through a field of thistles.

‘How’s Lexie? When is she due?’ (Easy, neutral.)

‘Did you enjoy the weekend at Loch Melfort?’ (Careful, more dangerous.)

‘You?’

‘How is work?’ (Damnably predictable.)

‘Your father’s looking well.’ (Ditto.)

On and on, the exchanges painfully civil. It was an unexpected development in the long journey they were making. Later, she might evaluate it, but right now, it was impossible.

‘Got the envelope?’ Logan hissed under cover of applause. Joe Spall, Billy’s long-time work companion, had been on his feet for eight minutes, his tribute warm and funny.

‘What?’

‘Dad’s present. The ticket. You did get it, didn’t you?’

Of course she had it. What she had not been able to do was discuss with Logan exactly how and when they would present it.

He held out his hand. She hesitated.

‘Quick!’ His fingers furled and unfurled rapidly, beckoning.

She located the envelope in her bag and held it out. ‘Shouldn’t we—?’

But he was on his feet, and speaking.

‘Before you all get back to drinking—’ he paused for the laugh, ‘—there’s just one more thing to do.’ He flourished the envelope aloft. ‘Give Dad his present. It’s from Molly as well, of course,’ he turned briefly to where Molly sat, her face scarlet. ‘And it’s a very special gift for a very special person. A ticket—’ he waved the envelope again, ‘—to Melbourne! You’re going to visit your sister!’

He handed the envelope to Billy as applause erupted. Molly sat very upright in a supreme effort at containing her feelings, her hands clenching her knees under the  white damask tablecloth. She sensed Adam moving and the next moment he had laid one hand over hers. She clung on to it, squeezing his hand with all her strength.

He did not flinch.

Logan sat down, flushed with the success of his surprise.

‘He can be such an arse,’ Adam said, his voice just loud enough for her to catch.

Her eyes flickered towards him. What did she expect to read in his expression? Sympathy? Anger on her behalf?
Love?
Whatever she expected, it was not amusement, but Adam’s eyes were brimming over with barely controlled laughter.

It was exactly the right response. She giggled and her tension dissipated. Adam knew how to handle her; he always had, until ...

Molly withdrew her hand.

‘Thank you,’ she said quietly.

‘Excuse me,’ Logan said a few minutes later, pushing his chair back, ‘just got to check something.’

‘He’s chained,’ Adrienne said loudly, ‘to his damn phone.’

He’d miss the cake. Molly’s moment, if there was a particular moment in this day of her arranging.

Well then, he would miss it. Molly gave a discreet signal, the lights dimmed, the kitchen door opened and there was a flickering golden light. Dozens of candles – how many? – had been lit and seven small fireworks sent showers of stars spiralling upwards.

‘Oh, wow!’

‘Look at that!’

It was the small touches that made an event memorable. The carefully chosen colour scheme, the table flowers to match the mood, the photos of bride or groom as toddlers scattered on the tables. And the cake.

The cake, Molly considered, should be the highlight of any occasion. Over the years she had commissioned dozens of traditional wedding cakes as well as many humorous ones, clever cakes for special birthdays, and sophisticated cakes in the shape of company logos, designed to impress corporate guests.

Billy’s seventieth cake was in the shape of a clock. Not just any clock, but a faithful copy of the grandfather clock that stood in the hall at home, the family heirloom that had inspired her father to take up his profession aged sixteen.

The clock face was a transfer print of a wedding photograph, Billy and Susan holding hands and gazing at each other out of the past. The hands were at seven and twelve – 7.00, the closest Molly could get to seventy.

Across the table, her father looked at her and beamed. It was all she needed. He knew how much thought she had put into it, and he appreciated it. It was reward enough.

Afterwards, Adam melted away as quietly as he had arrived.

‘Thank you,’ he said, ‘for allowing me to share your special family day.’

‘No problem,’ Molly said, and watched as he collected his coat and left.

But there was a problem. Soon she was going to have to call Adam and ask him to sell the house. She would be setting in motion a train of events that would be irreversible.

––––––––

‘C
arry yer bag home for yer?’

Caitlyn grinned. It was like being back at school, when such an embarrassed offer was the accepted preliminary to an awkward date.

‘Hi, Malkie. Good to see you.’ She handed him two carrier bags with relief. ‘How did you know I was coming off shift?’

‘H-hm.’ Malkie cleared his throat. ‘Tell you the truth, I nipped round to your house. Harris said you were due to finish around now.’

He’d cheered her up. It was some time since a guy she liked had made any kind of effort.

They reached his battered old van just as the first few drops of rain began to fall. ‘Here, get in.’ He held open the door and Caitlyn slithered inside. It smelled of damp earth. She liked the smell. It was like Malkie: honest and real.

He opened the doors at the back and placed her shopping carefully inside.

