by Kate Field
*
My fortieth birthday conveniently fell on a Saturday, and I had booked a meal at the French bistro in town to celebrate. Caitlyn, Luc and Mum were due to arrive the day before and would be staying for a week. I had looked forward to their visit for so long, but I couldn’t wish for it now, when such a life-changing task lay ahead. Because after hours and days of soul-searching and deliberation, I knew there was only one way forward.
When Caitlyn arrived, I would tell her about Paddy, so she could choose whether to go ahead with the paternity test or not. Gran had been right: I couldn’t let her miss out on the chance to have a father. It didn’t matter how old she was: I had lost my dad at a similar age as she was now and had never stopped wishing he was around. When I thought about the life experiences Caitlyn might have ahead of her – buying her first home, getting married, having children – a father would make a difference to everything.
And I couldn’t help going back to one particular thing that Paddy had said in the hotel room in Paris. He had told me that he had stayed away from us because Caitlyn had needed me more than him. Perhaps now the situation had reversed, and she needed a parent – a real one – more than she needed me. Perhaps it was time to fall back, become the aunt I should always have been – a friend rather than a mother. It was complicated – my feelings towards her weren’t constrained by labels – but I had to do what was best for her.
As for my feelings towards Paddy … Once the initial shock of Paris had worn off, and I had recovered from the effects of the alcohol and lack of sleep, I hadn’t been able to hate him again. It was too late for that; the man I had got to know this year didn’t deserve to be hated. But I couldn’t let myself carry on loving him either, if he was Caitlyn’s father. Watching them develop a relationship would be a constant reminder that I had been second in line with Paddy, as I had been with everything else where Faye was concerned; that the man I had hoped to have children with myself had instead formed that bond with my sister. And it would remind me of her betrayal; because the more I reflected on it, the more I thought that a good sister would have told me the history that first time I introduced Paddy to her as my boyfriend; would have let me decide for myself whether I wanted to be involved with someone who might have fathered her child.
And beyond all that, I couldn’t risk coming between Paddy and Caitlyn. If they were to have a proper relationship, there couldn’t ever be one between Paddy and me. I couldn’t hand her a father, only to steal away some of the time and affection he should give to her.
Paddy was still being persistent in his efforts to contact me; I had to give him credit for that. He had started sending letters and postcards, and correspondence from him was piling up in the house like invitations to Hogwarts. I’d made the mistake of glancing at some of it, and my tears had smudged the ink until the words were illegible. It was like the early days of our relationship, when he had left notes and doodles for me everywhere, and though I tried to harden my heart against it, it affected me as much now as it had then. But I couldn’t let it. I had to be neutral, neither loving him nor hating him, because neither option would be compatible with his being Caitlyn’s father.
The correspondence hadn’t mentioned Caitlyn, but I couldn’t imagine he’d abandoned his wish to take a paternity test. I knew very well that he could contact Caitlyn direct and ask her himself, and I could only trust that he wouldn’t do that; I wanted to break the news to Caitlyn, to give her any support she needed. But I’d forgotten, until the French bistro contacted me to confirm numbers for my birthday meal, that I had invited Paddy to join us when we were in Paris. Would he still come? I had no idea; but I couldn’t take the risk that he would turn up and speak to Caitlyn before I was ready. Now I regretted my hasty decision to delete his number from my phone; but I remembered that Tina might have it from when she had arranged his school visit all those months ago.
‘I’m in the garden,’ she yelled, when I wandered over one afternoon and knocked on the front door. I went through the side gate and found her sprawled on a sun lounger in the back garden, wearing a swimming costume with the straps off her shoulder.
‘It’s a good job it’s only me,’ I said, sitting down on the steps beside her. ‘Are you trying to compete with Year 11 for the best tan? Even if the sun shines every day until the start of term I don’t think you’ll do it.’
