The Broken (Echoes from the Past Book 8)

by Shapiro, Irina

  “I want Maya to like me,” Emma said, her eyes begging for understanding. “I want her to be my friend.”

  “Em, your friends have to like you for yourself, not for what you eat, what you wear, or what kind of house you live in. Why do you like Maya?” Gabe asked.

  “I don’t know,” Emma whispered.

  “Do you want to be her friend because she’s fun to be with or because she makes you feel good about yourself?” Quinn asked.

  “No.”

  “Then why?” Gabe persisted.

  “Maya is popular. Everyone wants to be her friend.”

  “Is that the only reason?” Quinn asked.

  Emma nodded. “I like Jenny, but she’s not popular. Maya says she’s dumb.”

  “No one is dumb,” Quinn said patiently. “You need to be friends with children who make you happy, not ones who make you doubt yourself. Would you like to invite Jenny over for a playdate one day?”

  “Can I?”

  “Of course, you can.”

  “Can I ring her now?”

  “You can ring her now, but she can’t come over today. Tomorrow afternoon would be all right, if it’s okay with her parents,” Quinn replied.

  Emma jumped off the chaise and ran inside to make the call.

  “Did you think about dieting at five?” Gabe asked, shaking his head in dismay.

  “Me? No. I wanted to dig things up,” Quinn replied with a straight face.

  Gabe laughed. “Me too. I kept hoping to find an ancient sword.”

  “Clearly, you were digging in the wrong place. Should have just cracked open the kitchen floor.”

  Still laughing, Gabe scooped up Alex, who’d woken up, and carried him into the house. “Come on, sweet pea. Let’s get you changed, and then we’ll go out for dinner, compliments of Mummy’s depressing job.”

  “Don’t remind me,” Quinn moaned, but the pall of depression had lifted. Her own family was alive and well.

  Chapter 50

  Quinn woke early on Monday morning. Everyone was still asleep, so she went downstairs and made herself a cup of tea, which she took out into the garden. Today, she would chase up the Edevanes and see if she could get any further information to pass on to Rhys. She still hadn’t heard from him, which was worrying. If he didn’t return her call today, she’d have to call Rhiannan and see if he’d been in touch or if he showed up for work this morning.

  On a more positive note, Quinn hadn’t been accosted by either Brett or Jo, which was a definite improvement on the previous week. She fervently hoped Brett had returned to the States but had no way of finding out for sure. She’d ring Seth later in the day. Maybe he’d be able to enlighten her. Knowing that Brett was no longer skulking around would certainly make her feel more at ease. And Jo? She no longer cared what Jo decided to do. Perhaps it was for the best if they didn’t see each other for a time.

  Quinn took a sip of tea and smiled. Jill’s wedding was at the weekend, and then they’d be off to Spain. She couldn’t wait. She’d bought Alex an adorable swimming costume and would get him a set of buckets and shovels for the beach once they arrived in Marbella. He’d love to play in the sand. Emma had asked for an inflatable unicorn ring that she could use in the pool. She’d found one online and showed it to Quinn, who’d had no choice but to order it for her. Emma had set aside several books she planned to bring, and to Quinn’s great relief announced that she would be leaving Emme and her extensive wardrobe behind. The doll would have needed a case of her own, Quinn mused.

  She’d finish packing within the next few days and collect her and Emma’s dresses from the shop on Wednesday. Jill’s hen night was on Thursday. In the past, it would have been a rowdy affair, but being five months pregnant, Jill had opted for a nice dinner with her girlfriends rather than a boozy bar crawl that would end in a hangover and serious regret. Quinn was glad Jill was keeping it low-key. She had no desire to spend the night drinking and fending off come-ons from blokes who were too pissed to even see her face clearly. The only come-ons she was interested in these days were from her husband.

  Having finished her tea, Quinn returned inside and glanced at the clock. It had just gone eight, so not too early to ring the care home. Someone would be at reception.

