by Anna Jacobs
Mara’s Choice
ANNA JACOBS
This book is for my friend, Deborah Smith, with thanks for all the help she has given me and my books.
Thank you so much, Debs!
You’re a star and a pleasure to know.
Contents
Title Page
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
About the Author
By Anna Jacobs
Copyright
Chapter One
When Mara Gregory went into the kitchen to make a cup of tea, her mother looked up with a guilty expression, crumpled the letter she was reading and stuffed it into her apron pocket. The envelope missed and wafted to the floor to land at Mara’s feet.
After picking it up, she glanced at it automatically and froze when she saw her own name, not her mother’s, in the address. ‘This letter was for me. Why did you open it?’
‘I knew who it was from.’
She turned the envelope over to read the sender’s address but the name A. Buchanan meant nothing to her. ‘Who is he? Or is it a she?’
‘Nobody who matters.’
Mara waited because her mother seemed to be fumbling for words, stuttering slightly, as she’d done a few times lately.
‘You don’t need any more trouble. You’ve just lost your fancy London job. Concentrate on finding a new one nearer your family and leave any other problems to me. That’s what mothers are for.’
‘I’m thirty and perfectly capable of dealing with my own letters and troubles, thank you very much.’ She held out her hand.
Kath took a step backwards, shaking her head.
‘Mum! Stop this!’ Mara tried to snatch the letter out of her mother’s apron pocket and failed, but she managed to block the doorway and didn’t intend to move till she’d got her missive. ‘Give it to me!’
‘You two don’t usually quarrel before breakfast.’ Phil moved his stepdaughter gently to one side and joined them in the kitchen. ‘What’s the matter?’
Kath shot a warning look at her daughter. ‘Nothing.’
Mara wasn’t backing off. ‘I just caught Mum opening a letter addressed to me and she won’t let me have it.’
He looked sharply at his wife.
‘She doesn’t need this,’ Kath said. ‘You know we agreed—’ She broke off. ‘I’ll get your breakfast. Let it drop, Phil.’
‘After you’ve given her the letter.’ His voice was unusually firm. ‘It’s about time, don’t you think?’
‘Phil, no! You agreed.’
‘Years ago and only because you made such a fuss. I never approved of what you were doing about Buchanan and it’s been on my conscience, so I’m glad it’s coming out into the open.’
Kath crossed both hands protectively across her apron pocket but he was strong enough to move them away, doing it as gently as he did everything. He passed the crumpled letter to his adopted daughter. ‘Here, love. But don’t pass judgement on your mother till you know the whole story.’
He turned back to his wife, who was sobbing and rubbing her forehead as if it ached. ‘Ah now, don’t. Don’t cry on me, Kath. I can’t think straight when you cry.’ He tried to put his arms round her but she pushed him away.
Mara scanned the letter and after a few minutes she looked up, frowning. ‘I don’t understand. This man says – he says he’s my father.’
‘Never stops causing trouble, that one,’ Kath said bitterly. ‘Even after all this time.’
Shock made Mara’s voice come out as a hushed whisper. ‘He really is my father?’
‘Only biologically and that was by sheer accident.’
‘But you told me he was dead! You told me that when I was little and started asking, before you two even got married.’
‘As far as I was concerned, that man was dead!’
Mara reread the letter, which was just a page long. There seemed to be a warmth in the way he wrote. Or did she just want there to be?
Dear Mara,
This letter is so hard to write. I’ve sent two previous letters, the first one to what sounded like a flat in London, the second to this address. I’ve not received an acknowledgement that either of them arrived, though surely at least one must have done.
I only found out a few months ago that I had conceived a daughter with my then partner before I emigrated to Australia.
It was sheer coincidence that I recently met someone who knew your mother. Since Kath and I both came from the same village in Wiltshire, she wondered whether we might have known one another.
I was gobsmacked to hear that Kath had a daughter who was ‘just turned thirty’ and couldn’t help wondering if you might be mine. The mere thought of that delighted me, you can’t know how much.
I did some research online and discovered the date of your birth, which told me I was highly likely to have been the father. Kath simply wasn’t the sort to play away from home.
I hired a private detective to trace you, and when he found you, he said you and I resemble one another greatly.
I’d very much like to meet you. Is that possible?
You can contact me at either of the above addresses.
Very best wishes,
Aaron Buchanan
Mara couldn’t think straight with her mother watching her with anger in every line of her body. She went into the hall, grabbed her coat and shoulder bag and headed towards the front door.
She turned as the sound of a sharp argument followed her and saw her mother shove Phil roughly aside and step into the hall.
‘Where do you think you’re going, Mara Gregory?’
‘Out. I need to think.’
‘Don’t get in touch with him. He’s not worth it, will only hurt you, as he hurt me. Please.’
