Page 58 of One Snowy Day
Now it was pretty clear he wasn’t going anywhere.
10 P.M. – MIDNIGHT
29
JESSIE
Jessie McLean had locked herself in the loo and she wanted to cry. Again. She’d already been pure mortified that she’d made a show of herself when the birthday cake had come out and she’d tried to make a speech. All she’d wanted to do was thank people for coming, tell them how much she treasured every one of them, but it had all got too much for her and for the first time in her life, she hadn’t been able to put a face on it.
It was the emotion of it all. The shock. The absolute devastation of realising the full extent of the carnage caused by Stan and Dorinda bloody Canavan.
She reached for a piece of toilet paper, blew her nose, then closed her eyes, trying desperately to block out the conversation she’d just had with them. It didn’t work. It was all still there, replaying in her mind, every word of it.
It had started when she’d interrupted their cosy chat and dragged Stan to the end of the corridor outside the toilet she was sitting in now.
‘Stan, what’s going on?’ She’d faced it head on.
Of course, he’d tried to lie about it, but it was so half-hearted, it was almost pathetic. ‘Nothing, love. Nothing at all.’
She could have left it for later. Decided to discuss it tomorrow. Got on with her party and talked it over at breakfast at the airport tomorrow morning, but the sickening knot in her stomach wouldn’t let it drop because her intuition had told her that something was off. She’d seen it in his face, when Dorinda had him pinned in a corner. Fear? Fury? She wasn’t sure, but what she did know was that Stan McLean was the coolest, most laid-back man she’d ever encountered, so if he was reacting like that, something was going on and Jessie could only come up with two possibilities – either Dorinda was taunting him about an affair that happened decades ago, or – and this was the one that had been making her unravel – maybe they were still seeing each other. Maybe it had never ended. Maybe she was the village fool, and they’d managed to hide an ongoing affair for all this time.
‘Stan, I have loved you my whole life, but I swear to God if you don’t tell me what is going on?—’
‘Have you told her yet, Stan?’
Dorinda. Bloody. Canavan. She’d come up behind them and inserted herself right in their space. Half-pissed. Swaying. And with a smug expression on her face that made Jessie want to explode. But she wouldn’t give that woman the satisfaction of seeing her bothered.
‘Dorinda, don’t…’ Stan had warned, but they both knew it was futile, because whatever Dorinda wanted to get off that pushed-up chest was coming out whether they liked it or not. That’s when Jessie had snapped. There was no way on this earth that she was going to let this tart think she’d got one up on her.
‘Told me what, Dorinda? That you and my husband had an affair back in the day?’
In the corner of her eye, she’d seen Stan wince as he’d whimpered, ‘Jessie…’
She’d put her hand up to stop him, not even looking his way, blazing eyes still on Dorinda. ‘Stan, don’t. I’m not a damn fool, so don’t treat me like one.’ Back to Dorinda. ‘So there, happy now? Are we done? I’ve known about it all this time and I ignored it because… well, it doesn’t matter.Youdon’t matter.’
A part of her had been well aware that most of her anger at that moment was directed at Dorinda, when Stan was the one who had betrayed her, jeopardised their marriage and their family, but she’d decided that now that it was out, she’d deal with him later. In private. Right then, it was Dorinda who was threatening her, and Jessie had never backed away from a confrontation in her life. Especially when the shameless tart still – for some inexplicable reason that Jessie couldn’t even begin to fathom – had a smug expression of triumph on her face.
‘Actually, I think you’ll find I do matter, don’t I, Stan?’ Dorinda had leered, and Jessie had to fight hard to control the volcano of anger that was rising inside her.
‘Dorinda…’ There had been no mistaking the agitation in Stan’s tone, and Jessie had instantly guessed why. Her worst fear. They had indeed been seeing each other all these years and they’d somehow managed to hide it from her, the world and – more shockingly – the all-seeing eye of the village oracle, Val Murray.
‘Stan?’ Dorinda wasn’t letting it drop. ‘You tell her or I tell her. Simple.’
Jessie had seen that Dorinda was relishing every second of this. That’s when she’d slowly turned, volcano almost ready to blow, back to her husband, whose shoulders were slumped in defeat, his handsome face now redder than Dorinda Canavan’s frock.
‘Jessie, I’m so sorry…’
She had no time for his apologies. Too little and too late. ‘Get to the point, Stan.’
He’d hesitated, then let it spill out and smack her right in the face. A knockout punch. ‘She told me tonight that she wants me to do one of those paternity tests that you see on the telly. She says Alyssa might be my daughter.’
She’d immediately felt like she was concussed. Stars began spinning above her head. She’d struggled to breathe. Dear Lord, not this. She hadn’t seen that one coming at all. She’d tried to make sense of it, to remember. Shortly after that night at the golf course, Dorinda had gone off like she was prone to do back then. Poor Hugo and Effie had been devastated as they always were when she pulled a disappearing act. A few years later, she’d appeared back with a boyfriend and two wee ones, and… Why hadn’t Jessie made the connection? How had she missed it? She’d just been so relieved that Dorinda had a man and would get her claws off Stan, and that Jessie could leave the whole affair in that compartment box in her mind where she’d locked it.
‘Christ, I’m sorry, Jessie. I swear I had no idea.’ She’d barely heard Stan speaking over the roars in her head. She didn’t want his apologies. She didn’t want his words. She just wanted to be anywhere but there. That’s when she’d realised that she had two choices – either rant, rave and lose her mind in front of the two people who had created this absolute carnage of a situation… or she could be Jessie McLean. She could hold her head up. And she could refuse to let them see just how deep this had cut her.
She’d chosen Jessie. And Jessie was the person who, unlike these two lying arses, cared about other people.
‘Does Alyssa know about this?’ she’d asked, directing that at Dorinda, who’d blinked, visibly surprised at Jessie’s newly adopted composure and deathly calm.
