by Tony Spencer
asked her to accompany me as I looked around the garden. She smiled and tucked her arm in mine as we perambulated around the grounds. Oh boy! I thought, is this a like-father like-son situation? My mind was spinning. I turned my attention and conversation to the garden.
The lawn badly needed cutting, daisies were already poking their cheerful little faces up at the sunshine above the long grass. I could see the odd defiant dandelion, too. Daffodils were in full bloom in the borders with crocus and snowdrops fading away. A couple of early tulips also brightened the scene with a splash of pink here and there.
Never had a garden before, I said. I've got a small one, Maureen said, I could lend you a hand she continued but cut the sentence off short, before saying too much. Where were we going I wondered? Was she hinting that she would like to see me again, perhaps develop a friendship or more? Now was the time to say something about that mysterious photograph, I thought.
"Maureen?" I asked, our arms still linked, "I wonder if I could show you something upstairs?"
She stopped walking and pulled her arm out from mine, looking shocked at her interpretation of my suggestion, her face suddenly pale.
"I'm so sorry," I apologised hastily, "That came out very badly and certainly not at all the proposal that I meant by that request. There is a photograph in my father's bedroom that I would like you to see."
There was even more alarm on her face at that explanation than there had been before. She clearly hadn’t been aware of it.
"A, a photograph?" she was very pale, now.
"Yes, a photo of you-"
She fainted. I was close enough and already reaching out to her, so I managed to catch her limp body before she hit the ground. I picked her up, she was light as a feather, and carried her into the conservatory to lay her on a cane settee, fitted with a flowery print upholstery in pastel shades. I placed a cushion under her head and made sure she was still breathing. I left her momentarily while I fetched a tea towel and hand towel from the pile that Maureen had freshly laundered and dried in the kitchen. I quickly doused the tea towel in cold water and grabbed a glass and filled that with cold water too. I knelt by her side, pressing the cooling towel to her forehead.
She laid there, still as anything, for what was probably just a few seconds, maybe a minute, it just seemed to me a much longer period. I stared at her as I gently pressed the cold wet towel to her forehead. Her face in repose was open and beautiful, considering she was probably in her mid-40s. Completely unadorned with make-up, her skin was pale but unblemished, her hair eyebrows natural and un-plucked, her fair eyelashes long and curving up gracefully. All of the sorrows of losing her daughter, alongside her nervousness of my discovery of her relationship with my father, had drained from her relaxed face. I had thought of her as attractive, now I could only think she was lovely, adorable even. She looked just like she must’ve done as a little girl.
Soon she stirred, then fluttered eyelids before opening her eyes, trying to sit up. I pressed gently down on her shoulders, to keep her down.
"Maureen," I said softly, holding her still, "You've had a bit of a shock, please lie quietly, my dear, breathe slowly and deeply, calm down, you are perfectly safe. I am very sorry to have upset you, I should have been more careful raising such a sensitive issue while we are both still in emotional distress. Let me assure you that there is nothing you could say that would make me love you any less than I do now, or believe you have anything you could be ashamed of in connection with me or my father."
She stopped struggling to get up and looked up at me, her eyes filling up with tears, which ran down her cheeks before her shoulders started shaking as she cried. I moved my arms from her shoulders to envelope her behind her back and the back of her head, pulling her up to press her into my chest. Her hands lifted from her side and wrapped themselves around my back, clinging to me as if her very life depended on it, her whole body wracked with big heavy sobs.
"Let it all out Maureen, please don't bottle it up, my dear sweet heart," I kissed the top of her head, "You are not alone in this, you never need to be alone again, we are family, we can share all our sorrows, all our joys. There is no more need for any secrets between us."
"No more secrets," she sobbed, "What must you think of me?"
"I think you are a beautiful woman that my Da must've loved a great deal," I said, "He kept a picture of you and your daughter by his bedside. It would have been the very last thing he saw when he went to sleep and the most wonderful sight to wake up to at the start of every day. He loved you Maureen, he loved you very much."
"I must go look."
