by John MacKay
‘Does it feel okay?’
‘Fine.’
She stepped in front of him and began to adjust the tie. Cal watched her intently and felt his throat thicken, but she was oblivious to the effect she was having on him. Then she ran her hands down the front of the jacket to smooth it and stepped back, looking him up and down again.
‘You look very handsome,’ she smiled. ‘Mary would be proud of you.’
With that, she turned, asking over her shoulder whether he wanted tea, and the moment was gone. As he followed her, Cal had to wonder whether there had ever been a moment.
Later, as they sat in the kitchen, Mairi noticed Cal adjusting the suit. ‘Stop fussing. It looks as good as new. I think Colin only ever wore it the once himself.’
‘D’you mind my asking, when did he die?’
‘Two years ago.’
‘It must have been hard for you.’
Mairi nodded. ‘It wasn’t much easier when he was alive, to be honest.’
Cal was taken aback.
‘Colin liked his drink. I told you that already. It’s not easy to live with that. It’s not how I thought it would be. I should have known better. He took a good drink before we married, but I thought he would stop.’ She sniffed and smiled simultaneously. ‘How often do you hear that? Why do women always think they can change their man?’
She sat forward, and played with a biscuit wrapper.
‘He wasn’t nasty with it, not physically anyway. He never laid a finger on me. But he could be vicious with his talk if he got in a mood. And he thought nothing of getting in the car to go drinking. And he’d justify it too. He used to say that it was easy to stop drink driving in the city, but how were country folk supposed to get to a hotel if they couldn’t take their car? That was how he saw it. And it’s what killed him of course. Coming back from town.’ She shook her head.
‘What happened,’ asked Cal quietly after some moments.
‘The car came off the road at a bend. They don’t know if something was on the road or if he just lost control. They told me that at the speed he was going he had no chance. Such a waste.’
Colin Junior came through to the kitchen, now washed and smartly dressed. He immediately saw what Cal was wearing.
‘That’s my dad’s suit,’ he blurted.
‘Yes,’ said Mairi, ‘Cal’s just borrowing it for the funeral.’
‘But it’s dad’s.’
‘I know. It’s just for the funeral,’ she repeated.
‘Look,’ interjected Cal, ‘if Colin’s uncomfortable about it, I can wear something else.’
‘No,’ said Mairi sternly. ‘You’re just being silly Colin. Cal needs a suit for the funeral.’
‘And he hasn’t got one of his own?’
‘Not with me, I’m afraid,’ explained Cal.
Colin stomped out of the room.
‘I’m sorry,’ apologised Mairi.
‘No need. It must be difficult for him.’
‘He’s very protective of his father.’
‘You can understand that.’
‘He’s very like him too. It worries me. He’s getting to that age and he’s just being difficult. He wants to be like his dad. That’s what all that hanging around the hotel is about.’
‘That’s just what kids do.’
‘Maybe, but he’s heard stories of what his dad was like and he wants to be the same. He needs male guidance in his life. All the people close to him are women.’
‘He seems a good lad to me.’
‘He is, and that’s why I’m hopeful. When he drinks it’s because he wants to be like his father, he drinks for show, to be one of the boys. His father drank for a reason.’
Mairi responded to the quizzical look on Cal’s face.
‘His father drank because he hated the fact he was adopted.’
18
‘HE DIDN’T FIND out until he was at high school,’ Mairi explained. ‘And he found out, he wasn’t told. His uncle blurted it out when he was drunk. It came as a shock. I suppose it was like you are feeling now. Everything he had thought about himself was wrong.’
‘Did he ever find out who his real mother was?’ asked Cal.
‘No. He didn’t want to. As far as he was concerned, she’d given him up and that was that. Maybe he’d have changed in time.’
‘Did he know anything about her?’
‘No. All he was told was that she’d been young and unmarried. He didn’t ask any more.’
‘And that’s why he drank?’
‘That’s what I think.’
‘I can understand. It’s strange.’
