It had been a long and tiring day. People were anxious. They had every reason. Rumours were circulating. Not just within the office, but amongst clients. With Stirling absent from the office yet again, everyone wanted to know if he was all right. Rosco had done his best to cover for his father, but it hadn’t been easy. Bottom line was, he didn’t know if Dad
was
all right.
He pulled out of the car park and rubbed his jaw where Lloyd had punched him yesterday. The sting of his humiliation outweighed any actual physical pain – being hit by his cousin in front of his new girlfriend wasn’t the outcome to the day he’d been expecting, but then nor was witnessing his father confessing to his affair with Simone Montrose. Something else he hadn’t expected was to feel responsible for that confession. If he hadn’t pushed Dad the way he had, maybe it would have stayed buried and forgotten. Wouldn’t that have been better than what was going on now?
It had shaken him when both his mother and Scarlet had criticized him for knowing about Dad’s affair and using that knowledge to reduce him to breaking point. ‘What if you’d driven him to what Uncle Neil did?’ his sister had said. He wished whole-heartedly that he hadn’t gone looking for trouble by checking on his father’s movements. It had been a big mistake. He should have stayed well out of it.
On the up side, Laura hadn’t kicked him into touch as he’d assumed she would. She had left Willow Bank minutes after Lloyd had gone, along with Charlie’s parents, who had politely excused themselves on the pretext that the family needed to be alone at such a difficult time. Rosco had been sure he’d seen the last of Laura as she drove away.
But not so. She’d texted this morning to invite him to join her for dinner this evening; a simple home-cooked meal, she’d further texted when he’d responded. He was on his way there now. An evening in her company was a hundred per cent preferable to an evening of his own morose company. He had to admit, though, that he was slightly uncomfortable about seeing Laura again. He felt she knew just a little too much about his family. And him. He didn’t feel proud of himself right now.
Whilst he hadn’t been to her place before, he knew where it was in Henley, and knew that the view overlooking the river was particularly good; he had even contemplated buying one of the apartments in the development himself two years ago. Laura had explained to him that she would never have been able to afford it without her father’s help. He didn’t know much about her family, other than that her mother and father were divorced, but one thing he was confident of: they had to be a lot more straightforward than his own was proving to be.
Armed with a conciliatory bottle of wine and a bunch of flowers, he took the lift up to the third floor of the modern building and rang Laura’s bell. The door opened almost immediately. She looked genuinely pleased to see him. He stepped inside and kissed her on the cheek. ‘For you,’ he said, ‘by way of apology for yesterday. It must have been horribly embarrassing for you. A regular freak show.’
‘I think it was more embarrassing for you than me. How’s your face?’
He automatically rubbed his jaw. ‘It’s OK. Worst thing is, I can’t joke about how bad the other fella looks.’
She smiled and took him through to the sitting room, which had a large picture window looking on to the river and a sliding glass door leading to a balcony. ‘I’m afraid it’s too cold to sit outside,’ she said when he went over to look at the river.
‘That’s all right,’ he said. ‘I can admire the view from here.’
‘Well, you do that while I put these lovely flowers in some water. They look very extravagant; I hope you’re not expecting me to be some kind of master chef. I did say it would only be a very simple supper. I hope you like shepherd’s pie.’
‘It’s my favourite dish.’
‘And you lie so easily,’ she said with a smile. ‘What would you like to drink? A glass of wine, or maybe a beer?’
‘A beer would be great.’
Minutes later she reappeared with their drinks and suggested they sit down. ‘It’s a lovely apartment,’ he said, having had a discreet prowl in her absence.
‘I like it, and as I told you, I couldn’t have bought it without my father’s help with the deposit. Cheers.’
They chinked glasses. ‘Tell me about your parents,’ he said.
‘What do you want to know? How they shape up compared to yours?’
He should have known she would see through an attempted fishing exercise. ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘I suppose I do.’
‘In that case, take a good long sip of your beer and brace yourself. Your family has nothing on mine. My father once took a swing at a vicar over a sermon about adultery and nearly got himself arrested for it. You see, Dad considers himself to be something of an expert on the subject, and with good reason. He’s been married four times, and the first three all ended in divorce because he couldn’t stay faithful. So far so good with wife number four. But maybe that’s because he’s slowing down.’
