Jesus, did Doris think she and Jasper had murdered Margaret? “If you’re not intending to do anything, why accuse me? What if I am some type of crazed murderer?”

  Doris’s eyes grew bright. “Curiosity, I suppose. It’ll be my undoing.”

  It was more likely that Elliot would crush Doris’s curious spirit under his heel, and Doris’s willingness to confront Pam was another indication that she no longer cared about what happened to her.

  “Who are you? What happened to Margaret?”

  Pam gulped. There was no point trying to wriggle out of it; Doris knew she wasn’t Margaret. But what to tell her? “Margaret’s fine,” she began, answering the easier question first.

  “So you’re not Margaret!” Rather than freaking out, Doris seemed rather pleased with herself. “Who are you, then? And where’s Margaret? Why are you pretending to be her?”

  “Let me start from the beginning.” Only lie when you have to. Make Jasper look good. “Jasper and Margaret—the real Margaret—were engaged. But they weren’t in love. It wasn’t an arranged engagement like yours and Elliot’s, though. They actually liked each other. It was more an ‘It’s time to get married, we have genuine affection for each other, and our parents approve’ sort of arrangement. But then they met me and a friend of mine. Jasper and I fell in love. So did Margaret and my friend.”

  Doris blinked. “So why didn’t Jasper and Margaret break their engagement? Why are you pretending to be Margaret?”

  Details, details. “Margaret knew her parents wouldn’t approve of my friend. And I, uh, don’t have proper papers.”

  “You’re some type of fugitive?” Doris asked, wide-eyed.

  “Not exactly. I’m not from Canada. I didn’t legally immigrate here. That’s all I can tell you.” Pam hurried along. “Anyway, Margaret knew she and my friend would have to elope. She wanted to disappear. She didn’t want her parents to worry or to come after her. So we decided that she’d run away with my friend, and that Jasper and I would also run away, to someplace where we could start over. It also worked out for Jasper in terms of his cabinetmaking. Just that would have driven us from Toronto. We haven’t lied when we’ve said that his father was incensed by his decision to leave the family business.”

  “And Jasper told her parents that you were eloping here?” Doris frowned. “They’d still want to come for the wedding, and to visit.”

  “Not after Jasper told them we’d been naughty and I was four months pregnant.”

  Doris chuckled. “Oh, dear.”

  “I’ve been disowned, which is what Margaret wanted. They’re not looking for her now. She and my friend are building a new life together.” Pam’s eyes welled with tears. Damn it! She blinked them away.

  “You miss them,” Doris said gently.

  Pam pressed her lips together and nodded. “It’s my friend’s birthday today.” Or at least it would be, and she’d no longer be there to run interference between Robin and mommy dearest. God, Robin, I hope you and Margaret are doing okay.

  “What’s his name?” Doris asked.

  “Robin,” Pam said, silently apologizing to Robin and grateful for her unisex name.

  “Robin . . . ?”

  “Tillman.”

  Doris chortled. “I’ve heard of the Toronto Tillmans. Oliver and his old school friends have mentioned them, and that friend of Father’s visited last year and told us about the gambling scandal. Is Robin related to them?”

  “Yes,” Pam said, once again in that twilight zone where she could tell the truth and it made perfect sense, as long as she didn’t mention that Robin hadn’t been born yet.

  “Victor Tillman’s a drunk, along with half his family.”

  Pam quietly sighed. Amazing, how little had changed for the Tillmans over the past—um, how little would change over the next hundred years, but Robin was determined to break the cycle. “Robin isn’t a drunk. He doesn’t drink alcohol.”

  “Now I understand why Margaret ran away with him,” Doris said. “But wouldn’t she need her documents to marry him?”

  “Not where they went. They left the country.”

  Doris’s brows drew together, but she remained silent.

  “So you see, Doris, I know what it’s like to leave a life behind for something—or someone—you truly want. I’m not giving you empty advice, and I won’t tell you it’s easy. It’s a leap of faith to believe that, even though your life will be turned upside down for a while, it will eventually be righted, and I mean that in every way possible.”

  Doris’s eyes grew distant.

