‘No. Dad just wanted to invite a few people round. Do you feel like joining us? Guy’s had to drop out so we’re down to eleven.’
Tierney didn’t answer. Lainey wasn’t even sure she’d heard, she was so intent on whatever new message she’d just received, so leaving her to it she made her way to the kitchen, where Stacy was already opening a bottle of wine.
‘Bit early, isn’t it?’ Lainey commented, dumping her bags on the counter.
‘I’m in need,’ Stacy told her. ‘I’ve just been turned down for another job. The
Express
this time. They’re not even going to bloody well interview me.’
Feeling for how awful the rejection must be, Lainey went to give her a hug. ‘It’s their loss,’ she murmured comfortingly. ‘And think of it this way, Fate has obviously got something a whole lot better in store for you, it’s just not quite ready to deliver yet.’
Stacy had to laugh. ‘You have such a rosy way of looking at the shit in the world,’ she told her. ‘I guess it’s why we all love you. Hey, T, how are you, sweetheart?’ she said as Tierney came in the door. ‘Exams OK today?’
‘Yeah, cool,’ Tierney muttered, keeping her eyes down as she pushed her way through. ‘I’m going to my room,’ she informed them.
‘What about saying hello to Grandpa?’ Lainey called after her.
‘Hey Grandpa,’ Tierney shouted over her shoulder.
Lainey looked at her father, who apparently had no idea he’d just been spoken to. ‘Is he OK?’ she asked Stacy.
‘He seems fine. He hasn’t moved from the chair since you left.’
‘In which case I’d better take him to the loo,’ Lainey decided. ‘Do you mind unpacking these bags and putting away whatever needs to go into the fridge?’
Half an hour later Stacy and Lainey were at the table with Lainey’s laptop between them, ready to take a good long look at the villa in Italy, when the landline rang. Being the closest, Stacy reached for it.
‘Hello, Bannerleigh Cross,’ she announced, watching Lainey taking a sip of her tea. She couldn’t have wine until Zav was home, just in case she needed to go and get him.
‘No, this isn’t Mrs Hollingsworth,’ Stacy said, turning to Lainey. ‘Who’s calling, please?’ Stacy’s eyes widened. ‘Can I tell her what it’s about?’ she asked. ‘I see. Is he OK? Has something happened to him?’
Lainey’s heart jarred.
‘I’ll pass you over,’ Stacy said. ‘It’s a PC Darren Barry from Stroud Police,’ she told Lainey. ‘Apparently Max has been arrested for shoplifting.’
Lainey’s insides sank.
‘And he’s drunk,’ Stacy added.
Only just managing not to groan out loud, Lainey took the phone. ‘Hello, Officer,’ she said, ‘I’m sorry if he’s causing trouble. What can I do?’
‘Someone needs to come and get him,’ the policeman replied, ‘and yours is the name he’s given us.’
‘How very sporting of him,’ Lainey muttered, glancing up as Tierney came back into the room. ‘I take it he’s at the station in Stroud?’
‘He is.’
‘OK, I’ll be there in about twenty minutes,’ and feeling she’d rather brain him than collect him, she rang off and reached for her iPhone as it bleeped with a text.
‘What’s going on?’ Tierney wanted to know.
‘It’s Max,’ Lainey answered distractedly.
Ask your husband about Julia.
‘Oh, no, not another bloody nutter,’ she groaned. Since both she and Tom were subjected to this sort of mischief-making on a regular basis, either through their phones or emails, she’d learned long ago that the only way to handle it was simply to ignore it. If it became a real nuisance, or in some way threatening, they usually handed it over to the police.
‘OK, I’d better go and get him,’ she said, dropping her phone back in her bag. ‘He’d just better not vomit in my car is all I can say, or he’s going to be seriously sorry.’
‘Try not to be too hard on him,’ Tierney called after her. ‘Remember, it’s not his fault he’s all screwed up.’
Tierney’s parting words were still smarting when Lainey led Max out of the police station over to the car. It seemed he’d driven himself into town (presumably already way over the limit) to help himself to a flagon of rough cider and a six-pack of Fosters from a bargain booze shop.
And got caught.
Not your day, Max,
she was thinking sourly as she headed out of the station car park to start down the hill.
