Falling for you

God I’m dreaming of pickled walnuts. The moment I wake up I have to have them. Nothing else will do. And when I’m not eating them I like to look at them, bobbing about in their jar like dear little shrivelled brains—’

‘Whoa,’ Estelle spluttered, waving her hands and struggling to swallow her mouthful of Marmite on toast. ‘Too much information.’

‘Oh, sorry.’ Marcella carried on polishing the silver, spread out over the far end of the oak kitchen table like an upmarket boot sale. Peering over at Norris, noisily chomping away at his bowl of Pedigree Chum and Winalot, she said, ‘Hasn’t put this one off.’

‘Nothing could put Norris off his food.’ Kate, finishing her coffee, rose to her feet. ‘Anyway, I’d better be getting ready for work.’ Tilting her head to one side, she said, ‘Sounds like a car coming up the drive.’

‘That’ll be the delivery man,’ Marcella joked, ‘bringing me my next crate of pickled walnuts.’

Estelle felt her heart begin to race; it couldn’t be Will, could it? Had he been overcome by a sudden wild urge to see her again? Oh Lord, if it was him, would she be able to act normally in front of Marcella?

At the sound of the front door being opened, Marcella stopped polishing. All eyes were fixed on the kitchen door now. Estelle did her level best to look as utterly confounded as Kate and Marcella.

Only Norris, blithely ignoring the intruder, continued to crunch away at his Winalot.

Estelle couldn’t have been more astounded if it had been David Attenborough himself complete with beige safari jacket who had pushed open the kitchen door.

Not Will, but Oliver.

Oliver, mystifyingly looking every bit as dishevelled and ungroomed as Will habitually did.

‘ Oliver? What’s wrong?’ Guiltily, Estelle prayed he hadn’t somehow found out. ‘I don’t understand, you’re meant to be in Zurich.’

Oliver barely seemed to notice them. He shook his head. ‘I was in Zurich. I came back.’

‘I3-but why?’ Truly terrified now, Estelle gripped the edge of the table. ‘What’s happened? You didn’t even phone!’ Marcella sniffed the air. ‘What’s that smell?’

‘Oh Norris, not again,’ sighed Kate.

‘No, not that kind of smell.’ Pregnancy had heightened Marcella’s olfactory senses; lifting her head like a meerkat, she sniffed again. ‘It’s like that disinfectanty smell you get in hospitals.’

Wearily Oliver rubbed his eyes. Still bemused by the unexpectedness of his arrival, Estelle said,

‘Hospitals? Is that why you’re back? Oliver, are you ill?’

The next moment, somehow, she just knew. Maybe it was the expression on Marcella’s face, maybe the look of resignation on Oliver’s. Whichever, Estelle found herself feeling suddenly weightless with shock, as if someone had just switched off the gravity in the room.

Kate, still worried, said, ‘Dad? What’s wrong?’

‘It’s Tiff Price, isn’t it?’ Estelle heard the words coming from her mouth as if from a great distance. ‘That’s why you came back ... that’s where you’ve been. I don’t believe this,’ she blurted out. ‘Are you actually going to tell me he’s yours?’

Oliver didn’t reply.

White-faced with shock, Kate said, ‘Dad? Is it true?’ More silence.

‘Oh, for heaven’s sake!’ Estelle was by this time breathing so fast her fingertips had begun to tingle.

‘Of course it’s true! If it wasn’t true, he’d say so, wouldn’t he? He’s Tiff Price’s father.’ Swinging round to Marcella she demanded, ‘Did you know about this? Does everyone in the village know except me?’

‘I’ve never heard a thing.’ Concerned, Marcella said, ‘Look, this is private. I should go.’

I’ve got a better idea.’ Galvanised into action, Estelle stalked over to the door. ‘Why don’t I go? Come on,’ she told Marcella, ‘you can help me pack.’

Kate looked aghast. ‘Mum! What are you talking about?’

‘I’m talking perfect sense. Why should I stay here and be publicly humiliated?’ Estelle ran her hands frenziedly through her fair hair. ‘Your father has a mistress and a child, living right here in Ashcombe.

All these years he’s been having his cake and eating it, making a complete fool of me—’

‘I haven’t.’ Oliver spoke at last. ‘I haven’t been making a fool of you, because nobody else knew. And I haven’t been having my cake and eating it either. Juliet isn’t my mistress.’

‘Really? How extraordinary!’ bellowed Estelle. ‘What was it, artificial insemination?’

‘We had an affair once,’ Oliver said shortly. ‘Not any more.’

‘Oh, fantastic, that makes me feel so much better. How dare you? How could you do it?’ Estelle was still struggling to take in the news; the shock was on a par with hearing Oliver announce he wanted a sex change.

‘These things happen. We met when Juliet was living in London. And just to set the record straight,’ said Oliver, ‘she wasn’t the one at fault. I told her I was divorced.’

‘You bastard!’ Estelle’s voice trembled with rage; how could she have spent the last twenty-seven years married to a man who would do something like this?

‘You’re absolutely right. Call me all the names you want, I deserve them. But right now,’ Oliver said heavily, ‘my main concern is Tiff.’