Winter Wishes (7 page)

Tara raised her chin. Well, whether or not they liked it she was still a member of this family. Danny hadn’t filed for divorce yet, had he? For months she’d expected to hear the heavy thud of legal paperwork falling from the letterbox to the doormat, but it hadn’t materialised yet. Surely that had to mean something? Danny wasn’t lazy or forgetful, so why hadn’t he served a divorce petition? Could it be that he too was having second thoughts about ending their marriage?

Tara glanced at Danny, who was perched on the arm of the sofa. The black look on his face suggested that this wasn’t the case at all: there were no second thoughts on his part. Disappointed, she was hoping to catch his eye – but he was too busy wrestling Morgan out of his coat to pay her any attention. In fact he was making a concerted effort not to look at her.

Fine. Danny was still angry. Tara got that, of course she did, but since none of the others had yet screamed at her/slapped her/thrown her out/trampled her with a horse (delete as appropriate to whichever family member), Tara knew for certain that he hadn’t told them the whole truth. For that she was grateful. She hoped he never would tell them, but that was a decision only he could make. Still, Tara reminded herself, it was in Danny’s interests too that some things remained a secret…

It felt so odd to be a stranger in the place that had once been her home, to wait to be asked to sit down when before she’d have been making the tea and fetching the dented biscuit tin from the old dresser. She knew this kitchen as well as everyone else here, and certainly better than
one
person in particular; she could tell without even looking which mugs were chipped, knew that the wobbly table leg was resting on the folded-up page of
Cosmo
she’d put there years ago. Tara clenched her hands and fought back another surge of regret and nostalgia. She needed to keep her temper and her nerve. Any moment now Volcano Morwenna was bound to erupt.

Three, two, one…

“What the hell is she doing here?” Right on cue, Mo Tremaine leapt up from the table, her chair scraping the floor loudly. “Talk about treat or trick!”

If only everything in life could be as predictable as Morwenna Tremaine, thought Tara. Fiery Mo always shot from the hip, was one for the quick explosion and the drama, whereas Danny – the Danny she’d once known, at any rate – was the opposite. He simmered slowly, tolerated and forgave a great deal; but when he finally lost his temper, that was it. It was white hot and burned for a long, long time. He might not shout the odds like his sister, but he felt things just as deeply. However calm he seemed right now, there would come a time when he’d want to have more answers.

Tara swallowed. It was not a conversation she was looking forward to.

“We weren’t expecting you,” Danny said quietly. “It’s the middle of the week, Tara. What’s going on?”

The undamaged part of his face was turned towards her and for a moment it seemed as though the past two years had never happened. The injuries, the hospitals, the words she’d said that couldn’t be taken back – all of it could have been a bad dream. Then he stood up to hang Morgan’s coat and the bright kitchen light illuminated the full extent of the damage, shocking her as much now as it had the first time she’d seen his wounds. The taut pink skin, the twist of his soft sexy mouth, the closed and puckered eye. She must have flinched, because scorn flickered in his good eye before he turned back to his son.

“Go and sit at the table,” he said gently. “Grand-Gran’s made some soup. We’ll get you a bowl.”

“Can I go trick-or-treating?” Morgan asked. “We couldn’t go in Plymouth because Mum’s card didn’t work when we tried to buy a costume and then Anthony said we had to move out. We’re homeless. Fact.”

Tara wanted to sink through the slate floor. So much for her planned and measured explanation – the one that wouldn’t have put her in too much of a bad light or made her seem like an irresponsible parent. Things were far more complicated than her son’s summary of the situation implied. The fallout with her boyfriend certainly hadn’t been that straightforward, but Morgan had a talent for cutting through details. Unfortunately that didn’t always make him popular with his peers, and there were times when it made situations a little awkward.

This was one of those times. Everybody in the room now knew that she was broke and dumped. Great. Still, Tara supposed that if anyone deserved to be humiliated for their past crimes then it was her. Maybe the vicar could help her deal with the guilt.

“I’m really sorry to turn up like this, Alice,” Tara said calmly, doing her best to ignore the flush creeping up her neck. “I would have called but it was a last-minute decision.”

“Yeah right,” Mo snorted. “Like you never do anything without working out what’s in it for you, Tara. Now you’re desperate, you’ve crawled back.”