  “Are you going to tell anyone?” Pam asked. “About me?”

  “No. I won’t ruin four lives.”

  But she’d ruin her own?

  Doris refocused on Pam. “What’s your name?”

  A lump formed in her throat. “Pam. Pam Holden.”

  “Short for Pamela?”

  Pam nodded.

  “Well, now we know each other’s secrets,” Doris said.

  “That means we have to be friends.”

  Doris gave her a shy smile. “I could use a friend right now.”

  Pam squeezed Doris’s hands. “You have one.”

  “Will you see Jasper later this afternoon?”

  She wished. “I’m happy Bill Crawford agreed to take him on as an apprentice, but between that and reinvesting the money he had in his father’s company, I’m lucky to see him for an hour in the evenings. But the wedding will be soon.” Pam bit her lip when she felt a grin coming on. Poor Doris wouldn’t be looking forward to her wedding to Elliot. “Will you think about what we’ve talked about?”

  “I’ll give our conversation some thought,” Doris said, but Pam could tell that she’d already resigned herself to a life she didn’t want.

  Chapter Twelve

  Margaret stepped into the apartment building’s lobby when Robin swung open the glass door and waved her inside. “We can take the stairs, it’s on the second floor,” Robin mumbled, the first words she’d spoken since they’d boarded the streetcar near home. No, she’d warned Margaret that they were approaching their stop, but otherwise had silently stared out the window.

  Yesterday Robin had returned home from university late, because she’d stopped in to see her mother. “I wanted to make sure she remembered we were coming tomorrow,” she’d said, and then had told Margaret for the tenth time that her mother could be difficult. As of half an hour ago, Margaret had been cautioned for the thirtieth time. She knew the woman was an alcoholic, but surely she’d remain sober for her daughter’s birthday, especially when she was expecting a guest.

  When Margaret had woken early that morning to make Robin’s breakfast, she’d expected Robin to be in a jolly mood—it was her birthday! But a cloud had hung over her all day. Robin dreaded this visit, and her apprehension was contagious.

  Margaret steeled herself when Robin stopped outside an apartment door and smiled weakly. She rapped at the door and opened it. “Mom?”

  “She’s in the bathroom.” A man came into the hallway from a room to the right; Margaret immediately saw his resemblance to Robin. “Happy birthday, sis.” He reached for Robin and hugged her.

  “Thanks for the card—and the lottery tickets.”

  “You’re welcome. Did you win anything?”

  “Ten bucks.”

  His face lit up. “All right!” He turned to Margaret and swept his arms toward her. “This must be Margaret.”

  Margaret opened her mouth to say hello, but Chris wrapped her in a hug and squeezed the breath out of her.

  “Jeez, Chris, don’t break her,” Robin said.

  Chris let her go. Surprised by the intimate nature of his greeting, Margaret croaked, “Pleased to meet you.”

  “Robin has told me all about you,” Chris said.

  She doubted that.

  He put his hands on his hips and stared at her. She expected him to say something, but he just nodded, then dropped his hands and brushed past Robin. “Where are you going?” Robin asked.

  “To Emma’s.”

  “What?”

  He pulled on his coat. “It’s Saturday night. I tried to get her to come over here, but . . .”

  Robin groaned. “I was hoping you’d be here,” she gave Margaret a sidelong glance, “to help.”

  “I know. I’m sorry. She’s only had a couple.”

  “Oh, shit.”

  Margaret heard a door open behind her.

  “Gotta go.” Chris patted Robin’s shoulder, swung the apartment door open, and hastily disappeared through it.

  Robin shook her head and looked past Margaret. “Hi, Mom.”

  Margaret turned in time to see a woman wave and walk into the same room from which Chris had emerged.

  After hanging their coats, Robin led Margaret into the living room and surveyed it with an exasperated sigh. “Oh my god. This room was spotless when I left yesterday.”

  Her mother looked up from the chair into which she’d plunked. “Don’t start, Robin.” She squinted at Margaret. “Aren’t you going to introduce us?”

  Robin heaved another sigh. “Mom, this is Margaret. Margaret, my mother, Janice Tillman.”

  Margaret inclined her head. “Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Tillman.”

