‘I’m sure Malcolm will pick a winner.’
‘I picked a winner,’ Frank said. ‘Sylvia was everything a wife should be – a good cook, a good housewife, good with money.’ He looked at Mara quizzically. ‘What about you? Did you pick a winner?’
‘I did. Leo was a lovely man when I knew him first – tall and handsome, good fun, good company – but, unfortunately, the war robbed him of all that. I married him after he was sent home, a total wreck. At first, it wasn’t so bad and we had quite a few years of perfect happiness. Then there were some years that weren’t so perfect and he deteriorated quite quickly after that – until I couldn’t cope any longer. That was when James took him away and put him in a home for disabled servicemen.’
‘So neither of us had all that long to enjoy our marriages?’ He stopped abruptly when they came to what claimed to be an antique shop. ‘Can we go in? It’s still open and I love browsing through old things.’
‘You’ll be at home here,’ she giggled. ‘It’s full of old junk.’
She watched him as he sifted through the piles of bric-a-brac lying on the first small table. He wasn’t a bit like his son. They were both tall – around six feet – but he had dark, grizzled hair while Malcolm’s was much fairer. The shape of their faces was different too. Even at twenty-five, Malcolm’s was still round and boyish, his father’s was angular, strongly boned. She had also noticed earlier that Frank’s eyes were brown and his son’s were grey.
‘Does Malcolm take after Sylvia?’ she asked when Frank straightened up to go to another table. He gave her a most peculiar look, she thought, and she was about to apologise for being too personal.
‘No, he takes after his mother.’ His voice was soft. Then, seeing her puzzled expression, he went on, ‘I think we should find somewhere private to talk.’
She took him to Petty Park, donated to the town in the late nineteenth century by Alexander Roderick Petty, a local boy who had made good in America. It was quite a pleasant night and they had to go well in before they found a vacant seat – crafted by a local cabinet-maker. ‘I had better tell you everything,’ Frank began. ‘I should really have told you and your parents together but I wasn’t sure …’
‘You’re making me very curious,’ she smiled, hoping that he wasn’t about to confess to an affair during which Malcolm had been conceived.
‘As you may have guessed, Sylvia was not Malcolm’s mother. She had been told, when she was much younger, that she could never have family so, when her best friend lay dying from a flu that was raging at the time and asked her to take her baby, she agreed. He was just over a year old and he was like a gift from God.’
‘Was the mother not married?’
‘Yes, Daphne had been married but her husband had to return to his regiment the day after the birth and he never came back. She never knew if he’d been killed or if he had abandoned her.’
‘Poor girl. That must have been awful for her but didn’t her parents want to take care of their grandchild?’
‘Apparently she had fallen out with her mother. Daphne’s mother said Jerry was a rotter for having his way with her before they were married and then deserting her and the baby. Sylvia did go to them to make sure it was all right for us to have him and Mrs Nelson said they didn’t want anything to do with him.’
‘Oh, that’s sad. Fancy any parents … grandparents …’ Mara broke off. It was too horrible to think about.
‘I kept telling Sylvia that we should try to trace Daphne’s husband. We could have applied to the War Office or to the Gordon Highlanders Headquarters …’
‘My brother was in the Gordons.’
‘So I believe. I went to ask the Nelsons if they knew his service number but they wouldn’t tell me anything – not even his name. Sylvia knew his name but she wouldn’t say either. She was scared we’d lose the boy if I stirred things up so we had to adopt him before he could legally have our surname.’
Mara became aware that he was regarding her cautiously. ‘But you did find out his name?’ she asked after a moment.
‘Not until after Sylvia died and I didn’t want to lose my son as well as my wife. In any case, I only knew his name – I didn’t know where he actually came from. Being a Gordon Highlander, he was almost certainly from the north of Scotland, the north-east probably, but …’
The truth struck Mara then, as clearly as if he had actually said it. ‘You think it was my brother?’
‘Oh, Mara, I wasn’t sure. It was only when I heard James speaking about the Rae family that I had any suspicions. Jeremy Rae …’
‘Killed in action in 1917,’ she finished for him. ‘Oh, Frank, it is him, was him … and oh, God, I’m going to cry.’
He put his arms round her and held her closely, kissing her hair and patting her back, until the soft sobs ceased. ‘I’m sorry, Samara. I couldn’t find a way to tell your parents but I shouldn’t have blurted it all out to you like this … on your own. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.’
She stroked his cheek. ‘There’s no need to be sorry, Frank. You’ve made me happier than I’ve been for a very long time. I’ve discovered today that Jerry was innocent of any crime and that he did find some happiness after he left The Sycamores.’ She jumped to her feet. ‘Wait till my father learns he really does have a grandson after all.’
The jubilation in Oak Cottage carried on until well after midnight, Fay and Henry practically jumping their own (small) height with joy, James Ferguson shaking his head in delighted disbelief and Malcolm’s happy smile, when he hugged his grandparents, so wide that it almost split his round face in half. Looking on, it seemed natural to Mara that Frank was still holding the hand he had clasped for support while he told the others the momentous news.
Not until they were all exhausted did they go to bed, Malcolm first, then James, then Henry and his wife. On her way out, Fay turned to say goodnight to her daughter and Frank Fry but what she saw made her think better of it.
‘What a day this has been,’ she exclaimed when she closed the bedroom door.
‘Aye, you’re right there,’ Henry agreed. ‘And I’m shit done.’
‘There’s no need for that kind of language,’ she admonished him.
‘I’m that damned happy I don’t know what I’m saying,’ he laughed, grabbing her round the waist and twirling her round. ‘I feel like I’m sixteen again, courting you, my lovely, lovely, Fairy Fay. I thought we’d go to our graves with just one daughter to leave behind and now we’ve got a grandson as well. Who’d have believed it?’
‘There’s something else you’re going to find it hard to believe,’ she smiled. ‘You’re going to have a son-in-law as well, mark my words. Did you not notice Frank holding Mara’s hand?’
‘No, no, you’ve been seeing things. They only met this afternoon.’
‘And you sent them out together. Your matchmaking did the trick, my dear Tchouki. They make a nice couple, though they’re both well over forty.’
Henry was too happy to argue. ‘I hope they are serious about each other. If they get wed, Frank’ll not mind so much about us wanting a share o’ Malcolm.’
THE END
COPYRIGHT
First published 2004
by Black & White Publishing Ltd
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This electronic edition published in 2014
ISBN: 978 1 84502 815 2 in EPub format
ISBN: 978 1 84502 012 5 in paperback format
Copyright © Doris Davidson 2004
The right of Doris Davidson to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
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The Shadow of the Sycamores Page 45
