‘You’d best pour yourself a whisky, son, and you too, Allie.’
Rory did as he was told, gave them both a good measure and sat back down. He was experiencing every emotion possible as his dad resumed speaking.
‘Granny and Grandad were not my biological parents.’
Rory blew out a breath and raked a hand through his hair. Even though the words registered he just didn’t understand any of it. Why was he only finding this out now? Allie got up from her chair and settled on the arm of the settee, resting her hand reassuringly on Rory’s shoulder.
Stuart carried on. ‘I was born to Florence Smith, who was only seventeen at the time. She must have been a gutsy girl because even though she was a single parent she fought to keep me even when her parents disowned her.’
Rory didn’t understand. ‘Did she struggle to look after you?’
‘No, not from what I was told. Even though we lived in a dingy flat in one of the less salubrious areas of Glasgow. I was only young and don’t have vivid concrete memories but …’ Rory watched his dad screw his eyes up like he was trying to remember. ‘I can remember a room with a double bed. I remember waking up to noise pounding above my head. I remember hearing arguments through the wafer-thin walls and a woman who I’m assuming was my mother sitting at a sewing machine in the corner of the room making clothes. I remember there was a rail with everything she’d made hanging up, with home-made price tags attached. I have no idea where she sold them, maybe down the market. That is the only recollection I have.’
Stuart took a breath and a swig of his drink then carried on.
‘The only thing I remember after that is arriving at Birkhill Boys’ Home. I don’t recall how I got there, who took me … I’ve just no idea. The only thing I had with me was a small brown case, two changes of clothes and Eddy.’
‘Eddy?’ asked Rory.
‘My teddy bear.’ Stuart smiled fondly. ‘And this too.’
He reached for his wallet on the dresser and took out an old battered photograph. He passed it to Rory who then showed Allie. The photograph was of a baby cradled in a woman’s arm.
‘Apparently that’s me, my mother and Eddy.’ He pointed to the teddy bear that he was clutching. ‘My adoptive parents gave me the photograph. It must have been with my stuff when they picked me up and took me home. They never hid the fact I was adopted. I knew from an early age. And Emmeline and George gave me their world, I couldn’t have asked for more loving parents, or grandparents for you. I always felt like that was where I was meant to be. I couldn’t have asked for a better life.’
‘How did you end up in the home in the first place?’ asked Allie, softly.
‘My mum passed. Pneumonia, it states on her death certificate. I was one of the lucky ones. My time in the boys’ home passed quickly and I was adopted by the most wonderful of couples.’
Once more Stuart looked down at the photograph and dabbed his eyes. ‘The sad thing about it all is that my mother Florence was a strong, determined woman. She put up such a fight to keep me; she chose me and lost her family because of the outcry and embarrassment of being a single mother, and then passed away with pneumonia. Her death was tragic; she was taken way too soon. Things could have been so different for me.’
They sat in silence, lost in their own thoughts. Rory thought back to his grandparents, Granny Emmy and Grandpa George. They were originally from Glasgow but ended up living in a house on the edge of Glensheil. George too had been a vet but worked for a practice in the town. In the holidays his granny had taught him to bake while his grandpa had set up a train track in the loft space and taught him to fish in the River Heart. He had the fondest of memories and was full of love for both of them. He would never have known or had any suspicion that they weren’t his biological grandparents.
‘How are you feeling?’ asked Stuart, looking at his son.
Rory’s wondering gaze kept moving between the photograph and his dad. ‘Shocked,’ he said, blowing out a breath. ‘I just wasn’t expecting this.’ He was so sorry to hear about the tragic death of Florence. If his grandparents hadn’t adopted his dad and rescued him from the care system, life most probably would be very different today.
‘Florence sounds like a very brave lady,’ said Allie, still staring at the photograph.
‘I think she was,’ agreed Stuart.
‘So what’s this?’ asked Rory, holding up the folded letter. ‘And who’s that? Who’s the other boy in the photograph?’
