I stared – what did that mean?
‘You mean you think it’s true?’
‘Eh, I can’t answer that. But she was always jealous of you. I wouldn’t put it past her
to have made mischief.’
I laughed – I couldn’t help it. Jealous of me? It was absurd. Faye had everything: she
had been brilliant, beautiful, popular, a talented artist … If anyone should have been jealous, it
was me. But I hadn’t been, because I had adored her. However much attention she received, it
was never as much as I thought she deserved.
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‘Oh, she was a bonny lass and clever, right enough,’ Gran said. ‘But she didn’t use it.
We’d have called her flighty in my day. She couldn’t settle down to her schoolwork, or get a
proper job, or find a steady relationship. But off you went to university and found your Paddy
…’ Gran sighed. ‘It wouldn’t surprise me one bit if she’d tried to stir things with him.’
Reaching past Gran, I picked up the box of biscuits, tore off the cellophane and picked
out the biggest one I could find. I didn’t want to believe anything Gran was saying, but her
words had brushed off the dust on memories of Faye that I had chosen to bury with her:
suspicions and feelings that I had ignored, such as the occasional overzealous flirting with my
boyfriends, or the cutting jokes about being boring when I had stayed in to revise for exams
rather than going out with her. I would never have relied on such selective evidence in my
archaeology work, so why had I in my private life? Because I had loved her. It was as simple
as that.
An aeroplane passed overhead, breaking up the perfect blue of the sky with a thick
white trail.
‘What do I do now?’ I asked Gran. ‘Paddy wants to know the truth. He wants to take a
paternity test. I said no, but …’
But. Something else that had haunted me since Paris, keeping me awake through the
long hours of the night. Was it the right decision? There had been no thought behind my refusal;
it had been an emotional response, not a considered one. Had I let my disappointment with
Paddy, my feelings of betrayal by Faye, blind me to what was the right thing to do? I’d told
him, on the day we had visited Alison, that I would have been glad if a decent man had come
forward as Caitlyn’s father. Why should it be different, because the man in question was him?
‘You’ve done your best for Caitlyn over all these years,’ Gran said, as if she was
replying to the thoughts in my head. ‘You won’t let her down now.’
‘You think I should tell her?’ I asked. ‘I should let the test go ahead?’
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‘She might have a father – and a good one, whatever you might reckon of him just
now.’ She patted my knee. ‘You know what it’s like to have a good father. You wouldn’t want
our Caitlyn to miss out on that.’
*
My fortieth birthday conveniently fell on a Saturday, and I had booked a meal at the French
bistro in town to celebrate. Caitlyn, Luc and Mum were due to arrive the day before and would
be staying for a week. I had looked forward to their visit for so long, but I couldn’t wish for it
now, when such a life-changing task lay ahead. Because after hours and days of soul-searching
and deliberation, I knew there was only one way forward.
When Caitlyn arrived, I would tell her about Paddy, so she could choose whether to go
ahead with the paternity test or not. Gran had been right: I couldn’t let her miss out on the
chance to have a father. It didn’t matter how old she was: I had lost my dad at a similar age as
she was now and had never stopped wishing he was around. When I thought about the life
experiences Caitlyn might have ahead of her – buying her first home, getting married, having
children – a father would make a difference to everything.
And I couldn’t help going back to one particular thing that Paddy had said in the hotel
room in Paris. He had told me that he had stayed away from us because Caitlyn had needed me
more than him. Perhaps now the situation had reversed, and she needed a parent – a real one –
more than she needed me. Perhaps it was time to fall back, become the aunt I should always
have been – a friend rather than a mother. It was complicated – my feelings towards her weren’t
constrained by labels – but I had to do what was best for her.
As for my feelings towards Paddy … Once the initial shock of Paris had worn off, and
I had recovered from the effects of the alcohol and lack of sleep, I hadn’t been able to hate him
again. It was too late for that; the man I had got to know this year didn’t deserve to be hated.
But I couldn’t let myself carry on loving him either, if he was Caitlyn’s father. Watching them
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develop a relationship would be a constant reminder that I had been second in line with Paddy,
as I had been with everything else where Faye was concerned; that the man I had hoped to have
children with myself had instead formed that bond with my sister. And it would remind me of
her betrayal; because the more I reflected on it, the more I thought that a good sister would
have told me the history that first time I introduced Paddy to her as my boyfriend; would have
let me decide for myself whether I wanted to be involved with someone who might have
fathered her child.
And beyond all that, I couldn’t risk coming between Paddy and Caitlyn. If they were to
have a proper relationship, there couldn’t ever be one between Paddy and me. I couldn’t hand
her a father, only to steal away some of the time and affection he should give to her.