‘He sounds . . . erm . . . interesting.’
‘Wait till you hear about my eight brothers and sisters.’
‘Eight!’
‘Oh yes. And there’s another on the way.’
‘My God! When does your father find the time? Or the energy? How old is he?’
She laughed. ‘Old enough to know better! He’s seventy this year. And a grandfather five times over. We’re having a big party for him in November. All those wives and their new partners and children will be there; it’ll be a riot.’
‘Do the ex-wives get on with each other, and with the new wife?’
‘Amazingly well. But that’s largely down to Dad doing his best to look after everyone. He’s very generous. Not just with his money, but with his help and support. Just because he falls in and out of love at the drop of a hat, it doesn’t make him a bad man. He is what he is. He’s human. And just a bit bonkers. But we all love him. We accept him, and each other, for what we all are.’ She shrugged. ‘Why wouldn’t we? Besides, life’s so much simpler that way.’
She got up and went over to an occasional table, where there was a framed A4-sized photograph. She brought it back to the sofa. ‘There’s my family. That’s Dad in the middle, and the girl who looks young enough to be his daughter is Natalie, wife number four.’
Rosco studied the photograph. ‘She looks the same age as you.’
‘She’s actually five years older.’
He frowned. ‘And you really don’t mind?’
‘Not a bit. Natalie doesn’t alter the relationship I have with Dad. I’m not jealous, if that’s what you mean. I’ve never felt that I’m in competition with anyone for my father’s attention, or my mother’s for that matter. She’s also remarried. Look, that’s her there, and that’s her new husband.’
When he didn’t say anything, she said, ‘After what I witnessed yesterday, I gather you’re not entirely happy about the idea of a half-sister.’
Rosco rubbed a hand over his chin, then winced. ‘It’s a long story.’
She put the photograph down on the coffee table in front of them and smiled. ‘We have all evening.’
‘But I don’t want to spoil it by boring you with my family troubles. Especially as I don’t think I’ll come out of it well. In fact, you may well think I’m a bit of a shit.’
She touched his bruised jaw gently with her hand and then kissed him equally lightly on the mouth. ‘I promise you I won’t be bored. And as for you being a bit of a shit; who hasn’t been one at some stage in their life? But you know what you need right now?’
‘What?’
‘You need loosening up. And I’m just the person to do that.’ She removed his beer glass from his hand and then took hold of his tie. ‘This can go, for a start.’
He allowed her to undo his tie and the top button of his shirt.
‘Laura?’ he said, when later they were lying in her bed.
‘Yes?’
‘When you said I needed loosening up, did you mean that in a good way?’
‘I meant it in all sorts of ways. Mostly I think – and this is based on the little I’ve so far seen of you, and throwing in a handful of speculation – that you’re like one of my stepbrothers: you’ve spent the greater part of your life in competition with those around you, yourself included, and you need to learn how to channel that energy in a different direction. I also think you take life far too seriously.’
‘Bloody hell! What are you, some kind of smart-arse psychologist?’
‘No, I’m your smart-arse girlfriend who knows best.’
He smiled. ‘And why would you want to be my girlfriend? Why take me on when you see so much room for improvement?’
‘Because I’m a sucker for a challenge.’
‘What if you’ve taken on more than you can handle?’
‘What if you stop asking so many stupid questions and kiss me?’
He laughed. God, he was glad she’d invited him here tonight. He placed his hands either side of her face and kissed her very deeply; he felt as if a great weight was being lifted from his shoulders. Perhaps she was right: maybe he did take life too seriously. ‘What are you doing next weekend?’ he asked.
‘Nothing in the diary as yet.’
‘Good. Let’s go to Rome.’
She held his gaze and he could see he had surprised her. Which gave him a nice feeling. ‘I bet you take all your girlfriends to Rome,’ she said with a raised eyebrow. ‘To impress them.’
‘Only the really beautiful ones.’
