I’m not sure what kind of reaction I was expecting. Or even if I had thought far enough along to even consider a reaction. But having just heard that I might be his long lost daughter, Richard Lapton stared at me for a few moments with no flicker of anything, save for whatever it was that was happening behind his eyes. It could have been anything. Memories; recognition; regret; anger?
For me, time had slowed down. As though I had thrown a punch, and slow motion had kicked in before the response became visible. The world had suddenly become an unfamiliar place, with nature not performing in the way it normally did. Time, light and sound had all become altered. Jangled.
I felt as though we had all been dipped into this slow moving world. Like apples into toffee. Then some greater power must have noticed that there was a problem, because in an instant we were pulled out again.
A smile spread across his face. Not an uncontrollable joy type of smile, but one that seemed to say I know you are — I was expecting you. Whatever composure he lost with the slight topple and the red rash over his neck, he had now regained. Completely. He was taller than I was expecting. Not as frail as I had thought he would be. His eyes were clear and piercing. I managed a smile.
‘You must come in,’ he said.
He stood back from the door and waved us in with an outstretched arm. I immediately smelled a cat.
‘Have you come far?’ he said.
For a moment I was confused. This first meeting with my birth father seemed so anticlimactic to him that I began to wonder if we had made a mistake. I opened my mouth to speak, but no words came out. Just sounds, like stilted breaths pushed out by physical effort rather than as a result of routine bodily function.
He closed the front door behind us and walked us through to the living-room. The immaculate wooden floor echoed our footsteps back to us. Light walls, but not white. Two small paintings either side of a small window on one wall, a large flat-screen television on another. Furniture was tasteful but at a minimum. One armchair, one sofa. No sideboard, no ornaments. There were no photographs either. Richard Lapton was obviously someone who had a thing about cleanliness. I wondered if it was something to do with having been a dentist.
‘Would you like a coffee?’ he said.
Neil looked at me and I nodded.
‘Yes please,’ Neil said.
‘I’ll bring out milk and sugar and you can help yourselves,’ he said. ‘Please take a seat.’
We sat on the sofa and looked at each other.
‘Nice place,’ Neil said.
‘A bit sparse,’ I said. ‘Perhaps he hasn’t been here long.’
I couldn’t see anything in the room that told me about Richard Lapton the person. No golfing paraphernalia, no memorabilia of any sort. Even the paintings on the wall were bland and of different styles.
There didn’t seem to be a speck of dust anywhere. The contrast between there and home was stark. Even though it looked as though he lived alone, a flicker of hope burned inside that my mother might still be alive.
Within minutes he walked back into the living-room with a tray. The tray shook slightly as he put it down on a small coffee table next to the sofa. Three identical cups of black coffee; a bowl of brown sugar cubes; three teaspoons and a small jug of milk. As sparse as the room. He picked up one of the mugs, a teaspoon and two sugar cubes and sat down on the armchair.
‘I can’t believe it,’ he said. ‘I’m stunned. What a surprise.’
‘My name is Christine Marsden,’ I said, ‘and this is Neil, my husband.’
Neil shifted forward in his seat and mumbled a “Hi”.
‘I only recently found out that I was adopted,’ I said. ‘And I believe that you are my real father. Do you think that’s possible? It said in my adoption file that my father was Richard Lapton and my mother was Amelie Lapton.’
He didn’t exactly flinch at the mention of my mother’s name, but a ripple passed through him.
‘You do look like her,’ he said.
My heart fluttered a beat.
‘It’s uncanny really. I knew, as soon as I opened the door and saw you. I knew who you were. Christine. Still called Christine.’
‘My adoptive parents didn’t think it would be right to change it. They said it was a part of me.’
‘Your mother loved that name.’
Loved?
‘Is she …?’
‘She died shortly after you were born,’ he said. ‘Very sad business.’
Did he mean her death, or the adoption? Or me and Neil sitting across from him now?
I swallowed hard and nodded. Kept my mouth clamped shut and swallowed again. I wanted to squeeze my eyes shut, but I knew to do so would start the tears rolling from them. I forced them to stay open.
Although I had expected bad news about my mother, I had, of course, been desperately hoping for good news. I had hoped to see them both, mother and father longing for the day I would turn up at their door.
‘How did you know where to find me?’ he said.
I had to clear my throat to speak. The words were caught somewhere, latched onto the sadness of my mother’s death. I was angry with myself for feeling so churned up over someone I had never known, someone who was less than a stranger. Someone who had given me up.
I found my voice. Took control of my emotions.
‘On the Internet,’ I said. ‘I found a mention of you on the Headland Park Golf Course website. It just sort of went from there really. And here we are.’
