‘Duncan spoils him rotten. Even before Kathleen’s death, dear little Nick could do no wrong as far as he was concerned. Kathleen was always complaining that Duncan didn’t discipline him and left it all to her. Wanting to be the cool dad. But of course it meant poor Kathleen had to be the strict one. Make sure you don’t make the same mistake with this one. Make sure Duncan steps up to the plate.’
What did Yvonne know about bringing up a child? Duncan said she’d never wanted her own kids and wasn’t much of an auntie to Nick.
‘Where’s Duncan?’
‘He and Michael are in the garage, I think. There’s something wrong with Nick’s bike and the two of them will be out there staring at it for an hour before they finally give up and admit they need to take it to the bike shop.’
Maggie took the shortcut across the lawn and down a path overhung with wee trees and roses. So she was coming at the garage from the side, rather than along the track off the drive that led to the front of it. She was about to step onto the gravel when she heard Duncan’s voice say, ‘I just hope being pregnant, and vulnerable emotionally, isn’t starting to reactivate old behaviours.’
She stepped off the path and onto the grass at the side of the garage, moving silently right up to the edge of the door.
‘Are you worried about how she’s going to cope with the baby?’ That was Michael’s gruff voice.
Duncan sighed. ‘A little. I mean, how’s she going to deal with a needy newborn, if she can’t handle a relatively well-behaved teenager? Nick has his moments, but as teenagers go, he’s a positive paragon. She says he resents her, but I can see no evidence of that – can you?’
Silence. She imagined Michael shaking his head.
‘She says he’s been saying things to hurt her, but that can’t be true. Nick’s not nasty like that. Maybe he’s been a bit tactless when he’s been joking around, but I can’t see him saying anything to hurt her deliberately.’
A bit tactless.
Joking around.
On Friday morning, when Duncan had been out at work, Maggie had been sitting on the couch in the lounge – no, the sofa in the drawing room – looking through the wedding album, and suddenly Nick’s voice had gone: ‘Lovely.’
He was there, right behind her, looking over her shoulder.
The photo was one of Maggie on her own, in her wedding dress, big belly sticking out, thin mousy hair put up by the hairdresser into a ‘do’ but already straggling out of it. Maggie liked the photo, though. She looked dead happy, grinning away.
‘Sun spotlighting my schnozzle,’ she pointed out. ‘Not my best feature.’ Maggie had, she assumed, inherited her large Roman nose from her father, whoever the bastard had been.
Nick went, ‘A face only a mother could love, hmm?’
Terrible silence.
And then he was all, ‘Oh, God, sorry! I didn’t mean . . .’ He dropped onto the couch next to her and put a hand over hers, leaning too close.
She pulled her hand away.
‘Oh God, Mags, I’m an insensitive idiot! I’m so sorry!’
He knew about Ma? Duncan had told him about the abuse?
Nick gave her a sickly, sympathetic smile. ‘I shouldn’t have said that.’
Shut up, shut up, shut up! she wanted to shout at him. She wanted to grab that thick floppy hair and pull his head down and give him a Glasgow kiss, as they called it when you used your own thick skull to smash someone’s face in. She wanted to hurt the wee bastard, and hurt him bad.
He must have seen it in her face, because he had suddenly leant back and said, ‘You’re not going to go for me with an ice bucket, are you?’ Those blue eyes had been bright, eager, as if he was almost hoping she’d go for him because then Duncan would kick her into touch.
She’d heaved herself up and walked away.
She’d walked out of that room and across the hall and into the library. Of all the ‘strategies’ she’d been taught to control her anger, it was the only one that worked: Just walk away.
She hadn’t told Duncan exactly what Nick had said. But maybe she should. Then he’d see. She was that riled up now she wanted to march into that garage and let rip at the two of them. Duncan hadn’t a fucking clue. He hadn’t a fucking clue about his own son.
‘She’s becoming paranoid,’ he was saying now. ‘She accused Nick of smashing up her plastic measuring spoons. You should have seen her going off on one at him. Like a little wildcat.’