‘I wasn’t hiding it, sweetheart, I just—’
‘Just stuck it in your pocket and forgot it.’ The anger that seems to have become so much a part of her feelings for Archie is resurfacing. All the tension that has been wrapped up inside her ever since she penned her own note to her mother explodes like a bomb, with Archie as the target. ‘How could you Archie? As though keeping my adoption secret all these years wasn’t enough!’
‘I – darling—’
‘Don’t darling me!’ She stands up and shakes off the fleece, gripping the letter so firmly that the paper crackles in her fingers. ‘It’s too much, Archie, really it is!’
Shaking with anger and disappointment, she turns and marches back round the rhododendron bush and up the overgrown path to the house. She’s conscious that she may be doing herself a disservice as well as doing a wrong to Archie, but overshadowing this insight is the notion that has embedded itself in her head. Once again Archie has tried to keep the secret of my birth from me.
Susie showers and dresses before she can pluck up the courage to look again at the letter. At last, with no more excuses to procrastinate, she sinks down on her bed, opens it again, smooths out the crinkles she made and turns it right side up. The words are clearly written, the writing almost childlike in its simplicity.
To my much-missed daughter
I am shaking so much I can hardly write this letter. For all these long years I have dreamed of this day and now that it is here I don’t know where to start. The agency says that we should not say too much at first, just tell each other a few things about ourselves, so here goes.
I am now seventy-three years old. I was just seventeen when I found I was pregnant with you and eighteen when I gave birth. I wanted to keep you – oh, how I wanted to keep you – but there was a great deal of pressure from my family and I knew there was no way I could afford to look after you. It wasn’t like it is now. No free council flats or benefits. And they told me they would find you a good home, so I did what I thought was best for you, even though it broke my heart.
Anyway, later I found a nice boy and even though I told him everything, he still wanted to marry me. I was lucky.
I had two more children of my own, though Andrew and I never did tell them about you. Now I suppose I have to tell them. I’m not ashamed, but it will be difficult to come out with it now, after all this silence.
Maybe it will be a relief.
My husband Andrew died eight years ago and I really miss him. My daughter lives in Australia but my son lives not too far away. He has two children of his own – my grandchildren – so I’ve done quite well after all, maybe better than I deserved.
Anyway, they told me don’t say too much at first, get to know each other bit by bit, so I’ll sign off now. I just want you to know that there hasn’t been a day gone by that I haven’t thought of you and wondered whether I did the right thing.
Your ever loving mother,
Joyce
PS I always think of you as Brenda, but they tell me you are called Susie now. It’s a pretty name.
Below her, in the courtyard, Susie can hear voices. She glances out of the window and sees Archie talking to Jon.
My husband. My son. My family. But now I have another family as well. How strange that is. A woman called Joyce is my new mother. And she was only a teenager when she gave birth to a small, lustily howling, illegitimate baby. Ten years younger than Mannie is now. She must have been frightened, maybe alone, certainly her pregnancy was not a time of joy and celebration.
Susie scans the letter again. She was loved, that seems clear. Words and phrases jump out at her. I did what I thought was best for you, even though it broke my heart. ... There hasn’t been a day gone by that I haven’t thought of you ... Your ever loving mother ...
It’s a step, and she knows she will write back. Hopefully, she’ll soon meet this new mother and that is important – but is meeting her more important than making up with Archie? Is a family she has never known more important than the one she has now? Will it be possible to retract her angry words or has she just created another gulf between them?
The phone by Susie’s bed shrills brutally. Blearily, she reaches for it. ‘Hello?’
‘Christ, Suse,’ Karen sounds very much awake, ‘You sound rough. You okay?’
Susie peers at the clock on the bedside table. It feels like five but the dial reads eight thirty. She has slept in.
‘I’m fine,’ she says, her voice hoarse with fatigue.
‘I take it you haven’t seen Scotland Daily yet?’
