by CE Rose
Why was he here, and so early in the morning? ‘Hello,’ I called. ‘Lovely morning.’
He turned and put his hand to his ear, then he stepped over the thistles and clods of long grass. His eyes seemed watery, but perhaps it was the wind. ‘Hello love. You’re looking well.’ He waved to Joe. ‘And there’s your handsome little man.’
‘Would you like to come in for a tea or coffee?’ I asked. I didn’t want company right now, but I sensed a sadness about him.
He straightened and gazed as though my offer hadn’t registered. Then he gestured to the scrubland. ‘Promised your mum I wouldn’t sell it.’
That was a surprise; I hadn’t known he owned it.
As though reading my mind, he nodded. ‘Bought this whole plot at a snip,’ he said. ‘Thirty years ago now. The usual plan; get planning permission and build.’
‘Oh right, so you’re going to develop it? Residential housing, I assume?’ I asked. I was being polite; it didn’t really matter; I was moving on.
‘No.’ His expression was wistful. ‘Money isn’t everything, is it?’ He stepped closer and for a second I froze, remembering Laura’s comments about tickling and cuddles. But he simply patted the top of my arm. ‘Of course I miss Eve very much and so wish I could turn back the clock, but I still pine for your dad, his friendship, his good company, by heck I do. He was like a breath of fresh air. No one else could make me laugh like he did. A long time ago, but sometimes it feels like yesterday.’
His croak was so loaded with emotion, I felt a sharp burn behind my own eyes. And Laura’s sarcasm was wrong. When I’d been rifling through the photographs last night, I found a stray one of Tom and me dangling our legs over the bow of Sylvette. Wearing a stripy swimsuit and the sailor’s cap, I was obviously giggling, but happy too. He’d been kind, a solid friend, and perhaps a father figure to Dad.
Could I ask about Dad’s illness and the trips to Norwich in the Roller? I wasn’t sure I was up to the answer right now, but I probably wouldn’t get another chance. I took a quick breath. ‘That final summer. I suppose you knew?’
‘Aye and I did what I could. But he’d left it too late. If he’d not buried his head…’ His speech strangled, he pulled me into a hug. ‘Always smiling, your dad, but who knows what he felt inside.’ His humbug breath brushed my neck, and for moments he held me. Just as I began to feel uncomfortable, he stepped back and stood erect. ‘Yours and Laura’s happiness was what mattered, Alice. Some things are best kept hidden for the greater good.’ He gestured to Joe, watching from the car. ‘You’ll probably understand now you’ve got a littl’un. Kids’ happiness and safety, that’s what matters. Right, enough nostalgia for today; I’ll get off.’
Suddenly remembering all the babies he’d lost, I searched for something comforting to say, but he’d already started his descent down the shortcut. ‘How about that drink?’ I called. ‘I could rustle up a biscuit…’
He didn’t look back, but his clotted voice carried on the breeze. ‘Another time, love. I’d better get back to Joan. She isn’t so good today.’
* * *
Tom’s words stayed with me as I carried my chubby baby around the house. I breathed in Joe’s smell, touched his soft skin and nuzzled him, finally knowing with certainty that I’d never hurt him. It was hard to focus on positives right now, but I knew I was lucky. The Hagues had never managed to bring a baby into the world, Mum had given away her firstborn and George had devastatingly lost his only child.
Mum’s letter continued to prod my thoughts as I tidied. The fact she’d had an illegitimate son before Laura was finally hitting me. It was astonishing, unreal. Had I not seen it in black and white, I would not have believed it. Her words had been so searingly honest, too. George was the product of a ‘terrible error of judgement’. How was he feeling about that? And what about her? How difficult had it been to give painful birth in a hospital, but leave her newborn behind? Had she felt desperate sorrow or relief it was over? She’d referred to ‘a home and clothes and the care of a good man’. Would George condemn her for taking the easy option? I cuddled my son. On some level, did I?
