Mistakes We Make Read online

  Chapter Sixteen

  On her tenth birthday Molly’s mother gave her a heavy glass paperweight. The top of the glass was clear, with a few perfectly round little bubbles trapped inside. A flower grew up from the bottom, surrounded by fresh green leaves, its petals a pretty pink. One bubble, a little larger than the rest, nestled on the surface of one of these like a drop of rain after a shower.

  The paperweight fascinated Molly. She loved to stroke its smooth roundness and look at the patterns on her carpet as the sun’s rays hit the convex surface of the ball. If you looked through the glass at the garden, suddenly the grass was in the sky and the sky had plummeted to the ground. Everything was upside down.

  A few years later, in science lessons, she learned the reason this happened. It took some of the mystery away, but not the fascination. As she stepped inside the front door of her old home in Trinity, this same disorientation engulfed her. Carpet became ceiling, walls swivelled. She stuck out a hand to steady herself.

  She had walked into a topsy-turvy world.

  ‘Are you all right?’ Molly shrank back from Adam’s steadying hand. If he touched her ...

  Molly saw a flicker of hurt in his eyes and cursed herself for her reaction. It wasn’t that she found him unattractive, quite the opposite, although she couldn’t tell him that. And anyway, why should he care if she found him repugnant these days? He had Sunita Ghosh to love him.

  ‘Yes. I’m fine.’

  She looked around. He hadn’t done anything to the place. The hallway was the same traditional shade of heritage paint as it had been the day she’d left. Adam turned and started walking towards the kitchen, always the hub of the home. It had been the room she had found hardest to leave and still missed most.

  ‘Come in,’ he called over his shoulder. ‘Coffee? Or wine?’

  ‘Just water is fine,’ Molly said. She wasn’t sure she could swallow anything right now. Her throat felt as dry as paper and nerves were unsettling her stomach.

  ‘Sure? I’m going to have a glass of wine.’

  ‘Quite sure.’

  She looked round the kitchen. He’d taken down the photograph that used to hang on the wall above the table, the one of her and Adam and Jamie Gordon, taken by Lexie at Tantallon Castle. It was hardly surprising. The picture hook that had once supported it hung forlornly untenanted, and she thought it strange that he hadn’t had the urge to at least stick a calendar on it.

  ‘You sounded rather serious on the phone,’ Adam was saying as he turned the tap on to let the water flow cold. ‘I’ve been bracing myself all day.’

  ‘Have you? I’m sorry. I felt I had to warn you. I didn’t want to just turn up and—’

  ‘—and what?’ Adam said, filling one of the heavy-bottomed glasses that had been a wedding present and handing it to her. ‘Give me my notice?’

  Molly gulped.

  He had opened the fridge door to look for wine, but there must have been something in her silence that alerted him because he paused and turned.

  ‘Ah. So that is it.’

  Molly sank onto a chair. He’d always been too good at reading her. ‘I’m sorry, Adam. I know you like living here.’

  ‘What is it? You’re seeing someone else and you’re going to move in together – is that why you need the money?’

  ‘No!’ Contrition flared into anger. ‘You’re a fine one to talk! You and that Sunita woman—’

  ‘Sunita woman? Isn’t that a bit patronising? She’s not just “some woman”, she’s an extremely smart lawyer, and she deserves some respect.’

  ‘I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just ... I didn’t know you were seeing anyone. That night at Loch Melfort took me by surprise.’

  Adam lifted a glass down from a cupboard and filled it with wine. When he turned back, he was more composed. ‘We have to move on, Molly. I guess that’s what you’re doing and it’s what I’m trying to do too.’

  ‘Yes. You’re right. And I guess you don’t need to inform me of everything that’s happening in your life. We’re free agents.’

  Adam swallowed half the wine in one quick draught. ‘Exactly. So—’ his glass hit the table so hard that some of the wine splashed onto the wood, where it glistened under the overhead spotlight.

  Molly waited for him to find a cloth and mop up the drops. The Adam she knew would have done that straight away, and the fact that he did not signalled how distracted he must be. She pulled a tissue out of her pocket and wiped them herself.

  When she looked up, Adam’s glare had softened into something she could not quite describe. He’d always been so much better at understanding what she was thinking than she’d been at interpreting his expressions.

