A Twist of Fate

by Joanna Rees

  He walked quickly towards Thea, smiling, and wrapped her in a tight embrace. When he pulled back, the way his eyes connected with hers made her heart thump hard.

  ‘Hey, look at you,’ she said.

  He grinned at her. ‘It’s so good to see you, at last. You know . . . properly. Not in a hospital.’ He smiled again, clearly remembering where he was. ‘Just outside one instead.’

  When their eyes locked again, she realized how long she’d been looking forward to that, to just looking at his face. It was Michael who broke the moment. She saw a blush in his cheeks.

  ‘Mom’s inside,’ he said, grimacing a little. ‘She’s . . . er . . . well, come on, you can see for yourself.’

  He led Thea inside and she followed him down a long corridor and into a private set of rooms. Across a sweep of clean pink carpet Mrs Pryor was sitting in a chair with a crocheted blanket over her knees. She was looking out at the garden at an empty stone birdbath.

  She had become like a tracing of her former self, Thea thought, as she approached, shocked by how much the old housekeeper had aged. Thea’s heart ached with chagrin when she thought of what Michael had told her: that Caroline Pryor had written to her every week, and Thea had never replied. Now a thousand memories assaulted her. Of Mrs Pryor brushing her hair before bed; of the fat birthday cakes she’d iced; of hemming her party dress, and teaching her to knit . . .

  ‘You have a visitor, Mom,’ Michael said. ‘It’s Thea. Thea Maddox. She’s come all this way to say hello.’

  Mrs Pryor slowly turned to face them. Thea thought she saw a glimmer of recognition in her rheumy, near-translucent blue eyes. Thea bent down, touching the downy softness of Mrs Pryor’s hand.

  ‘Do you remember me?’ she asked her. She leant forward and kissed her cheek. ‘It’s so nice to see you.’

  Mrs Pryor’s watery eyes searched Thea’s. ‘She wept so much,’ she said.

  ‘Who? Who wept?’ Thea asked, sitting down now in the chair that Michael had brought her.

  ‘Her . . .’ Mrs Prior answered, before turning sharply to Michael and demanding, ‘Who are you?’

  ‘It’s Michael, Mom. Remember?’ He smiled an exasperated smile at Thea. His eyes were full of regret.

  ‘Michael?’ She studied Michael, searching for clues. ‘I don’t know any Michael. Who are you?’ she demanded again, looking panicked now, half-standing up out of her chair. ‘Why are you here?’

  ‘Don’t get upset. It’s OK. We’ve just come to visit you, that’s all,’ Michael soothed.

  He helped his mother sit back down and she murmured something Thea didn’t quite catch, before falling silent again. She stared back out at the birdbath, as if Thea and Michael were no longer – had never been – there.

  Michael and Thea tried talking to her, taking turns to remind her of her life, but only twice did she actually look back at them, and not once did Thea see that glimmer of recognition return.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ Thea said. She felt a rush of tenderness as she watched Michael stroke his mother’s thin white hair.

  ‘This is a good day. Believe it or not,’ he said.

  One wall of Mrs Pryor’s room had been entirely covered with photographs. Thea walked over and read the Post-it notes stuck to them: names and places and memories. She smiled when she saw a picture of her and Michael as children – she couldn’t have been much more than six – sitting on the doorstep of Little Elm’s greenhouse, eating a big bowl of strawberries, their grubby knees touching.

  ‘Look at us,’ she said, putting her fingertip on the photo. ‘And look, there’s Johnny.’

  ‘I remember you said you’d seen him,’ Michael said. He glanced back at his mother; she was still staring out of the window. ‘Let’s go and get a coffee,’ he said.

  ‘Dr Myerson will come soon,’ Mrs Pryor said, shaking her head.

  ‘Sorry, Mom?’ Michael said, surprised that his mother had spoken.

  But Mrs Pryor didn’t answer. Her eyelids started to droop and her head lolled forward. Right before their eyes, she fell asleep.

  With their coffee mugs long empty, Thea stared across the polished wooden refectory table at Michael. She really hadn’t intended to tell him everything, but as soon as she’d sat down with him in this spacious, silent room overlooking the rolling lawns, she’d found herself confiding in him. She’d told him all about visiting Johnny and finding out about her mother’s baby. And then she’d told him about Shelley too. About how her half-sister had been given away.