‘It’s not for school,’ Tina said, rolling over and narrowly avoiding taking our relationship to a whole new level by exposing more than either of us had bargained for. ‘It’s for Saturday night. The bistro is a bit fancy. I’ve bought a pale blouse, so I need a bit of colour to pull it off. I’m regretting going sleeveless, though – it’s good for the hot flushes but does nothing for the bingo wings. All things for you to look forward to,’ she added, grinning. ‘Although you’re so lean with all that running you’ll probably never need to worry about wobbly bits.’
‘I wouldn’t have minded having some wobbly bits,’ I replied, laughing and indicating my small chest. ‘I’ve yet to find an exercise that can increase the bulk up here.’
‘Did you never do this one when you were growing up? I must, I must, I must improve my bust,’ she chanted, thrusting back her elbows in time with the words. She just managed to grab the top of her swimming costume before I could see for myself whether the exercise had worked for her. ‘I’ll go and throw some more clothes on. Are you stopping for a drink? Water, or can I tempt you with something stronger, like a cup of tea?’
‘I’ll have a glass of wine if you’re opening a bottle.’
Tina laughed until she realised I was serious.
‘I know I’ve been trying to persuade you for years, but alcohol isn’t the answer,’ she said, suddenly transforming into Tina the teacher. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Positive.’
Why not? Paris had changed everything. Returning home, I had taken great pleasure in roaming the once-forbidden section of the supermarket, picking out a selection of wine based on price and pretty labels. I had resisted the spirits, so far, although I felt it was only a matter of time before I succumbed to the temptation of some of the gin bottles.
Tina returned wearing a dazzling kaftan and carrying two glasses of wine.
‘Cheers,’ she said, clinking her glass against mine and settling back down on the sun lounger. ‘This is weird. I hope you’re not going to get pie-eyed after one glass and need carrying home. Graham is away tonight. I’ll have to stick you in the wheelbarrow and trundle you over the road. Anyway,’ she continued with an abrupt change of subject. ‘Why are you looking so smart? Are you going on a date? Is this Dutch courage?’
‘It’s not a date,’ I replied. I couldn’t imagine ever going on one of those again. ‘I had the job interview I told you about this afternoon.’
‘Sorry, I completely forgot that was today.’ Tina leant forward. ‘How did it go? Is this why you’re on wine? Are we celebrating?’
‘Not yet. I think it went well. It’s hard to tell, isn’t it? It’s so long since I had an interview that I’ve forgotten how to read the signs.’
The invitation to the interview had come out of the blue, the day after my return from Paris. My old tutor, Christopher Porter, had let me know that an archaeological consultancy set up by a former colleague was looking to take on a couple of graduate trainees. It sounded the perfect job: they were happy to take on trainees of any age, and however long ago they had graduated, and although the firm’s offices were based in Yorkshire, they worked across the north of England, so I could mainly work west of the Pennines if I wanted. They offered a six-month trainee programme, at the end of which I would have an Archaeology Skills Passport, which would help me apply for another job. It was a dream role, and the people who had interviewed me had been lovely, but I was trying not to get my hopes up. Although I had spent weeks trying to catch up on all the developments in archaeology that I had missed, there was a seventeen-year gap in my CV that was hard to reconcile with my professed enthusiasm for
the subject.
‘When do you find out?’ Tina asked.
‘Next week. Today was the last round of interviews.’ I sipped the wine, trying to suppress a grimace. The odd thing was, now I had given myself permission to drink wine, I wasn’t sure I was actually enjoying it. Apart from the champagne in Paris, more often than not I’d rather have been having a cup of tea after all. Was this a symptom of impending middle age?
‘I wish they would make us wait longer,’ I added. ‘I’d rather live with the hope than the disappointment.’
We chatted for a while longer, but I declined a second glass of wine. I stood up to go.
‘While I’m here,’ I said, trying to sound as casual as I could, ‘you don’t still have Paddy’s contact details from when you organised his school visit, do you?’
‘I probably have his card somewhere. Why do you need it? You’ve just been to Paris with him – I thought you’d have exchanged more than phone numbers. You’ve not fallen out, have you? I was looking forward to meeting him again at your birthday meal. To talk history,’ Tina added, with an unconvincing grin.
‘He’s still coming, as far as I know. I just need to double check, to confirm numbers with the bistro. I seem to have mislaid his number.’
