by Jenni Ogden
“Your mum and I were going through a difficult patch when I met Fiona. We were struggling financially. Hannah had to stop working after Andrew was born, and she became pretty depressed, stuck in the house all day. I think her work as the community nurse had kept her sane. I had had too much to drink when I first met Fiona. She was staying with Rachel; you remember her? She ran the Tryphena store. She was Fiona’s second cousin or something like that. I suppose I was attracted to Fiona because she was so carefree and beautiful, and she really seemed to like me. I didn’t realize how young she was, not that that’s any excuse.”
“So how old was she?”
“She was nineteen…”—Dad hesitated—“and I was thirty.”
“Hell, Dad, how could you? How did Mum find out?” I tasted bile as anger burned my throat.
“I don’t know. Hannah must have sensed it somehow. She asked me if I were in love with someone else, just like that, and I broke down and told her everything. I think I would have soon, anyway.”
Oh Mum, I’m sorry.
“But I still loved your mother. I never stopped loving her. I can’t explain it. I couldn’t understand myself then, and I still can’t understand how it all went so wrong.”
“How long? How long was it going on?”
“A few months, six months, that’s all. I told Fiona it was over and she left the island. I never saw or heard from her again until we met her and Leroy at the hospital after Danny died.”
“But you knew she was pregnant.”
Dad took in a deep breath. “She wasn’t even sure about that. She’d missed one period, that’s all. Even if she were pregnant I hoped she might get an abortion.”
“Abortions weren’t even legal then. How could you ask her to do that?”
“I’m not proud of myself. I knew it was possible to get abortions safely if necessary. I would have supported her if she’d wanted that; made sure it was safe.”
“Really?” I heard the sarcasm in my voice. “Did you think about leaving Mum?”
“No, of course not. If Fiona had kept in touch and told me for sure that she really was pregnant and was keeping the baby I’d have supported her and the baby financially. Perhaps I could even have had some contact with the child; I don’t know.”
I felt a twinge of pity as I saw the pain shadowing Dad’s dark eyes. Then I steeled my heart. “You’re lucky Mum didn’t throw you out.”
“You don’t need to tell me that.”
We’d reached the end of the beach and without speaking we turned and started back. My anger had burned away and left only sadness—for Mum, for Leroy, and even for Dad and Fiona.
“When we met Fiona and Leroy after Danny died, she never even asked about you.” Dad mopped at his eyes with his handkerchief. “I suppose that was the only way she could cope. Anyway, she told us they were taking Danny’s body back to Queenstown for cremation, and then they were leaving New Zealand and I was never to contact her again.”
I stole a glance at Dad, my heart squeezing as I saw his anguish. “She’d just lost her son and thought I was to blame. Perhaps I was?” I whispered.
“That’s silly talk, Georgia. Any blame is Fiona’s and mine. And even that isn’t entirely fair.”
His hand clasped mine, so much frailer than I remembered it, and I tensed, and glanced at him. His face was raw with grief. Who was I to criticize his love affair with Fiona? If she had been even a little like Danny I knew how difficult it must have been to resist her. And how could he ever have imagined that I, not yet even born, would meet Fiona’s son and then go right ahead and fall in love with him?
I squeezed his hand. “I’m sorry, Dad. You can’t blame yourself.”
“I never knew John, never even knew what he looked like, but at least I know he’s alive and well. I wonder if he and Danny were close? It must have been terrible for him when Danny died.”
“Oh Dad, they were close. Danny often talked about him; all the stuff they did together when they were kids. Danny showed me photos of him, of all his family. They looked alike. John and Danny.”
“I would have liked to have met him, at least once, when he was grown, even if he didn’t know who I was. And your Danny; I wish we’d met him. I wish it had all been different.”
“Fiona should have told you when John was born. If she had, I think Mum could have handled it,” I said. “She should have told John right from when he was a boy that Leroy wasn’t his biological father.”
“It’s not considered right to keep these things—biological parentage—from children nowadays, I know,” Dad said. “But back then everyone thought it for the best. And perhaps it was. That way John was free to love Leroy as his true father—the man who brought him up and gave him everything.”