"No, sweetheart, lay here for a few moments," I reached across and picked up the glass of water from the coffee table and offered it to her, "Sip this and I will fetch it for you."
"No," she insisted, "I would like to see where it is for myself, Roger. And I couldn’t bear it if you left mw now."
She took the glass with one hand and sipped a little water, her other hand still wound around my back, holding a handful of my shirt, preventing me from leaving her quite yet. For some reason her gesture warmed me with pleasure and made me smile. Maureen regarded my gentle smile over the glass's rim, hopefully taking some heart from it.
"No more secrets," she whispered, "This is going to be very difficult, you look so much like Frank, Roger, and he looked so like you."
"There's no rush, Maureen, I just think it will help us both to talk. You need to come to terms with your loss, both our losses, me too. Was - I'm sorry to have to ask this - was Rosemary my sister?"
She looked at me with those baleful eyes, focusing from one eye to the other as she thought of what to say. There was only one possible reply she could make, we both knew that now.
"Yes, but I never told Frank about Rosemary, I didn’t want him to find out and never imagined for a moment that he knew the truth. Also, I never ever told Rosemary who her real father was, I gave her no reason to believe Bob wasn't her natural father, so there was no reason for her to look. Bob never knew who he was either, so he couldn’t possibly have told her." She bit her lip and looked away. "I can't understand how Frank had a picture of both Rosemary and me together."
She returned her blue eyes to gaze at me again.
"I must see that photo, Roger, please?"
I nodded, kissed her on her forehead and released her, got up off my knees and relieved her of the glass. She swung her legs around and I helped her up. She was still wobbly on her feet after her faint. I decided there and then to just pick her up in my arms, laughing at the sheer pleasure of doing so. She returned the laugh and put her arms around my neck. I carried her through the dining room and into the hallway and up the stairs. We were still laughing when she pressed her lips to mine and we started kissing with smiling lips, slowly at first and then more passionately as our tongues fought to outdo each other. Her hands were behind my head pulling me into her face with an urgency that become so unfamiliar to me for so long.
I carried on climbing, my eyes closed, relying on memory, counting the steps, ten, feeling for the angled turn, then three more steps to the top. I reached the landing and kicked open Da's bedroom door.
"No, please," she said, breaking off our kiss, "Your room."
I turned and headed down the corridor, past the bathroom and second bedroom until I reached my old room. I fumbled with the handle as Maureen giggled, and we entered the room. The curtains were open and we both looked around. It looked exactly as it had when I was 17 and left this room, I had thought then for good. I looked at Maureen.
"Have you been in this room before?"
She nodded, her smile now uncertain, wondering what I was thinking as she looked into my eyes, "I peeked in here, a long time ago, nearly twenty years. I was only here in this house half a dozen times over a three-four month period, Roger."
I nodded this time. Then I kissed her again, my eyes half open. She returned the kiss and held me tight, her shoulder started their up and down movements again as she cried silently and
I felt wetness on her cheek. I gently laid her on my old single bed. Maintaining our delicious mouth-to-mouth contact, I leaned over her but with one knee on the bed and one foot on the floor.
I still had my arms around her but broke off the kiss for a moment.
"Sweetheart, we don't have to do this," I said, kissing her again, "I remember everything now, I think I've been waiting for you for a long time."
"You remember everything?"
"I think so, well, not necessarily all the details, I was drunk, if you remember."
"I love you, Roger, I've loved you since that night 38 years ago. I thought I had lost you and would never find you." She sobbed again, "Then when I thought we would never have a future I gave up on you honey, I am so sorry, I-"
"Hush, sweetheart," I interrupted, "I'm here now, I will always be here for as long as you want me to be. I wasn't actively looking for you, but I have been sort of waiting for you all this time and never going to let you go. I think I have loved you for ever, too!"
"Oh, honey, I want you always and for ever," she pulled me down onto her and we kissed and started pulling our clothes off each other and making a right hash of it, our hands getting in each others way. We both started giggling. Then I stood up and pulled off my shirt, she sat up and undid her blouse and bra, throwing them on the floor. I dropped my trousers and boxer