Paddy was still being persistent in his efforts to contact me; I had to give him credit for
that. He had started sending letters and postcards, and correspondence from him was piling up
in the house like invitations to Hogwarts. I’d made the mistake of glancing at some of it, and
my tears had smudged the ink until the words were illegible. It was like the early days of our
relationship, when he had left notes and doodles for me everywhere, and though I tried to
harden my heart against it, it affected me as much now as it had then. But I couldn’t let it. I had
to be neutral, neither loving him nor hating him, because neither option would be compatible
with his being Caitlyn’s father.
The correspondence hadn’t mentioned Caitlyn, but I couldn’t imagine he’d abandoned
his wish to take a paternity test. I knew very well that he could contact Caitlyn direct and ask
her himself, and I could only trust that he wouldn’t do that; I wanted to break the news to
Caitlyn, to give her any support she needed. But I’d forgotten, until the French bistro contacted
me to confirm numbers for my birthday meal, that I had invited Paddy to join us when we were
in Paris. Would he still come? I had no idea; but I couldn’t take the risk that he would turn up
and speak to Caitlyn before I was ready. Now I regretted my hasty decision to delete his number
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from my phone; but I remembered that Tina might have it from when she had arranged his
school visit all those months ago.
/> ‘I’m in the garden,’ she yelled, when I wandered over one afternoon and knocked on
the front door. I went through the side gate and found her sprawled on a sun lounger in the
back garden, wearing a swimming costume with the straps off her shoulder.
‘It’s a good job it’s only me,’ I said, sitting down on the steps beside her. ‘Are you
trying to compete with Year 11 for the best tan? Even if the sun shines every day until the start
of term I don’t think you’ll do it.’
‘It’s not for school,’ Tina said, rolling over and narrowly avoiding taking our
relationship to a whole new level by exposing more than either of us had bargained for. ‘It’s
for Saturday night. The bistro is a bit fancy. I’ve bought a pale blouse, so I need a bit of colour
to pull it off. I’m regretting going sleeveless, though – it’s good for the hot flushes but does
nothing for the bingo wings. All things for you to look forward to,’ she added, grinning.
‘Although you’re so lean with all that running you’ll probably never need to worry about
wobbly bits.’
‘I wouldn’t have minded having some wobbly bits,’ I replied, laughing and indicating
my small chest. ‘I’ve yet to find an exercise that can increase the bulk up here.’
‘Did you never do this one when you were growing up? I must, I must, I must improve
my bust,’ she chanted, thrusting back her elbows in time with the words. She just managed to
grab the top of her swimming costume before I could see for myself whether the exercise had
worked for her. ‘I’ll go and throw some more clothes on. Are you stopping for a drink? Water,
or can I tempt you with something stronger, like a cup of tea?’
‘I’ll have a glass of wine if you’re opening a bottle.’
Tina laughed until she realised I was serious.
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‘I know I’ve been trying to persuade you for years, but alcohol isn’t the answer,’ she
said, suddenly transforming into Tina the teacher. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Positive.’
Why not? Paris had changed everything. Returning home, I had taken great pleasure in
roaming the once-forbidden section of the supermarket, picking out a selection of wine based
on price and pretty labels. I had resisted the spirits, so far, although I felt it was only a matter
of time before I succumbed to the temptation of some of the gin bottles.
Tina returned wearing a dazzling kaftan and carrying two glasses of wine.
‘Cheers,’ she said, clinking her glass against mine and settling back down on the sun
lounger. ‘This is weird. I hope you’re not going to get pie-eyed after one glass and need
carrying home. Graham is away tonight. I’ll have to stick you in the wheelbarrow and trundle
you over the road. Anyway,’ she continued with an abrupt change of subject. ‘Why are you
looking so smart? Are you going on a date? Is this Dutch courage?’
‘It’s not a date,’ I replied. I couldn’t imagine ever going on one of those again. ‘I had
the job interview I told you about this afternoon.’
‘Sorry, I completely forgot that was today.’ Tina leant forward. ‘How did it go? Is this
why you’re on wine? Are we celebrating?’
‘Not yet. I think it went well. It’s hard to tell, isn’t it? It’s so long since I had an
interview that I’ve forgotten how to read the signs.’
The invitation to the interview had come out of the blue, the day after my return from
Paris. My old tutor, Christopher Porter, had let me know that an archaeological consultancy set
up by a former colleague was looking to take on a couple of graduate trainees. It sounded the
perfect job: they were happy to take on trainees of any age, and however long ago they had
graduated, and although the firm’s offices were based in Yorkshire, they worked across the
north of England, so I could mainly work west of the Pennines if I wanted. They offered a six-
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month trainee programme, at the end of which I would have an Archaeology Skills Passport,
which would help me apply for another job. It was a dream role, and the people who had
interviewed me had been lovely, but I was trying not to get my hopes up. Although I had spent
weeks trying to catch up on all the developments in archaeology that I had missed, there was a
seventeen-year gap in my CV that was hard to reconcile with my professed enthusiasm for the
subject.