“But it can’t be like that for Lara. She’s always known Danny was her biological father, and it hasn’t stopped her from loving Adam every bit as much as I love you,” I said.
“Still? Do you still love me, Georgie-girl? After all this?”
I nodded, too full to speak. Then Dad’s arms were around me and mine around him.
Back in the Toyota, I hesitated, and then turned to Dad. “Would you like to see a photo of Danny? My friend Harry gave me one of him—Danny and me actually—taken when we were in the States. He looks so like John, it would give you an idea.”
I heard Dad’s sharp intake of breath. “That would be wonderful, wonderful. I had given up all hope of ever knowing what he looked like.”
I fumbled in my handbag and pulled out my wallet. Zipping open the compartment I slid out the photo of Danny and me on Cape Cod and handed it to Dad. He sat for a long time, his eyes never moving from the photo. A tear dropped onto Danny's face and he gently wiped it off.
“He’s the male version of Fiona when she was young,” he murmured. “He looks a little older, but he has that same wonderful alive look. Such joy on his face, so beautiful.” He looked at me and his smile took years off his age. “And look at you. You were a pretty young thing back then. Still are, of course.”
A trickle of warmth seeped into my cramped heart.
“Thank you, Georgie-girl,” Dad said, reluctantly handing back the photo. “So young to die. I thought I understood how Fiona must have felt when she took him home to cremate him, but I understand better now—now that I’ve seen him. It must have been like cremating herself.”
Chapter 25
That night, in my girlhood bedroom, I wound the sheets into a tangled mess, determined not to give into the weakness of a sleeping pill. I heard the toilet flush and then the creak of the bed in Mum and Dad’s room. I wasn’t the only one sleepless tonight. It had been tough on us all facing the end of the secrets and cover-ups, justified for so long in the name of love. Reaching over to the bedside table I fiddled with the dial on the ancient transistor radio. A mellow male voice told me to ‘stay tuned to your all-night easy, easy listening show.’ That should put me to sleep.
“And who could be easier on the ear than Joe Cocker?” the voice crooned.
“Anyone but him.” My words hit the wall opposite and bounced back. Joe Cocker’s voice, entangled, it seemed, forever more with Danny’s, was about as easy as ECT. I flicked the dial again—and then turned it back. Georgia, Georgia…The rough voice slipped through my mind, sweet as honey.
And while in the master bedroom my parents struggled with their own nightmares, I lay on the narrow mattress that had soaked up my adolescent dreams, and wept for Lara.
A clear sky provided magnificent views as the plane followed the Southern Alps, their highest peaks still capped with white, all the way to Queenstown. But climbing down the steps onto the tarmac I was already regretting my decision to delay my return to Great Barrier. Fiona would almost certainly refuse to talk to me.
The taxi wound its way along the shores of sinuous Lake Wakatipu with the perfectly-named Remarkables forming its dramatic backdrop, their upside-down silhouettes mirrored in the deep, dark waters at their feet. I drank it all in, me
mories flooding back. I loved this part of the country, so familiar from long ago weekends away from my medical studies at Otago University.
After booking in at a lakefront hotel I wandered around the small town center, not much changed over the years. Some of the restaurants had new names and probably new menus, but the old favorites were still there. I found the iconic Cow Pizza Barn in the same place and discovered that the pizzas and the huge stone open fireplace were as soul warming as ever. Feeling mellow in spite of the vague unease that was almost normal for me now, I wandered down another of the narrow streets looking for a jazz club I remembered from the past. But before I got far, I saw the sign on the stone face of a restaurant I didn’t recall. Danny's Piano Bar. I’d known I would stumble across it soon—the town was too compact to hide much—but it still took my breath away.
My heart thumping, I strolled past it and glanced in the window. It seemed quite busy for a Sunday night with a number of tables occupied, and I walked on. Re-lax, re-lax. Turning, I retraced my steps, but this time I pushed open the door and went inside. What if Fiona’s here, acting as hostess? I don’t want to meet her in a public place. A baby grand piano sat silently in the corner, but before I had time to take in the framed poster on the wall behind it a young waitress bustled over. I mumbled some query about whether they were open on Monday, and when the girl wandered off I sauntered casually over to the piano and looked up at Danny. My vision blurred as I thought of Leroy, standing in his mother’s house in the ruin of New Orleans, looking with love at the same picture. Then Dad’s face flashed through my head and I turned away, my stomach churning.
