Part 1 (2/2)

'Well anyway,' Adam said, the fire of his fury now dropping to still hot but more quietly burning embers, 'I thought you had the right tae know.'

'Thanks for telling me,' said Stevie numbly, which sounded a bit oddbut what did one say in these circ.u.mstances? What was the correct protocol after being informed that one's fiance was knocking off someone else's wife in the middle of Majorca? Especially when still in a state of denial, despite all the hard evidence. Bravely, her mind was still manically sifting through the information available, looking for the loophole that would enable her to say, 'Ah ha, you've got it all wrong,' because it was there, she was sure of it. Matthew wouldn't, he just wouldn't do this. She knew him inside out. She knew that he wouldn't, couldn't be that cruel.

Adam stroked his red beard like a small facial pet. 'Right, I'll go then.'

'Yes, I think you should rather,' said Stevie, and almost blindly showed him out without further comment. Then she shut the door hard on him and stood behind it, fighting the urge to slither down it and become an emotional mess on the floor.

She went to the dresser where they kept their pa.s.sports, hardly daring to open it in case Matthew's wasn't there. Of course it's there, don't be stupid, Stevie, she reprimanded herself, and opened the drawer with one swift, sure movementbut she couldn't find it. Yet it was always there with her own, the pages of his around hers, as if they were spooning. Maybe he moved it. Maybe he threw it away because it was out of date. Maybe he needed to take it with him as a form of ID. Her head tried its best to rationalize the pa.s.sport's absence, but it couldn't compete with the mighty guns of the information on the booking form.

And then smoke started billowing out of the kitchen and set off the alarm, and it felt like all h.e.l.l had been let loose in her head.

Danny came home to find all the downstairs windows open in the hope of clearing the acrid smell of burnt baking, and his mum covered in even more flour, frenetically stirring up an anaemic and lumpy mixture in a bowl. Stevie forced herself into jolly mode as he ran in to greet her. She grabbed him and picked him up and kissed him and asked him all the right questions: Did he have a nice time? Did he mind his manners? Did he throw the ball for Chico and Boot, like he was going to? Catherine noticed how desperately she seemed to bury her head into his hair and how tightly she cuddled him.

'Is that my cake?' asked the little boy with a much-wrinkled nose as he looked over his mum's shoulder at the still-smoking charcoal lumps in the cake-tin.

'No, of course not,' said Stevie, sniffing back the tears that his baby smell had brought rus.h.i.+ng up her ducts. 'I'm making yours now; it's going to be very special.'

'Go upstairs, love, and get your pyjamas on,' said Catherine, sending him away with a light pat on his bottom. Then, when she was sure he was out of earshot, she said, 'So who the h.e.l.l was that?'

'Adam MacLean.'

'Ada...As in that Jo's husband? What did he want?'

'I'll never get this cake done. I've only got one egg left.'

'Sod the cake, Stevie,' said Catherine to her friend, who looked as grey as the horrible stuff in the bowl. 'Look, go and put the kettle on and I'll tuck Danny up and read him a quick story. Then we'll talk.'

'I haven't said good night to him.'

'One night won't kill either of you. He's bushed, anyway. He's been bouncing about since he came back from school and I bet he won't even notice. I'll be back in ten minutes max,' and with that Catherine rushed upstairs, leaving Stevie feeling far more of a helpless child than her four year old currently slipping into his 'Incredibles' pyjamas and about to clean his teeth with Strawberry Sparkle toothpaste.

She had not brewed the tea by the time Catherine returned. She was still stirring the limp liquid in the bowl, her head scrabbling for a solution to the cake problem because she couldn't let Danny down. She had promised him a wonderful cake to take into cla.s.s and she always kept her promises. Double always for her son.

'I promise I'd never do anything to hurt you,' Matthew had said. It was just a shame other people weren't as conscientious, it seemed.

'Is he okay?' asked Stevie.

'Course he is. Out like a light.'

'What happened to your hair?' said Stevie. The sight of it was claiming a huge percentage of her attention.

