‘Amelie is a mixture of Mum and Dad. She has dark hair like Mum and me, but Dad’s blue eyes. So, no, I can’t say you do look a great deal like her.’
‘Well, that’s good then, isn’t it? If we were sisters we should look a bit alike, don’t you think?’ I was clutching at straws, anything for Xavier not to be my brother.
‘She’s a lot taller than you, but then my mother is very tall.’
‘And elegant, I bet, being French?’
Xavier smiled. ‘Very. She was only young when she got pregnant with me – even younger than Dad. My mates used to come home from school with me and just gawp at her. I can see what Dad saw in her. Not sure what she saw in Dad, to be honest.’
‘Oh, that’s not fair. He’s an attractive man – or I bet he was when he was younger.’
‘You’ll have to ask your mum,’ Xavier said pointedly, and carried on eating.
We ate the couscous and Mediterranean-type salad together with the lamb that, despite Xavier’s misgivings over the time it had spent in the oven, was fragrant and tender.
‘So, where did you learn to cook?’ I asked.
‘Mum. She’s a brilliant cook. She taught me all she knew, particularly about French cuisine.’
Lordy, was there no end to this woman’s repertoire? Gorgeous, tall, elegant and a brilliant cook into the bargain? Poor old Paula, with her lentil soup and cauliflower curry, wouldn’t have stood a chance if she’d decided to put herself into the running forty years ago.
‘I’m going to drive you home,’ Xavier said after we’d drunk coffee and, in front of the fire, nibbled at cheese, much of which went into a now more alert Trevor. ‘Look, Cassie, just wait a week and then we’ll know. It’ll be fine, I know it will.’
‘I’ve only had the one drink at your dad’s,’ I said. ‘I’ll be fine to drive. In fact, I’ll go and pick up Freya from Paula’s; I did sort of abandon her this evening.’
*
‘I thought you had a hot date?’ Freya looked up from applying another layer of black to her nails.
‘Hot date? Who told you that?’
‘Mum, I’m not daft. You’ve been wafting around with a soppy look on your face like some love-sick duck ever since you got home from Mexico.’
‘Love-sick duck?’ I laughed in spite of myself.
‘Yeah, you know. Singing to yourself, staring into space with a daft smile on your face; picking at your food like when Dad went. Mooning all over the place.’
‘Mooning? Isn’t that when you show your bare backside to a crowd?’
Freya considered for a moment as she waved her nails to dry them. ‘Hmm, possibly. Mooching, then. I thought it was supposed to be adolescents like me who mooched around and locked themselves into their room and wrote poetry?’
‘I’ve not been writing poetry,’ I protested.
‘Bet you’ve been reading it, though. I saw my English textbook was well thumbed at old Michael Drayton:
You do bewitch me; O, that I could fly
From my self you, or from your own self I.’
I laughed again. ‘You do talk rubbish.’
‘Anyway,’ Freya went on, ‘good on you. If Dad can put it about, I don’t see why you can’t—
‘Stop right there. No one is putting it about.’
‘Anyway, he’s been texting me quite a bit.’
‘Who has?’
She looked at me. ‘Dad. Dad’s been texting me again.’
‘Oh?’
‘Wanting to meet me for lunch, pick me up from school, come and watch my next match…’
‘Darling, you should meet him. He’s your father and he loves you. You know that. My argument with your father is just that – mine. Your sense of loyalty to me is really appreciated, Freya, but I’d be much happier if you and Tom began to have some sort of relationship with him again.’
Freya shrugged. ‘Maybe. But I don’t want to see him with Auntie Tina. That would be, like, so gross. Weird.’
‘I can understand that, darling, but your dad has been trying to see you for weeks now. I think you should ring him. You know, you actually make the move to arrange to meet up with him. Granny Mavis says he’s pretty upset how you and Tom have not wanted to have anything to do with him.’
Freya reddened slightly. ‘But you were so upset about it all, Mum. I was as well. It’s not easy seeing you crying most days, you know. He did a terrible thing and… and actually it’s all a bit embarrassing.’
‘Embarrassing?’ I smiled at Freya. ‘Why embarrassing?’