  ‘So, I’ll shut up,’ he said quietly, ‘and listen to what you have to say.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  Across the room, something caught her eye. On the stainless steel fridge freezer was the magnet she’d given him one Christmas, a tiny red heart, a silly stocking filler that he’d scoffed at, then placed precisely in his careful way.

  It was still there.

  The magnet slipped if you banged the door. The easy thing would have been to take it off and bin it, because Adam needed to have everything just so – but he had kept it, and that had to have been a matter of choice. He’d taken a conscious decision.

  She stared at the spot of scarlet. What was she to make of it? That he couldn’t let a habit go? Was that it? Had Sunita seen it? Would she have challenged its presence? Had Adam defended it? Or did she not come here? Judging by the level of intimacy displayed at Loch Melfort, that seemed unlikely.

  ‘Well?’

  She whipped her head back. ‘Sorry. It’s a bit strange being back here.’ She took a deep breath. ‘I’m not seeing anyone else, Adam.’ She didn’t have to give him the satisfaction of knowing that she hadn’t dated a single man since Jamie had died. ‘I’m moving to London.’

  If she’d thought that would provoke a reaction, she was wrong. Adam sat like stone.

  ‘Do you remember Barnaby Fletcher? He’s offered me a partnership in a brand new marketing business. A co-directorship, to be precise.’

  Adam said quietly, ‘That’s very well deserved.’

  She glanced at him sharply. Was he being sarcastic? His face was deadpan, his look inscrutable.

  ‘Thank you. Naturally, I am expected to put capital into the business. Barnaby has already spent a great deal of money building it up to the point where it’s ready to take off—’

  ‘You had everything checked by a lawyer, I hope?’

  ‘Of course,’ said Molly, who hadn’t yet. ‘And I’ve tried very hard, Adam, but it’s a great deal of money and there’s only one way I can lay my hands on such a substantial amount.’

  ‘I can see that.’ He stood up and started to pace around the kitchen. Adam never had been able to sit still for long.

  ‘I’m sorry, Adam. If there was another way—’

  ‘It’s your house too.’

  ‘I know, but—’

  ‘Don’t apologise.’ He stopped in front of her and rested a hand on the back of a chair. He’d taken his jacket off. His shirt, she noticed, was crisply ironed and fresh. Adam was fastidious in his habits, but he had never done the laundry, or the ironing. In the split of chores, he had been ‘head of waste management and vacuuming’, she had been ‘laundry maid and chief duster and polisher’. It had never been something they’d discussed or argued over, it had just fallen that way.

  Who did the dusting now? Who lifted the ornaments on the mantelpiece in the front room and rubbed beeswax into the beautiful oak?

  Adam said, ‘Maybe it’s the catalyst we’ve been needing, Molly. We’ve allowed things to drift, but we can’t go on like this, can we? Of course you’ll have your money. And I’ll start divorce proceedings.’ His gaze was frank. ‘I have to suggest you find a different law firm to represent you. I’d like you to believe that I only want what’s fair, but you need to be sure of that. Have you got someon
e?’

  ‘I—’

  Molly blinked. She should have foreseen this. It was the obvious consequence of her demand. Their relationship had entered a maze long ago, and neither of them had been able to find either an exit or a meeting place among the dark hedges of the labyrinth. Adam might have found a path through to sunlight, but she was still blundering into dead ends and being forced to turn back.

  Not any more. London was her exit. No more dead ends.

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘That would be best.’

  Chapter Seventeen

  Ricky McQuade was drunk. Nothing new there. Caitlyn, sitting near the back of the bus from Hailesbank to Summerfield after a long shift, slunk down in her seat in the hope that he wouldn’t see her, but, inevitably, he did.

  The smell of stale perspiration, mixed revoltingly with nicotine and alcohol, wafted under her nose as he swung himself down onto the seat next to her. His hands were surprisingly elegant, with long, slim fingers, but they looked grubby and the nails were jagged and embedded with grime. Caitlyn tried hard not to wrinkle her nose.

  ‘Hey, Caitlyn, aren’t you goin’ tae say hello?’

  ‘Hello, Ricky.’

  ‘’S better. Nice tae be polite, eh?’

