‘What if it's true? What do I do?' said Stevie, trying to keep the panic out of her voice. She'd panicked last time and it had made her lose her grip, sent her into such a downward spiral of emotional quicksand that she thought she was destined to drown in it. Until Matthew held out his hand and offered her the lifeline of his love.
And what about Danny? This was the only dad he'd ever known. He would lose two men in his life who had gone for the title and then bogged off before the crown was on their heads. What sort of damage would that do to his little heart? She was going through partners faster than Henry VIII, and look how his kids turned out. At that thought, Stevie caved into the huge pressure of tears and Catherine, her future chief bridesmaid, came over to give her a big hug, because that was easier than trying to work out what the hell to say to give any comfort.
‘I don't know what you'll do, love. Let's cross that bridge when we come to it, eh? Look, pass me the phone. I'll ring Eddie and tell him I'm staying with you tonight.'
‘No, I'm okay,' said Stevie, pulling away and wiping madly at her eyes. ‘I need to think straight, and I can do that better on my own. I'll just cry if you're here and I really don't want to do that. I'll be fine. You go – you've got three hundred kids and a zoo to sort out.'
‘Cheeky!' said Catherine, smiling softly.
‘Lucky you, though,' said Stevie.
‘I can't leave you,' said Catherine. ‘Come home with me. You and Danny.'
‘Honestly, I'd rather be alone.'
‘Well, look,' said Catherine, when she was fully convinced that Stevie really did want that and wasn't being her usual overly independent self, ‘I'll go and sort out this cake for Danny and I'll be round first thing in the morning.' She pre-empted the little protest that she saw coming, ‘And no, it isn't a problem, before you start. My daughter owes me big time.'
After extracting another fifty affirmations that Stevie would ring her immediately if she felt out of her depth and wanted to change her mind about coming over, Catherine went on her way back to her huge brood to tackle an urgent hair repair and an emergency baking project. Making a cake for her godson was the least she could do after breaking the vow she had made to herself: never to let another dickhead break his mother's heart.
The phone rang about ten minutes after Catherine had gone; it showed ‘number withheld' on the caller display unit. Knowing instinctively who it would be, Stevie's hand came out to pick it up. Then, realizing she couldn't trust herself to act ‘normal', she overrode the compulsion to speak to him, collapse into uncontrolled tears and beg him to come home. Instead, she let the answerphone handle it. It was, as she knew it would be, Matthew, her gorgeous tall fiancé with the dark brown hair and the dark brown eyes and the smile that made her heart melt like ice cream on a hotplate.
‘Hi, Stevie, it's Matthew. You … er … must be in bed. Anyway, just a quick call to let you know that I've arrived safely – motorway's a nightmare! Looks very busy, lots of people. All set for a good hard week so I don't know when I'll have the chance to speak to you again. Forgot my mobile didn't I, ha ha! Anyway, take care and hope everything's okay. Er … bye then.'
No I love you, no Hope Danny's okay, no Miss you. His voice sounded a lot further away than Aberdeen. And she was probably imagining it, but every one of the three million times she played that message back, she was sure she could hear the strains of ‘Guantanamera' in the background.
Chapter 2
In Catherine's big homely Waltonesque-style kitchen in the neighbouring village of Hoodley, black-haired, black-gowned, scarlet-lipped Kate Flanagan was expertly baking a cake. In her mother's frilly apron, she looked rather like a beautiful domestic vampire.
Her father gave her a big squashy squeeze as he passed her on his way to the teapot and said, ‘Eeh, you'll make someone a lovely little housewife one day!' knowing that it would greatly offend her feminist principles, and though Kate shoved him away, she was laughing a little too.
Catherine, towelled up and sitting in the front room, waiting for the auburn dye to restore her locks to their former fake glory, watched the interchange and it brought an unexpected flurry of tears to her eyes; a curious mix of happy ones that she had such a loving family and sad ones because life seemed determined always to short-change her dear friend on that score. What was it about Stevie that attracted plonkers? Stevie who was sweet and selfless and deserved so much better than the Micks and Matthews of this world, whereas she – Catherine Flanagan, outspoken, brash and loud – had been blessed with a wonderful husband, six gorgeous (when they weren't fighting) kids and a big chaotic house full of love, laughter and daft pets. How would she feel if a Jo MacLean took all this away from her?
‘Here you are, love,' Eddie said, handing his wife a cup of tea. He looked at her worried face and knew instantly what she was thinking. ‘You should have brought her and the little one back with you.'
‘She wouldn't come,' said Catherine. ‘I was all for frog-marching them over, but she really did want to be alone.'
‘Can't believe it,' said Eddie, shaking his head. ‘Matthew Finch! I'd have put my all on him not doing that to Stevie.'
‘Tell me about it,' said Catherine, a quarter angry but threequarters sad and disappointed. She had grown very fond of Matthew. She had never liked Mick and been proved right on that one, but Matthew was a good bloke – decent, caring, considerate. Catherine had been instrumental in pushing Stevie and Matt together, following their initial meeting at a mutual friend's engagement party, because she knew they would be well-matched. He was handsome, kind, big-hearted, and willing to take on a little boy who wasn't his, which spoke bucketloads. Stevie would never have settled for anyone who didn't treat Danny well. She knew what a minefield the whole step-parent thing could be.
After Mick had broken her best friend's heart, five years earlier, Catherine had screened every male who came within fifty miles of her. Matthew had put a big fat tick in every box on her score-sheet of essentials.
‘I'd be lying if I said a warning hadn't flagged up in my head when Stevie told me about this Jo woman he'd got friendly with at work,' said Catherine. ‘Vulnerable women are never fully aware of the power they have to make a bloke feel like a hero, but admittedly it wasn't much of a warning. After all, this was Matthew we were talking about. Reliable, faithful old Matthew!' Catherine laughed hard.
‘You ever seen her, that Jo?' asked Eddie.
‘Just the once,' said Catherine. ‘I must admit I'd been curious when Stevie started talking about her and I was dying to see her and check her out. Then we bumped into her in town one day.'
‘And?'
‘She seemed nice and friendly enough. A little too nice, if you know what I mean.'
‘How "too nice"?' asked Eddie, offering her a bite of his Jaffa Cake.
‘Well, when she spotted Stevie she came rushing over as if she'd been a long-lost relative she hadn't seen for twenty years. It crossed my mind that it was a bit over the top, but then, given all that she had been going through and how kind Matthew and Stevie had been to her, maybe she really was that pleased to see her. That's what I thought at the time, anyway.'
‘What's she look like?'
‘Tall, slim, long dark hair, big brown eyes. Very, very pretty.' Catherine suddenly realized that she wouldn't have liked a vulnerable Jo MacLean anywhere near Eddie, had the roles been reversed. What's more, for all the gushing she had done over Stevie, Catherine hadn't noticed a lot of warmth in Jo MacLean's eyes.
‘It's a flaming weird business,' said Eddie, having a long gulp of tea. ‘I reckon he's having a mid-life crisis and he'll be back.'
Catherine looked over at him and smiled. Brad Pitt he wasn't, but she loved the bones of her big, eighteen-stone husband with the Worzel Gummidge hairdo. Never once had she thought he would be unfaithful to her, but after the shocker of today, she wondered if anyone really knew their partners as well as they thought they did. Her own nice cosy world felt a little rocked too.
Eddie saw that look in her eye and laughed. ‘Oy, you! Don't be tarring us all with the same brush,' he warned with a twinkle in his soft, hazel eyes.