‘Not yet. Why?’ She doesn’t feel prepared for a new week. A few months ago she lived and breathed politics, loving every minute of the work – meeting her constituents, talking at conferences, opening fairs, even the media work. Especially the media work. That’s where she feels at the top of her game – after all, it brings all her skills into play, and she adores being in the limelight. But now? Everything has spun topsy turvy, all the things she used to love doing have become a chore.
‘You’d better brace yourself.’
‘Oh God. What now?’
‘Let me quote: “MSP denies she is a lesbian. Susie Wallace, Member of the Scottish Parliament for Lothians, is not a lesbian, she claims. Despite reaching stardom in a role that lent scorching credence to rumours of her sexuality, her long term partner said yesterday—” ’
‘What?’ Susie breaks in, incredulous. ‘What is this crap?’
‘ “—her long-term partner said yesterday—” ’
‘Karen. For heaven’s sake, what is this? Who’s written this drivel?’
‘Byline is Justin Thorneloe. It goes on—’
‘I don’t want to know how it goes on,’ Susie says wearily. ‘What is it with Justin Thorneloe? The story’s utter bollocks and he know it.’
‘I know that. You know that. But no smoke—’
‘What does Mo say?’
‘She’s not here yet. Are you coming in soon?’
‘I’ll be there in an hour.’
‘Did you talk to him over the weekend?’
‘Justin? No.’
‘Did Archie?’
‘I’ve no idea. I don’t think so.’
She can’t believe that Archie would have made any kind of comment to any journalist, but she’s beginning to wonder if she knows her husband at all. He concealed her letter, didn’t he? Maybe not deliberately concealed, but he’d ‘forgotten’ about it. Perhaps he ‘forgot’ to mention a conversation with Justin Thorneloe too?
She puts the phone down tiredly. She misses the warm comfort of Archie’s presence in her bedroom and she misses being able to chew difficult things over with him. The ache is not alleviated by a nagging sense that she was the one who drove him away. One way or another, she has become pretty good at messing things up.
‘What do we do about it?’ she asks Mo Armstrong an hour later.
‘Nothing.’
‘Nothing? But the story’s outrageous.’ Susie has worked herself into a state of righteous anger on the drive in from the cottage and is now in combative mood.
‘And completely fictitious, yes?’
‘Of course!’
‘Then we ignore it. There’s nothing to back it up. The other newspapers might poke around a bit to see if there’s anything in it, but it’ll disappear. I give it three days, max.’
‘Three days! I’ve got to live with this garbage for that long?’
‘Just get on with other things, Susie. Don’t talk to the press, let me deal with it.’ Mo smooths back her red hair then asks, ‘Anyone got it in for you, Susie? Apart from this journo, I mean?’
Susie shakes her head. ‘God knows. In this game, there’s always someone, I guess.’
Karen says, ‘There’s a few people quite jealous of your popularity. In the Party, I mean.’
‘Really?’ Susie, who is a conviction politician rather than a career politician, is sublimely unaware of internecine struggles. ‘Why? I mean, I’m
not exactly jostling for a ministerial post or anything.’
‘You’re the first person the press call on for all kinds of media appearances. Especially since the repeats of “Home” started. There’s a lot of people would kill for that kind of exposure.’
‘You think someone’s planted the story?’
‘It’s a possibility,’ Mo says. ‘Listen,’ she sweeps up her notebook and the folder of the morning’s press clippings and stands up, ‘I’ve got to get on. Leave this with me, but don’t worry about it, I think it’ll just go away.’
When she has gone, Susie says, ‘That Thorneloe guy’s got it in for me.’
‘Ignore him.’
‘Easier said than done, Karen.’
‘I know. But you’ve got a busy day. Let’s get started.’
Immersion in work is the answer, because Susie doesn’t have time to think about the headlines. And any time it looks as if she might have a slight lull, Karen finds something that requires urgent attention. By the evening, she’s exhausted. At six she switches off her computer and says rebelliously, ‘If I have to do another email today I’ll murder someone. I’m off home.’
‘Not yet you’re not,’ Karen says with grotesque cheerfulness.
‘Why not?’
‘You’ve got a reception.’