The next morning I puffed up a steep street behind the town, stopping at the unassuming wooden house where Danny had spent much of his childhood. I didn’t have to ask the woman who answered my knock if Fiona Leaumont lived here. Lara was drawn in every detail of her striking features and red hair, even though Fiona’s hair was faded now.
“I’m Georgia Grayson. I knew Danny, and I met Leroy in New Orleans last month.” I half expected Fiona to slam the door in my face, or to pretend she had never heard of me.
Her face blanched, and I saw a flicker of fear in her eyes before she pulled herself taller. “I wondered when you’d show up,” she said, her voice flat. “You’d better come in.”
She led me into a surprisingly spacious kitchen with large windows looking out over the astounding scenery below, and pointing at a chair by the table she turned her back and busied herself making a pot of tea. Neither of us spoke until she’d placed a mug in front of me and sat down herself.
I poured some milk into my tea from the jug Fiona pushed towards me and took a long swallow, spluttering the hot tea up again. Pulling a tissue from my handbag I mopped my chin.
“What do you want?” said Fiona, glancing at me and as quickly averting her faded green eyes.
“I thought it might help to talk.”
“Help you, you mean. Why should I help you?” she said, a brittle edge to her flat tone.
“Help us both.” I kept my voice gentle. Fiona looked as if she might slide under the table any minute. “We both loved Danny, and Leroy told me how badly you suffered after he died.”
“I’m not interested.” Her eyes glistened and she blinked rapidly.
“I never understood why Danny stopped loving me after he visited you. But I know now; Leroy told me, and I talked to Dad.”
Fiona’s nostrils flared. “They had no right to tell you.”
“Leroy told me because he was tired of secrets and lies.”
“So you know now. I hope it makes you happy.” Her voice was flat again.
I tasted the bile that burned my throat whenever I let the truth creep into my thoughts. Swallowing, I forced myself to speak evenly. “No. It makes me sick. I have to face telling Lara.”
Fiona seemed to crumple and she grasped the table. I pushed her mug of tea towards her. She held it in both hands and took great gulps. I waited until she’d put the mug down before I spoke again. “Has Leroy told you about Lara?”
“You should have aborted it.”
“How can you say that? I loved Danny. I wanted our baby. Danny didn’t tell me that John was Dad’s son. Nor did my parents. Until Leroy told me I had no idea.” I forced myself to ignore the red haze hovering behind my eyes, and leaned over and covered Fiona’s hand with mine. “Stop blaming yourself, Fiona. Danny wouldn’t want that. He loved you.”
“I should never have named him Danny. It jinxed him, me, all of us.”
“What do you mean?”
“I called him Danny because ‘Danny Boy’ was Seamus’s favorite song. That was what he was singing in that pub on Great Barrier when I first saw him. That’s why I fell for him. I would have named my first baby—his baby—Danny, but I was too angry.”
“I’m sorry Dad didn’t stay in touch and help you when you had John," I said. "He said he wasn’t even sure you were pregnant. I know that sounds like an excuse. It probably is.”
“He rejected me and asked me to leave the island. He never really cared about me; it was all a bit of a buzz for him, that’s all. He made it clear he would never leave his wife. Even if I’d known for certain that I was pregnant it wouldn’t have made any difference to Seamus. He already had a family.” Fiona pushed herself up from her chair, her face a ghostly white against her red hair.
I steeled myself to look at her, and watched a single tear slide down her cheek. Should I spare her any more? Damn it, no. If I didn’t confront her now, I’d never know.
“Why did you take it out on Danny?" I wanted to scream, but I kept my voice low. “Why did you stop him marrying me?”
Fiona stared at me, every plane of her face tense. “I couldn’t stand the thought of him marrying into your family. What if you had children? I’d have had to see your father. I’d have had to share my grandchildren and my son with your parents. Why should I? Hadn’t Seamus hurt me enough? What about John? He would find out. He didn’t deserve that. He thought Leroy was his father.” Fiona’s face seemed to cave in, and she clamped her hand over her heart.