  Sister – sometimes the word still seemed so alien to Thea, but at other times it felt so natural, as if a part of her had always known that a bit of her life was missing and was waiting out there for her.

  ‘My God. I wonder if anyone else knew?’ Michael said. ‘I wonder if Mom knew. It’s a pretty huge secret to keep, huh?’

  Thea nodded. ‘It puts a weird perspective on everything. On the way I remember Mom. I always thought my father was the love of her life, but now I wonder if it might actually have been Johnny all along. If Mom only stayed with Dad out of loyalty . . .’

  ‘So what are you going to do?’ Michael asked.

  ‘I’ve found her,’ she admitted. ‘My half-sister. I know where she is.’

  Thea thought about all the money she’d spent over the last five years, on private investigators in England and Australia. Her search had been sporadic. As life in Maddox Inc. had become ever more hectic, at times she’d thought of giving up altogether.

  And after Tom’s death in 2001 she hadn’t wanted to hassle Shelley Lawson, suspecting that Thea would be the last person she needed to hear from. But two years ago she’d sent an email reminding Shelley of her promise to help. Six months ago, just when Thea had completely given up hope, Shelley had sent a file of information. Details that Thea had studied again and again.

  ‘But I don’t know what to do next, Michael. I mean, do I really have the right to drop such a bombshell into her life?’ Thea said. It felt so good to talk about all of this with him.

  Michael put his hand on hers. ‘It sounds to me like you’ve already made up your mind. Or why dig up all this information on her at all?’

  ‘But what about her? What about what she wants? Of course she has a right to know, but what if she’d be happier just as she is?’

  Michael’s hand was still on hers. ‘Why not just go see?’ he said, smiling at her gently now. ‘You’re Thea Maddox, after all. What’s stopping you jumping on a plane? The Thea Maddox I’ve known always had a pretty good instinct when it came to other people. So why not just go take a look and judge for yourself if she’s the kind of woman who can take it in her stride?’

  ‘You mean spy on her?’

  ‘I mean just go and do what you’ve got to do.’ His face grew more serious as he trailed his fingers along the curved line of his scar. ‘Life’s too short to play “what if”, Thea,’ he said. ‘Don’t end up living with regrets.’ He forced a smile. ‘The Thea I remember, she never let anything get in her way. Just go and do what you feel is right.’

  Thea squeezed his hand tight in hers, his faith in her filling her with confidence. She found herself wishing again for a second, just as she had done in Landstuhl, that he’d never let her go. And as his eyes met hers, despite what he’d just told her, she caught herself thinking: What if . . .

  And now here she was in Sydney – only all the confidence she’d felt then was gone. She wished she’d asked Michael to come with her. Just like when they’d been kids, with him standing by her side she still felt she could take on the world.

  Thea noticed the waitress hovering, waiting to take her order.

  ‘I’m still waiting for someone. Sorry,’ Thea said. ‘My sister,’ she added, testing out the words.

  The waitress smiled brightly, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. ‘No problem, you just call me over when you’re ready,’ she said, heading off to where other diners had signalled they wanted their bill.

  Thea looked at her wat
ch again. She felt her heart fluttering with nerves. Would she come? Would she? Would she want to meet Thea as well?

  She.

  Jenny Mulligan.

  Her sister.

  In the twenty-four hours since she’d arrived in Sydney, Thea had studied Jenny Mulligan from Balmain in minute detail, sitting outside her house on the street in the hire car, peering through the binoculars she’d bought. She’d watched a seemingly confident woman prepare coffee in the morning, before she’d ushered two boys out of the front door and had driven them to school.

  Thea had followed her to a shopping mall, where she’d opened up the grille of a shop and had turned on the lights, before plumping up the soft toys and furnishings in the window. Thea had plucked up the courage to go into the store. She’d browsed for ages, before – her heart pounding at the sheer recklessness of her choice – she’d selected a red heart-shaped cushion embroidered with the words ‘Sisters make the best of friends’. Something about it had reminded her of the embroidered heart Mrs Pryor had helped her make all those years ago for her mother. Her mother, who had kept this secret from her to her grave.