‘Well, you know, what he’s been up to. What do I say to him? “Hi Dad, how’s it all going with you and Auntie Tina?”’
‘No, of course you don’t,’ I laughed. ‘You talk about what you’d have talked about before he went. So, ring him, please. For me? Now, where’s Paula?’ I went on.
‘Meditating. You haven’t asked where Tom is.’ She looked at me from under her black heavy fringe.
‘Tom’s seventeen, Freya. He has a key.’
‘It’s a bit bloody much when your brother cops off with the main attraction.’
‘And has he?’
‘Well, he was down at Clementine’s for a while – everyone wanted to know where you’d slipped off to, you know – but then he disappeared.’
‘Oh?’
‘Tom’s happy, Mum,’ Freya said, examining her nails. ‘And he hasn’t been for a while.’
‘But I’m bound to worry about Tom, Freya. About, well you know…’
‘About the fact that he appears to be gay?’
‘I’m not sure I should be having this conversation with you, Freya.’
‘Oh, Mum, don’t be so, so… old.’ Freya tutted and then sighed. ‘Mum, I’ve had long talks with Tom about this, you know.’
‘Really?’ I stared at Freya. ‘And Tom’s confided in you?’ I felt quite miffed that Tom felt able to talk to Freya but hadn’t really opened up to me apart from when he’d walked me down to Clementine’s restaurant in the dark.
‘Well you’re a different generation. You’re his mother, what do you expect? I bet if he was into girls he wouldn’t be chatting to his mum about them. Don’t worry about him. He talks to me and he’s always on the phone to Jenny. She’s his best friend, and she’s great with him. I think you should try to stop worrying about Tom. He has been finding it hard, but now that it’s more out in the open, and he’s met Harry…’ Freya shrugged. ‘It’ll be fine.’
‘But that all worries me more,’ I sighed. ‘So, is Harry Kennedy gay, then? I mean, if he is and Tom starts hanging round with him, Tom’s going to find himself in the papers, discussed everywhere he goes… I don’t want his studies being interrupted.’
‘Come on, Mum, nothing will come between Tom and his algebra. Anyway, it’s only Harry Kennedy. He was at school with us. He just happens to have won The X Factor. I think it’s brilliant.’
‘Yes, you would.’ I smiled slightly at her. Freya was right. I just had to go with the flow.
‘So now he’s sorted, you appear to be sorted…’ Freya paused, ‘…it just needs me to ring Dad and arrange to meet up with him – oh and be chosen for the U16 Yorkshire Netball squad next week – and we’re all sorted.’
31
And the Results Are in…
Because we’d been told the results would take a week to come back, I wasn’t expecting the white envelope that would alter the course of my life to be there that Thursday evening, on my return from school. Tom, home earlier than me from college, had picked up the post and carefully – as was his wont – left the couple of envelopes addressed to me: a tax bill, information about Nectar points, and the test results neatly propped up against the salt and pepper pot.
I ripped open the envelope and feverishly scanned the single sheet of paper.
… by comparing the DNA profiles of the child and the mother, it is possible to establish the common factors between them. The child’s factors not found in the mother’s profile must therefore come from th
e biological father. An alleged father is excluded as the biological father if factors found on his DNA profile are not shared with the child’s. However, if the alleged father's profile shares common factors with the child's then he is not excluded as the true biological father. A statistical analysis is then carried out to calculate the probability of paternity…
And? And? I skimmed over the explanatory paragraph until I found what I was looking for.
… As such, we can confirm the paternity link as being positive…
That was it, then. Edward Bamforth was my father. In the crudest, most basic of terms, one of his sperm - obviously the Usane Bolt of spermatozoa - had snuck past Rowan’s less athletic specimens and scored a hit.
Bull’s eye.
One hundred and eighty.
*
‘You all right, Mrs Heads?’ Deimante, promoted to Little Acorns’ cleaning staff and dinner lady team, as well as continuing her career as its Traffic Organisation Consultant, was giving my desk a good polish when I arrived in my office the next morning. ‘You looks a bit knackereds.’
I shook my head, not wanting to get into conversation with her.