'Marilyn Monroe bleaching kit from abroad, don't ask. And don't ever let our Kate use you to test out her eBay buys. b.l.o.o.d.y student beauticians! Anyway, never mind about me, what's been going on? What did Billy Connolly want?'

'Oh, just to tell me that Jo has run off with Matthew to Magalluf.' She said it so matter-of-factly that Catherine presumed she was joking and laughed.

'Oh, right. Stupid lout! Did you say you'd ring the police? What is he on? Run off with Jo, ha. As if Matt...'

Her words dried up as Stevie handed her the booking confirmation and her mouth moved like a goldfish that was wondering where all the water in his bowl had gone. She read it three times and each time it seemed more ridiculous than the last.

'No! He wouldn't...he couldn't do that to you! Not Matthew. Where is he? Have you rung him?'

'He left his mobile at home.'

'Did you check it for text messages?'

'It's wiped clean. And there's no number for Jo in his phone book.'

'Well, have you looked for his pa.s.sport?'

'It's gone,' said Stevie, crumbling a little more. It was starting to sink in that this might actually be happening to her. That Redbeard might be right.

Catherine looked at the paper again. 'Is it genuine?'

'Why would he make it up?'

'Because...er...' Catherine tried to think of something constructive to say, but all that came out was another flurry of denials. 'No way would Matthew do this to you! Not him. Not Matt!'

'It looks as if he has, Cath,' said Stevie in the sort of voice that Catherine's youngest used when she was trying very desperately to be brave. She continued to stir until Catherine forcibly extracted the bowl from her, gently, because it looked as if Stevie badly needed something to hold onto, and gripping the spoon seemed to be the only thing keeping her from falling over.

'This isn't going to make a cake, ever,' she said. 'Not even a starving Oliver Twist would want a second helping of this. Come on, leave it. I'll get our Kate to knock one up tonight and I'll bring it over in the morning. It's the least she can do after this,' and she pointed upwards at her pink cloud of hair. Stevie gave none of her usual protests and just said a weary, 'Thank you.' Then Catherine tipped the mix down the sink. She was impressed. Stevie had actually managed to make it thinner than water.

'Danny wanted to start calling Matt Daddy,' said Stevie. 'It was a good job I told him to wait until after the wedding.'

'Look, Stevie, you need to talk to Matthew and find out what is going on. Will he ring you, to say he's arrived in wherever he's supposed to beInverness?'

'Aberdeen. Maybe. He hasn't been away before for any length of time so I don't know what the usual sequence of events would be,' Stevie shrugged. She didn't know if he would ring or not. She didn't know anything any more.

'Of course he'll ring,' said Catherine heartily. Every man was innocent until proven guilty. Except Mick, who should have been hung, drawn and quartered and his knackers cut off before he'd even got to trial. Although she shouldn't think ill of the dead.

'What if it's true? What do I do?' said Stevie, trying to keep the panic out of her voice. She'd panicked last time and it had made her lose her grip, sent her into such a downward spiral of emotional quicksand that she thought she was destined to drown in it. Until Matthew held out his hand and offered her the lifeline of his love.

And what about Danny? This was the only dad he'd ever known. He would lose two men in his life who had gone for the t.i.tle and then bogged off before the crown was on their heads. What sort of damage would that do to his little heart? She was going through partners faster than Henry VIII, and look how his kids turned out. At that thought, Stevie caved into the huge pressure of tears and Catherine, her future chief bridesmaid, came over to give her a big hug, because that was easier than trying to work out what the h.e.l.l to say to give any comfort.

'I don't know what you'll do, love. Let's cross that bridge when we come to it, eh? Look, pa.s.s me the phone. I'll ring Eddie and tell him I'm staying with you tonight.'

'No, I'm okay,' said Stevie, pulling away and wiping madly at her eyes. 'I need to think straight, and I can do that better on my own. I'll just cry if you're here and I really don't want to do that. I'll be fine. You goyou've got three hundred kids and a zoo to sort out.'

'Cheeky!' said Catherine, smiling softly.

'Lucky you, though,' said Stevie.

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