by Liz Eeles
‘No one at all?’
When Rosie shook her head, Morag frowned. ‘That puts me in a rather difficult position. Are you sure you want to pursue this, Rosie?’
‘Absolutely sure,’ said Rosie, with more conviction than she felt.
‘Very well.’ Morag carefully placed her cup and saucer back on the tray. ‘You weren’t premature. If anything, you were a week or two overdue. It’s true that you were fairly small, but so was your mother and there had been some stresses during the pregnancy.’
‘So I was conceived a couple of months before Mum and Dad got married. So what? It was the late 1980s.’
‘Indeed. The stigma about sex before marriage was long gone, and not before time. Are you quite sure I can’t get you a biscuit?’
‘I’m quite sure.’ Rosie’s stomach flipped. She was treading a dangerous path but couldn’t turn back. Not now. She held the older woman’s gaze. ‘There’s more, Morag, isn’t there?’ When no reply was forthcoming, Rosie leaned forward, hands on her knees. ‘The letter I found is very confusing. I need to know the truth and I think you’re the only person who can help me.’
‘Oh dear.’ Morag picked at a piece of fluff on her lilac jumper and dropped it into the wastepaper basket next to her chair. ‘This is so very awkward, but you’re an adult and, as such, you have a right… everyone has the right…’
She swallowed and placed her hands in her lap, the thin wedding band on her finger catching the light from the window. Her speech was slow and measured, as if she was weighing every word.
‘Your mother came to me during her pregnancy, Rosie. Sofia and her husband… Donald? Daniel?’
‘David.’
‘That’s it, David. They’d just moved into Driftwood House and I was living nearby and working as a community midwife. Your mum was fairly new to the village and was the sort of woman who kept herself to herself. She was a loner, if you like. But over the months that she was my patient, we became friends. I think she needed someone to talk to.
‘At first Sofia was adamant that she’d fallen pregnant on her honeymoon, just like she told you. I heard in the village that she and David had split up and only got back together shortly before they decided to marry. But I could tell that she was further ahead in her pregnancy than she claimed and, just before you were born, she finally told me… are you sure, Rosie, that you want to hear this?’
How could she possibly be sure until Morag told her? And then it would be too late to take anything back. You couldn’t un-know something. Rosie nodded slowly.
‘Very well. I’m so very sorry that you have to hear it from me, but what your mother told me was that David wasn’t your biological father.’
How am I supposed to react? wondered Rosie, as Morag’s words sank in. Is this fizzy feeling in my chest due to shock, or is it resignation because, deep down, I’ve had my suspicions since finding the letter and photo hidden together?
When Rosie stayed silent, Morag looked at her with concern. ‘Are you all right, my dear?’
‘I–I’ve seen my birth certificate and David’s listed as my dad.’
Morag gave the slightest of shrugs. ‘People hide the truth, for all sorts of reasons.’
Another heavy silence spread through the small room. A pregnant silence, thought Rosie, while a totally inappropriate urge to laugh bubbled up inside her.
This was all so surreal, so far from how her life was just a few weeks ago. Back then, she was selling pricey apartments to tourists, helping to run a B&B by the beach, and lying next to Matt at night, listening to cicadas in olive trees. She was blissfully oblivious to the secrets that underpinned her family life.
‘It must be such a shock,’ said Morag, moving from her chair and squeezing Rosie’s shoulder.
Not so much a shock, thought Rosie, as a deep shift within her of what she’d believed from childhood. She’d painted her dad the villain of the family, blaming him for having an affair and leaving. But he had kept in touch afterwards, albeit intermittently, and he’d always called her his daughter, in spite of knowing the two of them had no biological links whatsoever – if, indeed, he did know. Her mother had taken on the role of blameless victim in Rosie’s mind, but she’d been less than truthful about so many things – Driftwood House, the mysterious J, and how her daughter had been conceived. Had she known her mother at all?
‘Did David know that I wasn’t his baby?’ she asked.
‘I believe so. Are you sure you’re all right?’ Morag’s bony fingers pressed into her flesh. ‘I shouldn’t have told you. I’m sorry.’