‘Really? Where? Who?’
‘Garden Lobby. Now. Creative Scotland. They’re launching a new strategy.’
Susie groans. ‘Another one?’
Karen laughs. ‘Just go on down. You’ll enjoy it once you get there.’
‘I’m bone tired.’ Susie considers confiding in her about Joyce Miles.
‘Suse?’ Karen picks up on her hesitation. ‘Something wrong?’
But her foray into her past still feels too private to relate, even to Karen. ‘Nothing,’ Susie lies. ‘I’ll go and grab a drink and schmooze a bit. I’ll probably perk up. You get home now. See you tomorrow.’
‘Okay. If you’re sure.’
‘Has Mo said anything?’
‘About the lesbian story? No. Well actually, yes – apparently one of the gay and lesbian organisations you’ve helped in the past has sent a message of support.’
Susie smiles wanly. ‘Well that’s comforting I guess.’ At the door she turns. ‘They do know I’m straight, don’t they?’
‘Susie my love, everyone knows you’re straight. Now go.’
The Garden Lobby is already full of people. In one corner, a string quartet is playing – students probably. She spies the new Director of Creative Scotland, a controversial appointment. On any other evening, she might have felt compelled to confront him, but tonight all she wants to do is move round as quickly as possible, make sure her presence is noted, then retreat to Cairn Cottage.
‘Susie!’ Across the room, someone is waving. She can’t see the face, but heads in the direction of the wave anyway, threading her way expertly through the throng. A gap in the crowd opens and she stops, dead.
It’s Maitland Forbes.
Maitland is standing directly under one of the spotlights in the ceiling of the Garden Lobby, and although he’s now a huge star and must surely be tonight’s guest of honour, he is, in this moment, completely alone. Susie stares at him, slack-jawed with shock. The past rewinds itself before her eyes like some speeded-up movie and she realises that her heart is pounding. She hasn’t seen Maitland since—
‘You haven’t changed one bit,’ he says softly, and although he barely whispers the words and the noise around them is high, she hears them as clearly as if he has shouted them.
‘Nor you,’ she says stupidly, and she knows they are both remembering the same thing.
Someone jostles her and the moment is gone. She is in public, at a reception, and the secret they have both kept for so long must remain a secret. She takes a step towards him and holds out her hands, bracing herself for the touch of his skin and saying with forced gaiety, ‘Maitland Forbes, by all that’s miraculous!’
He is still with Serafina, she knows that. She knows everything about him, she has read it over the years. The madcap youth may have defied Hollywood odds on marriage but he still makes headlines. ‘Still flying high? What did I see you in last? That Spielberg film? What are you doing back in Scotland? I thought you were a permanent fixture in Hollywood these days.’ She’s babbling. It’s nerves.
‘I’ve been bribed to be a front face for this thing.’
‘Really? The Creative Scotland strategy? It must have been a big bribe. You’re surely not so down on your uppers you have to stoop to this kind of appearance these days?’
Now she’s teasing him, which is a good sign – talking to him is getting easier with every minute. She knows, of course, that Maitland has made it big in Hollywood, that he finally broke free from the stereotype of the sardonic Brit abroad and is now playing more complex roles suited to an aging actor with real star quality. But she herself is now playing a role and she has to play it better than anything else she has ever done because to risk discovery of what happened all those years ago is unthinkable.
‘Let me look at you.’ She holds him at arm’s length and studies him. ‘You’ve worn well.’
‘Darling Susie, you’re the real star. Look at you! That hair’s as glorious as the day I met you –and those eyes! What are you doing buried away in this place?’
Susie manages to laugh. ‘It’s a vocation. Like acting, but with a different kind of audience.’
Maitland sighs. ‘That old social conscience thing. That’s why I’m here too, I guess, to do something for the homeland. I’ve been away too long.’ He pulls a wry face. ‘Of course, as soon as your First Minister found out I was taking a vacation here, he wanted to trot me out for public inspection.’
‘And here you are.’
‘Here I am,’ he agrees, his chiselled features breaking into a perfect grin.