‘When do you find out?’ Tina asked.
‘Next week. Today was the last round of interviews.’ I sipped the wine, trying to
suppress a grimace. The odd thing was, now I had given myself permission to drink wine, I
wasn’t sure I was actually enjoying it. Apart from the champagne in Paris, more often than not
I’d rather have been having a cup of tea after all. Was this a symptom of impending middle
age?
‘I wish they would make us wait longer,’ I added. ‘I’d rather live with the hope than
the disappointment.’
We chatted for a while longer, but I declined a second glass of wine. I stood up to go.
‘While I’m here,’ I said, trying to sound as casual as I could, ‘you don’t still have
Paddy’s contact details from when you organised his school visit, do you?’
‘I probably have his card somewhere. Why do you need it? You’ve just been to Paris
with him – I thought you’d have exchanged more than phone numbers. You’ve not fallen out,
have you? I was looking forward to meeting him again at your birthday meal. To talk history,’
Tina added, with an unconvincing grin.
‘He’s still coming, as far as I know. I just need to double check, to confirm numbers
with the bistro. I seem to have mislaid his number.’
It was feeble, and I could see Tina was making a valiant effort not to interrogate me
further, but she managed to find his number, and I sent a text to Paddy, suggesting we meet at
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The White Hart on Saturday afternoon, before the birthday meal. His reply was almost instant,
agreeing to the plan. So now all I had to do was to break the news to Caitlyn that she might
have a father … How on earth was I supposed to do that?
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CHAPTER 24
Mum, Caitlyn and Luc flew into Manchester airport on Friday morning, my last day as a thirty-
something. I’d offered to pick them up, but Mum had declined the offer, no doubt glad of the
chance to spend some time on her own with Caitlyn. Even though I had taken Caitlyn over to
Spain every year, and welcomed Mum’s visits to us whenever she wanted, it could never be
enough, as I now understood. The last few months, with Caitlyn away in Paris, had made me
realise as I hadn’t before how difficult the separation must have been for Mum, when I had
made the move north and out of daily reach.
It was early afternoon before I heard a taxi pull up outside the house, and I rushed to
the door, eager to get a glimpse of Caitlyn. Despite a day of travelling, the Parisian gloss I had
noticed before was still evident, in the chic clothes she wore and the confident way she paid
the driver and wheeled her case up the drive, closely followed by Luc.
I pulled her into
a hug as soon as she was within reach, pleasure at seeing her my
overwhelming feeling. But as we pulled apart, and she started to complain about their delayed
flight, I found myself studying her face more intently than I had ever needed to before. Every
detail was familiar – but was there more to that familiarity than seventeen years of living with
her? Were there traces of Paddy in the twist of her mouth or the shape of her eyes that I had
failed to notice before? Was this Paddy’s daughter stepping into my house? I didn’t want to
know; but I couldn’t live with this uncertainty either.
‘Are you okay, Mum?’ Caitlyn stopped chattering and turned to look at me. ‘You’re
looking flustered. Is it the thought of the big four-zero? If it’s any consolation, you could still
pass for late thirties.’
She laughed, and I couldn’t help joining in.
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‘Less of your cheek. I am still late thirties – yes, very late,’ I added, as she opened her
mouth to point that out. ‘At least let me enjoy my last few hours, before I wake up tomorrow
with wrinkled skin and hair sprouting from my nose and ears …’
‘Don’t worry about that,’ Caitlyn said. She looked at Mum, who was still standing
awkwardly on the wrong side of the threshold. ‘Shall we tell her?’ Without waiting for an
answer, Caitlyn rushed on. ‘It’s part of your birthday present. We’ve booked you in to have
your hair and nails done tomorrow afternoon. I’m sure you can sort out any unwanted hair
while you’re there.’
‘Tomorrow afternoon?’ I repeated. That was when I had arranged to meet Paddy. ‘What
time?’
‘Three. You’ll be finished in perfect time to get changed and go to the party. But don’t
worry, we have plans for the whole day, so you won’t have a spare moment to feel sorry for
yourself.’
‘Thank you.’ I hugged Caitlyn again, and Mum too, who had now moved as far as the
hall. It was lovely of them to do this, but it ruled out any chance of a secret meeting with Paddy
A Dozen Second Chances (ARC) Page 30
