Читать книгу Coming Home - Fern Britton - Страница 13

At Marguerite Cottage, the day that Henry had left Pendruggan, making Ella promise not to meet their mother when or if she came back, Adam and Kit were cooking supper. Although they were cousins they were more like brothers. Adam, the elder, making suggestions as to how to dice an onion correctly and Kit arguing that the kitchen was a shared domain and if he was cooking, he’d do it his way.

Adam shrugged and started to lay the table. ‘More wine, Ella? Supper will be a while.’

He poured a good slug of rosé into her glass and she excused herself. ‘I’ll take this into the lounge, if you don’t mind?’

The boys barely looked up as they had started a ridiculous debate about whether to put chives on the new potatoes or mint.

Ella sat on the rug next to Celia and Terry and rubbed their ears. ‘Don’t tell Henry,’ she whispered, ‘but I would really like to meet my mum. I wonder what she’s like? Do you think she’d like me?’ Terry rolled over so that she could tickle his tummy. ‘You don’t have a care in the world, do you, Terry.’ She turned to Celia who was in ear-tickle ecstasy, her eyes half-shut in bliss. ‘Celia, you’re a girl. What do you think my mum is like? Is she all bad? Selfish? Feeling guilty at what she did? Or is she funny and beautiful and clever and desperate for us to forgive her? Hmm? Do you think we could be friends? I’d like that. I really, really want to know. I want to see her. Is that too bad of me?’

In Clapham, Henry had ditched his tea and started on the wine. The anger inside him was building. If that woman was thinking of coming back and playing happy families, she had another think coming. But if she did come back, at least he would have the satisfaction of her seeing that, despite the pain and the chaos she had created, he and Ella had survived and done very well without her. Who needed her? She needed to be told some home truths. She needed to face up to the carnage, the wrecked lives of her parents, God bless them. Let her come and take the money and piss off back to wherever she’d come from. He didn’t need her. Ella didn’t need her. And he’d like to say that to her face. She deserved to see what she left behind and know what it’s like to be rejected. He took another mouthful of wine and swilled it down as he picked up his phone and, in an impulse of fury, dialled Ella’s number.

Ella stopped tickling the dogs and reached around for her phone. She checked the caller ID. ‘Hi, Henry.’

‘We are going to see her.’ Henry emptied the bottle into his glass.

Ella felt her heart jump. ‘Really?’

‘Yes.’

‘I’m so glad …’

‘And I am going to tell her exactly what she’s done. I am going to look her in the face and really tell her what I think of her.’