‘A bits sads maybes? Is Mrs Adams bullying yous? She try to bully me, but I shakes my lollipops at her. “Don’t sinks, Mrs Adams,” I says to her, “don’t you sinks just because I poor lollipops girl you sinks I am down from yous. I now Sanitation Consultant and Educational Nourishment Officer as well as lollipops girl. And one days I shall be back here as teacher…”’
I turned to look at Deimante, surprised. ‘Oh?’
‘I aims to be teacher one day,’ she said seriously, dusting my chair. ‘I doing English at night school.’
‘Oh, well done,’ I said, smiling.
‘Mrs Heads, I have lot of respects for yous, but please don’t patronise me. I not a ninny. I have degree in Astrophysics from Aleksandros Stulginskis University in Lithuania…’
That floored me. ‘Gosh, I didn’t realise, I’m sorry…’
Deimante sniffed. ‘As I say, I not a ninny.’ She flicked her duster along the bookcase and then grinned at me. ‘I just bollocks at learning English.’
*
‘Edward Bamforth is here, Cassandra.’ Jean frowned, running her finger down the diary. ‘He’s not made an appointment. Shall I tell him you’re busy? And you are, you know. You’ve Mr and Mrs O’Farrell, prospective parents, to show round in twenty minutes as well as the rep from Pinkington Books, who’s already here and setting up in the library.’
I shook my head. ‘Just give me a minute, Jean, and then ask him to come through. Would you mind awfully making some coffee for us? Sorry, I know you’re busy yourself.’
‘There’s no “I” in team,’ she smiled. ‘Life doesn’t give you things you can’t handle…’
Bloody well depends on what life gives you, I thought sourly, but managed a rictus smile back at her.
I combed my hair and checked my lipstick and then buzzed Edward through.
‘You’ve had the letter?’ he asked, sitting down opposite me.
I nodded, not sure what to say. What does one say to one’s newly acquired father? ‘So, do I call you Dad?’ I asked, and then flushed, embarrassed at the inanity of my words.
‘Look, Cassandra, I’m not entirely unhappy about all this…’
‘You’re not?’ Well, I bloody well am, I thought.
‘I love both my children and I’d have been over the moon to have had more. But Brigitte put her foot down: two were plenty she said.’ He smiled at me and, again, I searched his features for my own. ‘I don’t have grandchildren. Xavier’s been led a merry dance over the years with that wife of his, and Amelie, who’s been living in New York for the last ten years, appears far too interested in her career to have them. Who knows? Hopefully she’ll change her mind…’ He smiled again and leant forward. ‘I’d love to meet your son at some point. He sounds like a boy after my own heart.’
‘Jean’s bringing us some coffee,’ I said. I felt totally disorientated, while Edward seemed excited almost. He smiled again and then, obviously realising my unease, stopped smiling.
‘I’m sorry, Cassandra, you do know you can’t carry on any sort of, er, relationship with Xavier?’
I nodded numbly.
‘I’m really sorry. You seemed well suited, and you got him away from that money-grabbing wife of his.’
‘Sugar?’ What was matter with me? Why couldn’t I speak properly?
‘Thank you, no. Cassandra, I’d like to think you and I can get to know each other. When Amelie is home, I’d love you to meet her. She is your sister, after all.’
My mouth and vocal cords started to behave themselves. ‘But what about your wife?’
‘It can’t be helped,’ he said cheerfully. ‘Once she returns from Paris, next week, I’m just going to have to confess. It was all such a long time ago, after all. And,’ he paused and looked straight at me, ‘maybe now, you and your family will back off a bit with your objections to the building plans and development?’
‘What?’ I just stared at him.
‘I mean,’ he added hastily, ‘now we’re all family, we should be on the same side, don’t you think?’
‘Sorry?’ I appeared to have lost my ability to speak once more.
‘It might be in your interests to work with us. It can’t be easy bringing up two teenagers single-handed. Cambridge won’t be cheap, you know…’
‘Are you bribing me, Mr Bamforth?’ I glared at him.
He gave a short laugh, obviously embarrassed. ‘That’s a bit strong, don’t you think? And do you think we can get rid of the Mr Bamforth now?’
