by Karen Osman
She knew he was right about the timing with Angela’s exams but still, Rosemary couldn’t help but feel disappointed. And Lenny! Yes, she remembered him – one of the old boys in James’s network. He knew the product, that was for sure, but he hadn’t spent weeks researching the market trends, understanding franchising and projecting the costs, had he? It hadn’t become a point of contention between them because Rosemary hadn’t let it. Their roles had been clear since they’d adopted Angela. Still, even if the business paperwork was no longer her responsibility, she always liked to keep an eye on things at home.
Which is why she found herself amongst the dusty beams and boxes of the loft. She’d had to get the stepladder to reach the hatch, pushing the white square piece of wood so she could peer into the dark hole. As she pulled herself up, a roll of rubbish bags tucked under one arm and her legs dangling from the ceiling, she flapped her hand aimlessly in the dark to find the cord to switch on the light. Her fingers grasped the small, bell-shaped plastic and she gratefully tugged on it, blinking at the sudden burst of light on her surroundings. At one end, old suitcases were lined up like dominoes ready to fall, while at the other a series of large boxes were stacked, their battered corners showing their age. She sighed, regretting not bringing a radio to help pass the time.
Two hours later, Rosemary, surrounded by mounds of papers and files, was almost enjoying herself. Her approach was simple: empty the container, throw out the rubbish, and put everything back in alphabetical order. Once she’d got going, she’d worked quickly, and it was when she about to repack the last box that she saw she’d missed something. A brown envelope, its edges bleeding with coffee-coloured stains, lay at the bottom. It was addressed to James and, opening it up, she pulled out a piece of yellowed paper. She smoothed it out, its official status marked by the faded red symbol of the Royal Crest.
It took just seconds to read the birth certificate and Rosemary felt sick as the truth of Evelyn’s words glared back at her. The paper fell from her hand, fluttering into the open box before landing face down. Rosemary looked around her as if to escape. It had to be a mistake. James would never do such a thing – not to her.
Tears clouded her vision. Wiping them away, she picked up the document and read it over and over, her brain taking its time to believe what she suspected she already knew. No, she told herself resolutely, because if she had known, she would have asked him about it immediately. Wouldn’t she? Rosemary thought about the photo of James and Angela, their similarities so obvious even the delivery man saw it. As Rosemary held the paper in her hand, she realised it wasn’t cancer that she needed to worry about separating her from James, but his lies.
47
Angela
It was Angela’s second night in Tetbury after arriving late the night before. Angela watched from the table as her mum stood in front of the Aga and heated up some milk. It was an age-old tradition that Rosemary used whenever she needed a pick-me-up, the warm and sweet aroma of the hot chocolate soothing her. So, Angela knew something was on her mum’s mind when she handed her a cup and sat down opposite her at the well-worn table.
‘You look tired, Mum,’ she said. Angela had tried to sound sympathetic but somehow it didn’t come out that way.
Rosemary didn’t reply, simply nodded, and Angela wondered what was on her mind.
‘Have the doctors given you any more updates?’ probed Angela.
‘Not really,’ replied her mum. ‘They just keep reassuring us that we’re almost finished with the chemotherapy.’
‘Well, that’s good news,’ Angela said, but her mum didn’t appear to share her enthusiasm.
‘If I’d had any idea what this cancer would do to us… how it would change everything…’ murmured Rosemary, almost to herself. She placed her head in her hands so Angela couldn’t hear the rest of the muffled words.
‘What’s that, Mum?’ Angela waited patiently, unsure what else to do, but when her mother looked up she saw her eyes were dry.
‘I said, sometimes you have to wonder if he would be better off dead.’
*
Angela went to her own room and looked at herself in the large mirror as she removed her make-up. Smoothing night cream into her skin, she tried to make sense of her mum’s words: better off dead. What had she meant exactly? Euthanasia? Or was there something else going on? Had she wanted to gauge Angela’s reaction? If so, she must have known that Angela would be horrified by the statement. She waited until she heard her mum go into her bedroom before getting into her pyjamas. She wasn’t used to going to bed so early but perhaps it was what she needed. What they all needed.