Rosie gulped in a deep breath of stuffy air. ‘No, you were right to tell me. I asked you to, and I should know the truth.’
‘Now that you do, I hope it won’t change the way you think about your dad – about David – too much. He was the man who brought you up, after all.’
‘Until I was ten. Until he left.’
At the time, Rosie was convinced he’d gone partly because of her. Of course he didn’t, Rosie Posie. Your dad leaving had absolutely nothing to do with you. But now she feared that her mother had been lying, again.
‘Have more tea.’ A curl of steam wafted into the air when Morag pressed the refilled cup into Rosie’s hands. ‘And a biscuit too. You must have a biscuit.’
Rosie picked up the chocolate digestive placed on her lap and took a bite. The sweetness fizzed on her tongue. ‘I have another question, please, Morag.’
‘Oh dear.’ Morag demolished half a pink wafer in one bite.
‘Do you know who my father is, my biological father?’
‘I don’t, I’m afraid.’
‘Does his name begin with J?’
‘I truly don’t know, Rosie. Your mother never told me and I didn’t pry. It was her business.’
‘And now it’s my business.’
Morag sighed. ‘Your mother had her reasons for not telling you. She wanted you to have a good relationship with the man you thought of as your dad and, as he said nothing to you about it, he was presumably keen that you should never know. That no one knew, in fact.’
‘But why didn’t she tell me the truth after Dad left, or when I grew up? I don’t understand.’
‘Sometimes secrets can take on a life of their own until there’s no way out.’ Morag gazed into the distance, far away in her thoughts. Then she gave her head the slightest of shakes. ‘I’m sure your mother would have told you one day, but she passed away far sooner than she expected.’
That would have been quite a chat over her mum’s favourite caramel lattes at Driftwood House. You know the man you’ve called Dad for almost thirty years, Rosie? The man who left us, the man whose death you mourned? As it happens, he wasn’t your real dad at all.
Rosie brought her attention back to the stifling room. ‘Did you and Mum stay friends, Morag?’
‘For a while but our lives moved on, and I moved away. I was surprised your mother didn’t keep in touch, but perhaps I knew too much to have around. I’m sure I was soon forgotten.’
‘I don’t think so. She kept your photo hidden away for almost thirty years with the love letter.’
Morag smiled. ‘That’s very touching. Perhaps it was meant as a back-up if she wasn’t around to tell you the truth when the time was right. She meant for you to find it and to come and find me.’
‘Perhaps. Is there anything else at all you can remember from back then?’
‘Nothing, except that Rose was your mother’s choice of name. She was most insistent about it, which I’ve always remembered because it’s my sister’s name.’ Morag settled back in her chair and picked up a chocolate digestive. ‘But that’s enough talk of the past. Why don’t you tell me more about you, Rosie, and about your life abroad? It’s been a while since I’ve travelled and I’m not averse to living vicariously through your adventures.’
An hour later, Rosie left Morag’s cosy home and walked to the outskirts of the town which edged Dartmoor. A vast landscape, black under the shadow of dark clo
uds, stretched out before her. It rose to the peaks of rocky tors and dipped into shallow valleys all the way to the horizon.
This morning had been intense, but rather than feeling shocked or upset following Morag’s bombshell, Rosie felt eerily calm. It was as if pieces of a puzzle had slotted into place, and things made more sense now – why her mum never wanted to talk about her birth; why her dad sometimes looked at her as though he didn’t know her at all.
She and her dad had clashed frequently. They were different in so many ways: colouring, temperament and interests. But he was a good man to take on another man’s child and raise her as his own. Even if it had become too much for him eventually.
It was almost a decade since he’d died, but Rosie sat at the edge of the moors and cried for her dad all over again.
CHAPTER 16
Rosie pulled into the yard at Meadowsweet Farm, turned off her engine and checked her watch. Five to two – she was late, but at least her eyes weren’t so puffy and red. Stopping at Driftwood House on her way back from Morag’s to splash cold water on her face had helped, sort of.