The door to the dining room was ajar, a shaft of bright sunlight inviting me in. I spent a few moments skimming my fingers over the dusty surfaces, lost in thought. I didn’t want to dwell on my younger parents, those two vibrant voices in the love letters, but they were inescapable. How painless had the ‘easy’ option been? Dad had clearly adored her, he’d been seriously ill in hospital, yet she’d been unfaithful; she’d slept with another man and made him a cuckold. He’d obviously forgiven her, but only on the basis that he didn’t have to ‘share’. What had his letter said? I could never share you in any way, even if it means a broken heart…
‘In any way’ clearly meant baby Oliver. And those dreadful terms made sense of his short note of apology: Please find it in your heart to forgive me. Had there been anger, recrimination and blame both ways? Did Dad condemn her for her infidelity; did she blame him for not accepting the child? Was Oliver always there, a silent torment between them, like a bruise? Or did they just forget him, move forward and put the past firmly behind them?
Lying Joe against a cushion, I stepped over to Mum’s canvases, extracted the framed pencil drawing and placed it on the table. I must have looked at it a hundred times, but as I studied it now, I could see that this child with ‘heartburn hair’ wasn’t me. Like the tiny, perished wristband she kept in her purse, it was a memory of her lost boy.
Chapter Forty-Two
Though I would have to pull everything out again soon, I’d just finished stacking packets and boxes in the sideboard when the steady crunch of pebbles broke the silence. My ears pricked at the sound. A car again. A little perturbed at another unexpected vehicle, even though it was daylight, I picked Joe up from his play mat and made my way to the window. A taxi appeared at the top of the drive, circled the flower beds and stopped at the door.
Putting Joe back down, I composed myself. ‘Daddy’s here,’ I said to him, but he was too young to hear the lack of excitement in my voice. I felt flat, despondent and tired, but at least I could go to bed and catch up on some sleep; it was the only thing that seemed important just now.
I opened the front door and tried for a smile. ‘Miles! What a lovely surprise.’
It didn’t wash with him. ‘You could at least look pleased to see me,’ he said, stepping in. ‘I caught the early train just for you, Ali. You’ve no idea how hard I had to work last night to get through the new disclosure.’
‘I am pleased! Sorry, I’m just a bit zonked. I had a disturbed night…’
It was clearly not what my husband wanted to hear, but his frown was abruptly replaced by a grin. ‘Look at you. I’d forgotten what a stunning wife I have! And you’re tiny again.’ His gaze took me in. ‘But not everywhere…’
The weight hadn’t disappeared in one week alone and the comment was crass, but it was a relief he still found me appealing. I looked down to my chest and chuckled. ‘Yes, but sadly they are only temporary.’
‘All the same…’ he began. But his words were cut short as he peered over my shoulder. Sheer love and delight spread over his face. With a look of determination, Joe had spent the last half hour trying to roll over and he was almost there. ‘Hello, my little man! Haven’t you grown in a week!’
Scooping him up, Miles laughed. He nuzzled Joe’s neck and kissed his cheeks. The moment was so perfect I wanted to catch it on camera. But it made me sad, too. For George, for his loss. For what had turned out to be his double loss.
Miles pecked my lips. ‘I’m desperate to get out, breathe some fresh air. How about a pub lunch?’ Then turning to Joe, ‘Look at the ducks, little man?’
I wasn’t up to facing the village and certainly not the cottage at the end. ‘The Ferry Inn would be good.’
‘Which one is that?’
‘Left at the gates. Past Bureside? It’s a bit of a walk but it’s fresh air as requested.’
‘Sounds g
ood, let’s go.’
I eyed up my husband. In fairness, he was an attractive guy, similar in looks to the man from the wedding album in the cupboard. The word ‘cuckold’ jumped into my head again. Poor Dad; I had no idea what had happened forty-four years ago, but my guess was that through no fault of his own he’d neglected the young and bored woman in the love letters. I should be more careful with Miles. I’d smarten myself up, apply make-up and wear my new jeans. The thought reminded me of Madeleine; she’d probably messaged several times by now, but I wasn’t even sure where I’d last seen my mobile.
‘Give me two minutes. I just need to wee and…’
The two minutes was ten and by the time I emerged from the bathroom, Joe was already in his pram.
‘Gorgeous, but about bloody time, we’re hungry,’ Miles said, manoeuvring it outside. ‘See you at the bottom. Loser pays,’ he said, making a head start.