  “I’m sorry, love, but Mr. Edevane passed just over a year ago. He was a nice gent. Lovely manners,” the woman who answered the phone said. “I can’t give you any further information, but you can look up his son. He came to visit regularly. Nice bloke. David, his name is, same as the father.”

  “Thank you. I will,” Quinn had said, and ended the call. Speaking to David the Elder had been a long shot anyway, given his advanced age. And even if he were still alive, what right did she have to come in and start asking him questions about his family, when remembering what happened that summer could only bring him pain? It’d be easier to speak to the son, if he were willing to grant her an interview.

  Getting in touch with David Edevane junior proved easier than she’d expected. He owned a sporting goods outlet in Croydon and agreed to meet with her when she rang asking if she could come round. Rhys would have liked her to take Darren along, but she didn’t think Mr. Edevane would appreciated their interview being filmed. If he agreed, then they’d put something on the calendar and do it in a more formal setting. Quinn found the shop without any difficulty and walked to the small office at the back.

  “Mr. Edevane? I’m Dr. Allenby. We spoke on the phone.”

  “Oh, hello, there,” David Edevane said. He looked very much like his father and had the same friendly smile. “Can I offer you some coffee? I have a new package of Jaffa cakes,” he added, smiling guiltily. “They’re a particular weakness of mine. I hide them from my wife. She’s trying to get me to eat healthier.”

  “I love Jaffa cakes,” Quinn confessed. “One won’t hurt.”

  “That’s what I always say,” he agreed. He poured them both coffee from an old-fashioned coffeemaker and set the package of biscuits on the table between them. He tossed several sugar packets on the table and produced a bottle of milk from the tiny fridge in the corner.

  “So, what’s this about, then? You’re from some program, you said on the phone,” David said as he took a noisy sip of coffee.

  “Yes, I host the program Echoes from the Past. Perhaps you’ve heard of it.”

  “Sorry, no. Doesn’t sound like something I’d enjoy. Top Gear is more my thing. What’s it about?”

  Quinn explained the premise of the show, then carefully introduced the subject of Annie. “Mr. Edevane, Mr. and Mrs. Brock, who I believe purchased the house from your parents, discovered human remains in the garden several weeks ago.”

  David nodded. “That’d be Annie. My sister,” he added.

  “We would like to make Annie the subject of an Echoes from the Past episode. Do you think you might give us permission to do that?”

  David looked thoughtful. “Normally, I’d say no to this kind of thing—not that people routinely ask to make a program about my family—but I think I owe it to my mother and all the other children who were born deformed because of that awful drug. My parents didn’t know it at the time, of course; no one did. Annie was one of the first babies to be born with deformities, but there were many more after.”

  “Mr. Edevane, can you tell me Annie’s story? And would you be willing to do it again on film?”

  David chuckled. “Can my missus be present for the interview? Oh, she’d love that. Always wanted to be on the telly, my Shona. She’ll probably buy a new hat.”

  “Yes, of course, your wife can be present. Also, I need you to sign a release form stating that you give us permission to tell your story.” Quinn slid over the release form she’d brought and handed him a pen. “You can take some time to think about it, if you like.”

  David signed with a flourish. “Nothing to think about. All the people this might have hurt are long gone. I’m the last of the line.”

  Quinn returned the form to her bag and took out
her mobile. “Do you mind if I record our interview?” she asked.

  “Not at all,” David Edevane replied with a careless shrug.

  “Thank you. Do you remember anything about that time?” Quinn asked, knowing that David would have been five when Annie died.

  “I was just a little lad when Annie was born, but I remember. What happened that summer haunted me my whole life, and my Dad too, of course,” David said sadly. “I’m not proud of it, but I hated her. I’d waited and waited for a friend to play with, but what I got was a sister who looked like a loaf of bread with a head.”

  Quinn thought that was quite a cruel description of his sister, but as David had pointed out, he’d been very young at the time. She supposed in his mind, he always thought of Annie as he had then.