She twisted the rear-view mirror towards her and winced. Her face was still a bit blotchy in places but it would have to do, and hopefully the dark-blue floaty dress she’d put on would tone down her colouring. Mum always said that navy could hide a multitude of sins. But then her mum had said a lot of things and not all of them were true.
Rosie traced her fingers across her high cheekbones and oval jawline. She looked a lot like her mum. Everyone said so. But did she bear any resemblance to her biological father who was, presumably, letter-writer J? Maybe he’d found out a child was on the way and had done a runner. And now she’d never know because her mother had taken those secrets to the grave.
‘Hello, there!’ Pam Satterley, in a green spotted apron, was waving at her from the front door. ‘The potatoes have this minute come out of the oven, so you’re just in time.’
You can do this, thought Rosie, plastering on a smile. Pretend your life hasn’t just been turned upside down, eat food and make polite conversation until you can escape back to Driftwood House. She got out of the car and waved back.
‘You’ve been inside Meadowsweet Farmhouse before, haven’t you?’ asked Pam, ushering her into a narrow tiled hallway.
‘No, never.’
‘Really? That’s surprising. Didn’t Liam invite you to the teenage parties he threw when his dad and I went to visit my parents in Ireland? The parties he thought we didn’t know about?’ Pam laughed and rolled her eyes.
‘I was never on his guest list.’
‘Never mind, it’s good to have you here now, although I’m sorry it’s in such sad circumstances, after what happened to your mum. Come on through to the kitchen.’
The large kitchen, at the back of the house, was just as Rosie had imagined. Steaming saucepans sat on a black Aga, close to a huge table that was covered in trays of golden potatoes and roast parsnips, and four large dinner plates, waiting to be filled. Shelves on one wall held a chaotic muddle of books and magazines, and there were muddy boot marks across the flagstone floor. A large joint was waiting to be carved on the wooden worktop and Rosie’s stomach growled as smells of rosemary and lamb wafted under her nose. It had been days since she’d cooked herself a decent meal.
Robert Satterley glanced up at her from his seat at the table. ‘You’re not one of those vegetarians, are you?’
‘For goodness’ sake, Bob, let the poor girl get through the door before you start quizzing her,’ scolded Pam, before turning to Rosie with a frown. ‘You’re not vegetarian, are you?’
‘No, I eat pretty much everything.’
‘Thank goodness for that.’ Pam brushed her fingers through her short grey hair. ‘Liam, do you want to take Rosie through to the dining room? Lunch will be ready in a couple of minutes.’
She hadn’t noticed him there, standing almost behind the open back door. He stepped forward, looking smarter than usual. He’d swapped his sweatshirt for a white open-necked shirt, and his jeans for black cord chinos. His dark hair, newly washed, flopped across his forehead.
Was this in her honour or did he always dress up for Sunday lunch? Rosie was glad she’d put on the dress that Matt said made her look sophisticated.
Matt! She’d meant to call him from Driftwood House but time had run away with her, and the clifftop signal was often dodgy anyway. She made a mental note to try and call him later, to tell him what she’d discovered. But for now, she had to pretend all was well.
Rosie smiled at Liam and followed him into a small room which overlooked the fields that led down to the sea. Light streaming in through the window bounced off glass ornaments grouped together on an oak dresser.
‘This is a lovely, bright room.’
Liam gestured for her to take a seat at a polished table laid with glasses and cutlery. ‘We don’t use it much. We usually eat in the kitchen but Mum’s rolling out the red carpet today. She thinks you’re very exotic because you live abroad.’ Was he mocking her? Liam shifted from foot to foot. He seemed to be on edge rather than taking the mickey. ‘Why don’t you take a seat and I’ll get your food.’
He reappeared a couple of minutes later with a plate piled high with lamb, potatoes and vegetables.
‘Thank you. It looks amazing, though I’m not sure I can eat so much.’
Liam gave an understanding nod. ‘Just do the best you can. Mum likes to feed people up.’
He went to collect his own plate and took the seat the farthest from her as his parents came in with their lunch.
