by Sarah Duncan
Scottie soothed and back on the rag rug, ears cocked for any further excitement, Delia continued. 'When I say I was illegitimate, I mean I was born illegitimate. My real parents were Jack Havergal - this photograph is a portrait of him - and Anne Morgan. When I was four years old, Percy and Maud adopted me.'
'So do you remember your real parents?' Lu said, sitting forwards. 'And how long have you known? Have you only just discovered this? Oh Gran, it must have been an awful shock - are you all right?'
'Yes, yes, dear, don't fret and fuss me. I've known for years that I was adopted, ever since I was married. My parents - I still think of them as that - decided it was right I should know when I got married, and that my future husband should know. Though what I'd have done if it'd put your grandfather off I don't know.' Delia looked quite cross.
'But it didn't put him off,' Lu said, glancing across to the photograph of her grandfather in pride of place on the mantelpiece.
'Certainly not. Your grandad was the salt of the earth, he was. Said it made no odds, he wanted to marry me wherever I'd come from.'
'That's so romantic,' Lu said, wondering if Marcus would ever say anything like that to her. She could just see him now, going down on one knee and looking up at her with his brown eyes - they were brown, weren't they? Yes, brown eyes, dark brown hair. She dragged her imagination away from this delightful vision. 'So if you were only adopted when you were four, you must remember your real parents.' She hesitated, suddenly wondering if poor Delia had started life in an orphanage or even the workhouse. Did they still have workhouses in the early twentieth century or had they gone by then?
'It's a strange thing,' Delia said, 'but I can't remember anyone else other than my mother when I was small. And I'm sure I can remember things from when I was two or three, but they're always at my parents' house. Nothing from anywhere else. I did ask my mother, but she didn't want to talk about it - I think if she'd had her way, nothing would have been said in the first place. It was my dad who thought I should know. I think she didn't want to be reminded that I hadn't started life in a respectable way. She was always very strict when I was growing up, very keen that I should stay nice until I married. Still, that's all water under the bridge now.'
'So why do you think this man's your real father?' Lu examined the photograph again, looking for similarities between his face and her own. 'And what about your real mother?'
Delia took a deep breath. 'When my mother died, I found all sorts of papers. Rubbish, a lot of it, but the adoption papers were there, so that's how I knew my birth parents' names.' She patted the cardboard box. 'There were also letters between Percy and a man - Jack Havergal. They're all dated to the time of the Great War, so I think my father and Jack met then. And I already knew Jack's name, because my dad had this photograph and he told me that the man in the photograph, Jack Havergal, had saved his life. So that's how I know this photo is Jack.'
'What about your real mother?' Lu said softly. 'Didn't your parents tell you anything about her?'
Delia shook her head. 'I know this sounds strange to your generation, you're always busy talking about everything, but my parents didn't say much, and I didn't like to ask. I could see my mother found it upsetting and, well, people didn't talk about things like that in those days. We let sleeping dogs carry on sleeping.' Delia looked affectionately at the snoring Scottie, little paws twitching as he terrorised dream rabbits. 'Apart from the name, I know nothing about my birth mother. When we married, your grandad and I, we did a bit of looking, but it wasn't like now, there wasn't this Internet and we couldn't find anything. We had to give up.'
'Isn't there an agency that keeps all the records?'
'There is now, but not back in them days. People adopted children by private arrangement, they didn't make a fuss out of it. Girls had babies out of wedlock, and thought it better to pretend it hadn't happened. It's easier now - you can get in touch if you want, but not then. People didn't think children would want to know.'
Lu nodded. 'But you would. I can see you'd want to know. So what can I do?'
'I've seen it on the telly,' Delia said. 'They look it all up on the web thing, the one you're always saying I should do. But, my love, I can't do it.' She turned her palms towards Lu, the gnarled and arthritic fingers bent together. 'I tried, down at the library, the lady was ever so nice, but I can't do the typing and I can't move that mouse, my hands just won't do it. I'm ninety-two and I'm an old dog. I can't be learning new tricks.'
Lu grimaced, thinking of how she'd tried to encourage her grandmother to become a Silver Surfer. Stupid of her not to realise that Delia would have difficulties with her arthritic hands. 'I'm sure it's not as easy as it looks on the telly, but I'll do what I can.' She looked up as something else struck her. 'Why do you want to know now?'
Delia looked shifty. 'It's on the telly.'
'Gran...' Lu looked sternly at her grandmother. 'Why now?'
- ooo -
'It turns out its her teeth,' Lu said, sipping her mojito. 'She's got to have her wisdom teeth out, and she's terrified of having a general anaesthetic. Of course, she's ninety-two, so it is more dangerous but, just imagine, she's never had one before.' The bar was busy; they had to sit close to hear what the other was saying, but Lu didn't mind. The closer the better as far as she was concerned.
Marcus nodded. 'I've not had many. My appendix, and I broke my arm playing polo and it set badly so I had to have it broken and reset under a general, but that's about it.'
Lu tucked away the knowledge that he'd played polo. Of course he had; he had probably been to Argentina and played chukkas on the pampas. 'Anyway, I've got to find out about my real great-grandparents. It looks so easy when you see it on television: you go to the right site, and there's all the information, and Bob's your uncle. Or Jack's your great-grandfather.'