She punched him playfully on the shoulder. ‘I’m starving; let’s have something to eat. And then you can tell me about your family troubles.’
‘Only if you agree to come to Rome with me.’
She sat up and wagged a finger at him. ‘Bad negotiating, Rosco.’
‘How do you work that out?’
‘Because in your head you’ve already booked the flight tickets and pictured the hotel room where we’ll spend hours and hours having amazing sex. It’s going to happen whether I agree to your terms or not.’
He smiled and kissed her again. She was right, of course. And about the sex. It would be amazing. Because, as he was beginning to realize, everything about her was amazing.
Since leaving London that morning, Katie had spent most of the day working in the garden. Making good the damage of her neglect over these last weeks had given her something to think about other than the events of the weekend. It had also helped her to see her future more clearly.
Now out of the shower and wearing her pyjamas and Minnie Mouse dressing gown, she was curled up on the sofa taking comfort in a mug of hot cocoa and a bag of marshmallows. On the sofa next to her were two photograph albums that contained countless happy memories of her and her parents from a pre-digital era. On her laptop on the coffee table were more recent pictures; most poignant of all, a series of photos taken several weeks before Mum died. They’d been for a walk on the Downs, a place that both Mum and Dad had loved. It was where their ashes had been strewn. They had both said that that was what they wanted when the time came.
Just as she had neglected her mother’s garden lately, Katie felt she had neglected the memory of her parents. She had become so caught up in the lives of the Nightingales, she hadn’t had Mum and Dad at the forefront of her thoughts. But now, sitting here on her own, she missed them more than she had in a long time.
She took another marshmallow out of the bag and, just as she’d done as a child, dunked it into the mug of cocoa. She knew perfectly well what she was doing, that she was retreating to her childhood, to that happier time when the worst she’d had to worry about was if her mother was going to cook broccoli for tea and make her eat it, a regular tea-table battle of wills. It had been Dad who, in the end, had found a compromise – if Katie ate the floret part of the vegetable, she didn’t have to eat the stalk, which was the bit she hated most. Dad had always been good at finding a compromise. Presumably that was why he had been able to bear the weight of Fay’s affair with Stirling and accept Katie as his own child. What incredible and unconditional love that must have taken, and how easily his love could have turned to hatred. Knowing that she could not have had a better father, and that she would forever be grateful for his selfless act of love, Katie was determined to follow his example and let the Nightingales get on with living their lives without her as a constant thorn in their sides. If that was what it took for Stirling to be happy again, then so be it.
She reached for another marshmallow and thought how much she would have liked her parents to meet Lloyd. Dad had never been one of those overbearing fathers who had routinely, as a point of principle, disapproved of any boyfriends she had brought home. ‘I’m prepared to give the lad the benefit of the doubt,’ he would say, ‘until proved otherwise.’ Mum, on the other hand, had been only too ready to voice her opinion and condemn an unsuitable boyfriend on any number of grounds, such as that his eyes were too close together, his clothes were too scruffy, his clothes were suspiciously too smart, he had too many piercings, he was too quiet, or he was too full of himself. Katie just knew that Lloyd would have met with Mum’s total approval.
Leaning forward, she stared at the screen of her laptop. After scrolling through various files of photographs, she stopped at one of her mother. Katie had taken the picture herself, and it showed Mum – her hair messily scooped up on top of her head, the sleeves of her chunky cardigan dangling well past her hands – with a look of intense concentration on her face as she set about redesigning the small garden here. Katie could remember how her mother had been so lost in the moment, she had been oblivious to Katie taking any pictures of her.
She smiled sadly at the memory. She wished her mother was here now to share in the plans she had for herself. Mum would have been full of encouragement and enthusiasm. Dad, too.
This morning in London, and as if the idea had come to her in her sleep, Katie had woken up knowing exactly what she was going to do next. With Ben and Tess rushing around getting ready for work – crashing about in the kitchen and bathroom before coming to a stop in the hall to kiss her goodbye with pieces of toast in their hands – there had been no time to share her news with them. She hadn’t minded; her news could keep. She had waved them off, and an hour later she had been on the train for Brighton.