For a second, Stuart remained silent, but his eyes were earnest. He dabbed them once more with his handkerchief and looked like he was swallowing down a lump in his throat. When he spoke, his voice was shaky. ‘The other boy in the photograph is James Kerr. The man who left me Clover Cottage.’
Chapter 20
Rory’s jaw dropped. His head was spinning with that information. ‘You were in the same boys’ home as James Kerr?’ he asked, still trying to get his head around his father’s words.
‘I was, according to that letter you have in your hand. It was given to me when I was summoned to the solicitors. I was told to bring two forms of identification. I had no idea why and your mum suggested it must be some sort of hoax. But after receiving a signed letter to remind me of the appointment I thought I’d better attend and see what it was all about and that’s when I discovered the boy who was my only friend in that care home was James.’
‘And you’ve been neighbours for all these years. You were even his vet, looking after his herds.’
‘I had no idea, but he knew.’ Stuart’s eyes welled up with instant tears. ‘Somehow he knew and now he’s passed I can’t ask him how he knew or why he never said anything to me. That letter is from James. He left it with the solicitor and instructed them to give it to me after he’d passed away. The solicitor claimed the letter had been logged with them for over twenty-five years.’
Rory blew out a breath. ‘Unbelievable.’
‘Go on, read it.’
Stuart and Allie watched as Rory unfolded the paper. He stared down at the words written on it and without another word he began to read.
Dear Stuart,
I’m struggling to know how to begin this letter and you are probably sitting there bewildered and wondering why the hell I am writing to you.
I was the boy you shared a dorm with at Birkhill Boys’ Home. You thought the name James was posh so came up with the nickname Jimbob which I eventually grew very fond of.
You were like a brother to me then, and we stuck by each other through thick and thin. Each day was tough, and I was the one who always broke the rules or rebelled against the teachers.
I remember each morning we had to stand by our beds and acknowledge the rules:
– Forget the evils of your past.
– Do not leave the premises.
– Strict obedience must be paid to the superintendent matron.
– Irreverent use of God’s name, vulgar language, slang words and nicknames are absolutely forbidden.
– Neatness and cleanliness are a must at all times.
I could go on …
I also remember the day you walked out with your brand new family. It was bitterly cold, a January morning, and they’d brought you a brand-new coat to wear with a bright red scarf. They looked so caring and I was truly happy for your new start. We hugged on the stairs and you told me you’d left me a present on my bed and not to worry as a beautiful family would come for me soon. As you went to climb into the car you looked over your shoulder and gave me one last wave before driving off and leaving for your new life.
I treasured the present you left me, your brown velvet jumper. I wore it until the arms were somewhere near my elbows.
Unlike you, my new family never arrived.
I have no idea how to finish this letter except to say thank you. You were a good friend in some of the toughest times of my life without even knowing it. Therefore, it would be a great honour and a comfort to me if you would take care of my herds and C
lover Cottage, when the time comes.
Thank you for your kindness,
Your brother in arms,
Jimbob
Silent tears slid down Rory’s and Allie’s faces. She had read the letter over his shoulder.
‘I really don’t know what to say,’ said Rory softly.
‘That makes two of us,’ answered Stuart, still looking at the photograph. ‘To think of him staying in the care system all that time.’ Stuart’s voice was shaky.
‘And you had no clue that James was Jimbob?’
‘No clue whatsoever. What I don’t know is how he knew who I was and why he didn’t tell me.’
‘I suppose it’s one of those questions we will never find out the answer to.’
Stuart was quiet as he read over the letter again. ‘The memories from back then are hazy. We arrived at the same time and were put in the dormitory together and in that place we stuck together like superglue. We always had each other’s backs and it’s heartbreaking to know his new family never came. He lived there with those rules and regulations and no proper parents until I suppose he was sixteen.’
‘What was his story? How did he end up being in there?’ asked Allie.
Stuart shrugged. ‘You weren’t allowed to talk about it. The past was past. The only thought that haunts me is the fact that he never got out of there. He didn’t have a proper family … no home-cooked meals, no bedtime reading, no loving parents who looked out for you. I mean, my parents could have easily chosen Jimbob to take home to be their son. How do you choose? How does it happen that one boy gets a brand-new life and one doesn’t?’ Stuart’s voice cracked as he squeezed his eyes shut.