She turned out the light and lay in the darkness, trying to rationalise her mum’s words. Closing her eyes, she decided to see how both her parents were in the morning and go from there. Surely, her mum would feel better after a good night’s sleep.
48
Evelyn
It was three days before Evelyn listened to the message on her answer phone. She didn’t really know how to use it, but the flashing light was driving her to distraction and she pressed one of the buttons in frustration. Listening to Angela’s message, she called her back immediately, wondering what could be so urgent.
‘’Ello? Angela?’
‘Hello?’
‘It’s Evelyn.’
‘Hello, how are you?’ Evelyn could hear the low hum of background noise. She must be in her office.
‘Can’t complain. I just got your message. Sorry, it’s a bit late but I didn’t realise the message was from you. It’s normally those irritating telesales people trying to sell me something.’
‘Well, I was ringing you because I wanted to let you know my bag was stolen and unfortunately it had your key and the copy I had made in it.’
‘What!’ exclaimed Evelyn. ‘How the hell did you let that happen?’
Angela smiled briefly. Evelyn clearly agreed with her that it was only tourists who were daft enough to be the victims of petty crime.
‘Buggers, I tell you,’ continued Evelyn. ‘The amount of theft that goes on is just—’
‘I’m at work at the moment but I’m going to call the locksmith now and get them to change your locks. There’s no record of your address in the bag so it’s unlikely that anyone could use them, but it would make me feel better. Of course, I’ll pay for it as well…’
‘Well, that’s very good of you,’ replied Evelyn. ‘Thank you,’ she added, remembering her earlier vow to appreciate her daughter more than Mother ever did.
‘OK, I’ll let you know what time once I’ve confirmed with the locksmith. Speak soon.’
And with that Angela hung up. Evelyn replaced the phone thinking how busy she sounded. She imagined her in a big fancy office – did it overlook the Thames? wondered Evelyn – before heading off to court to argue cases in a fancy wig. It was so far from Evelyn’s own reality that for a moment she felt off balance. It was bizarre to think that just a few months ago she couldn’t have even pictured Angela, yet here they were, reunited, and they seemed to be making progress.
As she went to sit down in her chair, despite the cold she decided to keep the living room door open so she could hear the phone when Angela rang back. If the locksmith was coming to change the locks, she might get him to add an extra security lock for a bit of extra peace of mind. The anonymous letters still haunted Evelyn, especially at night, and even though she’d told herself repeatedly that it was only the lads daring each other, the inclusion of the small amount of coke had unnerved her. It was just a bit too personal.
49
Rosemary
There’d been lies before, but smaller things that James always managed to rebuff with the classic but I didn’t want to worry you. They were minor business matters usually, and you could hardly really describe them as lies, more omissions. He occasionally told fibs about what time he got in after a night out at the pub but what man didn’t? Rosemary knew that the odd white lie between couples was normal – if not a necessity
– for a marriage to survive. But this level of deceit was something else entirely. It wasn’t just that James had lied to her about who Angela really was, but that he’d got a girl pregnant and left her. Why hadn’t he done the right thing and married her? What if it had been her in that situation?
‘That’s exactly why I wanted to adopt her! To make it right!’ blustered James after she’d confronted him the same evening in bed. They’d been going over it for hours, Rosemary refusing to yield to his deft sales patter. ‘I was young and stupid, Rosie. Surely you can understand that?’
Or ambitious and inconvenienced, Rosemary thought, the deception still raw, making her vicious. And while the sheer exhaustion of arguing for so long had eventually made her nod her head in acknowledgement, she didn’t understand. Not even a little bit. The irony hit hard: years of trying and wanting a child of their own, and all this time James already had a daughter.
Who he’d abandoned.