  Robin’s mother barked a laugh. “My, aren’t you proper. Call me Janice, sweetheart.” She picked up the glass next to her and took a long sip, then held it up. “Do you want one?”

  “No, thank you.”

  “We’re going to have pop,” Robin said.

  “Well, you’re no fun. Sit down!”

  Robin gathered up the newspapers strewn across the sofa, set the pile on the coffee table, and beckoned for Margaret to sit next to her.

  Janice sipped her drink again and eyed Robin over the rim of the glass. “Twenty-seven, eh? Twenty-fucking-seven. Where the hell did the time go? Jesus, I’m old.” Another sip. “One minute you’re changing diapers, the next your kids are leaving you, just like that.” She snapped her fingers. “Did Chris tell you he’s thinking of moving in with Emma? He’s known her five minutes and he wants to move in with her.”

  “Sometimes it doesn’t take long to know you want to be with someone,” Robin said, making Margaret wonder if she was talking about herself, about them.

  “Are you two living together?” Janice asked.

  Robin hesitated. “Yes.”

  “Out with Pam, in with Margaret, eh?”

  “Pam and I weren’t together, Mom, and you know it.”

  Janice shrugged and drained her glass. “Do you know how long your father and I dated before we got engaged and married? Four months,” she said, at the same time Robin mouthed it. “We thought we were in love, and we were! But those wedding vows?” Her eyes narrowed. “Empty words, kids. Remember that.” She frowned at her glass. “Christ, I could use a cigarette right now.”

  “Don’t tell me you’ve started again,” Robin said.

  “No! I quit six years ago,” she informed Margaret proudly. “Haven’t smoked since, but I still get the craving. And don’t tell me I should give up drinking, too,” she said, looking down her finger as she pointed at Robin. “I have to have some indulgences in my life.”

  Robin’s jaw tightened.

  “Well, well,” Janice said, raising her brows. “Normally I get the lecture now. Don’t want to upset Margaret, eh?”

  “Mom!” Robin stood. “Do you want a Coke?” she asked Margaret.

  “Yes, please.”

  Janice picked up her glass and held it out to Robin. “I’ll have Coke too, but you can add rum to mine.”

  Robin yanked the glass from her mother’s hand and stalked from the room. Margaret wanted to run after her. She swallowed, smoothed her dress, and hoped she didn’t look as uncomfortable as she felt.

  “So you’re living with Robin, now that Pam’s out of the picture, eh?” Janice said.

  Margaret nodded.

  “Do you know Pam?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you think she’s a bitch?”

  Margaret stiffened. “Pardon me?”

  “I think she’s a bitch, looking down her nose at me and filling Robin’s head with nonsense. We were happy together, the three of us,” Janice said, making a circling motion with one of her fingers. “But Pam lured Robin away, and now she’s run off with some guy! I could have told Robin she was no good, but as far as Robin’s concerned, Pam can do no wrong. Nope, when Pam farts, lightning bolts shoot out of her ass.”

  Margaret could only gape, not sure that she’d ever experienced a mixture of mortification and amusement before.

  “Good riddance. I’m glad you’re here, instead of Pam. You won’t tell me to shut up, right?” Janice pitched her voice higher. “‘Shut up, Janice.’ That’s all Pam ever says. ‘Shut up, Janice.’”

  Fortunately Robin returned carrying two glasses, because Margaret didn’t know how to respond. She couldn’t imagine telling Robin’s mother to shut up, but at the same time, she suspected it would be a bad idea to relinquish her right to do so. She accepted the Coke Robin handed her with a murmured, “Thank you,” sipped it, and set it on a coaster on the coffee table.

  “Did you hear from your father today?” Janice called when Robin left to fetch her own drink.

  Robin didn’t answer until she’d returned and sat down. “He sent me a card.”

  “I hope it contained a fucking cheque.”

  Robin nodded.

  “How much?”

  “Mom.”

  “How much?” Janice roared.

  “Why do you want to know? You’ll only get upset.”

  “Do you know how much, Margaret?”

  She did, but she wasn’t about to divulge the amount. Would Robin’s mother be upset because it was too much or too little?