‘I suppose you’re going to tell Dad about this,’ he snorted, using the back of his hand to wipe his mouth.
‘You’ve been charged with shoplifting,’ she reminded him. ‘You’re due in front of the magistrate tomorrow, so how on earth do you think you can keep it from him?’
He stifled a belch and lifted a greasy trainer on to the dashboard. ‘He won’t care, anyway,’ he drawled. ‘He’s too fucking busy with all his fucking stuff going on to think about anyone except himself.’
Hating the swearing, but knowing he’d only increase it if she objected, she decided to ignore him and simply continued to drive.
‘I guess you realise if you’d given me some cash it wouldn’t have happened,’ he declared, gazing out at the passing countryside.
‘I don’t recall you asking,’ she snapped, wondering if he’d been trying to steal from her bag when he’d knocked over the vase. He’d never stolen from them before, but there was no knowing how far he might go to gain attention, or cause friction, or deliver some sort of payback for the damage he’d decided had been inflicted on him by the break-up of his parents’ marriage.
He yawned, scratched his whiskery chin and slumped deeper into the seat. ‘I forgot, nothing’s ever your fault, is it?’ he snorted.
Though she tensed, she refused to let herself go there.
‘I guess you realise that if he’d been around for me when I was growing up, I wouldn’t be in the fucking mess I’m in now,’ he challenged.
She stayed silent.
‘Would I?’ he pressed.
‘If that’s what you want to believe.’
‘It’s a fact.’
‘OK.’
‘And we all know
why
he wasn’t around when I was a kid.’
In spite of being as rattled as he intended, she kept her thoughts to herself, determined not to give him the satisfaction of a row.
‘So no matter what you say, or what I do,’ he rumbled on, ‘it all comes down to one thing in the end: you took him away from me and my mum, so you’ve got to be to blame for the way everything’s turned out.’
Before she could stop herself, she said tartly, ‘I guess it would be a mistake to take on any responsibility for the way you are yourself, because you really wouldn’t know how to handle something as adult as that.’
He didn’t bite back right away, presumably because his booze-soaked brain was ticking too slowly to come up with something equally cutting. ‘You think you’re really clever, don’t you?’ he managed in the end.
‘No, not really.’
More seconds ticked by as she fought to remind herself of how loving and easy he’d been as a child, and of how much she cared for him really, when he wasn’t in one of these aggressively dark moods.
‘You sit there in your posh house,’ he suddenly blurted, ‘driving your fuck-off car, with all your stuck-up friends, making out like you’re the perfect wife to the famous author, when what you really are is a whore who steals other people’s husbands.’
Reeling from the insult, she did her best to control the rage that flared up ready to explode.
‘I bet you’re going to tell Dad I said that,’ he jeered.
Her voice was dripping with scorn as she retorted, ‘It surprises me that you’re still behaving like a boy when most twenty-one-year-olds I know are men.’
‘What?’ he snarled. ‘What the fuck are you talking about?’
Since he knew exactly what she meant, she didn’t bother to explain.
Clearly riled now, he said, ‘You never gave a fuck about me, or my mum, the whole time I was growing up, did you? All you cared about was getting my dad and being the famous Mrs Hollingsworth. Well, fuck you, is what I say to you. And fuck him too.’
Turning off the main road to start heading towards the village, she replied, ‘You’ll be able to tell him yourself when he comes back on Friday. I’m sure he’ll be interested to hear your observations on our marriage. As for me, I’d rather not hear any more from you, thanks.’
‘Is that right? Can’t take it, huh? Don’t want to hear how he only married you because of who your father was. No way would you have got him otherwise.’
Suddenly wanting to hit him, she swerved dangerously over to the side of the road. ‘You can walk the rest of the way,’ she told him furiously.
‘Oooh, the lady’s really getting mad now. Throwing the stepson out on his ear . . .’
‘Just go, Max. Get out of my car and next time you’re in trouble
don’t
call me.’
He looked at her with a triumphant grin on his face. ‘I’m not going anywhere, man.’
‘Get out,’ she seethed.
‘Are you going to make me?’
Knowing she couldn’t, she put her head in her hands and made herself take a deep, steadying breath.
‘Oh, for fuck’s sake, she’s crying,’ he mocked.
‘I’m sure you’d like it very much if I were, but all I’m actually doing is wondering why you have to be so goddamned unpleasant . . .’