  He pulled out a packet of cigarettes and glanced sideways at Caitlyn.

  She crossed her arms and looked out of the window at the darkness. He wouldn’t light up. Even if he did, it was the driver’s problem, not hers.

  ‘’S awright.’ His grin was toothy. ‘’S awright, doll, just windin’ you up. Where’ve you been, eh?’

  She counted the lights of cars as they flashed by and tried to work out how she was going to evade him once they got to Summerfield.

  ‘Dinnae tell me you’ve got a boyfriend. I wouldnae like that, darlin’. But no,’ he swung half out into the passageway so that he could swivel towards her and leer. ‘Yer savin’ yerself for me, naw?’

  He cackled wheezily, a smoker’s rasp.

  ‘You and me,’ he swung close and nudged her, ‘we’re gonna be great, eh?’

  Everyone on the bus must be listening. Embarrassed, Caitlyn said, ‘Cut it out, Ricky. You’re drunk.’

  ‘Gie’s a break, doll. I’m no’ that drunk. ’S nice, eh?’ Aggrieved, Ricky started addressing the other passengers. ‘Try tae be friendly and that’s what you get, eh?’ He sniggered and flung a heavy arm across Caitlyn’s shoulders. ‘She loves me really.’

  The beer breath was repulsive and a wave of nausea swept over her. She wriggled out from his embrace.

  ‘Stop it, McQuade.’

  The authority in her voice was enough to check him and he subsided sulkily.

  ‘You always were a bossy bint,’ he muttered, slumping back in his own seat and pulling his baseball cap down over his eyes. ‘Stew, then.’

  At Summerfield, half a dozen people climbed off the bus. Caitlyn, recognising a friend of her mother’s, sent her a pleading look.

  ‘Ricky McQuade been on the booze again?’ the woman said, smiling.

  ‘You noticed?’

  ‘Hah! Come on then, Caitlyn, we’ll get a wiggle on. He’s in no state to keep up.’

  She was right. By the time they reached the first corner, Ricky McQuade was doubled up and spewing into the gutter fifty yards behind them.

  It had been Caitlyn’s last shift at the supermarket – tomorrow she was going to start back at Blair King. She was hoping to come home to peace and a timely retreat to bed, but as soon as she pushed open the front door she realised that Ailsa was still up. Music was blaring from the front room. She could hear its heavy beat even through the closed door.

  Instinctively, Caitlyn glanced upstairs. Could the little ones really be sleeping through that? She listened for a moment but there was no noise from above, so she dropped her bag in the hall and shoved open the door to the living room.

  ‘Ailsa?’ she burst out, more astonished than shocked.

  One fair head and one shaven head jerked apart and Ailsa’s face turned towards her above the back of the sofa.

  ‘Hi, Caits, you home then?’

  ‘No, I’m still at the supermarket. Who’s this?’

  The man stood up. He was at least six foot two and well-muscled – at least, that was the impression Caitlyn got, although the intricate tattoos displayed from wrist to shoulder made tracing the outline of the muscles in his arms a tricky task.

  ‘Hi.’ A large hand shot towards her. ‘I’m Wallace.’

  Caitlyn did a quick calculation. With a name like Wallace it was more than likely he’d been born soon after the film Braveheart had been released, which would make him around twenty. Too old to be snogging her sister.

  ‘Ailsa is only fifteen,’ she said coolly, ignoring the hand.

  Out of the corner of her eye she saw Ailsa flush crimson. ‘Caitlyn,’ she hissed, clearly mortified.

  To give him some credit, Wallace didn’t flinch.

  ‘I ken. I’ll treat her fine.’

  There was something in the steadiness and directness of his gaze that Caitlyn couldn’t help admiring, but the scar above his left eyebrow was cause for concern. He looked like a man who liked a fight. She reserved judgement.

  ‘Go away, Caits,’ Ailsa said, sliding a slim arm round Wallace’s powerful shoulders and glaring at her, unabashed. ‘You’re not my mother.’

  Wallace bent down to the sofa and picked up a leather jacket. ‘You’re all right, Ailsa. I’d better be off anyway, got work in the morning, eh?’ He grinned and stooped to kiss Ailsa’s cheek.

