Going through with it, though – actually telling the lie – was a terrible burden, not least having to accept all the heartfelt condolences: the cards, phone calls, flowers and even gifts for Rose. It felt so fraudulent, because that’s exactly what it was. His parents struggled with it every bit as much as he did, but they at least could say, honestly, that they’d barely had a chance to get to know Catherine.
As for him, he almost was in a state of mourning; he missed her terribly.
The whole process drained him of any remaining desire to write, seemingly sapping his talent for creating imaginary worlds once and for all.
Instead, he channelled his energies into the wonder that was Rose, his amazing baby girl. She was the prize that kept them going through that tough period, making it all worthwhile.
Right from the off – readying himself for the inevitable torment of having to lie to his own daughter – he started to consider all the questions Rose might one day ask and to prepare suitable answers.
‘Where’s Mummy buried?’
‘She’s not buried anywhere, darling. She was cremated and we scattered the ashes into Lake Windermere, in the Lake District, because she liked it there.’
‘Can we go there?’
‘Of course.’
And they did, on a few occasions, during which he pretended to recall a visit there with a heavily pregnant Catherine. Ironically, the two of them had actually discussed doing this, but for one reason or another, it had never happened.
‘Didn’t Mummy have any other family, like a mummy and daddy of her own?’
‘I’m afraid not, Dimples. Her parents died when she was young. She was an orphan.’
‘Am I a kind of orphan, because I don’t have a mummy? Like a half-orphan.’
‘No, love. You’re not an orphan, because you have me, and I’m not going anywhere. Plus you have Nana and Grandad, as well as Aunt Bridget, Uncle Joseph and your little cousin Patrick. You have plenty of family and we all love you very much.’
Why Dave has never been able to show Rose any old pictures of her mother: that’s always been a harder question to answer. Catherine’s dislike of being photographed, presumably connected to her unpleasant early years, did mean there were precious few. And yet these photos could have been of some comfort to Rose as she grew up with only one parent.
However, unbeknown to anyone else, Dave deliberately burned them in a sleep-deprived fit of rage while Rose was still a baby.
He experienced a crisis of confidence – seriously doubting himself capable of the responsibility he’d taken on – so he lashed out at the only person, other than himself, who he could realistically blame.
‘How could you leave us, Catherine?’ he wailed, full of self-pity and hate, as the last images of her withered away into the flames. ‘I can’t do this. I can’t manage alone.’
He quickly regretted his actions, but not soon enough to make a difference. And so, too mortified to admit the truth to anyone, least of all Rose, he slipped into telling yet another lie, claiming it was an accident.
Back in the present, Dave looks at the clock yet again: seven minutes now since he received Cassie’s text. Right, he thinks, time to head inside.
He wants to be waiting outside the lounge when ten minutes pass, as they agreed. He has a sinking feeling he’ll know when she makes the revelation. Rose is bound not to react well. That’s why he’s here: to try to soften the blow. To try to help explain. Not that it’ll be easy. It was never going to be. But at least it’ll be the truth at long last. Better late than never, right?
He gets out of the car, checking it’s locked twice before heading into the hotel reception and through to where he knows the lounge to be. He’s done his homework. He’s been planning this for a while.
When he reaches the lounge, the door is open. He peers in as he walks past, but he can only see a small section of the room, which doesn’t include where they must be sitting. Fortunately, the couch in the carpeted hallway outside is unoccupied. He takes a seat and pulls out his phone to make himself look busy. Nine minutes since he received the text. It won’t be long now. Breathe, he thinks, inhaling and exhaling as slowly and regularly as possible in a bid to slow his racing heart.
He needs to keep his cool. He hopes to be the calming influence that sweeps in and maintains order. To what degree that will be possible depends on Rose and how she reacts to what Cassie tells her. It’s quite possible she’ll be too furious at everyone – him especially – to listen to anything he has to say. But he has to try.
CHAPTER 35
ROSE
‘Rose, that was the name of my baby. It was you. I made your father agree to tell you I died.’