I scrambled to find my handbag and lock up, but by the time I’d pelted down the shortcut and reached the road, he’d turned the wrong way and was half way to the deli.
He stopped. ‘Catch up, woman!’ he called with a smile, then he chatted animatedly about his trial, the new documents disclosed, the look of defeat on his opponent’s face and his client’s praise, as we continued down the slope.
I was interested and I wanted to listen, but my mind drifted as we headed further into the village. Distracted by Miles’s arrival, I had temporarily shelved my staggering discovery, but now it was back. Haunted by a secret, I had travelled to Norfolk to sort out Mum’s affairs and I’d found a brother. Bloody hell; how on earth would I explain it to Laura? Would she want a relationship with a new half-sibling? Should I even tell her? The past was the past, as she always said, she wasn’t sentimental. But she’d been so heartrendingly eloquent about her childhood and how she’d felt unloved and inadequate. Now I knew why. Would it help her to know there was a reason for it? Or would the truth make it worse?
Agitated and hot, I tried not to brood on my behaviour last night. I had been blind to George’s attempts to keep me at arm’s length; I’d been heedless of his brotherly care all week. In short, I’d been a ridiculous fool. I was deeply embarrassed for him too. The poor bloody man had been kissed by his sister. That wasn’t a comical situation I could laugh about with Laura now or ever. Part of me wanted to run to his cottage right this minute, bang on the door and apologise for putting him in such a dreadful position. But it was better to say nothing, to avoid him henceforth, to pretend it had never happened.
The sun beamed through the breeze and we strolled around the green, a happy little family at last. A flurry ruffled Joe’s silky hair and he chortled. Who’d have thought I’d be a wife and a mother? Twenty-five years ago I’d been here on my lonesome as usual, sauntering around the fete stalls, eyeing up sweaty cupcakes and glossy candy floss, stopping to watch someone hook a duck, get caught on the buzz wire or splat the rat. And of course on the podium, there was my big sister, grinning inanely and proudly pointing to her sash.
I turned to Miles. ‘Laura won the “village queen” contest just here,’ I said. ‘It was hosted by a minor television personality, so we were star-struck.’ I shook my head. ‘Pretty damned awful, looking back. Sexist, misogynistic… Not that Laura minded. She knew what she was doing, even then.’
I paused. Or that’s what I had supposed. There’d been a tent that served drinks and hot dogs which turned into a disco at night. I was too young to go in, but I peeped through a gap and the celeb had been there, a man in his forties being over-familiar with her.
‘Go Laura,’ Miles replied, watching me with a soft frown. ‘But you’re the real beauty of the family.’ He felt his pockets. ‘Wait here, will you? I just need to grab something; I’ll be back in a mo…’
Returning a few minutes later, he presented me with a gift bag. ‘I do love you, you know,’ he said.
‘Gosh, thank you…’ Even before I explored the tissue paper, I was touched by his thoughtfulness; the aroma of Norfolk had already escaped. I had told him the story of my childhood lavender fetish long ago, and he’d remembered it.
‘I love you too,’ I replied. And in my cold fish way, I did.
Linking my arm through his, I kissed his cheek and we headed for the Swan Inn. I sat with Joe at a weathered picnic table and waited for Miles to return with the drinks and a menu. Would a cat brush against my legs today? Maisie had stayed at The Lodge, but I assumed Mum’s black moggy was still living with George. Would he want to keep them when I left? Indeed, would he stay? He’d come here to meet his birth mother, but perhaps he’d grown roots.
‘Is it me or has it gone chilly?’ Miles asked, interrupting my thoughts. He passed me a glass of wine. ‘You seem pensive. What are you thinking about?’
‘Mum’s cats,’ I replied, not a word of a lie, realising for the first time that I had almost been unfaithful to Miles without thinking about it that way. Because it had felt so easy, so natural with George? Some sort of narcissism because we were siblings? There was a syndrome or concept which covered it. What was it called?
The shame rising, I glanced at Miles. It would still have been betrayal. If the boot was on the other foot, I’d be devastated. Bloody hell; an affair like my mother, cuckolding a man. Goosebumps pricked my arms. ‘Yes, it has gone cooler. Shall we go inside?’