  Thea had felt so unconfident and humble as she’d approached the till where Jenny had been standing, as if her secret were written all over her face. But up close, Thea hadn’t been able to imagine what genetic traits she might share with this taller, more athletic stranger. Thea had imagined this moment over and over again, thinking it might be like looking in a mirror. But it had been nothing like that. In fact the only trait Thea had recognized in Jenny at all had been their mother’s eyes. The rest must have been Johnny’s, she’d thought, unable to quell the sense of disappointment that this discovery had stirred up inside her.

  ‘Your sister will love that,’ Jenny had said, shocking Thea with her Australian accent. ‘I’m assuming it’s a gift?’ she said.

  ‘Er . . . yes . . .’

  ‘I always wanted a sister,’ Jenny had commented conversationally as she’d wrapped the cushion up.

  Me too, Thea had wanted to blurt out.

  ‘But instead I just got lumbered with a couple of naughty little brothers,’ Jenny had added with a grin, as she’d tied off the bow.

  Thea’s resolve had wavered then. She had brothers? Thea’s file hadn’t mentioned that, but of course it was possible. There was no reason why Jenny’s adoptive parents shouldn’t have had more children? Thea had felt herself starting to panic. What else might she not know?

  She’d imagined it would be black and white. She’d thought that, after all this time and money she’d invested, she’d arrive here in Australia and make her grand announcement and have a wonderful sense of: what? she wondered. Closure? Elation? But staring at this woman – this stranger – Thea had realized that it was all going to be so much more complicated than that.

  ‘I know this is going to sound very strange,’ she’d said, plucking up the courage, suddenly knowing that if she didn’t do it now, then she’d never come back. ‘But I need to talk to you.’

  ‘Me?’ Jenny had said, staring at Thea blankly.

  ‘I have something to tell you, Jenny. It’s something to do with your family.’ Thea had lowered her voice, as other customers had come into the shop.

  Jenny had stared at her, dumbfounded, obviously amazed that Thea knew her name. ‘But I don’t know you. Are you sure you’ve got the right person?’

  ‘I can explain it all. I’ve come a very long way to find you.’

  ‘Well, I can’t talk here,’ Jenny had said.

  ‘Then meet me later. I’ll be at the Opera House bar from six.’ Thea had put down some cash to cover the cost of the cushion, as well as a business card relating to the bar, so that it would be easy for Jenny to find it. ‘Please. It really is vital that you come.’

  And now Thea finally saw her. Jenny Mulligan was wearing the same clothes she’d been wearing at work. She must have come straight here, Thea thought, wondering instinctively who she’d got to look after her kids. Her dark hair was pulled back from her face. She looked around her, as if it was the last place she ever might visit.

  Thea stared at Jenny, again waiting for the moment of profound connection she’d been expecting to kick in. But it didn’t. Instead she felt an overwhelming urge to run away. She forced herself to smile and wave.

  She could do this, she told herself, remembering Michael’s confidence in her. Jenny might not be what she’d imagined, but she was still family. Her family. The only real connection Thea had to her mother. Which is why Thea kept her smile locked in place until Jenny joined her.

  Thea offered her some wine, but Jenny Mulligan refused, sitting nervously with her plastic handbag on her lap.

  ‘So what’s all this about then?’ Jenny asked, startling Thea with her directness. Thea was so used to people being subservient towards her, so used to them treating her like their boss, that it felt weird to be put on the spot. ‘Is this to do with Danny’s cousin? If he’s got into trouble, then we’re not bailing him out—’

  ‘No, not at all,’ Thea said, startled, and remembering from her notes that Danny was Jenny’s husband. She realized that Jenny must have jumped to all sorts of conclusions since their meeting this morning.

  ‘Then who are you?’

  ‘My name is Thea Maddox,’ she told Jenny.

  ‘You’re American.’ The words sounded more like an accusation than a question.

  Thea watched Jenny scrutinizing her, her eyes checking out her diamond earrings and Moschino jacket.

  She smiled uneasily again. ‘There’s no easy way to tell you this. But I’ve recently found out that you and I are sisters. Well . . . half-sisters.’