‘Don’t start feeling like that until you know for sure.’
‘But I do.’
‘Okay,’ said Mairi getting up and bringing the conversation to an end. ‘I’ll need to get ready.’
She was away for only a few minutes. Cal stiffened in surprise when she returned dressed elegantly in a black trouser-suit. Minimal make-up brought sophistication to her fresh face.
‘That’s a transformation,’ he said admiringly. ‘You look good.’
‘Just the day for it,’ she responded dismissively. ‘We’d better get up to the house.’
‘It’s pouring.’
‘It looks like it’s on for the day,’ observed Mairi, looking out the window.
‘Will we take the car?’
‘To Mary’s?’
‘We’ll get wet by the time we get to the car anyway. No, get the umbrellas and we’ll walk, for all the distance it is.’
If the wind had been of any strength they would have been soaked, but the rain poured straight down from the clouds and the umbrellas protected the four of them from all but splashes on their shoes. Cal shared a brolly with Mairi and the two of them huddled close as they made their way up the hill. Cal couldn’t help enjoying being so close to her, but Mairi was distracted by the children, issuing rapid instructions about staying properly under their brolly.
Colin and Emma entered Mary’s house cautiously, looking around as if they were expecting to see someone. Mairi began to lay the peats in the stove and Cal watched in admiration as the urbanely dressed figure skilfully tackled that most basic of tasks, setting a fire.
Then he noticed that Emma was crying. Mairi went straight to her and hugged her tightly.
‘It’s so empty and cold,’ sobbed the girl.
‘It’s okay baby,’ soothed her mother, caressing her hair and kissing her head. ‘She’s in a better place and she’s not in pain any more.’
The girl buried her face in her mother’s shoulder. Colin was determinedly not showing any emotion.
‘She was like a granny to them. They were here so often.’ Mairi’s statement was uttered as an explanation to Cal, but had the dual purpose of putting into words what Emma herself wanted to say.
Colin left the room. Cal was uncertain about what to do. Eventually he used that reliable fall-back for moments of minor crisis and put the kettle on. Mairi smiled her approval.
‘Can you check on Colin?’ she requested.
The door to Mary’s bedroom was open. Colin was sitting motionless on the edge of the bed.
‘Are you okay?’ Cal asked.
Colin jerked his head once.
‘Your mum was wondering.’
‘Is this where she died?’ the boy asked curtly, looking at the bed.
Cal nodded. Colin breathed deeply. Cal sensed he wanted to say more.
‘Were you with her?’
‘Me and your mum.’
‘What was it like?’
The forthright question took Cal aback and he struggled to answer.
‘Peaceful,’ he finally said and having got the first word out, the rest flowed easily enough. ‘She was asleep and then she wasn’t breathing any more. That’s all. She wasn’t in any pain. It’s the way to go.’ He cringed as he uttered the last sentence. ‘I mean, she was in her own bed, she wasn’t in a hospital ward or anything like that.’
‘Or lying
in a field.’
‘What?’
‘That’s what happened to my dad. Bled to death on his own, lying in a field in the dark.’
‘Jesus, Colin. How d’you know that? It might have been instant.’
‘Nah. I know. I saw his death certificate. It was all these medical terms, but I looked them up. He bled to death on his own with nobody near him to help.’
‘Don’t think like that. Even if you’re right, chances are he wasn’t conscious.’
‘He was my dad and I know. I just do.’
‘Well, don’t think about it.’
‘I’m not going to forget him.’
‘That’s not what I’m saying. Just don’t think of that.’
‘You’re telling me this was a better way to die.’
‘I’m not saying there is a good way to die. But the way it was for Mary, if there’s a way to go, maybe that’s the best.’
Cal was finding the conversation very difficult. He knew he was relying on clichés.
‘I think you’re talking crap,’ Colin jibed. ‘She shouldn’t have died. Not yet. She should’ve had years left. She was killed by cancer and that’s about as painful as it gets. And who were the loved ones? You and my mum?’
