day. And he had been in bed with her mother. Her mother. Kate was very tempted to slap him.
‘Come on up,’ said Maggie, without a shred of the self consciousness or the shame Kate felt she surely ought to be feeling. ‘Why didn’t you ring to let me know you were coming?’
Making every effort to compose herself, Kate said, ‘Because Liz told me that you were still in hospital. Did you really ring the police?’
Maggie laughed. ‘No, no, of course not. You were making such a lot of noise that Guy thought if you were a burglar you were probably thick and might be taken in if we bluffed it out.’ She eased herself back into the bedroom, wincing with every step, and then lowered herself down very gently onto the side of her big feather bed. ‘There’s no way I could have stayed in hospital, it would have driven me crazy, and Guy was here, so they let me come home.’ As she spoke Maggie set about rolling a cigarette.
‘I thought you told me you’d given up.’
Maggie looked up at her. ‘Give me a break, Kate.’
Caught in the lamplight Kate could see that Liz hadn’t been exaggerating about the damage; one side of Maggie’s face was shiny, taut and navy blue with great claret and gold highlights, a row of stitches adding a macabre Frankensteinesque codicil to the fine skin above her eyebrow.
For the briefest of instants Kate caught a glimpse of the woman her mother really was. Maggie Sutherland was small framed and attractive in a handsome rather than pretty way; she had good bones and her hair, styled into a shaggy chin length coupe savage and coloured to a warm glossy chestnut, was thick and wavy and framed a strong jaw line. It was a face shaped by time rather than worn down by it. She watched Kate watching her, ran her tongue along the sticky edge of the cigarette paper and at the same time lifted one perfectly plucked eyebrow.
‘Well?’ she said, picking up the lighter from beside the bed.
‘You shouldn’t smoke.’
‘I don’t, at least not very much these days. And?’
‘What happened – and who is that?’ Kate indicated the stairwell with a flick of the head, unsure what she wanted to ask first, unsure whether she really wanted to hear the answers.
‘Oh, come on, Kate,’ said Maggie, through a rolling boil of cigarette smoke. ‘What do you call them when you’re over fifteen? His name is Guy Morrison and he’s my lover, my companion, and yes, before you ask, he is living here. He’s letting his place while we see if this works out. Kind of a trial run.’
Kate felt her jaw dropping but was powerless to stop it.
‘So that’s who Guy is.’ Maggie stopped talking and concentrated on flinching as she lifted her leg, trying to find a comfortable spot on the bed.
Kate felt her colour rising. ‘Liz told me that you were seeing someone, but I thought – well, you know I was thinking more whist drives, grey hair and driving gloves. Days out in the country with a picnic and a corgi – but he’s, he’s –’
Kate was squirming now. What exactly was it she was trying to say and why was she trying to say it? That Guy was way too sexy? Too young, far, far too good-looking. God, she would have been pleased these days if someone like Guy gave her a second glance, let alone clambered into her bed. Kate glanced back over her shoulder thinking about the way Guy had looked on the stairs; she’d have to make love with the light off and perpetually hold her stomach in. Kate tried to shift the image, while making a sterling effort to nip that particular train of thought in the bud.
Side-stepping what Guy might or might not be, Maggie continued, ‘You and I don’t see much of each other, Kate. We’ve both got busy lives – it’s not always easy to explain things over the phone.’ In contrast to her earlier conversation with Liz it was a statement with not the barest hint of accusation in it. ‘And anyway I assumed you knew. Liz met Guy when she was here at Christmas.’
Oh, Liz would have met him, thought Kate ruefully. How was it Liz knew all about her mother’s fancy man and why hadn’t she rung and told Kate? How could she have kept something like that to herself; Maggie was living with the man for God’s sake.
But her mum was still talking and still looking at her. ‘Who really knows how serious these things are going to be and, Kate,’ she said, taking a long pull on the roll-up, ‘when we get right down to it it isn’t really any of your business who I’m sleeping with, is it?’
Kate flinched and then blushed. ‘But you fell over,’ she said, in a tone that implied that somehow the two events were quite obviously linked.
‘Which was my own fault, which was why I didn’t ring. Guy and I went out to lunch – it was Taz’s birthday – I don’t think you’ve met Taz. She works in the bookshop with me? Anyway, there’s a great new brasserie opened in the high street. They do the most fantastic food and cocktails and we all got there about twelve and didn’t leave until three and I –’
‘Came back here, pissed as a whippet, tripped over her handbag and fell down the steps round the back. Don’t be taken in by all this poor me stuff,’ Guy said warmly. ‘Besides nursing those bruises she’s also got a stonking great hangover. Do you take sugar?’
Kate hadn’t heard him coming back up the stairs. She looked up into his big brown eyes and wished she hadn’t. Guy was truly gorgeous. Worse still, he loved her mother.
He grinned. ‘Actually you look as if you could do with something a bit stronger. I know it must be a bit of a shock but she’s going to be fine. Do you fancy a drop of brandy, there’s some in the kitchen?’
‘No, thank you. Tea, no sugar, will be fine,’ Kate managed in a clipped tone, realising that she sounded uncannily like Liz.
‘Okay.’ He vanished back downstairs and Kate turned her attention back to her mother.
‘Embarrassing, isn’t it?’ laughed Maggie
She could say that again, thought Kate, except Kate was almost certain that she and Maggie weren’t talking about the same thing.
‘I lay there for God knows how long. Guy had gone back to work. When I finally managed to get my act together I rang him on my mobile.’
‘Liz didn’t say anything about you being drunk.’
Maggie snorted. ‘Good God, you think Guy told her?’
Kate looked Maggie up and down, sitting there in her chemise, hair all mussed up, smoking a roll-up, and suddenly – amongst all the other emotions – was really proud of her.
‘Liz told me she thought it was a very good idea your mum taking me in,’ said Guy, returning with a tray. He sounded mischievous rather than cruel. ‘Someone to keep an eye on her, it put Liz’s mind at rest knowing that your mum wouldn’t be on her own at nights.’
This time Maggie giggled.
It was not the kind of giggle you would naturally associate with your mother.
‘It’s a damned good thing it happened today and not next week,’ Guy was saying. ‘I was supposed to be going to Germany first thing Monday morning.’
‘And you still will be. Stop worrying, I’ll be perfectly all right,