She hears the words, but they seem to emerge from Cassie’s mouth in slow motion. Time pauses for a long, mind-bending moment as her world teeters on its axis.
Rose.
Cassie’s baby, the one she gave up, was called Rose.
Her name.
Making Cassie …
Her mother?
Her dead mother.
Who’s not actually dead?
Never has been. That’s what she’s saying.
Rose’s entire life …
A lie?
No, that can’t be right. Her dad isn’t even called Max! Who the hell—
‘Your father is your father, just to be clear,’ Cassie adds, as if Rose’s spiralling thoughts are emblazoned on her face. ‘Max was, um, a nickname I used to call Dave when we were together.’
It’s all too much for Rose. She blinks and is back in the past, where it’s safe.
A scene from her childhood. Her tenth birthday.
Her father knocked on the ajar bedroom door as he walked in to see her.
‘What’s up, Dimples? Why are you hiding here when everyone’s downstairs? They’ve all come to see you. You’re the birthday girl.’
‘I know,’ she replied from where she was lying on her bed, staring out of the window. ‘I’ll come down in a minute, Daddy. I just needed … I don’t know, really. I was opening my presents and got a bit sad.’
He walked over to her and, after ruffling her hair and kissing her forehead, took a seat next to her on top of her pink and white spotted quilt. ‘How come?’ he asked in a gentle voice. ‘What made you sad, love? It’s your birthday. You’re supposed to be happy.’
She shrugged, not yet ready to tell him her reason for feeling blue. She picked up the soft toy next to her on the bed, a furry black and white cat she called Domino, and pulled it into her arms, giving it a tight squeeze.
‘I know what will cheer you up,’ her daddy said. ‘What about if I told you there was a very special present hidden nearby?’
‘What?’ She instantly perked up. ‘Where? Here in my room?’
‘Yep. Closer than you know.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘All I’m saying is that I’d have a look under my pillow, if I were you.’
‘There’s nothing under my pillow, Daddy. Don’t be silly.’
‘Are you certain?’
She did as he asked and, sure enough, she found a small box wrapped in shiny silver paper. ‘What? When did this get here?’
He held up his hands, palms forward, like it was nothing to do with him, but his grin said otherwise. ‘Daddy!’ she said, frowning in mock anger. ‘That’s naughty.’
‘I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.’
‘What is it?’
‘You’ll have to open it.’
She did, tearing off the wrapping with great excitement and finding a small velvety box, which contained a beautiful silver charm bracelet.
‘Well?’ he asked. ‘Do you like it?’
She nodded her head enthusiastically. ‘I love it. Can I wear it now?’
‘Absolutely. And so you know, it’s a very special charm bracelet, a family heirloom. It used to be—’
She gasped. ‘Did it used to belong to my mummy? I was just talking to her, so it’s an amazing�
��’
‘Um, no love,’ he said, clearing his throat and running a hand over his face. ‘Sorry, I wish I could say it was. I’ll tell you who it did originally belong to, though – my nana. She passed it on to Aunt Bridget, who in turn asked me to pass it on to you. She didn’t think it would really be Patrick or Harry’s scene, but she thought you might love it. You can add more charms to it, by the way. We could even look for one together with some of your birthday money, but only if that’s what you want. No rush.’
She nodded and gave him her best smile but couldn’t get any words out for a minute.
‘Is that why you came up here: to chat to your mummy?’ he asked.
He already knew this was something she did from time to time. They’d discussed it before and he’d been fine with it. He’d said it was ‘very healthy’. Rose liked to pretend she was there with her in spirit and could hear what she said to her.
‘Any particular reason you felt like doing this now?’ he asked, tilting his head to one side. ‘Weren’t you enjoying your party?’
‘Yes, I was. I am, honestly. I’ll come down again in a minute.’ She paused, weighing up whether or not to tell him why, and eventually deciding she would. ‘I noticed most of the children at my party were dropped off by their mummies. It got me thinking and made me a bit upset.’