Cal was taken aback.
‘My mum maybe, but who are you anyway? When was the last time you were here? I was here loads and I never saw you, not once.’
‘What is all this?’ asked Cal defensively.
‘We were about the only family she had. And then when she dies, you appear from nowhere with your poser car, start taking over everything and now you’re wearing my dad’s clothes.’
Cal’s anger flared. ‘Listen, I know who I am and why I’m here. That woman was my mother and I’m not going to stand here and listen to some screwed up little mouth like you question me and what I do.’
‘Your mother?’ Colin repeated disbelievingly. ‘You’re making it up.’
Cal heard Mairi coming.
‘Colin, don’t do or say anything to upset your mother. Not today.’
‘You’re not my father and never will be,’ Colin spat back.
Cal stalked out and met Mairi in the hallway.
‘Is she okay?’ he asked nodding towards the kitchen.
‘She’s lost her granny. That’s how she sees it.’
Mairi’s face crumpled. Cal placed his hands on her shoulder and pulled her gently towards him to comfort her. As he did so, Colin emerged from the bedroom and deliberately bumped against him as he walked passed. Their eyes met in a moment of mutual dislike.
Cal was in a ferment. His own words kept returning to him: ‘my mother’. Finally, the tears welled up from deep inside and poured down his face and he sobbed sorely in Mairi’s arms. They stood there, bound in sorrow, until they heard Emma announce that tea was ready. At the same instant, Cal’s phone rang.
19
‘HI. IT’S ME.’ It was Lisa. ‘I’ve got your birth certificate.’
‘Hold on,’ instructed Cal. ‘It’s the call I’ve been expecting,’ he whispered apologetically to Mairi and began climbing the stairs to seek privacy. ‘What does it say?’
‘Nothing.’
‘What d’you mean, nothing?’ He was instantly deflated.
‘Well, nothing unusual. It’s got all the usual stuff you would expect to see, but nothing more.’
‘Are you sure?’ he persisted.
‘I’ll read it to you.’
She read quickly through all the details. His full name, when and where he was born, his father’s name and occupation, his mother’s maiden name, brief details of their marriage, the fact that his father had signed the certificate and the name of the registrar.
‘And that’s it, nothing more?’
‘Nothing.’
‘There must be.’
‘There isn’t, believe me. I…’ Lisa stopped herself.
‘What?’ demanded Cal impatiently. ‘What is it?’
‘You never said what this was about,’ she continued hesitantly, ‘But I got an idea from what you said when you asked me to do this, or more from what you didn’t say.’
‘What about it?’ Cal was confused.
‘I asked the woman at the registry office if this showed that you were adopted.’ Lisa paused to judge his reaction before going on. There was no sound from him. ‘Well, she said that there’s no chance. Your mum’s name is on your full certificate, so that’s who your mum is.’
‘No, that can’t be right,’ exclaimed Cal in exasperation.
‘I’m just telling you what she told me.’
‘She said that, quite specifically told you that?’
‘Yes. She said there could be no doubt.’
‘I know that’s wrong, I know it.’ Cal’s voice betrayed his disbelief and confusion. ‘I’ve discovered things since I came here. I know I was adopted. The woman, my aunt who died. She was my mother. I know she was.’
‘The woman said if you’d been adopted, there would be something on your birth certificate to say so. Details of a court order or something.’
‘They must have worked it some way.’ Cal was speaking aloud, but not to Lisa. He ended the call without any acknowledgement or thanks for what she’d done.
During the conversation he had been drawn into the room with the cache of letters. He pulled open the suitcase again, withdrew the boxes of letters and mementoes and emptied them onto the bed. The letters, the lock of hair, the identity bracelet, the clues that had set in train all the questions in his mind. He could look through them again and they would tell him the same story. Something was wrong, something didn’t fit and he couldn’t understand what it might be.
