Hidden Chapters

by Mary Grand

  ‘Who was the girl?’

  ‘Oh–' Catrin looked away. She had got carried away. Damn.

  Bethan grabbed her arm. ‘Who was it?’

  ‘Just some girl.’

  ‘Who, Mum? Tell me.’

  ‘Um, I don’t know, a friend of his.’

  ‘Mum, you’ve gone all red. Who was it?’

  ‘Well, actually, it was–’

  ‘My birth mother?’

  Catrin nodded.

  Bethan stared. ‘She was at the party the night my father died? You saw her? You never said. You’ve never told me you’d met her.’

  ‘No–’ Catrin cringed. Oh God, she never thought Bethan would find out.

  ‘Why? Why didn’t you tell me?’

  ‘I thought it would hurt you. You never asked.’

  ‘Because I didn’t think you’d ever seen her.’

  ‘I thought it would be easier for you. I didn’t want her to become too real.’

  Catrin felt she was drowning in a sea of words. Looking at Bethan, the words that had always seemed to her so logical and reasonable suddenly sounded all wrong.

  ‘Didn’t you think I ever wondered, you know, what she looked like?’

  ‘No, I didn’t. You never asked.’

  ‘Because I never saw the point. You said you’d never seen her. I asked Grandad, but he refused to talk about anything. I guessed he couldn’t cope because of Aled. He told me she wasn’t Deaf. That’s all he’s ever told me. He said he couldn’t even remember what colour her hair was. If I’d known you’d seen her–’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘So what did she look like?’

  ‘I didn’t see her very well, but she was tall, slim, long dark hair.’

  ‘Like me. I look like my mother?’

  Catrin looked at Bethan, seeing for the first time the likeness. Of course, she must have been, what, twenty, nearly the same age as Bethan now. She had been so young.

  ‘Yes, you do. You look very like her.’

  ‘Oh, Mum. All these years I’ve been hoping that. I felt like the odd one out in our family. You and Lowri all tiny, and fair. Even Dad is short. I’m like some giant among you. It was obvious I didn’t belong.’

  ‘Don’t say that.’

  ‘But, Mum, you can’t pretend I was your baby like Lowri. I’m not, and anyone looking at our family could tell. If I’d known I looked like my mother it would have helped me. You know, for me it’s like reading a book, but the first chapter is missing. I have to try and imagine it, make it up. You should have told me.’

  Bethan looked away, and crossed her arms tightly. Catrin touched her shoulder. As Bethan turned to face her Catrin saw Bethan’s lips pressed firmly together and very white. She was holding in some very strong emotions.

  ‘I thought I was protecting you,’ Catrin said. ‘I am so sorry.’

  Bethan stepped forward into her arms, and started to shake and cry. Catrin held her tightly, but soon Bethan stepped back and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand.

  ‘I’m so sorry’ repeated Catrin. ‘I never realised you felt like this.’

  Bethan sat down exhausted. Catrin sat next to her.

  ‘So my birth mother was tall and dark,’ said Bethan quietly. ‘I’ve been trying to imagine her. I was hoping maybe I looked like her, but she’s been like some ghost. I can see a shape, hear a voice, but I can’t make any of it out. At least now I know something.’

  ‘I didn’t know much. I’m sorry. I never even had a photograph.’

  ‘But you knew something. You should have told me. It’s part of my story. I had a right to know.’

  ‘I’m sorry. When I heard she’d died, well, there seemed no point–’

  Catrin sat staring ahead. The story had somehow gone into free fall and she had no idea where it would land.

  Chapter Six

  The London air was thick with dust and fumes which had accumulated throughout the hot day. In her air conditioned house, Elizabeth held a cold glass of spring water to her cheek and closed her eyes, trying to wish away her hangover. She was ploughing thorough the emails related to the art galleries which she owned in London and New York. Occasionally, she tutted with frustration at someone’s inefficiency. Her replies were blunt and to the point. She heard a knock at the front door, and answered it.

  ‘You need to tell me the code to this door sometime. It’s silly me always having to knock. The chaps on the gate all greet me like an old friend now,’ said Richard, as he walked in.