There was such desperation in that last word, Mara actually thought of giving in, but only for a few seconds. She’d wondered about her father all her life and couldn’t bear to miss this opportunity to meet him, just couldn’t. If she didn’t write back to him now, there might never be another chance. She shook her head and opened the front door.
‘Mara, no!’ It was a shriek.
She turned to say bitterly, ‘How do I know whether he’s worth it or not, Mum? All you’ve ever told me was that he was dead. You’ve refused to talk about him, and heaven knows I’ve begged you for information a few times. You wouldn’t even tell me the colour of his hair, for heaven’s sake!’
‘You were better off without him.’
‘It was up to me to decide that, especially once I became an adult. And how dare you intercept my mail?’
‘It was better that way,’ she repeated with her usual stubbornness.
‘Well, just to set the record straight, Mum, it wasn’t better for me because it’s always hurt not even to know what my father was like.’ It still did. A lot.
‘Well, it’s never been proved that he was your father. I was quite in demand in those days. It could be – someone else.’
She didn’t believe that fo
r a second. And her birth father hadn’t done, either. Her mother was straight-laced and set in her ways, would never have cheated on a steady partner, or cheated about anything, come to that. Kath was blunt to a fault.
Mara left the house, not letting herself slam the front door behind her. But she wanted to. Oh, she definitely did.
If she weren’t unemployed, she’d move out again because her mother was treating her as a child in other ways too. Only, she couldn’t afford to leave and set up in a new flat till she got a job, so thank goodness Phil was there to keep the peace. Her adopted father was a wonderful man, putting up with her mother’s moods – and with her own lately, Mara had to admit.
It did that to you, losing your job. Made you grumpy. Especially when the choice of who should be made redundant hadn’t been fair and you could do nothing about it.
And she knew who to blame for that: Darren, her former partner. Bad mistake, getting together with him. After they split up, he’d told damaging lies about her to her manager.
‘What’s wrong, Aaron love? You’re looking a bit down.’
He turned round, smiling involuntarily, as he always did at the sight of Emma in the morning, her auburn curls in a wild tangle, coffee mug in her hand, eyes bright with hope for what the day might bring. She was a delight to wake up to.
Then her words sank in and he couldn’t hold on to the smile. ‘I was thinking about Mara.’
Emma closed her eyes for a moment and when she opened them the happiness wasn’t quite as bright. ‘You’ve sent her another letter, haven’t you?’
He nodded.
‘Oh, Aaron, you said you’d not do that to yourself any more. She’s had two chances to reply and there’s not been a word from her.’
‘Well, it seems she moved house in the middle of it all. So I just – well, had to try one last time.’
‘You should hire that detective again if you can’t accept the situation. He’ll make sure your letters are actually getting through to her.’
‘I will contact him if nothing comes of this one.’
Emma came to put her arms round him. ‘It still hurts, doesn’t it, that your ex didn’t even tell you that you had a daughter. Let’s face it, Aaron love, if anyone is intercepting your letters, it’s likely to be your ex and the new letter won’t get through either now Mara is living at home again. This Kath knew who you were working for in Australia right from the start. What harm would it have done to tell you about the child?’
‘She was very stubborn about me not taking a job so far away, said it was her or the job and she’d never leave Wiltshire, let alone England. I realised after a while that she couldn’t have coped with such a major life change. Life isn’t easy for people as rigid as her, even when things go well.’
‘She could still have told you later on and allowed you the chance to meet your child. You’d think after all these years the stupid woman would have got past how you two broke up.’
‘Ultimatums and quarrels don’t make for good decision-making on either side. I’ve grown wiser since then, I hope.’
‘I must admit that from what you’ve let drop, it’s always seemed to me that you were both at fault. You were both young and stubborn. And you at least have well and truly paid for that.’
He nodded against that silky mass of hair, seeing the silver threads in it now, but not caring. ‘I love your hair.’
‘Don’t try to change the subject.’ Emma pushed herself back a little, studying his face anxiously and briefly caressing his cheek. ‘Let’s set a time limit before we bring in the detective again, eh? How about two weeks?’
‘I suppose.’ He nodded but couldn’t raise even a slight smile. ‘If she doesn’t reply by then, we’ll definitely call George in again. He’s good at his job. He was the one who found her for me in the first place.’
‘What if he finds out for certain she doesn’t want to meet you? Will you accept that?’ She waited a moment or two, then prompted, ‘Aaron?’
‘Yes, love. Well, I’ll try anyway.’
But he wondered if he could ever accept a total rejection when she hadn’t even met him. It had blindsided him to find out he had a daughter. He’d missed the first thirty years of her life – that was probably a third of it and he was now fifty-three, so how many years would be left for him to interact with her now? Why, she might even have children, who’d be his grandchildren and he’d have missed part of their lives too.