  Beauty and the Beast, thought Caitlyn – although she had to admit, despite her reservations, that there was something oddly attractive about this Beast.

  ‘I’ll call you, babes.’

  When the front door clicked behind him, Ailsa raged.

  ‘That was so humiliating, Caits. You made me look like a naughty kid.’

  ‘Where’s Mum? I take it she’s not back yet?’

  ‘No,’ Ailsa said in a defiant tone. ‘So?’

  Caitlyn sighed. ‘We haven’t met Wallace yet, Ailsa. It’s not really appropriate for me to come home late at night to find you two in a clinch on the sofa.’

  ‘Appropriate? You sound like my stupid teacher.’

  ‘Well, maybe there’s a reason for that. I just think you should have told us about Wallace, brought him round to meet Mum.’

  ‘Christ!’ Ailsa muttered. ‘What century are you living in?’

  Caitlyn put a hand on Ailsa’s shoulder. A little to her surprise, her sister didn’t immediately shake it off.

  ‘We just care about you, love, that’s all.’

  Ailsa’s glare lasted about ten seconds, then faded. She shrugged.

  ‘Whatever. You’ve met him now.’

  She flicked her long hair back across her shoulders and marched to the stairs. ‘I’m going to bed.’

  ‘I’ll be up in a minute.’

  Caitlyn watched her sister’s slim legs disappear up the stairs. She looked a lot older than she was, that was the problem – and besides, she was a pretty girl. Wallace, no doubt, would be the first of many young men who came panting after Ailsa Murray.

  As she emerged from Waverley Station in Edinburgh the next morning Caitlyn realised she had probably overreacted to her sister’s new boyfriend. She was trembling with nerves, and she realised that the nervousness must have been building for days. She’d kidded herself she was just being protective of her sister, but maybe she’d subconsciously been finding a vent for her own tension. Now that she was in Edinburgh, only minutes away from the office, she could fool herself no longer. The truth was she was not looking forward to starting back at Blair King one little bit.

  When she reached Waverley Bridge, she lifted her face to the grey skies. There was a smirr of rain in the air. Typical. She’d been so filled with apprehension that she hadn’t thought about the weather. She should have prepared herself properly for her first day back at the law firm. It wasn’t like her to be disorganised. Normally
, she would have had everything laid out on her bed or packed in her bag, ready for her early start. Easy to blame Ailsa for distracting her, but she knew she’d been exhausted last night. A long shift at the supermarket had left her tired enough. Dealing with Ricky McQuade’s drunken advances, and then the unexpected presence of Wallace – what was his other name? – had just about finished her off.

  Perhaps the rain would hold off long enough for her to get to the office, she thought, more in hope than expectation. It was little more than a damp mist at the moment.

  She turned up the collar of her scarlet jacket, put her head down, and started marching towards Princes Street. The walk would take twelve minutes; surely it would hold off that long?

  Six minutes later, she passed a deli. Already, a small queue of early-morning commuters had formed. Caitlyn knew that she should line her stomach with a roll or a banana, or at the very least a latte, but she couldn’t face the thought of food. Maybe by lunchtime she’d be hungry. Right now, her stomach was churning.

  The rain started in earnest just as she neared the corner of Hanover Street and Queen Street. Caitlyn started to run. Blair King’s door was less than a minute away. If she could just get there before she was soaked ...

  At the top of the steps, two cast iron braziers flanked the entrance. When the office had last been refurbished, the gas had been lit and an impressive jet of flickering flame had made the approach to the building spectacular. Guests arriving for the party to mark the opening some years ago had stopped to admire the spectacle, but Caitlyn doubted very much if they’d been lit again since then. Conspicuous consumption of gas was hardly a great message. This morning, only the rain framed the entrance as she scuttled inside.

  ‘Can I help you?’

  The girl on reception was new since Caitlyn had last worked here, and was clearly trying to mask a look of disdain as she surveyed Caitlyn’s bedraggled figure. Caitlyn could hardly blame her. The rain had flattened her hair and was running down the back of her neck. The sudden downpour had drenched the front of her blouse so that the thin cotton had become almost transparent and her bra was showing through.

  She pulled the edges of her jacket together, ran a hand through her hair and said, as bravely as she could, ‘I’m Caitlyn Murray. I’m starting work today.’