‘So, let me get this straight. You want me to call you Daddy and go hand in glove with you and your plans to concrete over the fields?’
‘What I would really like is for you to talk to Xavier. You obviously have quite a bit of influence over him. If you won’t come on board – and I can quite understand that you have what you see as the best interests of the school and your grandfather to think about – at least talk to Xav and suggest he comes back in with us.’
When I didn’t say anything, he said, ‘Look, Cassandra, I don’t want to fall out with you, especially now I’ve just found you. I genuinely would like to get to know you and your children. You’re my flesh and blood, for heaven’s sake. But, at the end of the day, you’re standing in the way of progress. Don’t be a Luddite. You could be head of a huge junior department of a wonderful new academy school. And…’ he paused, ‘… your grandfather is ninety-odd. He’s not going to be around for ever.’ He stopped talking and stood, placing his mug carefully on the desk as Jean knocked and popped her head round the door to say my prospective parents were waiting. ‘Cassandra, I genuinely feel I’ve gained something with suddenly finding I have another daughter, but I don’t want to lose my son at the same time.’ He picked up his briefcase and headed for the door. ‘If I can’t persuade you to think again re the planning, I’d really appreciate you helping me to get Xavier back on board.’
I held out my hand. ‘Thank you for coming, Mr Bamforth. All I can say is, I’m not my brother’s keeper.’ I opened the door for him. ‘Jean will show you out.’
*
Just landed. Meet me after work. The Arlington Arms out on the Midhope Road. 5 p.m.?
As soon as I’d ripped open the letter the previous evening and read its pernicious contents, I’d locked myself in the bathroom, not wanting Tom or Freya to get wind of what was going on, and rung Xavier. I knew he was in Copenhagen; we’d both assumed he’d be back in the country by the time the DNA results arrived.
There had been silence from his end of the phone and then he’d sighed deeply, obviously taking in the news. ‘Oh God, Cassie, no. I don’t believe it. Could there be a mistake? Shall we try another company? You know, make sure…’
‘Xavier, there’s no point. I’m your sister. You’re my brother…’ I’d begun to weep down the phone.
‘Don’t, Cassie, don’t cr
y,’ he’d pleaded from his hotel room in Copenhagen. ‘Look, I’ll change my flight and be back tomorrow afternoon instead of Saturday morning. I’ll ring you as soon as I’m back.’
*
So here I was, driving through the rain and the Friday teatime traffic on a miserable November afternoon to seal my fate. It was already nearly five and I had to pick Freya up in less than an hour. I put my foot down, accelerating out into the fast lane and prayed there were no traffic cops around.
Xavier was sitting in one corner of the deserted bar and I understood why he’d chosen this place. Halfway between both his house and mine, it obviously wasn’t either the most salubrious, or popular, of drinking holes. He was nursing a glass of wine but hadn’t made much headway with it and stood as soon as he saw me, coming over and putting his arms round me. I leant against him, feeling the warmth of him, wanting to stay there. Knowing I couldn’t.
‘Do you want a drink? I don’t recommend the wine,’ Xavier whispered in my ear attempting humour. ‘I reckon the landlord’s just trodden the grapes himself.’
I glanced over at the paunchy bartender who was sat, alone, on the customer side of the bar, dirty-stockinged feet up on a stool as he watched some sports channel on the huge overhead TV.
‘I’ll just have a Coke. I’ve to drive over to pick Freya up from school in twenty minutes.’
Once we sat down, Xavier held my hand, ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I don’t know what to suggest…’
‘There is nothing to suggest. I suppose we were lucky that Paula arrived at my place the other day before we, you know…’ I trailed off.
Xav smiled and then frowned.
‘So, Xavier, your dad came to see me this morning.’
‘Already?’
‘Almost waiting at the school gate with the lollipop lady.’
‘And?’
‘Wants to welcome me into your family.’
‘I don’t think I can do this whole family thing. I think I need to keep away from you.’ Xavier was serious.
I just looked at him.
‘There’s no other way, Cassie, you know that.’
I nodded numbly.
A Village Affair Page 28