Rosemary didn’t know how she was going to get past it. It changed everything. And then there was Angela herself. They would have to tell her – how would she react?
It had been several days since she’d confronted him. They hadn’t discussed it since – there seemed very little left to say – but as she went about her days, looking after James, she began to thaw. The prospect of losing him to cancer gradually overshadowed his lie, and death played its part by placing the deceit in context.
50
Angela
Saturday dawned bright and clear. Sounds and smells from the kitchen floated through to her and Angela wondered where she was at first. After the strange conversation with her mum last weekend, she sensed there was something not quite right because the next day her parents had sat in stony silence, and by the afternoon Angela was ready to go home. Whatever was going on, they would work it out.
During the week, though, it played on her mind and she mentioned it to Mitchell as they enjoyed a mid-week dinner at an Italian close to her office. She’d liked the way he listened to her without interrupting, his head slightly cocked to one side.
‘Well,’ he said, after she’d finished, ‘I had hoped to whisk you away somewhere romantic along the coast this weekend, but it sounds like you should visit your parents.’
For a moment, Angela forgot everything except the thought of a weekend away with him. She imagined them cosied up in bed, drinking wine, listening to music...
‘Angela?’ said Mitchell.
‘Sorry,’ she smiled. ‘You’re right – I probably should go and see them although a weekend with you is certainly tempting,’ she added flirtatiously.
‘Well, in that case, how about I book something for the New Year?’ he suggested.
‘That would be wonderful,’ she said, leaning over to give him a kiss.
So instead of waking up with Mitchell in a luxurious hotel, she found herself in her old bedroom again. She’d arrived in time for dinner last night and she could easily imagine the conversation from last weekend with her mum had never happened. Her parents seemed back to their normal selves, but then she saw a look in her mum’s eye when she thought no one was looking.
Angela looked over at the clock: it had just gone seven forty-five. She could hear her parents having breakfast and decided to join them. Reaching for her old towelling dressing gown, she wrapped herself up and went through to the kitchen.
‘Angela!’ exclaimed her father. ‘Good morning! Did you sleep well?’
‘Good morning, yes, I did thanks.’
‘Good morning, darling,’ greeted her mother. ‘Would you like some eggs? Poached, scrambled or fried?’
‘Poached, please.’ Taking a chair, Angela enjoyed the pleasurable feeling of being cooked for again while discreetly taking in her father’s plate. He hadn’t eaten very much.
‘Not hungry?’ she asked enquiringly.
Her dad looked at her with a silly grin. ‘Let’s put it this way – I may have had a midnight snack.’
‘Oh, Dad, do you think that’s a good idea? You shouldn’t be groping around for the light switch – what if you fell?’
Her dad laughed. It was good to see. ‘Angie darling, you know I’ve been doing this for years. It’s the only time I can enjoy my sweets with a bit of peace and quiet without your mum around to nag me!
Rosemary placed the plate of eggs in front of her silently and Angela tried not to notice her unusual lack of response to James’s jest.
‘So,’ attempted Angela brightly. ‘What shall we do this morning?’ looking at both of them. ‘It looks too cold for gardening.’
‘How about a little drive and an early pub lunch?’ suggested her dad.
‘Sounds good to me!’ replied Angela. ‘Mum?’
‘Well, I still have a few things to do yet…’
‘Come on, Rosie. It will do you good to get out,’ James encouraged her.
‘Will it not be too much for you, James?’
‘Of course not! I’ll be fine.’
‘OK then, why not?’ agreed Rosemary, but Angela sensed her reluctance.
‘Great. I’ll read the paper and then we’ll get off.’
As her dad went through to the living room, the paper tucked under his arm, Angela quickly finished her eggs. As she was about to take her last mouthful, her mum said, ‘There’s no need to rush. Your dad will be a while yet.’
‘But he said after he read the paper – I still need to get a shower and get dressed.’
‘That’s OK, he normally has a little doze after the paper, so you have a good couple of hours yet.’