  ‘One day–’

  ‘If you want me to come in and water your plants, you’ll have to give it to me.’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘It’s manic out there because of the Games.’ Richard was red-faced and sweating, wearing an old T shirt and shorts, refusing to join the fad for designer running gear. Elizabeth grinned. She still couldn’t believe she was with someone like Richard, after years of dating a string of rich and eligible young men. From the first time she had seen Richard she had known this was something different. Slowly, he had become part of her life. Instead of becoming increasingly irritated and feeling relieved when someone left she found that her life seemed empty when Richard wasn’t with her. Well it was just better doing things together than apart.

  ‘Bloody tourists,’ Elizabeth said vaguely.

  ‘Still, have to get rid of all the toxins,’ Richard said, laying a sweaty hand on her perfectly groomed black hair. ‘We celebrated in style. Didn’t we?’

  ‘We did, but some of us were still up at six this morning doing a proper run.’

  ‘Well, you’re just a fanatic. I was thinking, that cake they gave you last night. That was weird. Who has a cake that looks like a handbag?’

  Elizabeth laughed. ‘That cake cost a fortune. The people at the gallery paid for it. It was a life-sized replica of my Hermes Birkin handbag.’

  Elizabeth could see Richard looking at her blankly. He had no idea what that meant, or the cost involved.

  ‘The Centre Point building was a great venue for your birthday party, though. The views were incredible. I dread to think how much you paid for it.’

  ‘A lot.’

  ‘It must have been hard, so close on losing you mother.’

  ‘In some ways. To be honest, though, although my birthday was always in the school holiday, I was often on a camp or at summer school. My parents weren’t there for most of my birthdays.’

  ‘You spent a lot of time away from your parents. Did you mind? ‘

  ‘No, not at all. I knew my parents loved me. They were settled in New York with Dad’s work but Mum wanted me to go to her old school back in London. It was a great place, very close community. I just didn’t see that much of them. Mum didn’t have me until she was in her late forties; really old for those days. And Dad, he must have been in his fifties. I was a wonderful surprise for them. They were so proud of me, and they wanted me to have the best of everything.’

  ‘It all seems very odd to me: sending your children off.’

  ‘I know, but I survived. Thrived even.’ She smiled ‘So, you didn’t find last night too bad then? Being stuck with a load of artists and journalists?’

  ‘Fortunately, none of them seemed to know what I do.’

  ‘I always say you’re an accountant. Seems to put people off.’

  He laughed. Richard worked for a music agency. It had one or two notable musicians but was not a rich company. Richard himself was back living in rented accommodation following a costly divorce.

  Elizabeth sat back and groaned. ‘I can’t take the late nights like I used to, you know. I’m getting old.’

  ‘Don’t be stupid. You don’t look a day over, well–’ Elizabeth saw Richard hesitate, regretting embarking on the sentence. She could see the panic in his eyes: what age was he going to pluck out of thin air?

  Elizabeth waited. She didn’t try to rescue him.

  ‘Oh I don’t know,’ he said, retreating. ‘Anyway, I dream of regretting being thirty seven.
’

  ‘Poor old man.’

  Elizabeth picked up her phone at the sound of a text.

  ‘That’s Lucy,’ she said, naming an art journalist. ‘Listen to this. ‘Don’t ever have kids. I was out at eight this morning driving to an art thing at the Hayward. God I have a terrible hangover. Thanks for last night.’

  Elizabeth shook her head. ‘I don’t know why all these parents wear themselves into the ground for their children.’

  ‘Your parents didn’t take you to things? I mean before you went off to school?’

  ‘No, I had a nanny and went to prep school.’

  ‘I loved doing all that with my kids,’ said Richard earnestly. ‘It’s hard to explain, but, you know, it physically hurt me when I left my children to go to work, even after a terrible night’s sleep or after they’d had a tantrum. I still wanted to be with them.’

  ‘You were some kind of martyr, then.’

  Richard’s phone sounded an alert. He read the text, and said, ‘I’d just better ring Justin.’