The interior was dark, the walls covered in boating memorabilia, the furnishings elegant but faded and worn. Though I used to watch the high spirits on the river and village green from the pub’s outdoor benches, I’d never been inside before, not even for the toilets. Always alone and on the periphery, nervously waiting for someone to move me on.
Joe soon fell asleep. Both gazing at his perfect face, his daddy and I chatted companionably about him. I told Miles about our week, the progress he’d made, his attempts to roll over, his love for Nancy and baby rice. Then we moved on to London, who Miles had bumped into, his couple of evenings hanging out with a school friend. I didn’t mention the gardener; he didn’t mention Julia.
I finished a goat’s cheese salad, Miles a ploughman’s. I stood. ‘I’ll just go to the loo before we leave,’ I said.
He caught my hand. ‘Everything back to normal?’ he asked.
‘I certainly hope so.’
I knew what he meant, and it was, I supposed. I’d abandoned the frozen peas, my ‘undercarriage’ was healed and the dull ache in my pelvis had long gone. It was just the natural healing process, of course, but it felt as though this small village had analeptic powers.
Until last night, when everything changed.
My heart lurched and I sharply inhaled. Oh God, the subject of my thoughts was right in front of me. Sitting alone at a table, George was nursing a pint. Though his shock of hair had fallen forward, what I could see of his face was tense. As if he knew I was gawping, he lifted his head. For a beat, his dark eyes met mine before looking away.
Genetic Sexual Attraction snapped into my head. God yes, that was what the syndrome was called.
I doggedly continued my path towards the ladies’. What had I thought about bruises between Eve and Doug only this morning? There was one deep in my chest, tender and painful.
Nothing was ‘normal’ at all.
Chapter Forty-Three
After a dreamless nap in the afternoon, I spent the rest of the day preparing dinner. I’d bought steak for Miles who liked it plain and rare, so there wasn’t a lot of room for invention. Still, it was nice to smell the scented breeze through the open side door and potter around the house without worrying about Joe; he was having fun with his dad in the bath.
‘I’ll take you fishing when you’re bigger!’ I heard Miles say when I passed. It made me smile; we were here on the idyllic River Bure, but I had no doubt he was referring to the ‘big fishing’ in the Bahamas he did every year with his father.
As I struggled to stiffen egg whites with a hand whisk, I contemplated my life with Miles. Until the birth of Joe, it had been comfortable and in th
e main, carefree. We had money, a nice home, good friends, successful careers; we went on fabulous holidays. Was it only now that I had a sense of something missing, or had it always been there? Was Miles really my soulmate or had I gone for the easy option like Mum had? And yet I was lucky; I had a husband and a child, I was loved. I had no right to feel dissatisfied; I had to be sensible and appreciate the many blessings I’d been given.
Though Miles drank wine steadily throughout the meal, I stretched out my half glass and tried not to compare last night with this. This was fine, more than fine. Miles was a good guy, the father of my son; he was back to personable, affectionate and attentive now my neediness had passed. And however I felt about the shadowy man in the pub, he was completely unattainable on so many levels.
Miles made up for my lack of ready patter, filling me in on lawyer gossip and regaling me with a scandalous story he’d been told about our former head of chambers, now a judge.
He knocked back a large brandy after dessert. ‘Lovely meal, thank you,’ he said, offering me the bottle as he topped up his glass. ‘Eton Mess hits the spot every time.’
I smiled. ‘Glad you liked it, after my heroic efforts. I couldn’t find an electric whisk, so the meringue took an age to get stiff.’
He laughed. ‘Well, I can assure you that won’t be a problem. In fact…’ He scraped back his chair and held out a hand. ‘The dishes can wait until morning but I can’t…’
‘OK.’ Joe was asleep and my boobs were no longer sore. I was back to normal, apparently.
Once in Mum’s bedroom, Miles held me tightly for a while. ‘Oh God, I’ve missed you. You have no idea,’ he said, his voice surprisingly raw with emotion. He gazed intently at me. ‘Not just this week, but before. I’m so glad you’re back, Ali.’
