Mistakes We Make Read online

  ‘Social media is the best way to reach today’s consumer,’ she read, ‘but users of social media are tech savvy – they know how to filter unwanted messages. So in order to reach your target audience, you have to earn their permission. Our strategy to take you to this point is—’

  Words swam before her eyes. Perhaps a coffee? She glanced at her watch. Only an hour till lunch; surely she could get through till then?

  Ten minutes later, her phone rang. Molly glanced at the screen. It was Lexie Gordon. The interruption was both a pleasure and an irritant. She’d just got her head into the document and had found a seam of concentration – but it was always good to hear from Lexie. In the headlong, giddy world she’d plunged herself into, it was all too easy to forget there was another world outside – a world of friends, and family, and babies.

  ‘Have you got a minute? You’re not in a meeting or anything? I never know when’s best to call you.’

  ‘You’re fine. I’m just working on some papers.’

  Molly stood up and walked across to the window. The office Barnaby had located had a stunning view of the London skyline, and because the river flowed past the windows, there was light, and space and a feeling of being able to breathe. She tilted her head from side to side and rolled her shoulders. The cramped muscles in her neck eased and she felt the stress begin to fall away.

  ‘How are you?’ she said. ‘How’s Keira? Are you painting yet?’

  Lexie laughed. It was good to hear her laugh. Molly could picture her in her mind, sitting in the airy nursery at The Gables, holding the baby to her chest, the sunlight streaming onto her ladybird-red hair. Motherhood became Lexie in the most surprising of ways. Molly was used to her friend in paint-smeared dungarees, lost in a world of her own creation for days on end, or – the flipside of that intensity – passionately arguing some cause. Being a mother had brought her slap up against pressing practicalities, like changing a nappy or feeding, and had softened her sharper edges.

  ‘Painting? Not a chance. I never realised just how much a baby takes over your life.’

  It had happened quickly for Lexie. She’d been at such a low ebb after Jamie died, she’d fallen out with Patrick, started out along a false trail, then found happiness. Within a year, there had been three of them. Deep inside her, Molly again felt the tugging ache she could only define as emptiness. To have a child ... to be loved as Lexie was loved ...

  ‘I thought you swore it wouldn’t make any difference to your life.’

  ‘Hah! Talk about naive!’ Lexie’s familiar laugh rang down the line. ‘You should see Patrick, Moll. He’s totally besotted. He’s discovered Skype and whenever he’s away he’s on the line every spare minute. He can’t get back quickly enough. I swear he’s more in love with Keira than he is with me.’

  The tugging turned into a stab. ‘I’m sure that’s not true.’

  ‘I’ll get back to painting soon. Mum’s desperate to look after Keira. She’s offered to do a couple of days a week to give me some free time. But it’s a bit difficult because of Adam – oh!’

  She broke off.

  ‘Adam? What about Adam?’

  ‘Shit. I didn’t mean to say anything. Forget it.’

  ‘Lexie? You can’t stop now. What about Adam?’

  ‘I suppose I ... What the hell. I let Adam have the cottage at Fleming House.’

  ‘Your studio?’ Molly’s forehead creased into a frown. A police boat raced past on the river, its wake crashing onto the banks with a rolling white-topped wave. ‘Adam’s in your studio?’

  ‘It’s only temporary. He sold the house.’

  ‘I know he sold the house. He gave me my share. So he hasn’t bought anything else yet, and he’s sponging off you? Lexie, you shouldn’t let him take advantage.’

  ‘He’s not. It’s not an issue. I offered.’

  ‘Can’t he stay at his parents’ place?’

  ‘I think they’ve sold up too,’ Lexie said vaguely. ‘I don’t really know. Anyway, it’s only temporary.’

  Molly realised that she was desperately out of touch. That was her choice, of course. She didn’t really want to know what Logan had done – it was bad enough knowing the effects of his misdeeds on Adrienne and the boys. Blair King would survive. They’d paid the money they owed back to the bank. Adam had told her everything was fine; he and his father hadn’t done anything wrong.

  ‘He is looking for somewhere, I take it?’ she said. ‘He isn’t just taking advantage of your good nature?’

  ‘No, honestly, I offered it to him. Anyway, he’s going to visit his folks in Italy soon. I’m planning to get some work done while he’s away.’

  ‘A holiday,’ Molly said. ‘How nice.’