Her father pulled her into a warm, tight hug and held her like that for what felt like ages. When he pulled away, she could tell he’d been crying. They both had. But after that they pulled themselves together, washed their faces in the bathroom and headed back down to the party, hand in hand.
She loved her father so much that afternoon, it felt like her heart wanted to burst out of her chest.
‘Rose, are you all right? Can you hear me, Rose?’
She can see and hear Cassie, who’s kneeling in front of her, looking troubled. However, Rose appears to have lost the ability to respond. Her whole body feels frozen solid.
Is this to allow her time to process what she’s just heard?
Maybe.
But what was that again?
It’s floated to the edge of her mind, out of reach.
She probably could get to it with a little mental stretching, although she’s not sure she wants to. It wasn’t good: that’s one thing she knows for certain.
Cassie is clicking her fingers in front of her face now. ‘Rose,’ she says. ‘What’s going on?’ She holds up a glass of water. ‘Come on now, Rose, why don’t you drink some of this?’
Cassie presses the glass to her mouth, tipping it slightly so her lips feel wet. But Rose keeps them firmly shut and a dribble of water runs down her chin, quickly wiped away by Cassie with a serviette.
A blurry figure appears behind Cassie and taps her on the shoulder. She stands up and moves a short distance away, out of Rose’s vision. The pair mutter a few words to each other before the new arrival returns, places his hands on his knees and leans forward, eyes squinting at Rose. She recognises him as Greg, the nice bartender from this afternoon.
‘Everything all right, Rose?’ he asks.
She wants to respond, at least to say hello, but it’s not happening. She’s still frozen.
He stares at her, puzzled, shakes his head, then returns to a standing position.
‘I’ll go and find him,’ Greg tells Cassie, who nods as she kneels before her again.
‘I think you’re in shock, Rose,’ she says. ‘That must be what this is and I get it, believe me. I know what I just told you must have come as a huge shock. I tried to build up to it as best I could, to soften the blow. But it was always going to be hard. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry. For everything …’
She keeps talking, but Rose closes her eyes and tunes out.
She doesn’t want to hear any more.
She’s happy for now in this frozen state.
She remains like this until the speaking stops.
There’s a shift, movement in front of her and a smell she instantly recognises: the fresh woody scent of her dad’s favourite aftershave.
It couldn’t be, could it?
She slides open her eyes and, incredibly, there he is, kneeling in front of her chair, having taken Cassie’s place. Her body and mind thaw with a rush. She stretches her arms forward, craving his warmth and protection more than ever. ‘Daddy,’ she says, even though she rarely calls him that any more. ‘It’s you. You’re here. Thank goodness. This woman – Cassie she calls herself – has been making up all kinds of lies. She tried to convince me that—’
‘Shh,’ he whispers into her ear as they hold on tight to each other. ‘It’s all going to be okay, darling. Everything is going to be fine. I’m here now.’
She lets these words wash over her, soothe her, as she comes back to herself.
Then something clicks.
‘Hang on,’ she says, pulling away from his embrace and really looking at him for the first time, before turning to Cassie, who’s back sitting in her armchair. ‘What’s going on? How come you’re here now, Dad? Do you know this woman? What she told me can’t be true.’ She starts shaking her head and can’t stop. ‘Tell me it’s not true. Tell me you had nothing to do with this. She’s an impostor, right? I don’t know what she’s playing at. Dad, please say something.’
Inhaling deeply, he closes his eyes for a second. When he opens them again, still kneeling in front of Rose’s chair, he speaks in a slow, steady voice, barely louder than a whisper.
‘Rose, you know how much I love you. This is incredibly hard to say, and I can only imagine how difficult it must be for you to comprehend, but I’m afraid everything Cassie has told you is the truth. She is your mother.’
‘No!’ Rose replies. ‘Why are you saying this? You’ve told me my whole life that my mother, Catherine, died when I was only a few weeks old. She had a brain haemorrhage. That has to be the truth. Why would you have said so otherwise?’