  Elizabeth found it difficult, the way he dropped everything, including her, for his children. They were both in their early twenties, and shouldn’t be so needy. She thought Richard spoiled them. Elizabeth heard him talking quietly, reassuringly, to his son. ‘Don’t worry. Look, I’m travelling up to Edinburgh by train tonight to see Rosie, staying a couple of days. I could stop off at York on the way back. We could go for a drink.’

  Elizabeth fiddled with the delicate gold brooch that Richard had given her for her birthday. It was an antique rose gold, with tiny diamond flower clusters. She loved it. She had one or two special pieces of Cartier from her parents, and a Tiffany bracelet she had bought herself, but she wore little jewellery. After the phone call Richard explained. ‘Poor Justin‘s been dumped by his latest. I feel sorry for him. It hurts at that age.’

  ‘I don’t see why you have to break your journey. He’s into cricket. Get him some tickets for that or something.’

  ‘I want to see him, talk to him. He’d been with this girl since he started uni. That’s about two years now. He’d got a job in York so they could have the summer together.’

  ‘So they’ve been together the same length of time as us,’ Elizabeth said, laughing.

  ‘Exactly.’ She saw his face turn serious. Elizabeth had caught Richard looking at her a few times like that lately.

  ‘I think you’d better go and shower. Don’t want you sweating on my leather suite.’

  Richard nodded but didn’t smile. Elizabeth knew he didn’t miss the ‘my’ and wished she hadn’t said it. Elizabeth watched the wooden stairs shudder as Richard ran up them. There was no hand rail: the stairs were meant to give the illusion that they were floating in mid air. Everything was square, neat, spotless, each item carefully, purposefully, in its place.

  She could hear him turning on Radio Three in the shower, and felt a twinge of irritation that she would have to change the settings when she went up. It felt so strange to have a whole week off coming up. She didn’t know when she had last done this. It felt very odd.

  Elizabeth walked barefoot into the kitchen area, which was tiled and had glossy white fittings. On the cupboard, she saw her cards piled up, and scowled.

  She thought ‘Why are so many cards for women my age about weight, shopping or getting drunk? For God’s sake is this as far as we’ve come?’ Elizabeth picked them up and put them straight in the recycling. Green tea: that would help. She ignored the awful, ‘Keep calm and drink vodka’ mug Fiona had given her, found her favourite fine bone china mug, and turned on the kettle. She soon heard the gentle clunk behind her of Poppy arriving through the cat flap.

  In contrast to the surroundings, there was nothing sleek or designer about Poppy. She was of very mixed parentage, mainly tortoiseshell. She was semi-feral, came in for meals, and sometimes if it was raining. Elizabeth had bought her the best white cat bed, but it had never been slept on. She leant down and stroked Poppy, who tolerated rather than enjoyed it. Elizabeth grinned. ‘You want food, don’t you? Sensible girl, no fuss.’

  She put down some expensive organic cat food: shrimp and cod today, and at the same time wondered why you never saw cat food labelled mouse, rat or shrew. Now that Poppy really would get excited about but, of course, it would never sell. Poppy ate quickly and very neatly, washed her paws, then let herself out through the cat flap with a minimum of fuss.

  After a few minutes, Elizabeth heard Richard thumping back down the stairs. He was not particularly good looking. Tall, but with a definite tummy. He had kept his hair, which he was very proud of. He had terrible taste in clothes. As if reading her mind, Richard asked, ‘How on earth did you and I end up together? We really couldn’t be more different.’

  ‘I don’t know. Opposites attract and all that.’

  ‘You’re young and rich. I’m middle aged and poor, you mean.’

  Actually, that is partly what she had meant, but she said, ‘No, of course not. It was bit like a film, wasn’t it? I mean, you catching me when I nearly fell in front of a car. Your Rosie would think that was very romantic.’

  ‘She would,’ said Richard, laughing. ‘I must admit I wasn’t being completely altruistic when I took you for a coffee. I mean, you were pretty shaken up, but that wasn’t my only motive.’