  It was uncharitable to feel irritated, and anyway, it was none of her business.

  Lexie changed the subject. ‘Listen, I didn’t call about Adam. I called to ask you a big favour.’

  ‘Shoot.’

  ‘I wondered – Patrick and I wondered – if you’d be Keira’s godmother.’

  Molly squealed. Around her, heads lifted enquiringly. She turned back to the window and tried to lower her voice.

  ‘Wow! Godmother! Of course I will, thank you, thank you, thank you!’

  ‘Fantastic. The service is a fortnight on Tuesday. You will be able to get here, won’t you? We’d have it on the Sunday but, typically, Patrick’s going to be away.’

  ‘I’ll put it in the diary this minute.’

  ‘You’ll write it in indelible ink?’ Lexie knew how Molly operated.

  ‘Thick marker pen. Promise.’

  After that, there was no need for coffee – excitement took her through the day.

  It was the first day for weeks that she managed to get home at a decent hour. As a bonus, Julian was there too.

  ‘Darling! I didn’t like to ring, but I was hoping you’d be here. I’ve bought steaks. Are you on?’

  ‘Yum, totally.’ She pulled open the fridge door. There was precious little inside. ‘Listen, I’ll nip out and get a few luxuries in as well. Olives to pick on? Or would you prefer nuts? I’ll get a good bottle of claret to go with the steak. Are there potatoes? Do we need salad? I’ll go now, then we can both flop.’

  ‘Whoa there!’ Julian eyed her with amusement. He started to tick off a list on his fingers. ‘Steak: check. Green salad: check. Olives: check. Red wine: check – but it’s a Chilean Merlot, is that all right? Two bottles, by the way. Spuds? I bought one of Ricardo’s special gratin dauphinois, all ready to pop in the oven, will that do? I can’t cook chips and I couldn’t bear the thought of those soggy things from the chippie down the road. It’s all in that shopping bag by the sink. I haven’t had time to decant stuff yet.’

  ‘You’ve thought of everything, you darling. But what can I get? I want to contribute too. You’re too good to me.’

  ‘No-one could be too good to you, sweetie. Tell you what, if you really want to fetch something, why not nip down to the deli on the corner and get some ice cream for afters?’

  Molly pulled her coat back on. ‘If you open one of those bottles, I’ll be back before you even pour my wine.’

  Julian laughed. ‘Righty ho. I’ll slip into something more comfortable while you’re out.’

  She bought ice cream. At the checkout she spotted two double chocolate and hazelnut brownies, the last in a tray of home-baked goodies, and bought those too.

  They’d finished the steak and all the side dishes, they’d demolished the ice cream and brownies, and they’d nearly finished the second bottle of wine as well, when Julian said sleepily, ‘Forgot to tell you, darling. A hideous-looking official envelope arrived today.’

  ‘For me?’

  Molly was feeling very mellow. She was full of great food and the wine was making her head spin just ever so slightly, in a happy kind of way. It was the first time – probably since she’d arrived in London – that she’d felt truly relaxed.

  ‘Wonder if it’s a jury duty summons. It’s marked “Sh
eriff Court” on the outside. They won’t be able to make you do it now you’re down here, will they?’

  ‘Shouldn’t think so. I’ll have to let them know I’ve moved. How did it reach me? I suppose Lady Fleming must have forwarded it.’

  Julian rolled onto his side on the deep down-filled cushion of the large sofa and reached out to the small occasional table at the far end.

  ‘Here it is. I meant to give it to you earlier. Just as well I remembered. It wouldn’t do not to answer them or you’d end up in jail for contempt of court.’ He giggled. ‘Don’t worry, sweetie, I’d smuggle you in red wine and ice cream.’

  Molly curled her long legs under her and took the proffered envelope. ‘That’s odd. It hasn’t been forwarded.’

  ‘What d’you mean?’

  ‘It’s been addressed here. Look.’ She thrust it under Julian’s nose.

  He squinted down at the window. The address was clearly typed and hadn’t been scored out or tampered with.

  ‘They must’ve got the address from some other documentation somewhere.’

  ‘Suppose so.’ She slipped a finger under the flap and ripped it open.

  ‘Oh my God.’

  ‘What?’ He sat upright abruptly. A few drops of red wine splashed onto the cream carpet. It was a measure of his concern at her reaction that he didn’t notice.