  “Don’t bring Margaret into this,” Robin said.

  Janice’s mouth pinched. She glared at Robin. “You always protect him.”

  “No, I don’t. You know I don’t.”

  “Yes, you do.” Janice lifted her glass and gestured with it at Robin. “You say you’re not close, but you’re two peas in a pod, aren’t you?”

  Robin snorted. “No, we’re not.”

  “Be careful, Margaret, because she’s a lot like him. I hope you don’t piss her off, because you’ll be out the door, if you do.”

  “Mom!”

  “What? She has a right to know.”

  “To know what?” Robin snapped. “Damn it!”

  “Who left?” Janice shouted. “You did!” She finished her drink in one go, slammed the empty glass on the end table, and launched into a tirade against Robin.

  Margaret looked on in horror, wincing when Janice called Robin a bitch and an ungrateful daughter. It was Robin’s birthday. Couldn’t Janice put aside any perceived slights for one evening—not that the name-calling would ever be acceptable, or the hurtful accusations. Why wasn’t Robin defending herself? Surely she didn’t believe her mother’s words—or had she heard them so many times that she no longer listened? Margaret suddenly understood why Pam had felt compelled to speak up. Margaret couldn’t sit in silence, either. “Janice,” she said, then louder, “Janice!”

  Janice clamped her mouth shut and shifted her attention to Margaret.

  “It’s Robin’s birthday. Can you—”

  “Don’t,” Robin murmured, placing her hand on Margaret’s leg.

  “No, let her speak.” Janice leaned back and grasped the arms of the chair. “What is it, sweetheart?”

  “It’s Robin’s birthday. It’s not the time for arguments.”

  Janice’s eyes narrowed. “Oh, well, pleased to meet you, Pam number two. Who are you, to come in here and tell me what I can say in my own fucking apartment? Didn’t your mother—”

  “Mom, don’t!” Robin shouted. “Shit!” She stood. “Let’s have cake. Margaret, why don’t you come and help me?”

  Margaret picked up the drink she’d barely touched and eagerly followed Robin to the kitchen.

  “I’m sorry,” Robin said as soon as they were out of Janice’s earshot. “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s all right,” Margaret said, knowing that her assurance wouldn’t assuage Robin’s embarrassment. “Where’s the cake?”

  Robin opened the refrigerator and slid out a cardboard box. She set it on the counter and lifted its lid. Margaret read the Happy Birthday, Robin! written in icing. “Your mother went to some trouble for this.”

  “Yeah,” Robin mumbled. She set the cake onto a plate she lifted down from a cupboard, then cut several pieces, dropping them onto the smaller plates Margaret held out to her. Margaret rashly kissed her on the cheek and rubbed her arm. “We work well together.”

  Another mumbled response. Robin added a fork to each plate. “Just a second,” Margaret said when Robin picked up two of the pieces. She drained her glass as a way of gathering her courage and, after setting it in the sink, picked up the remaining piece of cake.

  When they entered the living room, Janice eagerly reached for her piece. She cut away a mouthful with her fork and popped it into her mouth. “Mmm, chocolate, my favourite. You did good, Robin.”

  Fortunately Margaret was already seated and had rested her plate on her lap, otherwise she might have dropped it. Robin had bought her own birthday cake? Margaret turned to her. Rage and sympathy surged through her at the sight of Robin’s red face and her stiff, hunched shoulders. Margaret wanted to touch her, hug her, do something! But Janice might poke fun, and Margaret had gained enough understanding of Robin to know that it would only make things worse.

  Robin was a proud woman, one whom Margaret dearly loved. She would gladly have baked a cake for her, creating it from scratch and decorating it with love. But Robin had said there was no need, that her mother would provide the cake—except she hadn’t. Margaret had wondered why Robin had visited her mother yesterday when they’d be seeing her today. Apparently it had been to do the housework and organize her own birthday!

  Margaret chewed a bite of cake, but she’d lost her appetite, and her willingness to socialize. She forced the cake down and listened to Janice ramble about her pet peeves and all the slights committed against her, real and perceived, by Robin’s father, Robin, Chris, her parents . . . the postman!

 

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