I didn’t want to mention the deceit with Marjorie Powell. Not only did I not want to get her into trouble, but it didn’t feel right to kick off this reunion by admitting to lies and falsehood.
‘Aha! The good old golf club,’ he said. ‘And the Internet is an amazing thing isn’t it. Everyone is available. No hiding.’
His eyes flicked up towards the ceiling then back down again.
‘But you say you saw an adoption file,’ he said ‘Did that give you much information?’
‘An address in Cawsand. It said that you were a dentist and that my mother was a librarian. Have you lived here long?’
‘I moved here about eight years ago, after my second wife died. Apart from Ernie, my cat, I’ve been here on my own ever since. I suppose the golf club has been my salvation really. Stopped me from going under, you know.’
I couldn’t imagine anything making him go under. He looked too strong for that. But losing two wives probably made you strong.
‘They did tell us, at the time,’ he said, ‘that no one would ever see any files or information about the adoption. They told us that once you were gone, that would be it. No comeback, no contact — nothing.’
‘They changed the law a few years ago,’ I said. ‘Giving both adopted children and birth parents the right to see documents relating to the adoption. So both can get in touch with each other.’
He shook his head. Still smiling.
‘Well, I never knew that,’ he said. ‘A change in the law.’
Something moved behind him, behind the armchair. A ginger cat. Well groomed, but very thin. My father saw my eyes follow the cat. His smile disappeared and his eyes narrowed. He snapped around in his chair.
‘ERNIE! Get out of here.’ He took a swipe at the cat and it leapt away from him, disappearing into the kitchen.
‘That damned cat,’ he said. ‘Always getting in the way.’
His smile returned and he looked at Neil.
‘How long have you been married?’ he said. ‘Do you have children?’
Neil smiled at him, but looked back to me, forcing my father to look at me too. I suppose Neil thought that this was about me and my father and he obviously didn’t want to take anything away from that.
‘We’ve been married twelve years,’ I said. ‘We have two children. Michael, he’s eleven, and Rose, she’s eight.’
My father clapped his hands together.
‘Delightful,’ he said. ‘How lovely.’
‘Did you ever wonder about me?’ I said.<
br />
The question shocked me. I had thought that the only reason I wanted to find my birth parents was to ascertain what was running through my genes. What kind of madness was lurking there. I had even forced the “why” question down to the bottom of my mental list. I had a feeling it was floating back up to the top.
His smile broadened.
‘Often,’ he said. ‘Often thought about you and what your life had become. Difficult not to, you know. But you just try and move on, don’t you. Just try to live your life. That’s what I’ve had to do. There was no other choice really.’
I knew it was coming. It wasn’t possible to keep it down. I reached for Neil’s hand and pulled it closer, squeezing hard. He squeezed back.
‘Why was I put up for adoption?’
My father shook his head. His smile dimmed.
‘Oh Christine. You were just a baby. I had just started a dental practice and was working all hours to make it work. Your mother wanted to work at the library, she liked books and I thought she was happy there. In a way, I think it was my fault. I was working so hard having set up the practice, working so hard to make sure we had a secure home. She hadn’t had an easy childhood, you see. It was difficult for her. So a secure home was important to her. I didn’t notice. I suppose I was so busy trying to make things right. But she was unhappy, I think. Perhaps it was because I wasn’t around as much as we would have both liked. I asked her to join me at the practice. To help with paperwork and things, but I think she thought it would be too difficult for her, what with the language and everything.’
‘The language?’
‘She was French. She had only been in England for a year when we met. So she thought her English wasn’t up to standard. In actual fact her English was pretty good. But that’s why she wanted to stay at the library — she thought working with the books would help her to pick up more of the language.’
‘So was she unhappy with me?’ I said.
He shook his head. ‘You weren’t on the scene at that time. She had started to drink quite heavily while I was at work. She hid it from me. I had no idea it was going on. She seemed to go into herself, withdraw. Then she stopped working at the library, she’d pop in there from time to time for a couple of hours just to read, but really things were not good for her.’
He sipped his coffee and drew breath.
‘I thought we were a happy family,’ he said. ‘I thought everything was going really well. Yes, I was working too hard, but we both knew that that wouldn’t last, just as soon as the practice became established.
‘And then I came home one night and found the front door unlocked and open. I’d been working late again. She was lying on the kitchen floor. She had passed out. There was an empty wine bottle broken on the floor next to her. Emily was upstairs, crying. Anyone could have come in. Anyone.’
‘Emily?’ I said. ‘Who was Emily?’
The smile appeared again.
‘Emily was your sister.’
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