Rory had never ever seen his dad so distraught. He was physically shaking as he drained his glass once more. Rory tactfully moved the bottle to one side; drinking wasn’t going to help the situation.
‘Dad, you had no control over that. You can’t beat yourself up over it.’
‘I keep thinking, Mum and Dad had no other children, why couldn’t they have taken both of us?’
Rory could see this had shaken his dad, that he was hurting, but he didn’t have any of the answers.
‘We can’t change the past. What’s done is done.’
‘He struggled and was dealt the shitty card of life. It’s so unfair. Every morning since I’ve received that letter I wake up and think of the rules we had to chant out loud and to think he had to carry on doing that …’
‘People judged James, his alcoholism, his sons,’ said Allie, tearfully, thinking of the troubled life and reputation the Kerr family had had.
‘I’m afraid so, but that’s what people do. But I can honestly say he never did me any harm. He had a difficult life, but that man was a survivor, not a victim. Now pass that whisky bottle. We need a toast.’
Rory didn’t argue but poured a small splash into his father’s glass. After leaving the bonfire he never for a moment thought he would walk into a situation as extreme as this.
‘To James Jimbob Kerr.’ Stuart raised his glass.
‘To James Jimbob Kerr,’ Rory and Allie repeated.
With a terrible sadness bleeding through the room they sat in silence, lost in their own thoughts.
Rory looked at his watch. It was getting late. He needed to be up for the morning surgery. Placing his empty glass back down on the table, he noticed the second white envelope lying there.
‘So what’s in that second envelope?’
Stuart exhaled and raised an eyebrow.
‘Written on a piece of paper in that envelope is the sum of money that Flynn Carter believes I will accept in exchange for Clover Cottage and all the land.’
Allie did everything in her power to stifle a gasp.
Rory couldn’t believe his ears. He caught his breath and slumped back in the chair. ‘You’re kidding me. How much is written on it?’
Stuart shrugged. ‘I’ve no idea. It’s still sealed,’ he said heaving himself up and out of the chair. ‘I need my bed, otherwise I’ll never get up in the morning.’ He went to leave the room but paused beside Rory and rested his hand on his shoulder. ‘I know I don’t say it as often as I should, but I do love you, son.’
‘I love you too, Dad.’
Hearing his dad’s footsteps peter out at the top of the stairs and the creaking of the floorboards on the landing, Rory picked up the sealed envelope and flipped it over in his hand. He was curious to see the figure that Flynn Carter thought he could buy his dad off for. After hearing about his father’s past Rory felt a little angry towards Flynn Carter.
‘I think your gut instinct might have been right about that man, Allie.’
‘And I was hoping I was overreacting,’ answered Allie, slipping into the space next to Rory on the settee.
‘Who does he think he is, waltzing into our village offering money for Clover Cottage? What do you think he wants that for?’
‘My guess is, just like any property developer, he’s probably looking to build a brand-new housing estate.’
Rory’s eyes widened, ‘No one would want hundreds of houses squeezed together with gardens as small as postage stamps, spoiling the views and polluting the roads.’
Rory was sure the villagers would be up in arms about such an idea. The village was happy just the way it was and after everything his dad had shared with the two of them, he wasn’t going to let Flynn get his hands on that land just to line his own pockets. Clover Cottage belonged in their family and he was going to honour James Kerr’s wishes. Clover Cottage was going to stay exactly as it was.
Chapter 21
Meet me at Clover Cottage tonight 7pm.
Allie was lying in bed intrigued by Rory’s early morning text.
They’d sat in shock for a while last night, talking in hushed whispers about Stuart’s past. Rory had wanted to open Flynn’s envelope, but Allie had advised strongly against it and placed it behind the clock on the mantelpiece for safe keeping. She texted back:
Why Clover Cottage at 7pm?
Her phone pinged almost immediately.