‘I’m just pointing out to you that my whole life is fucked because of you. I’ve had to grow up without a father . . .’
‘Oh, for God’s sake! You were with us every weekend your mother allowed it. He’s always been there for you . . .’
‘No fucking way was he there for me, he was with you and
your
kids, the ones you tricked him into having to make sure you could hang on to him. So don’t try giving me all that shit about him
being there for me
. . .’
‘Stop it! Just stop,’ she shouted. ‘You win, OK? You’ve got what you wanted. You’re hurting my feelings, making me feel like the most selfish person on earth. Is that enough for you? Do you want any more? Or have you finished now?’
Seeming only mildly pleased by her outburst, he simply shrugged and folded his arms. ‘I don’t know what you’re getting so hysterical about, when it’s me who’s the injured party here . . .’
‘
Injured party?’
she echoed incredulously. ‘What the hell are you on? You’re living in
my
house, doing your absolute damnedest to cause problems in
my
marriage, to upset Tierney and Zav . . .’
‘That is so fucking not true,’ he cried. ‘When have you ever heard me have a go at them? Come on, tell me, because I’m interested to know the kind of shit you’re telling yourself . . .’
‘You can’t seriously think they’re not affected by the way you’ve been with me lately? I really don’t know what’s going on with you, Max, but I’m their mother, for Christ’s sake; they feel as protective of me as you do of Emma. But answer me this, where’s your mother now? Where was she when you rolled up from the gap year that got you seriously in debt? Did she care about you then? Was she waiting for you with open arms? Was she hell! She’d gone. Hello, States, new husband, new career, and did she invite you to join her? Did she even tell you she was getting married? If it weren’t for your father you’d probably have been murdered in Thailand, or in prison for the rest of your life. Certainly you’d have been on the streets when you came back, because you had no job to go to, no plan to get one, and no intention, apparently, of feeling in the least bit grateful for what your father did for you. Instead you slouch around the annexe like a tramp, partying, smoking dope, doing God only knows what other kinds of drugs, getting pissed out of your head, and making me feel like hell every time you look at me. You’re turning into a waste of space, Max Hollingsworth. A nobody, going nowhere, without a shred of decency in you and so much bitterness and self-pity it’s eating you up like a disease. And you’ve got the cheek to try and tell me it’s my fault when it was
your mother who brought you up, not me
.’
As she stopped the air seemed to reverberate around her. She felt so shaken, so stunned by her own explosion and the awful things she’d said, that she could hardly believe it had happened. He was barely twenty-one, for God’s sake, not much more than a kid – though he liked to consider himself an adult – and she’d just laid into him as if he was to blame for every bad feeling she’d ever had about herself.
Seconds ticked by with neither of them speaking. She could hardly bring herself to look at him.
In the end, she said, ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean even half of what I just said, but honest to God, Max, you wind me up so badly at times that I wonder what the hell we’re going to do with you. You never show any signs of wanting to help yourself, or to make something of your life, and I wish you would. Not for me, for
you
, because, believe it or not, I care about you, and I really do want the best for you.’
Still he said nothing, simply sat in his seat, staring straight ahead, the pale tightness of his mouth the only sign of how angry – and hurt – he was.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said again, and realising there was no point trying to repair this right now, she pulled back on to the road to continue the drive home.
Neither of them spoke again, nor did she answer her phone the several times it rang. She simply let the silence engulf them while wishing it were possible to open the windows and let her cruel words fly away in the wind.
When eventually she pulled up alongside Stacy’s car at the house she was still trying to decide whether to tell Tom what had happened. She knew how unimpressed he’d be by the way Max had provoked her, and probably critical of her too for rising to it, but when she added in the drunkenness and shoplifting charge she dreaded to think of the unholy row it was likely to trigger between father and son.
After Max had got out of the car she walked round to the passenger side and looked up at his face. Though he kept his eyes fixed somewhere above her head, she could see he was still angry and no doubt trying to think of some way to punish her. However, he hadn’t skulked off to the annexe yet, which she’d been expecting.
She wasn’t sure what she wanted to say, apart from sorry, or shall we try to forget the last half-hour, but before she could utter a word he suddenly grabbed her to him and wrapped her in a rough embrace.