His face twitches on one side. ‘I, um, don’t know what to say, Rose, other than what you’ve already heard. Telling you that story – that fiction – has never sat well with me. It’s why I’ve always been uncomfortable talking to you about your mother. But as I hope Cassie – who used to go by her full name of Catherine when we were together – has explained, it was something I agreed to before you were born and had to stick to.
‘Recently, now you’re an adult building your own life, I’ve struggled even more with you not knowing the truth. After much soul-searching, I decided to try to contact your mother. She’d given me an email address before she left and had pledged to keep it active so I had a way to contact her in case of a dire emergency. I’d kept it safe but never used it. I had no idea whether or not it would still work after more than two decades. Honestly, I feared it wouldn’t, but I tried anyway. I wanted to see whether, after all this time, she might have changed her mind and be open to getting to know you. I thought it unlikely, but I was pleasantly surprised.
‘I hadn’t expected her to be living as nearby as Ireland, nor to learn that she was settled down with a family of her own. I’d anticipated that the burden of telling you the truth would land on my shoulders. However, your mother was adamant that she should be the one to tell you.’ He turns to Cassie, handing her the baton. ‘That’s right, isn’t it?’
‘Absolutely,’ Cassie says, leaning forward in her chair. ‘I was the one who left and who insisted on creating this, um, lie. I felt that it was my responsibility to try to explain it to you.’
‘Just in time to ruin my wedding,’ Rose snarls. ‘How kind. Ever the caring, attentive parent.’
‘That’s fair,’ Cassie replies. ‘Whatever anger and hatred you have for me is totally understandable, Rose.’
‘Don’t you say my name!’ The level of venom in Rose’s slow, seething pronunciation of these words surprises even herself.
Cassie hesitates but continues: ‘Think whatever you like about me. That’s your right. I’ll take it on the chin. But go easy on your dad. None of it was his idea and he’s been th
ere for you all the time that I haven’t, dedicating his life to you. Yes, he didn’t tell you the truth about me – but only because I put him in a terrible position and he’s a man of his word.’
Rose wants to tell this woman to stop talking – to leave her the hell alone – but her body won’t play along with her mind.
‘As for you learning about all of this now,’ Cassie continues, ‘a week before your wedding, that’s on me too. Your father first contacted me around six months ago, but I didn’t reply immediately. I was too afraid. And when I did eventually get up the courage to speak to him, to hear what he had to say, I didn’t say yes straight away. I had to think about it and consider all the possible repercussions.
‘By the time I did agree, there were unforeseen things I had to deal with at home. Now’s not the right moment to go into all that, but let’s just say I was needed there for a while. I couldn’t drop everything and jump on a plane, as I might have done in normal circumstances. I specified this weekend and insisted I should be the one to tell you. The cloak and dagger stuff, introducing myself as a stranger and so on, was also my idea. I desperately wanted the chance to give you an insight into my mind: why I did what I did. I wanted to be able to show you that all of this was about me – not you.
‘Your father went along with it – gave me this chance – because that’s the kind of selfless, considerate man he is. Whatever happens after this, please don’t punish him for my mistakes. Remember that if it was down to me alone, you’d have been adopted and not been brought up by either of your birth parents. I’m the villain in this story. Your father is the hero.’
Rose’s eyes linger on an uncomfortable-looking Dave, still kneeling on the floor in front of her chair. She can’t bring herself to look at Cassie. Thinking how much time they’ve spent together today, while she was oblivious to the truth, makes her skin crawl.
It feels like a huge invasion of her privacy that she revealed so much of her own heart and mind to someone she was led to consider a friend. The fact her dad was in on it makes her even angrier. And who else knew about this in advance? Was Cara another conspirator? She desperately hopes not. But surely her departure was engineered, one way or another. Today’s trickery wouldn’t have worked with her maid of honour alongside her. If Rose hadn’t been alone, she and Cassie would never have struck up such an intimate conversation.
The Daughter's Choice Page 24