  Molly’s hand was across her mouth. In days gone by she might have tried to hide her shock behind a curtain of hair, but now there was no hiding.

  ‘What?’ Julian demanded again.

  ‘It’s my divorce papers,’ she whispered, dropping the letter onto her lap. ‘There’s an affidavit from Adam. And—’ she turned it over, ‘another one. A statement from Alexa Gordon.’ She stared at Julian, her eyes pale. ‘She’s my best friend, Julian. My best friend has signed a sworn statement that my marriage is over.’

  ‘Well,’ Julian said, but not ungently, ‘isn’t it?’

  Chapter Seven

  Jean said to Adam, ‘I need to speak to you.’

  ‘I’m listening.’

  He was in the cottage, looking at the small screen of his tablet and sifting through the jobs listed by one of the top recruitment agencies. It was a thankless task. He’d promised himself a break with his parents in Italy, but they’d only just finished packing up and gone out there, so it seemed a little unfair to arrive on their doorstep. They needed time to themselves and a chance to adapt to their new situation. Besides, he might be handed a paintbrush.

  ‘I’d rather you came to the farm.’

  Adam stopped looking at the screen and sat upright. ‘Are you all right, Jean? You sound really—’

  ‘What do I sound like? Don’t answer that,’ she said quickly. ‘Just come. I’ll fill you in when you get here.’

  ‘OK, fine. Of course I’ll come. When would suit you?’

  ‘What about elevenses? I’ve baked a carrot cake.’

  Adam laughed. ‘You don’t need to bribe me, but it works. I’ll be there by eleven.’

  ‘See you then.’

  Adam cut the call and sat in the studio, frowning. His aunt was as sharp as anyone he knew. She was tough too, but although she never complained, he knew Geordie’s death had hit her hard. Since Blair King had folded, he’d been up at the farm every other day, doing what he could to help, particularly with the heavy work, but the strain on his aunt was evident in her increased stoop, the way she found any and every excuse to serve cups of tea, and the unexpected and sudden lowering of her standards of dress and presentation. She’d never been glamorous, but she’d always been neat and correct, with her perfectly matched twin sets, her tweed skirts (straight save for a kick pleat at the back), her laced flat brogues. Recently, she’d taken to leaving her hair loose and often unkempt instead of twirling it into the tidy bun at the base of the neck, and it made her look witchy. She kept her wellies on in the kitchen, a lifetime no-no. And the twin sets were gone – or, at least, never worn with the correct matching piece. A forest green jumper was topped with a pale yellow cardi, a heathery purple top with scarlet. She didn’t even seem to notice, and Adam hadn’t the heart – or, indeed, the words – to say anything.

  He closed the tablet down. There were no jobs worth applying for today anyway. There were precious few at all in the legal world. It wasn’t as if he was eager for another job as a lawyer. There wouldn’t be another partnership; anything he scraped up would be some lowly associate position, and that only if he were lucky. He was sliding down a very large snake in the board game of careers, and most of the ladders had been removed.

  There was a heavy thud at the front door. He’d been so absorbed in his thoughts he hadn’t even heard a car.

  ‘Lexie! Hello!’

  Lexie Gordon was standing on the doorstep, Keira in her arms, snuggled under a cosy blanket. He lifted one corner carefully. Dark lashes curled long on a plump cheek, softly curved lips formed into a peaceful ‘O’, then sucked with unconscious contentment at an imaginary nipple.

  ‘She’s so perfect.’

  Lexie laughed. ‘All babies are perfect when they’re asleep. Little angels. Just wait till she wakes. She’ll turn into a demanding monster, yelling for service. Milk now, Mummy! Clean bum, Mummy! Cuddles now, Mummy! Play with me, Mummy! Sing to me—’

  ‘OK, I get the picture.’ Adam laughed. ‘Come in.’

  They made for the studio, where the wood burner was merrily ablaze. Lexie laid Keira down on the rug. ‘I’d forgotten how perfect this room is when it’s like this. I almost like it better than any other time of the year. The light’s fabulous, you don’t feel you’re missing out on the sunshine, and it’s so cosy with the stove on.’

  ‘You just caught me. I’m heading over to the farm. Coffee?’

  ‘No, I’m fine. Thanks.’

