A December to Remember (87)

She could almost hear Joe’s thoughts as his eyes tried to seek hers; I told you you should have told him. She kept her eyes on Patrick.

“I was going to tell you.” She kept her voice level.

He barked out a laugh. “When?”

“I didn’t want to ruin Christmas for Verity. I didn’t want you to worry. But there have been some recent developments, literally today, and I was going to tell you tonight. I was just talking with Joe about it . . .”

But Patrick wasn’t listening; he was too angry to be reasoned with. “What were you thinking? Spring it on us on New Year’s Day maybe? Happy bloody New Year! We’re going to be homeless!”

“I was hoping I could change the landlord’s mind.”

“This is our home. I had a right to know.”

“You’re right, but I’m your mother, and sometimes I have to make hard decisions for us.”

“You know, you treat me like a kid when you’re the one who’s being childish.”

“Come on, mate, that’s not fair,” said Joe.

Maggie felt him come to stand next to her, but it didn’t bring her any comfort; if anything, her stomach squirmed with unease. Siding with her was only going to make Patrick angrier. He turned his attention to Joe. She couldn’t read the expression on his face, but his eyes narrowed infinitesimally, and his mouth twisted into a sneer that didn’t suit his kind face.

“I went on the Gilbert and Marks website,” he said, voice low with rage. “Thought maybe there’d be a way to contest the eviction or make a complaint. I didn’t find anything useful, but the About Us page had some interesting photographs of the happy landlord family picnic two summers ago.”

She frowned, wondering where he was going with this. Patrick’s eyes were still locked on Joe. His voice had taken on an oily menace that she didn’t recognize. Beside her, she felt Joe stiffen.

“We can talk about this, Patrick,” said Joe calmly. He held out his hands, palms facedown, making a tamping-down motion, as though he could physically smooth out whatever was brewing between them.

“Talk about what?” she asked, looking from her son to her lover and finding only animosity in both faces. “What’s going on?”

“You’re not the only one keeping secrets,” said Patrick, eyes still locked on Joe, daring him to break the stare-off first.

“Let’s not do it this way, Patrick. I promise you, you have this all wrong.”

Patrick shook his head. “I don’t think I do.”

“Will somebody please tell me what’s going on?” She felt sick; it was the kind of nausea when your body knows before your brain that something is about to mess up your world.

Joe took a deep breath but Patrick cut him off.

“Gareth Gilbert is Joe’s uncle. I did a little digging. Your boyfriend is on the payroll. I guess this was an undercover job, huh? How much did you get for screwing us over?”

The room spun.

“What?” She looked from one to the other, confounded. Joe hung his head.

Patrick let the eviction notice drop to the floor. “Over to you,” he said to Joe, and left the shop.

The shop was suddenly oppressively quiet. Joe put his hands into his pockets and smiled nervously at her.

“Well, that was quite a spectacular mike-drop moment,” he said, trying to joke away the storm.

“You’re my landlord’s nephew?” She was having trouble making things fit in her head. What did this mean? Why wouldn’t he have mentioned this? “Did you know I was a tenant when you took the job?”

“Not right away.”

“But you work for Gilbert and Marks?”

“No. I did some freelance marketing for them occasionally; I haven’t done any for over a year.” He sighed, resigned. “Gilbert is the uncle who stole my mum’s shares. I couldn’t stay working for him after that.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I knew what it would look like.”

“And what does it look like?”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “Like I was in cahoots with my uncle.”

“And were you?”

“No!” His voice was desperate, pleading. “You have to believe me. I was looking for a job, and I saw yours on a website. I recognized the town name because I’d seen it when I was working for Gilbert and Marks. I knew my uncle had properties here, but I swear I didn’t know yours was one of them until I got here.”

“And when you did realize?” She felt sickeningly alert, like she’d just woken up in a strange place.

“I should have told you. I know that. But the longer I left it, the worse I knew it would look. I don’t expect you to believe me, but I have been trying to help.”

“Help me or help yourself? Get me into bed and out of my home? Was there a nice promotion in it for you? Were you all laughing behind my back? The desperate widow gagging for a shag, totally oblivious?”

Her voice was rising, but it quavered unsteadily, catching in her throat. Her hands were shaking, and she clenched her fists to make them be still. She was a tornado of hurt and humiliation. She knew it. She just knew it. This is what happens when you give your heart away.

“No! God, Mags, no, it was never like that. I told you—I didn’t work for him when I came here. I’ll admit I was curious when I first arrived, I remembered my uncle had plans for the building . . .”