It had been cruel to keep Mara’s existence from him. He’d never forgive Kath for that.
If Emma had been able to have other children after her first marriage ended, maybe this recent discovery wouldn’t have touched such a raw nerve. Well, she’d made him a stepfather at least and he’d thoroughly enjoyed helping raise her son and daughter by her first husband. But the longing for his own child had always been there and he knew Emma was well aware of it.
If Mara didn’t want to meet him, he might go to England and at least take a look at her from a distance, maybe even manage a sneaky photo or two.
What a sad sack he was!
He had a good life, was just in the middle of selling a thriving business and moving into early retirement. And yet … the longing for a child of his own blood had always been there.
Mara waited till her mother went out to the shops, which Kath always did at the same time each Tuesday and Saturday, then sneaked back into the house to change her clothes for the job interview she hadn’t told her mother about, because Kath would fuss and worry.
When she went home again mid-afternoon, the sound of sobbing began to echo down the stairwell. She hadn’t heard that note of strangled anguish for years. Had she interrupted this sob-session or had her mother been watching for her return and started it when she came into the house? It wouldn’t have surprised her either way lately. Her mother was once again behaving unpredictably, as she had in two past incidents.
She went into the kitchen, amazed to see that it hadn’t been cleared up and that her mother’s shopping had simply been dumped on a surface. These were serious omissions from the queen of neat and tidy.
Well, the situation was serious for Mara, too, far more important than the other tussles she’d been facing ever since she moved temporarily back home and her mother started trying to reorganise her life.
As the sobbing continued unabated, she looked up and frowned. She wasn’t going to give in to emotional blackmail. She’d decide what to do about her birth father herself.
Trying to ignore the sounds, she put the kettle on and started stacking the breakfast crockery into the dishwasher, banging and rattling things on purpose. But the noise wasn’t enough to bring her mother downstairs or even drown out the sobs, so she turned on the radio loudly.
That blocked the noise from upstairs but it didn’t drive away the worries. Her mother had had a nervous breakdown when Mara was eighteen and been hospitalised for a few weeks. There had been another episode when Mara was twenty-five, but by then there was a new type of medication that was more effective for her problems and Kath hadn’t had to go into hospital. Instead Phil had taken time off work to be with her until the pills took effect and she settled into her routines again.
Had the letter from this stranger been enough to undo all that? Apparently so. Well, not just the letter itself but the thought of Mara getting in touch with him.
But oh, she wanted so much to meet her birth father!
When she turned the radio down a little and peeped into the hall, there was no sound of sobbing, thank goodness.
She made herself a slice of cheese on toast because she’d missed lunch. She ate it slowly, wondering what to do for the best. It was a relief when she heard the front door open and close. Phil must have come home early. Thank goodness. He’d retired recently but still went out regularly to play golf. It was the one thing he wouldn’t let Kath control.
As soon as the door opened the sobbing immediately started up again.
He came into the kitchen, glancing upstairs, then r
olling his eyes and giving her a quick hug. ‘Don’t back down, love. You have every right to meet your birth father.’
‘Do I? Even though the mere thought of it upsets my mother this much?’
‘Yes. She isn’t the only person in the world, you know. You have needs too. She’s utterly selfish, has been getting worse over the years.’
His tone was sharper than she’d expected.
‘Is it worth upsetting everyone, Phil? I shan’t be able to meet the man, after all. He lives in Australia.’
‘Why not? People travel to and from there all the time.’
‘It’d cost far too much to go, that’s why. I daren’t dip into my savings without a job to come back to and who knows how long I’ll be out of work?’
Unfortunately she felt sure a certain person in her old company was blackening her name in other places too and making it difficult for her to get another half-decent job. She wasn’t ambitious to climb up the management ladders, but she did want a job that interested her.
‘You could write back to the poor man. He deserves that, at least, after the way he’s been treated.’
‘You believe he really is my father?’
‘Yes, I do. She wouldn’t make such a fuss otherwise.’
She nodded agreement and passed Phil a mug of coffee. He never said no to it.
He raised it in a thank-you salute. ‘How did the interview go this afternoon?’
‘Not well. I reckon they’ve already got someone lined up for the job. It was pretty obvious from their lack of real interest in what I was saying and the way one man kept glancing at his watch.’
‘Sorry to hear that.’
‘So am I. No offence, but I do miss having my own flat, Phil.’
‘I don’t blame you.’ He sighed.
She shot a quick glance at him and saw how strained he was looking. Well, who wouldn’t get tired of being a permanent support figure to a rigid woman who never gave an inch when she wanted something? No wonder he refused to budge on his golf. It was his only escape.
He laid his hand on hers. ‘Write to Aaron Buchanan straight away, Mara. I’ll post it for you when I go out to pick up a takeaway for tea.’