It was feeble, and I could see Tina was making a valiant effort not to interrogate me further, but she managed to find his number, and I sent a text to Paddy, suggesting we meet at The White Hart on Saturday afternoon, before the birthday meal. His reply was almost instant, agreeing to the plan. So now all I had to do was to break the news to Caitlyn that she might have a father … How on earth was I supposed to do that?
Chapter 24
Mum, Caitlyn and Luc flew into Manchester airport on Friday morning, my last day as a thirty-something. I’d offered to pick them up, but Mum had declined the offer, no doubt glad of the chance to spend some time on her own with Caitlyn. Even though I had taken Caitlyn over to Spain every year, and welcomed Mum’s visits to us whenever she wanted, it could never be enough, as I now understood. The last few months, with Caitlyn away in Paris, had made me realise as I hadn’t before how difficult the separation must have been for Mum, when I had made the move north and out of daily reach.
It was early afternoon before I heard a taxi pull up outside the house, and I rushed to the door, eager to get a glimpse of Caitlyn. Despite a day of travelling, the Parisian gloss I had noticed before was still evident, in the chic clothes she wore and the confident way she paid the driver and wheeled her case up the drive, closely followed by Luc.
I pulled her into a hug as soon as she was within reach, pleasure at seeing her my overwhelming feeling. But as we pulled apart, and she started to complain about their delayed flight, I found myself studying her face more intently than I had ever needed to before. Every detail was familiar – but was there more to that familiarity than seventeen years of living with her? Were there traces of Paddy in the twist of her mouth or the shape of her eyes that I had failed to notice before? Was this Paddy’s daughter stepping into my house? I didn’t want to know; but I couldn’t live with this uncertainty either.
‘Are you okay, Mum?’ Caitlyn stopped chattering and turned to look at me. ‘You’re looking flustered. Is it the thought of the big four-zero? If it’s any consolation, you could still pass for late thirties.’
She laughed, and I couldn’t help joining in.
‘Less of your cheek. I am still late thirties – yes, very late,’ I added, as she opened her mouth to point that out. ‘At least let me enjoy my last few hours, before I wake up tomorrow with wrinkled skin and hair sprouting from my nose and ears …’
‘Don’t worry about that,’ Caitlyn said. She looked at Mum, who was still standing awkwardly on the wrong side of the threshold. ‘Shall we tell her?’ Without waiting for an answer, Caitlyn rushed on. ‘It’s part of your birthday present. We’ve booked you in to have your hair and nails done tomorrow afternoon. I’m sure you can sort out any unwanted hair while you’re there.’
‘Tomorrow afternoon?’ I repeated. That was when I had arranged to meet Paddy. ‘What time?’
‘Three. You’ll be finished in perfect time to get changed and go to the party. But don’t worry, we have plans for the whole day, so you won’t have a spare moment to feel sorry for yourself.’
‘Thank you.’ I hugged Caitlyn again, and Mum too, who had now moved as far as the hall. It was lovely of them to do this, but it ruled out any chance of a secret meeting with Paddy before the meal. ‘I’ll look forward to it.’
‘You should have had your nails done before,’ Caitlyn said, grabbing my hand and looking at my short nails. I had always kept them short – better for digging, and in more recent years, for typing. ‘It would have been a perfect way to use your vouchers. Be kind to yourself, remember? How many have you got left?’
‘None! You see, I’ve been exceptionally kind to myself. I’ll give you the last two tomorrow. One of them involved buying a new dress for tomorrow night. You must approve of that.’
‘Sounds good. You’ll have to show me later.’
‘Later?’ I repeated, as Caitlyn pushed her bag and Luc’s to the bottom of the stairs and walked back towards the door.
‘I said I’d catch up with a few friends in town this afternoon. You don’t mind, do you? They’re dying to meet Luc! I’ll let you know if we’ll be back for tea. Love you!’
And with that they were gone, strolling away down the street towards town without a backward glance. Mum touched my arm.
‘Shall I put the kettle on? You look like you could do with a drink.’