‘Mint sauce?’ asked Pam, passing Rosie a small silver jug. ‘Do you know, you’re the first visitor we’ve had to Sunday lunch since… well…’
She glanced at Liam, who finished her sentence. ‘…since Dee.’
That was why he was on edge, thought Rosie. This must be bringing up bad memories for him.
‘Do you have a boyfriend?’ asked Pam, spearing one of her roast potatoes with a fork and dropping it onto her husband’s plate.
‘I do. He’s called Matt and he lives near me in Spain.’
‘Did he buy you that pretty ring?’
Rosie turned the silver ring on her middle finger. ‘The ring was a Christmas present from Mum, but Matt bought me this dress.’
‘And very lovely you look in it, too. Doesn’t she, Liam?’
Much to Rosie’s relief, Robert piped up before his son had a chance to answer.
‘Why isn’t your young man here?’ he asked, making the table shake as he cut his meat. ‘A young girl like you could do with a bit of support.’
‘Especially with all the work you’re doing at Driftwood House,’ added Pam. ‘I know Liam’s given you a hand but it’s not the same, is it.’
‘Matt would love to be here but I’m afraid work got in the way. He supports me with his phone calls and texts.’
Rosie noticed that she seemed to spend a lot of time justifying her boyfriend’s absence. Work didn’t sound crazy busy whenever they spoke and, truth was, she’d started wondering herself if he could have managed a quick trip to Heaven’s Cove, if he’d really wanted to.
‘How’s the farm doing?’ she asked, keen to move the subject on from missing boyfriends.
‘Liam is doing a grand job.’ Pam gave her son a warm smile. ‘We don’t know what we’d do without him, especially now Bob can’t do so much. But it’s hard work and we’ll never be rich. What about your exciting life in Spain? What’s that like?’
‘It’s hot and busy and fun, most of the time.’
‘I haven’t been to Spain for years but I remember it as very beautiful.’
‘I live in a built-up area but the countryside is gorgeous.’
‘I’m sure it is. Though not as picturesque as Heaven’s Cove, surely?’
‘It’s a different kind of beauty – more awesome than pretty. I’m planning on heading back as soon as I find out what’s happening to Driftwood House.’
‘Why not stay
here?’ asked Robert. ‘You and your mum can live together up on the cliff.’
Sorry, mouthed Pam, patting her husband’s hand. ‘Do you remember what I told you about Sofia, Bob?’
‘That’s OK. My life’s not here any more, Mr Satterley. My boyfriend and my friends are in Spain.’
Liam looked up from his lunch and caught Rosie’s eye. ‘You have friends here too – Nessa, Katrina, me.’
Nessa was definitely a friend, Katrina definitely wasn’t, and as for Liam… well, he’d helped her with the house and she was sitting at his lunch table. She and Liam Satterley were friends! Her geeky teenaged self would never have believed it.
She smiled at him while Pam dished yet more potatoes onto her plate.
Much to Rosie’s surprise, she managed to eat all of her lunch, plus a bowl of homemade apple crumble and custard. The rest of the conversation was light – with no mention of her mum, Driftwood House or the Eppings – and, after the morning’s revelations, Rosie relaxed and enjoyed being part of a proper family for a little while. Liam seemed more relaxed too, and thoughts of missing dads and mystery lovers vanished from her head.
‘That was delicious, Pam, and I can’t believe how much I’ve eaten!’ Rosie sat back in her chair and patted her stomach, which seemed to have grown. ‘Thank you so much for inviting me. You must let me help you with the washing up.’
But when she stood up, Pam took her dirty bowl from her and shooed her towards the door. ‘Bob and I will do the clearing up and Liam can take you on a tour of the estate.’
‘Estate?’ Liam laughed. ‘It’s a small farm that Rosie has seen before. But I can show you around if you’d like.’ He frowned at her strappy sandals. ‘Mum’s wellies will probably fit you.’
Liam strode across the fields, with Rosie slapping along beside him in wellies that were far too big. He talked to her about the crops he’d recently harvested and the financial challenge of running the business, and it was all far more interesting than she’d ever imagined.
After a while, he stopped at a five-barred gate and checked it was fastened shut.