  Richard found a mug. ‘You drinking that muck? Decaffeinated green tea smells ghastly. Anyway, some of us need caffeine.’ He made himself coffee. ‘Shall we take these in the garden?’ He opened the back door. Immediately, London entered her house. The smell of fumes and junk food; the sound of traffic: all were again part of her world. She picked up her tea, followed him into the back garden, or garden room as her designer had called it. It was very secluded. The grey slate floor was already warm, the air still and heavy. The garden was meant to be her calm haven from the chaos of London, but today Elizabeth felt more like she was under siege. She sat down on integral furniture, moulded from stone but with expensive padded leather seats. At night, the cleverly planned lighting lit up the garden in a range of warm blues and greens. She liked it best then. Lying in the shade of one of the pots she saw Poppy.

  ‘She’ll be alright while you’re away, then?’

  ‘Of course. I’ve booked her into the best cattery in London. You know, I can look her up online, see her in her room.’

  ‘My God. It’s madness.’

  ‘I know, but there we are.’

  ‘So I come in on Thursday evening. Is that right?’

  ‘Yes, just water the pots, and also can you make sure this is kept clean? You know the birds mess it up or it gets dusty from the traffic. I like it to be kept in this pattern exactly.’

  Elizabeth pointed to a Welsh slate bird bath. In it were carefully arranged shells and pebbles. On the edge was engraved ‘August 11th 1994’ and the words ‘May you be filled with loving kindness. May you be well’.

  ‘That’s unusual. The eleventh. That’s a week Saturday. What does it commemorate?’

  ‘Oh, just a date.’

  Richard smiled, used to Elizabeth’s evasions.

  ‘Well, I shall keep it tidy while you are away. Give me the key code now while we think of it. Fancy the new exhibition at the National this afternoon? It’ll be nice and quiet. Most people in watching the Olympics.’

  ‘Your train is early evening, isn’t it?’

  ‘I know, but we could squeeze something in.’

  Elizabeth recoiled at the thought of being ‘squeezed into’ someone’s schedule. ‘No, it’s OK. I have things to do as well.’

  ‘I’m really looking forward to seeing Rosie. She and Zac are renting in the centre, and I don’t know Edinburgh at all. You know I wish you were coming–’

  ‘No, not my kind of thing. They’d rather see you on your own, anyway.’

  ‘Nonsense. I reckon they think I’m making you up. You’ll have to meet them some time. Still, I’m glad you’re having a break from the gallery. You work ridiculous hours. It’s doing well. You could
ease off, you know.’

  ‘No. My father set me up, and I will never let him down. I could lose it a lot more quickly than I have made it.’

  ‘You need this break. Your flight to New York tomorrow, what time is it?’

  Elizabeth took a deep breath. ‘Actually, I’ve changed my plans.’

  ‘Oh. I thought you wanted to go and sort out the sale of your parents’ house?’

  ‘I realised that the estate agent out there can do all that. There isn’t anything for me to do.’

  ‘Don’t tell me you’re not taking the week off, then?’

  ‘Actually, I am. I’m going to the Gower peninsula in Wales.’

  ‘Why there? I’ve had friends go walking there, but it’s not your sort of place. Really, why are you going there?’

  ‘I’m going to a service there, a kind of memorial to be held in the church at Rhossili.’

  ‘Who’s that for, then?’

  ‘It’s quite complicated. Someone I knew a long time ago. I did three months in my father’s office in New York after I left school. I was trying to decide what to do. I met this chap there. He was the son of Lloyd Merrick, founder of a big firm over here. Anyway, we saw each other a few times out there. I returned to the UK. Then he came back. It was then he had this awful accident.’ Elizabeth stopped.

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘He died on Gower, at Rhossili Bay.’

  ‘This was all years ago?’

  ‘Eighteen. Yes, a long time ago.’ Elizabeth started to twist a long black strand of hair around her finger, tighter and tighter.

  ‘And you are going to this service?’

  Elizabeth could see Richard looking totally mystified. She guessed it did sound pretty strange.

  ‘I keep in touch with a girl I met when I was doing my work experience out in America. You know, if I’m over there we meet for coffee or a drink. Lloyd still goes over there a lot and he had told people about the memorial service. Obviously, he didn’t expect people to come from the States. Most of them would never have met Aled anyway, but I think he is setting up some kind of trust. Anyway, this girl: she knew me and Aled had been together for a while, so she emailed me the details, and I decided that I would go.’