  She slipped off her coat and sat, cross-legged, by her baby, one finger tracing the contours of her cheek with gentle delicacy.

  Adam gazed at her enquiringly. ‘So—?’

  ‘I can’t believe I’ve produced her. It’s such an incredible thing to do. You know – one minute, it’s just you, then suddenly there’s another being here, and you’ve made her and you’re completely responsible for her. It’s a beautiful thing.’ She glanced up at Adam. ‘Awesome.’

  The urge to reproduce – no, more than that, to be a father – had been working its way up to the skin from somewhere near the core of his being for some time now. Longer, maybe, than he had understood. He and Molly – they’d had one conversation, then that had been it. One brief passing comment when they’d been little more than teenagers. I don’t want children, do you? God, no. Neither of them had ever broached the subject again. She was so darned ambitious, that was the problem.

  Or – had it just been Molly? Did he not bear some responsibility too? Maybe she thought that he still thought ...

  ‘It’s lovely to see you, Lexie,’ he said, pulling himself together, ‘but if you don’t want coffee, and I’m assuming you weren’t “just passing”, would it be rude to ask why you’ve come? Only, I have to go out.’

  ‘Oh, yes, sorry.’ Lexie smiled up at him. Keira whimpered and she scooped the baby up in her arms and rocked her gently to and fro. ‘You’ve kept this place looking really nice,’ she said, looking around the room.

  Oh, so that’s it, Adam thought, despondency hovering like a rain-laden cloud preparing to burst over him. She wants her studio back.

  ‘Mum’s offered to look after Keira a couple of days a week—’

  ‘And you want to start painting again. That’s fine, Lexie, I’ll move out as soon as you need me to. Just say the word.’

  ‘You don’t need to move out,’ she said quickly. ‘I can work in this room even if you’re still sleeping here. It would only be, like, nine to four a couple of days a week.’

  ‘It’s really kind of you, but you’d be more comfortable having the place to yourself. When were you thinking of starting?’

  She grimaced apologetically. ‘Soon. Ish. Whate
ver suits you.’

  ‘Leave it with me. I’ll start looking around. OK?’

  ‘Oh, Adam, I don’t want to turf you out, really I don’t. I feel so mean. I can wait, there’s no rush.’

  The first few drops of rain began to splash, the cold drips of the depression he’d been struggling to keep at bay for so long. He’d only staved it off by moving here – for a short time, he’d felt safe, but now he realised the feeling had been fragile. This was Lexie’s place, not his. Wherever he was going to end up, there was no future within these four walls for him.

  ‘Don’t apologise. It’s your studio. Give me a couple of weeks. Will that work?’

  ‘Perfect.’ Lexie scrambled to her feet as Keira began to grizzle. ‘Listen, I’m going to head home. If I start to feed and change her I’ll be here for ages.’

  ‘You can stay. I don’t need to be here.’

  ‘No.’ She shook her head. ‘It’ll be easier at home. I can be back there in fifteen minutes. She’ll probably doze off in the car anyway.’

  The kitchen door at the farm was open, as it always was. Adam stepped into the room and felt the tug of the familiar, tinged with sadness. The lights were all on, but there was no sign of Jean.

  Once, there would have been dogs to greet him. Bruno and Jack, Rufus and Caro – he remembered them all, from across the years. Working dogs. The farm was their territory, and the kitchen. Only the last one, Caro, had ever been allowed further into the house. Jean had told him that Caro had been so insistent on sleeping with Geordie during his illness that she’d whined at the kitchen door for hours until Jean had finally given in and let her go to him. But Caro died the day after her master, and Jean hadn’t replaced the dog.

  She should, Adam thought. A dog would help. She wouldn’t have to get a puppy. A rescue dog would be less work.

  He leant on the back of a chair and surveyed the room. She hadn’t changed anything in years, so far as he could see. The same old kettle sat by the Aga, and the special Aga toasting gadget, blackened with age, was propped next to it, as it always had been. The clock on the wall was a relic from the 1960s and the plastic holder for the tea towel next to the sink dated back even earlier; the pot stand with the battered Le Creuset pots had been there for ever; the wooden towel rail on the back of the door, with its roller towel in a perpetual loop – when had that gone out of fashion, for heaven’s sake? The towel that was on it now was white with a single peppermint green stripe. He remembered it from when he’d used to visit as a boy.