‘OK.’ Angela stood up and went to wash her plate and cutlery in the sink while her mum wiped down the countertops.
‘You OK, Mum?’ asked Angela.
‘Yes, of course? Why?’
‘No reason, just checking. I know you have a lot on at the moment,’ she added tactfully.
‘I’m fine, darling. Why don’t you go and take a long shower – you must be exhausted from the journey.’
Feeling dismissed, Angela left the room.
*
It was after ten that morning when they left the house, Rosemary driving slowly down the High Street past the Market House and through the winding lanes of the Cotswolds. When she stopped the car by the side of the road to take a stroll, Angela took in the landscape. While the shades of crimson, amber and gold had mostly disappeared with the arrival of December, it was still breathtakingly beautiful. She was not a religious person but sometimes she wondered how such scenery could be explained, if not by God.
The three of them walked in silence, Angela holding on to her dad’s arm. On some level, she knew they were creating a memory – a memory that would help heal her grief in the months to come. After thirty minutes, James was visibly exhausted, and they went back to the car. As she leant over to help him with his seat belt, Angela heard him puffing hard.
‘You OK, Dad?’
‘Yes, yes, fine. Just need a moment to catch my breath, that’s all.’
‘Oh, James, I told you it would be too much for you,’ said Rosemary crossly.
‘I’m fine, Rosemary. Please don’t fuss, for goodness’ sake.’
They drove the long way round to a nearby pub and by the time they arrived, her father seemed to have recovered. He ordered his usual pie and chips while Angela and her mother ordered some soup and rolls. It was a cosy place called The Potting Shed. In summer, it would be filled with tourists, attracted to its traditional Cotswold Stone walls, historic fireplaces, and classic wooden furniture made comfortable with cushions.
As they settled down to their food, Angela started telling them about her meetings with Evelyn.
‘It’s been much better since the second visit,’ confirmed Angela, in response to her dad’s question.
‘That’s good, Angel. I thought it might be. I’m so glad you decided to give her another chance.’
‘Yes,’ replied Angela, ‘me, too.’
‘Well, I’m so pleased that you’re starting to develop a litt
le bit of a relationship. I think it’s very healthy for everyone,’ concluded James. ‘Don’t you think, Rosemary?’
Angela’s mother nodded before taking a sip of her wine.
Angela decided to change the subject. ‘So, I was thinking I might join you on Monday for your doctor’s appointment, if that’s all right?’ she asked, as the waitress cleared their plates away.
‘Well, what about work, love?’ asked James. ‘The appointment isn’t until three o’clock.’
‘It’s OK, I can take one day off.’ She couldn’t really – she would have to work even longer during the rest of the week to achieve her target billing hours – but if she didn’t do this, she knew she would regret it.
‘Well, of course, darling,’ added Rosemary. ‘You’re more than welcome, but your father and I know how busy you are at work and—’
‘It’s fine, really, Mum,’ interrupted Angela determinedly. ‘I’d like to come. Maybe we can spend some time in the garden in the morning before we go, and I’ll get the first train back on Tuesday morning.’
‘Of course it’s OK, said her dad warmly, squeezing her hand. ‘I appreciate the support.’
*
Angela sat in the waiting room, a cold cup of tea abandoned beside her, the polystyrene cup offensive against her lips. They were waiting for the doctor; had been waiting for over an hour now. Her parents seemed accustomed to it, both having brought their books. Angela wished she had brought some work to read but it hadn’t seemed appropriate to be working while her dad’s prognosis was being discussed. Eventually, a nurse arrived and called them through to the consultant.
A man of about fifty greeted them.
‘Mr Steele. How are you? Mrs Steele,’ he acknowledged. ‘Please do take a seat. And I see you have brought someone else today,’ he added cheerfully, indicating Angela.
‘Yes, my daughter, Angela,’ said her dad with a touch of pride. ‘Angela, Mr Redding.’
‘Welcome,’ said the doctor warmly.