“Will you tell him now? He’s Lara’s uncle. His children are Lara’s cousins.”
“I thought I was protecting Danny,” Fiona whispered. “I didn’t want him to become part of your family. I thought he’d go back to New Orleans and forget you. You had no right to take him away from his career. But you took him away forever.”
I shook my head as a blackness descended, blotting out Fiona’s face. When my head cleared, I found my voice. “Lara deserves to know you and Leroy. You’re her grandparents. She looks like you. Would you like to see a photo?”
Fiona shook her head. “She won’t want to know me when you tell her I stopped Danny marrying you. I’ve got two grandsons. John’s boys. I don’t need a granddaughter.”
The next day I drove along the lake to the start of a hiking trail that I’d often walked when I was a university student. For the next four hours I pushed myself hard, and after a picnic lunch began the hike back, feeling more at peace than I had for six months. Perhaps next summer we’d bring Lara and Finbar down here and spend a week doing some of the walks.
Back in Queenstown, too tired to be bothered with decisions about where to eat, I had an early meal at the hotel. Feeling rejuvenated, I walked along the lakeside in the evening light, seeing Danny as he might have looked back then—a teenager in a small town, bouncing stones across the lake surface. If only I’d known him at that age; known him because his brother was my brother and we were all family.
Damn their shame and selfishness. How hard would it have been for Fiona to have found a way to tell Dad he had a son, tell Leroy the truth, tell John and Danny when they were little? Then the ripples from the past wouldn’t have destroyed us. Danny would be alive, perhaps with children of his own. I blinked back tears; angry, sad? Perhaps both.
Yet such wonder came out of it. If Danny and I hadn’t met as strangers and fallen in love, there would be no Lara. And that was
unthinkable.
I thought of Danny alone above the baby grand in the bright and airy Danny's Piano Bar here in Queenstown, so far away from his steamy, smoky nightclub in his beloved New Orleans. In the narrow street I’d wandered into, almost without thinking, I stood again outside, looking in. Tonight the restaurant was buzzing, with every table full. Through the open door I heard the piano and glimpsed a dark-haired man at the keys, his head close to the microphone as he crooned out a song. Above him, from his softly lit frame, Danny smiled at me. Then a young couple tumbled out the door, their faces glowing, and the door shut behind them.
When I checked out of my hotel next morning, the concierge handed me an envelope. “A woman came in early asking if you were staying here,” he told me. “She said she didn’t want to disturb you.”
In the taxi carrying me back along the lakeside to the airport, I opened the envelope and looked at the two photos it contained—one of two small boys with cheeky grins and red curly hair standing beside the gates of Savannah’s home, and the other of a forty-something man with less hair, still red, and his arms around two kids, both with that same curly red hair. The stone wall behind them was the same as the stone wall in Danny’s Piano Bar here in Queenstown. The note was brief and unsigned. Seamus wanted to know what his son looked like. These are for him. I hope you can forgive him.
Chapter 26
Standing on the deck of the catamaran I watched a pod of dolphins surfing in the wash that skimmed off the forward floats. Every few minutes, with perfect timing, paired dolphins would peel away and arc their graceful bodies high into the air, turning in flight to expose their creamy undersides, small dark eyes shining and mouths curved in a laugh at the humans hanging over the deck railings. My spirits lifted, chasing away the hollowness in my stomach that had dogged me from the moment I’d boarded the boat.
Now the island was looming up ahead and the catamaran seemed to dance across the calm blue of Tryphena harbor. I peered down through the clear sea, sun captured in its folds like a watermark. The boat glided, motor stilled, alongside the rackety wooden wharf. Taking deep breaths of the salty, gloriously clean air, I concentrated on the scene around me. It was all so familiar. The usual eccentric collection of people of all ages cluttered the wharf, along with dogs, rusty cars, and muddy four wheel drives. I watched as with much shouting and throwing of ropes the gangplank was tied into place and quickly tested by a group of rowdy surfers, unable to wait another second to get to the next wave.