  She looked at Jenny for a reaction – for tears? For denial? for what exactly she didn’t know – but all Jenny did was just stare blankly back.

  ‘Your father is Johnny Faraday,’ Thea said, hiding now behind the facts, hoping they’d be enough to convince Jenny that what she was saying was true. ‘He lives in South Africa. Your mother – our mother – is . . . was . . . Alyssa McAdams.’ Thea slid the envelope across the table. The papers she’d spent weeks preparing. ‘It’s all in here.’

  Jenny exhaled. ‘You’ve got to be joking.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘But me? Are you sure? I mean, Mum and Dad – they never said anything . . .’

  Mum and Dad. The way she said those words. The way they sounded so solid. So full of history. Oh, God, Thea thought, what have I done?

  ‘You mean you didn’t even know you were adopted?’ Thea felt sick.

  Jenny’s eyes filled with tears and her hard features crumpled. ‘I don’t know what to say.’ She stared at the envelope, not taking it.

  And Thea realized that she’d been so utterly wrong to have come here. And Michael had been wrong about her too. Whatever judgement she’d possessed as a child, she’d lost it all now. Jenny already had a caring, loving family. She’d had no need, like Thea, to rake over the past, searching for embers of the truth.

  ‘I don’t know what you want from me,’ Jenny said.

  ‘I don’t want anything,’ Thea said.

  But she did. She wanted something, she knew for certain now, that Jenny Mulligan would never be able to give her. She wanted the kind of sister who was a mirror-image of herself. The kind of sister who might really be her best friend. The kind of sister that would make the nagging ache about her past go away.

  Thea’s phone rang. And kept on ringing. She cursed herself for not putting it onto mute.

  Jenny was staring fixedly at the envelope.

  In frustration Thea snatched up her phone and demanded, ‘What?’

  Storm’s voice crackled down the line. ‘Thea, where are you? Nobody has been able to reach you. You’ve got to come. Thea . . . it’s Griff . . .’

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  October 2009

  The Nico Rilla Retrospective that Simona Fiore had organized in his memory was being held at the prestigious Belina gallery in Rome. The event had been on Romy
’s radar for months, but as Saturday night arrived and her driver, Dario, pulled the sleek Mercedes to a halt outside the brightly lit downtown mansion block, Romy suddenly found herself filled with apprehension and dreading the attention and scrutiny she knew she was about to face.

  From the shadows of the car she looked at the rain-slicked pavement and the blurred reflection of the gallery lights. Behind the plate-glass windows the venue was already full – a colourful crowd of people laughing and drinking. Even from the car she could hear the hubbub of voices over the beat of the music coming from the open gallery doors. The Black Eyed Peas, Romy recognized. Alfie had this track on his new iPod.

  Simona had made Romy the guest of honour tonight, and in her Dior clutch was a speech she’d spent hours preparing, but still she wondered whether she was strong enough to be around all of Nico’s old friends. It would be like travelling back in time. To that night again. The night Alfonso and Nico had died.

  Romy had spent so much of the intervening years trying to erase the memory of what had happened – plucking out those shards of shrapnel, those twisted, bloodied remnants of the night her life had blown apart. And mostly she’d managed it. But only by relentlessly and tirelessly focusing on the future – a future, she’d grown to realize, she was lucky to have at all.

  And as she’d driven herself forward, Roberto had been only too willing to let her drive his business alongside her. In the last two years he’d given Romy more and more responsibility. So much so that, for the first time ever today, he’d left Romy in sole charge of Scolari while he and Maria set off to enjoy what Romy hoped would be the first of a series of long-overdue holidays.

  Romy’s only regret was that they’d taken Alfie with them. Romy hadn’t been able to refuse their invitation, especially as it had been presented as such a fait accompli by all three of them. Alfie had been so excited about going on the yacht. He’d also known, of course, that his grandparents would spoil him rotten, and that Roberto would give him a free rein – far more than his mother ever did at home. And it wouldn’t be fair to him, Alfie had argued, if he didn’t go on holiday, when Romy was going to be at work every day anyway, and had been for most of the time he’d been off school in the summer, he’d added, tightening the thumbscrews of guilt.