He’s had a lot of dental work done since she saw him last. Only in America, Susie thinks, amused, are teeth as perfect as that.
‘So tell me about all this,’ he sweeps his wine glass out in a dramatic arc, taking in the whole of the Parliament. ‘Enjoying it?’
‘Mostly,’ Susie says dryly. ‘There are good days and bad days.’
His laughter rings out. ‘I read the headlines this morning. I thought it was hysterical. Susie Wallace, a lesbian!’
‘Not that funny,’ Susie says sourly. “Actually, it’s not being called a lesbian I mind, it’s the idea that I would conceal it if I was.’
‘Would a big snog help?’
He’s teasing her now. Her heart races, but she keeps her voice steady. ‘Well, that would certainly make a different kind of headline.’
‘How’s that man of yours? Still making music?’
She had thought that over the years the memories would have faded, but he has remembered and she’s touched by this. ‘Oh yes. He hit the big time a few years back.’
‘Celtic Rock. I’ve heard them. Great band.’
‘You’ve heard them?’ Then he must have followed her career too.
‘They’ve got quite a following in the States.’
‘He’s working on a new album.’
‘I’ll look out for it.’
He moves closer to her. He’s about to say something, but they are joined by someone, an oil executive Susie thinks, eager to meet the big star. They smile at him and nod, adjust their stance to admit him, but Maitland keeps on talking to her.
‘Remember Calgary Bay?
‘Of course.’ Her heart is pounding madly. How could she ever forget?
‘What was that island called again? The one where we did all the filming.’
‘Mull. Off the west coast of Scotland. ’
‘That’s the one. Perfect paradise, apart from those pesky midges. Ever been back?’
‘We took the children there a few times.’ She’d made Archie go. It had been a kind of test, the first time at least, a check to make sure it was all right, that she’d made the right decision, tha
t the past was safely where it belonged. ‘I became really fond of it,’ she says honestly. ‘Tobermory. Iona. And Calgary Bay itself, of course.’
She hasn’t seen them coming, but the First Minister and the new Director of Creative Scotland are suddenly upon them, surrounded by a press pack – and right at the front is Justin Thorneloe. That little snake gets everywhere, Susie thinks, surely he must have heard our conversation. She glowers at him and is profoundly thankful for the presence of the oil executive – his arrival certainly prevented a more confidential chat.
‘I’d like to introduce Maitland Forbes, First Minister,’ the Director is saying ingratiatingly, butting into their conversation and completely ignoring Susie. ‘He’s kindly agreed to say a few words to our guests.’
Creep, thinks Susie, taking an instant dislike to the man. ‘Listen, Maitland,’ she says quickly, ‘You’re going to be busy. Give me a call will you? Maybe we can have lunch while you’re in Edinburgh.’
‘Honey, I’ll do that.’ Unfazed by the overbearing efforts to monopolise his attention, he envelopes Susie in a bear-hug. ‘What a wanker,’ he murmurs into her ear.
Susie stifles a giggle. She’s on safer ground now because she knows that although the memory of what happened is still vivid, each of them has long since moved on. The past is locked where it should be and she can take delight in the fact that he’s still the glorious, irreverent Maitland she once fell for – and finally resisted.
Maitland releases her and turns to the Director and First Minister. He says smoothly, but loudly enough for the press pack to hear, ‘Forgive me, but I’ve known Susie for ever. And by the way—’ he invests deep meaning into his voice, ‘— I can vouch for the fact that she’s no lesbian.’ Susie feels her diaphragm tighten, but Maitland goes on smoothly, ‘She’s an actress, you know.’
The First Minister guffaws, the Director smiles tightly and Susie sees the look on Justin Thorneloe’s face and almost laughs aloud. Thanks to Maitland, her day has just got a whole lot better.
They meet the next day. Is it a good idea? She has turned the matter over in her mind since his early morning call and is comfortable with her conclusion. It’s lunch, it’s public, their affair was a long time ago and in any case, almost no-one knew about it.
Loving Susie: The Heartlands series Page 13