  “My mum, who’d been loving and kind until Annie’s birth, turned into a recluse who cried whenever she thought no one was looking. It was supposed to be a happy time, but it was awful and frightening. And confusing. No one would tell me anything, and Mum pretended that everything was normal, which it obviously wasn’t.”

  “What about your dad?”

  “Dad was better at keeping his emotions in check, but he was devastated, as you might imagine. He became more withdrawn, silent. I thought it was all because of Annie, but there was a bigger story there, one I didn’t fully understand until I was older.”

  She smiled encouragingly at him. “And what story would that be?”

  “You know how they say truth is stranger than fiction? Well, that was the case with my parents. My mum, Helen, met my father at the hospital where she worked. He’d had an accident and came in to get patched up. Mum was a nurse. Their courtship was fairly routine. They took a liking to each other, stepped out a few times, and decided to get married. Well, that all sounds grand, doesn’t it? Except that my dad was an orphan, left at an orphanage when he was a newborn, but registered right and proper, with his full name and date of birth. He’d never bothered to look for his birth parents. Didn’t see the point, on account of not being wanted,” David explained. “Well, he found them regardless.”

  Quinn felt a shiver of anticipation at David’s words. So, he knew, and seemed to be willing to talk about it. Quinn was chuffed to be getting the story on tape; Rhys would love it.

  “Seems my grandmother had been a busy lady during the Great War. Had a husband at the front and a lover at home. My dad was the product of that illicit affair, and Grandma, God rest her soul, got rid of him before her husband came home and would find out his wife had been playing away. Grass widows, they used to call them. Did you know that? Meant they didn’t let the grass grow under their feet.”

  “Yes, I have heard that term,” Quinn replied.

  “Well, when Mum brought her intended home for the first time, Grandma Edith took one look at him, heard the name, saw the resemblance to his father, went upstairs, and died. Had a heart attack that very night. I guess the thought of her children getting married to each other was too much for her to bear. Can’t say as I blame her,” David said, reaching for his third Jaffa cake.

  “But your parents married anyway?”

  “They didn’t know, you see. It wasn’t until months later that my mum cleared out Edith’s room and found my father’s birth certificate and a photo of his father. Edward Edevane, his name was. Well, she was already carrying me and decided not to tell Dad, but the knowledge ate at her. She was terrified of living in sin, as she thought of it. People were a lot more afraid of divine retribution back then, weren’t they?”

  “Did your parents tell you all this?” Quinn asked carefully. David didn’t seem at all bothered to be a child of incest.

  “My dad did, after Mum passed. Do you want more coffee?”

  “No, I’m all right,” Quinn said, eager to hear the rest of the story. “Please, go on.”

  “When Annie was born, my poor mum thought it all her fault. She thought God had cursed her for not telling the truth and dissolving the incestuous marriage. Little did she know that the deformity was caused by the drug she’d been taking and that she and my father weren’t brother and sister at all.”

  “How’s that, then?” Quinn asked, her ears pricking up. This was an interesting new tidbit.

  “My mum became ill after Annie died. Just couldn’t cope with the guilt. She begged my father to bury Annie in the garden, didn’t want her alone in the cemetery. He was against the idea, but she was so distraught, he did as she asked. As you might imagine, the neighbors grew curious when Annie just disappeared, started asking questions, so Mum refused to leave the house. Had Dad bring in whatever she needed, and she carried on as if Annie were still alive. She sat by Annie’s grave every day, talked to her, sang lullabies, and read her stories. Her mind had turned. She became more and more withdrawn and erratic, stopped bathing and forgot to eat, and grew angry whenever Dad tried to talk to her or get her to leave the house.

  “After several years, my father had no choice but to put her into care. He couldn’t look after her himself, and he had me to think about. You can just imagine what that would do to a child, watching his mother carry on like that. Mum grew agitated when they came for her, didn’t want to leave Annie. She bit the nurse and assaulted one of the doctors, so they had to sedate her to get her out of the house. It was truly awful. I cried for days after she was gone.”