‘Finished work today then?’ she asked as he jumped into the driver’s seat, slammed the door closed and turned on the ignition.

‘Aye.’ He never had been a great one for chat.

‘No more grass to cut?’

He put the van into reverse and backed out of the space as the raindrops turned into a deluge. ‘Grass was finished yesterday. There’re always jobs to do, you know, in a garden, but with the rain coming ... Anyway, Ibsen said to go home.’

‘But you came for me instead.’ She watched, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth, as he blushed.

‘Aye.’ His glance was short, but the intensity of feeling in his deep green eyes took her by surprise.

‘Tell me about Saskia,’ Caitlyn said as they left Hailesbank and started along the short road to Summerfield. Short if you were in a van – a long way if you had to hike it, as she’d had to the other night.

‘Sass?’

‘If we’re going to start dating, Malcolm Milne, I need to know where you stand.’

His laugh was infectious.

‘What? What are you laughing at?’ she said, smiling.

‘Who said we were going to start dating?’

‘Isn’t that what this is about?’ she said, suddenly uncertain.

He negotiated a bend just as a lorry came in the opposite direction, throwing a fountain of water up across their windscreen. Half blinded, he drove on for another dozen yards, then pulled into a layby.

‘Might as well give this rain a chance to stop.’ He leaned forward and peered out of the windscreen, where what seemed like a waterfall was gushing down to the bonnet.

‘I like it, Caitlyn.’

‘What?’

‘Your directness. I can’t tell you how refreshing it is after Sass.’ He reached across and took her hand. ‘If we do start seeing each other, can we always be like this, do you think? Honest, I mean. Can we make a pact?’

Caitlyn was startled. ‘I’m guessing that honesty wasn’t Saskia’s style?’

He dropped her hand and rubbed his face. ‘You could say that. Right from the first, I guess. You heard about—’

‘She told you she was pregnant is how I heard it,’ Caitlyn said gently, ‘but that turned out not to be true.’

‘She knew what buttons to press. Things were never great with us, and in the end she found a better option. That’s about it.’

‘You stayed with her a while.’

‘Three years. I was lazy. Maybe not lazy, more like a wee dormouse who’d gone to sleep for the winter and didn’t feel warm enough to wake up again.’

Caitlyn smiled at the image. ‘So what changed?’

He shrugged. ‘I got up one day and she’d propped a note against the teapot. “Gone with Vernon,” she wrote. “Bye”.’

‘That was it?’

‘She wasn’t so bad to me. She’d only taken her clothes. One of my mates, his girl cleaned him out. He was left with a change of underpants and a burnt saucepan.’

‘Generous.’

‘Aye, well. I was lucky. Vernon’s a builder. Cash trade. He’s minted. Sass didn’t want our old rubbish.’

‘And you, Malkie? How do you feel?’

‘God’s honest truth? Relieved as hell.’

The rain had stopped. Cars sped past on the narrow road, sun glinting off damp paintwork. A hundred yards further along, one flashed through a puddle and sent spray to the top of the hedge. Each time, briefly, a rainbow flashed. There was beauty in everything, if you just looked.

‘So.’ Caitlyn wriggled round in her seat so that she could look at Malkie square on. ‘
Am
I next in line? Or is this just a courtesy taxi for a poor exhausted lass?’

‘Do you want to be? Next in line?’

‘We could give it a try, maybe. See where we go.’

‘Seems fair.’

He looked at her.

She looked at him.

It was nice.

After a while she stopped looking and smiling, and said, ‘Maybe I should be getting home.’

He turned on the ignition and the engine spluttered into life.

‘That’s settled then,’ he said.

Joyce’s migraine lasted two days and left her weak. She lost two shifts, while Caitlyn gave up two of hers to look after the family.

Isla May hadn’t mentioned the school camp again, but she’d brought home a leaflet about it and left it next to the kettle in the kitchen.

The boys needed new shoes. And new shoes meant they needed new football boots too. They kept growing.

Ailsa moaned because she never had any spending money, and having to do her share of minding the little ones meant she couldn’t get a job to earn any cash of her own.

Caitlyn didn’t mind living on next to nothing. She didn’t mind not having many new clothes. She managed to survive on very little, and heaven knows Joyce was just the same. But she did find it hard that, despite all their efforts, they
still
couldn’t manage.

So when her mobile rang one morning as she walked to work and she realised that it was Blair King’s number, she hesitated only for a moment before she decided to answer it.

‘Hello? Caitlyn Murray speaking.’

‘Caitlyn? This is Adam Blair.’

The boss’s son! She’d thought it might be Agnes Buchanan, who’d been so helpful to her when she’d started at Blair King, or Deirdre, who’d had the desk next to hers. But Adam Blair? What did Adam Blair want? Was it to do with ...

Fear grabbed her.

‘Caitlyn? Are you still there?’

She cleared her throat. ‘Yes, I’m here.’