He heard Mairi’s footsteps on the stairs. She entered, flushed from crying, but she was composed.
‘Are you okay?’ she asked. His face answered her question. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘I don’t understand,’ he answered, picking up the letters and dropping them again beside him on the bed.
‘What?’
‘It’s just not right. Something’s wrong.’ Cal was barely articulate.
‘What is it? That call. Was it bad news?’
Cal held his head in his hands for a few moments and then sat up with a sigh.
‘Not bad news, I don’t suppose, but it’s left me confused.’
‘How?’ Mairi sat down beside him.
‘All that stuff I was talking about before we came here, about Mary having a baby. These letters, the identity bracelet.’ He held it up for Mairi to see. ‘I honestly thought that baby was me. I still do.’
‘So what’s changed?’
‘My birth certificate. You said it would confirm it, but it doesn’t. That’s what the call was about. I can’t figure it out.’
Mairi sat holding the plastic identity bracelet and remained silent.
‘D’you think they might have kept the birth completely quiet and just registered me in my mum’s name, just to keep Mary out of the picture altogether?’ he continued.
‘That would have been hard to do. It would have been hard to keep that secret,’ she said softly.
‘But people do. You hear about people having babies they didn’t know they were expecting and babies being abandoned on doorsteps. It happens all the time.’
‘That doesn’t explain this,’ said Mairi, holding up the identity tag. ‘That came from a hospital. Just supposing Mary had the baby in secret and your mother went to the hospital claiming it as hers. They would have checked her over, they’d have known she was lying.’
‘How else could they have done it without anyone knowing?’
‘Maybe they didn’t. Have you thought about that?’
‘Mary had a baby, there’s no question. This tag was her baby’s.’ He picked up the envelope and grasped the lock of hair from inside it and thrust it at Mairi. ‘This was her baby’s hair. Her best friend told me that she had a baby. I’m not wrong.’
‘Yes, but maybe the baby wasn’t you.’
Cal
sat open mouthed, breathing deeply.
‘That she had a baby isn’t in doubt, Cal,’ continued Mairi gently. ‘The facts can’t be denied with all this and what Kate-Anna told you. The evidence is there. What you don’t have is evidence you were that baby. You made assumptions, you didn’t have anything to back them up.’
‘I did,’ Cal argued stubbornly. ‘She saw the baby grow up. Who else could that be? Mary was like a second mother to me all my life. Why would that be? My father resented me. Why would that be? She wanted to see me before she died. She kept all this stuff.’
‘That only proves that she had a child, not that it was you. All the rest, it’s just conjecture. The only fact you actually have about the identity of the baby is that it wasn’t you. Your birth certificate tells you that. Why does it matter to you so much? You already had a mother you loved. Why do you so want to bury another one?’
They were interrupted by Colin shouting up from downstairs. ‘That’s it coming.’
Cal went over to the window and looked inland. Two sleek black vehicles were coming in the road. Even from half a mile away, he could clearly see the boxed shape and large windows of the hearse. Behind it came the sleek lines of the limousine.
‘We’d better get downstairs,’ said Mairi.
‘I’ll follow you in a minute,’ answered Cal, his eyes fixed on the approaching cars.
Mairi came over to him and rested her hand on his shoulder.
‘Cal, today will be hard enough. Don’t make it worse for yourself.’
He put his hand to hers and grasped it for comfort, conscious of how delicate and soft it seemed in his grip. After a moment, she broke from him and went downstairs. He remained at the window as the cortege moved smoothly towards them. Only on the final stretch could he see through the glass to the flower-decked coffin. The long black cars were so fitting for their undertaking. Their classic looks, their gleaming black colour and their smooth motion so appropriate. In the end, after all is said and done, the only passages that mattered were the odysseys of birth and of death. The cars were the right chariots for the final journey.
The scene was at once, strangely, both personal and impersonal. In a sense Mary was home for the last time, but all he could see was a wooden box. Mary, dear Mary, was in there, but beyond him.