Tara chose not to respond to this comment; there was some truth in it, she supposed. She was relieved to notice that Mo’s handsome new husband was holding his wife’s arm tightly, as though trying to stop her leaping forward like a spitting cat.

“Mo, that’s enough,” said Alice. There was a warning note in her voice, honed from years of raising her grandchildren. “Morgan and his mother are always welcome at Seaspray. This is our family home.”

“Unless Dad pawns it,” Jake remarked, shooting a look at Jimmy, who just grinned.

“I’m going to San Francisco, man, not Mars,” he said.

There were more undercurrents flowing through this kitchen than around the Shindeep rocks beyond the bay, Tara realised. Jimmy had obviously upset everyone. Another thing that hadn’t changed at Seaspray.

“Can I have some bread too?” Morgan was asking, plonking himself down at the table between Issie and Nick. “I’m starving. I haven’t eaten since breakfast.”

Issie pushed her plate towards Morgan. “Have mine, Rug Rat.
We
won’t let you starve.”

Tara flinched at the implied criticism. Maybe coming here was a mistake. Perhaps she should have taken the train to Reading and to her own parents. Their terraced house might be small and their disappointment in her might weigh Tara down like concrete, but at least there she wasn’t hated.

She bit her lip.
Come on
, she told herself,
don’t be so pathetic. You knew how Mo and Issie would be. It could have been a lot worse.
Besides, Danny wasn’t in Reading. He was here in Polwenna Bay. And he was still Tara’s husband.

That had to mean something.

“Morgan, take your bag up to your usual room and get changed,” Alice said quietly. “You can take the bread while I get you some supper, and afterwards Issie will take you trick-or-treating, won’t you, Is?”

And then we can talk
, said the look she threw Tara.

“You can go as Black Jack Jago,” Issie told Morgan. “In that pirate’s outfit Nick had for New Year? That’ll be cool.”

“Black Jack Jago was a wrecker, not a pirate,” Morgan said pityingly. “Don’t you know that?”

“Pirate, wrecker, whatever,” said Issie airily. She was used to her nephew’s quirky ways, Tara realised. “I’m going as a cyber fairy, but up to you. It’s all in the dressing-up box. Want to come or not?”

Morgan nodded quickly, just in case his aunt’s offer was withdrawn, and shot upstairs. Tara’s heart clenched with love so intense that it hurt. Morgan adored being here with his family around him. Already he was a thousand times more animated than he’d been in Plymouth. What did it matter that they all hated her? If being here made her son happy then Tara was more than willing to take whatever Mo or Issie threw at her. Even Danny’s cold disdain could just about be borne. Nothing mattered more than Morgan.

She turned to Issie. “Thank you for taking him. I really appreciate it.”

Issie’s pretty nose crinkled as though the smell of rotting seaweed had drifted into the room. “I’m not doing it for you, Tara.”

Tara sighed wearily. All this antipathy was exhausting. “I know, Issie, but thank you for doing it anyway and in spite of what you think of me.”

There was a heavy silence, broken only by the ticking of the kitchen clock, Alice slicing a crusty loaf and the distant crashing of waves on the rocks below. Tara wondered who would speak first. Would Alice offer her some food? Or perhaps Mo would make a sarcastic comment? Or maybe Jules, who looked about as comfortable as somebody kipping on a bed of nails, would swing into vicar mode and try to smooth things over? This idea almost made Tara laugh out loud. Not even an industrial lorry load of Botox could smooth things over with this lot.

Nick mopped up the last of his soup. “I’m going to the pub,” he announced thickly through a mouthful of baguette. “Anyone coming?”

“I will.” Jimmy was on his feet and practically out of the kitchen before Nick’s spoon had even clattered into the bowl. He seemed very keen to escape.

“Me too,” Danny said, and Tara’s heart sank. She’d been wanting to catch him alone for a quiet word, for yet another apology. As always, the small flame of hope that this time he’d forgive her had started to burn deep inside that stupid part of her that never learned. Had she really thought that she could just turn up, find the right words and then life would go back to normal? As if it would ever be that easy. Now Danny would hit the booze as usual and create a scene, and things would be even worse.

“No, don’t do that. I’ll go.” Tara forced herself to sound as though walking out into the cold dark night really wasn’t an issue and she had a choice of places to sleep. She stood up. “I don’t want to cause any problems. That was never what I intended.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Danny said impatiently. “You’ve already said you’ve nowhere to go. Don’t look so worried either. I’m not about to go on the lash and cause a scene. I haven’t had a drink for months.”