  “I can’t imagine how you must have suffered,” Quinn said, overcome with pity for that little boy who’d not only lost his sister, but the mother he’d adored.

  “Dad suffered too. He went to see her every week, brought her flowers and her favorite sweets. I always went with him, but after a time, I stopped going. Just couldn’t bear to see what had become of her. She’d been pretty once. A real classy dame. I have some photos, if you’d like to use them in your program.”

  “Yes, that would be very helpful.”

  “Mum died when I was eleven. There was nothing physically wrong with her. She died of a broken heart, my dad said. He’d told her about the drug and what it had done, but that made her even worse. She blamed herself for not being woman enough to deal with sickness and fatigue during her pregnancy. She said if only she hadn’t been so weak, Annie would have been born whole, and would probably still be alive. The knowledge really sent her over the edge. Until then, Dad hoped she might still come home.”

  “You said they weren’t actually related,” Quinn prompted.

  “No. Once Dad realized she was never coming home, he sold the house. Couldn’t deal with the memories of the life they’d shared before it all went wrong. He had to find the deed to the house in order to sell it, and that was when he came across Mum’s birth certificate. It was inside the envelope with the deed in it. The names looked as if they’d been tampered with, and he got curious. The mother’s name seemed to have been written over, and the father’s name was in a slightly different shade of ink. I don’t know why he did it. I suppose he needed closure, or something to occupy his mind, but he went to find the midwife who’d delivered my mother. Thankfully, she was still alive, but old and frail. Dad fixed some things for her around the house. The poor dear couldn’t do it herself and didn’t seem to have the money to hire someone. She was most grateful. Told him the whole story.”

  “Which was?”

  “She’d known my grandfather’s family, you see. Knew the Brents all her life. My grandfather had a younger sister, Ellen. She died of influenza in 1928. Ellen got involved with a married man when she was sixteen. He strung her along for several years and abandoned her altogether when she became pregnant with his child. Ellen left behind a two-month-old daughter when she died.”

  Quinn nodded, understanding dawning. “And your grandparents took in the child and altered the birth certificate to show that she was theirs.”

  “They did. Didn’t want Mum to go through life with the stigma of having been born a bastard. And they were only too happy to take her in. Seems they weren’t able to have children of their own.”

  “So, He
len and your father were not related by blood?”

  David shook his head. “No, they weren’t. Grandma Edith never became pregnant with her husband, which must have been a source of great frustration for her, since she knew she was able to have children. I reckon she’d have taken Dad back had her husband not returned from the front, but he did, so Dad remained at the orphanage while Edith raised someone else’s daughter. Dad said she’d never been warm or loving to Mum, and often wondered what kind of mother she’d have been had she kept him. Seeing him that day must have been too much for her. She knew, of course, that Mum and Dad weren’t related, but having the son she’d abandoned as a son-in-law was not a situation she could live with, I suppose.”

  “And your father? How did he fare after all this?”

  “Better than Mum. He was a strong person, my dad, and kind. He was both parents to me until I was old enough to strike out on my own.”

  “Did he ever remarry?”

  “No, but he did have a lady friend in his later years. Got tired of being alone, I suppose. I never begrudged him a little bit of happiness. He deserved it. He’d been through hell. You see, he was never really sure if Annie died of natural causes. Mum had been so distraught, so worried about what would become of her, that for a split second he thought she might have, you know…”

  “He thought she killed her?”

  “He thought she might have smothered her with a pillow, for her own sake. Not much of a life she would have had, our poor Annie. Some of those children with phocomelia did all right for themselves, but they had something to work with. Disabled, but still capable of looking after themselves. Annie would never have been able to fend for herself, and my mum would lay down her life taking care of her. It’d have killed her in the end, just as the guilt drove her mad. I wish my dad would have discovered the truth while there was still a chance of turning things around, but it was too late by then. Mum died believing that everything that happened had been down to her.”