Just because.
Allie had a busy morning ahead. All the girls had arranged a breakfast meeting at the pub to begin to put together Alana’s very own memory jar. Martha knew she had some old photographs from as far back as Stuart and Alana’s wedding, and Rona had plenty too, which would be perfect for the slideshow. Placing the phone on the bedside table, Allie plumped up her pillows and lay back thinking of Rory and how proud she was of him. The way he’d stepped up to the mark after discovering his mum’s condition just showed the kind, decent, genuine man she’d fallen in love with. Powering up the laptop next to her bed she began to research dementia. She wanted to do all she could to support Rory and had felt a real sense of belonging as one of his family when Stuart had shared the news of his past with her too. She began to read all the information available to her. Rory had told her that Alana was still in the early stages, but as Allie began to read through the blogs of people whose loved ones had developed dementia, she felt utterly heartbroken.
One husband’s weekly blog was informative, detailing every moment from the second his wife was diagnosed. Simon had documented their daily lives to help others, even though Allie knew this was also a way of coping. Unfortunately, after five years, the blog had ended six months ago when Simon’s wife had passed away. There was a beautiful photograph of Joyce that had been published in a women’s magazine with an article titled ‘Simon’s Story’. Allie admired how Simon and his children had shared their own experience and she was touched by the way the man had put his feelings on the line and shared all the good as well as the trying situations of the last few years. One thing was clear: he loved his wife very much, and her diagnosis had never changed those feelings.
She read on and discovered Simon’s passion was photography, too, and whilst Joyce was alive he’d created a magnificent memory board for her, full of photos of their family members, their children, their pet dog and friends. The board had been pinned to
the wall in the kitchen.
Allie wiped away a lonely tear and felt some sort of connection she couldn’t explain. The article had totally touched her heart. Impulsively, she fired an email off to the blog with such warmth for Simon and thanked him for sharing his posts. She included a quick update about Alana’s diagnosis. She wasn’t expecting a reply but by the time she’d got showered and ready for work there was an email sitting in her inbox. She clicked on it and read back an appreciative response from Simon, with a genuine offer to help or advise Stuart in any way he could. Quickly writing down his details she stuffed them in her pocket. She was sure Stuart would jump at the chance to talk to someone who’d coped in similar circumstances.
Walking down the stairs and through the door into the main pub she saw a table looking very fancy in the corner, with a couple of bottles of Buck’s Fizz.
‘What’s all this?’ asked Allie, looking towards her mum, who was polishing the ornaments on the bookcase.
‘Mission Alana!’ Meredith smiled. ‘We are expecting the girls and grannies once the children have been dropped at school.’
‘Nice touch,’ said Allie, thinking about Alana and the wonderful friends she had in the village.
‘And Rona’s bringing across some pastries but she can’t stay as she needs to mind the teashop, but Felicity will be here.’
Lost in thought, Allie nodded.
‘You’ve gone all pensive, what’s on your mind?’ asked Meredith passing the new beer mats to Allie, who laid them on the tables.
‘Friends, life in general.’
‘That’s deep for this time in the morning.’ Meredith stopped and looked at her daughter.
‘Life is just so unfair sometimes. Why do awful things happen to the most wonderful people? What has Alana ever done to anyone?’ Allie exhaled. ‘And I know I wasn’t initially pleased about the idea of Rory going away to Africa for a year—’
‘But …?’ Meredith interrupted.
After reading Simon’s story Allie had realised how much everyone’s lives were going to change as Alana’s illness took hold. In the early blogs Simon had shared the key to his happiness: not only should you carry on as normal but you should be sure to live life to the fullest and tick off all those things on your bucket list before it was too late. Knowing that the speed of the disease varied with each individual made Allie think of Rory and his dream of visiting Africa. When was he ever going to get an opportunity like this again? Allie knew he was putting his own dream on hold to support his family, which made her love him that tiny bit more, if that was even possible.
Clover Cottage: A feel good cosy read perfect for your summer holiday reading (Love Heart Lane Series, Book 3) Page 21
