But that wasn’t why Den was here, and what good would it do anyway? Apart from making me feel better, thought Kerr.
Taking out his keys, he stepped past Den and opened the front door.
‘Come on in. There’s hot water if you want a shower.’ Lifting his rucksack over one shoulder, Den said, ‘Why? Do I smell?’
It was so long since they’d last seen each other that Kerr wasn’t sure if he was joking.
‘It’s OK.’ Catching the wary look in his brother’s eyes, Den said with a brief smile, ‘Yeah, a shower would be great.’
In the kitchen, Kerr put together a couple of king-sized omelettes. It wasn’t much, because he didn’t keep a great deal of food here at Hillview, but it was easier than taking Den out for a meal.
Sitting at a table in a restaurant, forced to make polite conversation for ninety minutes, was a daunting prospect. The awkward silences would be more than he could handle.
So omelettes it was. A couple of cold beers wouldn’t go amiss either. Maybe there’d be something sporty on TV and they could watch that.
‘Are you tired?’ said Kerr when Den came downstairs, having showered and changed into a creased cotton shirt and a different pair of jeans.
‘No. Slept on the plane. Which one’s mine?’
He was combing his fingers through his wet hair, surreptitiously surveying the plates on the kitchen table. It was as if they were teenagers again and Den was trying to decide which of the omelettes was the biggest.
Kerr plonked down the pepper mill. ‘Either. They’re both the same. If you want to rest tonight, we can visit the nursing home tomorrow.’
Pulling out a chair, Den began to wolf down his ome lette.
‘Why wait? I’ve come all this way, like you told me to.’
‘Asked you to,’ Kerr corrected, because there was an edge to Den’s voice.
‘Whatever. May as well get over there tonight and see what she has to say.’ Den shrugged. ‘Be a shame if she popped her clogs just before I got there.’
Maybe he didn’t mean to be so callous. Maybe he was secretly dreading seeing his mother again, thought Kerr. For the first time he was about to witness what he’d reduced her to.
‘OK,’ he told Den. ‘We’ll go tonight.’
Den held up his empty bottle of Beck’s. ‘Fine. Got another beer?’
But as he reached out to take the second bottle, Kerr saw that his nails were bitten and his hands were shaking. Den, it seemed, wasn’t quite as flippant and careless as he liked to make out.
An hour later they drove over to Dartington House.
‘Pretty nice place,’ Den remarked as they approached the big old nursing home. ‘Must cost a bit, keeping her here.’
She was their mother. Where did Den think she should end her days? In a dog kennel?
‘She couldn’t carry on any more at home.’ Kerr led the way through the wood-panelled painted hall. Spotting Esme Calloway through the open door of her tasteful eau de Nil office, he paused and said,
‘How is she?’
‘Oh, Mr McKinnon! Not so well, I’m afraid. And somewhat agitated, I should warn you. We may have to ask the doctor to give her a little something to calm her down. She’s still asking to see her other –
oh." Rising from behind her desk and catching sight of Den, Esme Calloway’s manicured eyebrows shot up in surprise. ‘Is this ...’
‘Her other son,’ Kerr confirmed.
‘From Australia!’ Esme clapped her beringed hands together with delight. ‘Well, well, this is excellent news! Wait ‘til Pauline finds out you’re here, she’ll be so thrilled!’
Esme Calloway clearly wasn’t in possession of the full story, thought Kerr as, still gushing, she swept round the desk in order to shake Den’s hand. Needing to see your long-lost son before you died was one thing, but thrilled wasn’t the emotion he suspected would be uppermost in Pauline’s mind.
Esme Calloway, who evidently adored emotional family reunions, led the way upstairs to their mother’s room, chattering nonstop about the time she’d visited her cousins in Melbourne and almost run over a kangaroo. Finally she paused outside the door, sapphires flashing on her fingers as she raised her hand to knock.
‘Pauline? Coo-ee! Are you awake, dear?’
Behind her, Den glanced in disbelief at Kerr.
‘Oh God,’ they both heard their mother’s irritable voice say through the closed door. ‘What now?’
‘Visitor, dear!’ Turning, Esme gave Den an isn’t-this exciting look and turned the handle.
‘Very important visitor, in fact! Here we are, brace yourself for a surprise!’
And that was it. The door swung open, revealing Den to his mother. Pauline was sitting up in bed like a faded, yellow-tinged shadow of herself, wrapped in a cream cashmere cardigan and with her wispy grey hair fastened in a loose bun.
She was only sixty-eight; it wasn’t such a great age, Kerr thought. She looked a good twenty years older than that.
He stayed well back, along with Esme, allowing Pauline to gaze in silence at Den. At least his mother didn’t appear to have been drinking today; the smell of alcohol was, for once, absent from the room.
Finally Pauline said, ‘Oh, Den ...’ and there was a quaver in her voice that made it obvious how much this moment meant to her.
By contrast, Den’s face was entirely without expression as he said, ‘Hello.’
Esme Calloway looked shocked. This wasn’t the deliriously joyful reunion she’d been anticipating.
Thinking angrily that Den could at least have the decency to pretend to be pleased to see her, Kerr resolved to leave them to it. Maybe Esme’s presence was an inhibiting factor. Placing his hand on her elbow he murmured, ‘I think they’d prefer to be alone,’ and saw Den’s shoulders stiffen.
‘No,’ said Pauline, shaking her head at Kerr. ‘She can go, but I want you to stay.’
‘I don’t—’
‘You will,’ Pauline said evenly. ‘It’s important.’
‘Ooh, I’ve had an idea! Why don’t I bring you all a nice tray of tea?’ Esme beamed at them like a deranged nineteen fifties air hostess.
‘Just get rid of her.’ Pauline shook her grey head in disgust. ‘The last thing I need is an audience.’
Offended, the tilt of her eyebrows signalling despair of the see-what-I-have-to-put-up-with kind, Esme swept out of the room.
Silence reigned. Kerr leaned against the wall with his arms folded across his chest. Den was gazing out of the window like an insolent fourth-former summoned to the headmaster’s study. If Pauline had been hoping for a hug from the son who had all but destroyed her life, she was going to be bitterly disappointed.
Finally Pauline spoke again.
‘How did Kerr persuade you to come back?’
Den shrugged. ‘Told me you were ... unwell.’
‘Unwell, that’s one way of putting it.’ Snorting at the euphemism, Pauline shakily smoothed the eiderdown over her lap.
‘Dying, then,’ Den said bluntly.
‘That’s more like it. On my way out. Not long to go now.’ Glancing past Den to Kerr, she said, ‘Did you bring anything?’
‘I brought Den,’ Kerr said pointedly.
His mother reached for a tissue and wiped the palms of her hands. ‘A bottle of Jack Daniel’s would make this easier.’ She looked over at Den. ‘So. How have you been?’
‘How d’you think I’ve been?’ Den shoved his hands deeper into his pockets and stared back at her. ‘I went to prison, didn’t I? Served my time. Came out, left the country, went to Australia where no one else knew what I’d done but somehow never quite managed to put it behind me. Still, never mind, eh? I’m young, healthy, life goes on. There are plenty of people worse off than me, I just need to get a grip, sort myself out—’
‘Den, don’t.’ Stricken, Pauline shook her head.