Tara’s eyes widened. The last time she’d been in Polwenna Bay Danny had been drinking heavily and was regularly being thrown out of The Ship. That he’d managed to stop completely was hard to believe.

“Jules has helped me,” he explained, seeing her incredulous expression. “I couldn’t have done it without her. She’s been amazing.”

The vicar’s face coloured at this praise and Tara felt another prickle of unease. Was there something going on between Danny and Jules? Surely not?

“So you don’t mind if I stay?” Tara asked him. She wanted him to say
no
so much that it almost hurt. His indifference was unbearable.

Danny shrugged. “It makes no odds to me either way. The main thing is that Morgan’s safe. Besides, I’m not such a bastard that I’d turn you out when you’re down on your luck, Tara.”

He was reaching for his jacket. Her heart ached as she watched him struggle to put it on. Once, not so long ago, he’d been the fittest and most agile man she’d ever known.

“Coming, Jules?” he was saying. “I’m buying, so you needn’t raid the collection.”

“Dan, don’t you want to talk to Morgan?” Tara said quickly.

“Morgan seems quite happy to trick-or-treat with Issie this evening.” Danny’s coat was on now. Everything about him was poised for flight. “We can talk about what’s been going on tomorrow and I’ll chat to him then.”

Tara bowed her head. It was a polite but very clear message: as much as he loved his son, Danny wasn’t prepared for Morgan to be the lifeline that would bring him and Tara closer together.

“I’ll join you for an hour,” announced Jake. “If that’s OK, baby?” he murmured to Summer, dropping a kiss on the top of her head. To Jimmy he added darkly, “We’ve got a few things to discuss, Dad, remember?”

His father rolled his eyes. “Why do I feel as though I’m the kid here?”

“Because you behave like one?” Jake suggested wearily.

With Ashley and Mo opting to head home and Issie taking food up to Morgan, who must have got sidetracked by the dressing-up box, the kitchen suddenly felt very empty. Jules had made her excuses too, hurrying after Danny perhaps, which left only Alice and Summer in the kitchen. Neither were her greatest fans, Tara supposed. She stared bleakly into her bowl of soup. The ravenous hunger of earlier had suddenly disappeared and now she just felt sick. Nobody wanted her here.

She put down her soup spoon. “I shouldn’t have come here. I’ve ruined your party.”

“Of course you should have,” Alice said staunchly. “No matter what happened between you and Danny, you and Morgan are family.”

Tara shook her head. “I know how you all feel about me. I’d hate me too if I was in your shoes. I get it. I’m the bitch of a wife who walked out on a war hero.”

“We don’t hate you,” Summer insisted. “Do we, Alice?” She placed a freshly brewed mug of tea in front of Tara, next to the abandoned soup.

“Of course not,” Alice said.

“Mo does,” Tara pointed out. “And so does Issie. I can’t stay here. I’ll go.”

Summer looked at Alice, helplessly.

The older woman shrugged. “Mo is Mo, Tara. You know how she is. She has her own way of handling things and she’s devoted to Danny. But you and Morgan are family and of course you can stay here if you need to. None of us would ever have it any other way.”

“Even Danny?” Tara said quietly.

Alice sighed. “I can’t speak for Danny, Tara. He’s never told me what happened between you two, but he loves Morgan and I know he’ll be thrilled to have him nearby again. The rest will have to resolve itself in time.” She rose to her feet and reached for the laptop. “It’s been a long day and I’m going to have an early night. The guest room is all made up, Tara, as it always is. You know where it is.”

Tara certainly did. She’d sneaked Danny into the narrow single bed many times when she’d stayed there as a teenager. The memories of his kisses, of the way his lips had once traced her skin and turned her blood to lava, would probably keep her up all night tossing and turning. It saddened her to think that there was no chance he’d sneak in tonight. Or maybe ever again.

I’ve ruined everything
, thought Tara miserably. Why hadn’t she just kept her mouth closed that night in the hospital? Why had she felt compelled to tell Danny everything? Sometimes the truth was better left unsaid. Once the words were out they could never be unspoken. Knowledge could never be unknown. It was a whole Pandora’s box of horrors.