I followed Mum into the kitchen and let her bustle around making tea. Things had been easier between us since her last visit, and our telephone conversations were lasting longer than ever before, but some awkwardness still lingered now we were face to face. I thought Caitlyn would have stayed with us, to help smooth things along; I hadn’t realised she would barely step foot through the door. But why should I mind? I was only an aunt, not a mother, even if my feelings didn’t recognise the distinction.
‘Caitlyn tells me you were with Paddy in Paris,’ Mum said, when we were settled at the kitchen table with our tea. ‘Paddy Friel.’ As if there could be any doubt who she meant. ‘I didn’t know you were friendly with him again. Are you sure? After the way he treated you …’
Glancing across the table, I saw a look in Mum’s eye that I instinctively recognised, but hadn’t expected. It was the wariness of a tiger, ready to guard her cub. It was how I had felt about every boyfriend Caitlyn had brought home, wondering if he might hurt her and what I could do to prevent it. It had never crossed my mind that Mum might feel the same way about me, even at my age.
‘It’s nothing,’ I said. ‘We met a few times over the summer, that’s all. He helped out when I needed to go to Paris to see Caitlyn.’
I stared down at my tea. That wasn’t all; not even a fraction of it, on my side at least. But how could I be sure what he had been feeling all summer and why he had come to Paris? I thought he’d been helping me; that it had been like that day when we had first met at university, and he had rushed to my rescue without a thought for himself. I’d taken it as evidence that he cared for me. But nothing was certain now. I couldn’t shake off the suspicion that his offer to accompany me had simply been a way for him to see Caitlyn. I’d wanted to hurry to her side, to check for myself that she was safe. Had he felt the same – paternal instincts prompting his offer to accompany me, rather than romantic ones? And if he had, how could I criticise him for that? I sighed. This was all such a mess.
‘What’s the matter?’ Mum said, and she reached across the table to squeeze my hand. ‘Don’t tell me nothing. I’m your mum. I know when something’s not right.’
It was true – even though I’d had little obviously in common with Mum, she had always been able to read me, always known exactly how I was feeling. So how much more must she have known about Faye, when the two of them had been so close? I should have thought
of this before; if anyone knew Faye’s secrets, it would be Mum.
‘Do you know who Caitlyn’s father is?’ I asked.
My attempt to surprise her didn’t work. She took a moment before she looked up at me, but her face gave nothing away.
‘No. You know that. We went through all this when Faye first told us she was pregnant, and again when Caitlyn was born. Faye told us nothing. If we’d had a name, we would have contacted him after she died.’
‘So Faye never mentioned a name at any time? Never even made a hint or suggestion about anyone? Anyone at all?’
Mum sighed and sat back in her chair. ‘I see. I suppose you mean Paddy.’
‘You knew!’ Tea splashed out of my mug and down my hand as I slammed my cup on the table. ‘So it’s true?’
It felt as though my world was shattering. Deep down, I hadn’t wanted to believe it. But if Mum knew what I was asking, before I’d mentioned his name …
‘It’s true that Faye suggested it,’ Mum said. ‘Not just suggested – she tormented him with it for a while.’
‘But I never heard any of it!’
‘No. I hoped you wouldn’t.’ Mum’s bracelets jangled as she pushed her mug across the table from one hand to the other. ‘She was careful not to say it in front of you. And I soon put a stop to it when I realised what she was doing.’
That fitted with what Paddy had said in Paris; that the comments from Faye had suddenly stopped. Was it because Mum had interfered?
‘Why would she say it at all if it wasn’t true?’ I asked.
‘That was Faye. I loved her to bits, but God knows she wasn’t perfect.’ Mum brushed away a tear from her cheek. ‘She lived for attention, and most of the time she got it, especially from you. But then Paddy came along. You worshipped her until you met him, and then he was everything to you. It was clear to all of us that he wasn’t just another boyfriend. Perhaps she thought that if she stirred up some trouble, she would frighten him off so you were all hers again. But of course it wasn’t true about Caitlyn. How could it be? Faye hadn’t met Paddy until you brought him home.’