'So there isn't the information?' Marcus ate a salted almond, licking his lips to get the salt off. For a second Lu wondered what he'd do if she leaned forward and kissed the salt away. She quickly started talking instead.
'No, just the opposite. There's too much. I've tried typing things into Google and you just get millions of sites coming back at you.' Family history was a booming industry, if the entries on Google were anything to go by. Books and societies and people wanting information on long-lost relatives all jostled across her screen. Defeated by the deluge, Lu had thought she'd try a bit of First World War research, and discovered that there were millions of people out there with sites to visit and books to buy. She had only the haziest ideas about the war in the first place, which didn't help. It had coagulated into her mind as four years of fighting in trenches, with a few poets scooting around talking about foreign fields, and posters of Kitchener saying Your Country Needs You.
She gave the mojito a cautious sip. The barman had stuffed it full of ice and mint and she didn't want to risk making a horrible dreggy sucking noise with her straw. 'I'm sure once I get started it'll be easier, but it's hard to know where to begin. A lot of the sites you have to pay to subscribe to, and I don't know if it's worth it. I don't suppose you've done any family history research?' She looked up at Marcus hopefully, but he shook his head.
'Afraid not. My family history is, as far as I know, straightforward. There are a couple of distant cousins who've done some research and they've sent my parents copies of the family tree. I'm not going to be any use to you.'
Don't say that, I can think of lots of uses for you, Lu thought, lowering her eyes in case he could read her thoughts. 'What about the First World War - do you know anything about that?'
But again Marcus shook his head. Still, it would be quite unreasonable to expect him to be an expert in precisely everything she wanted to know, when he was absolutely perfect in every other way.
'Science all the way for me, that or making things.' Marcus spread out his hands as if ready to make something. He had very practical hands, Lu thought, tanned and strong, with neat fingernails. She hated men who had long fingernails, but hi
s were just right'
'Do you make things now, for your company?' She knew engineering had a wide application, but in her head it meant building bridges spanning vast gushing rivers, a bit like in the film The Bridge on the River Kwai.
'I could do, if I had to.' He explained that his company manufactured precision technical equipment using lasers.
'Like the baddie in Goldfinger?' Lu put on a fake German accent. ' "I don't expect you to talk, Mr Bond. I expect you to die." '
Marcus laughed. 'Right sort of kit, but on a slightly smaller scale. Most of our equipment would fit into the palm of your hand.' He explained how his company's laser equipment was used for machinery all over the world, for pattern-cutting and engine-tooling and surgical equipment and...
Fascinating, Lu thought, gazing into his eyes as he talked. He was so knowledgeable, so articulate, so passionate. So...perfect. Not that she could understand much of what he was saying; phrases like electrode deposition, vacuum bonding, the Czochralski method, athermal birefringent filters flew around her head like exotic humming birds. She took a long sip of her mojito and made an equally long slurping sound.
'I'm sorry,' Marcus said. 'I must be boring you.'
'Not at all,' Lu said honestly, putting down her glass in case of further oral embarrassment. 'I don't think you could.'
Marcus gave her a sideways look, as if he wasn't a hundred per cent sure she wasn't joking. 'Anyway, it's your turn. Tell me about what you do. You said at the exhibition that you're an illustrator. What are you working on at the moment?'
'Vegetables. To be precise, some peas in a pod called...' she gave a little drum roll on the bar top with her forefingers, 'the Sugarsnaps!'
Marcus looked uncertain. 'Is that what you like illustrating?'
'It's got its charms,' Lu said. 'It's quite interesting working out how to draw them, given that peas are round, and identical, and don't came with any foliage you can use for legs or arms. Bit like doing a crossword puzzle or sudoku. And they're having lots of adventures with other vegetables, which is fun to draw. But really, it's not a question of what I like doing, I'm a freelance illustrator; I take the work I'm offered, and if that's vegetables, then I draw vegetables.' It wasn't what she'd trained for, she felt like saying, it wasn't what she'd dreamed of. But that would have been way too heavy for a first date. 'At least it's not animals dressed up and doing human things. Or fairies. A couple of years ago I did a series on a princess fairy, and I have to say, I'm fairied out for the moment. Anyway, I think the bottom's dropped out of the fairy market,' she added.
'That sounds vaguely obscene.' Marcus sipped his drink with a raised eyebrow, suave as James Bond - no embarrassing slurping noises for him.
'You should hear some of the conversations us illustrators have. I had one the other day about pigs - how do you draw the rear view of a pig complete with tail but without showing its bottom, if you're not going anthropomorphic and allowing trousers.' What was she doing talking about pigs' bottoms to Marcus? It wasn't exactly a come-hither line. At least, she hoped it wasn't. 'People have no idea of the complexities of the job.'
'So you don't do anything like Jerry?'
'No, it's a quite different discipline.' Lu felt in safer waters. 'Though I like to think that if I decided to be an artist, I'd find it easier than Jerry would find it being an illustrator.'
Marcus smiled at that. 'Perhaps I should ask him what he thinks.'
'Noooo, it would be embarrassing,' Lu said, wincing. She wondered whether she should order another round of drinks, which might prompt Marcus into suggesting they went out for dinner. The barman was busy down the other end of the bar, which was filling up even more. It was getting harder to hear what Marcus was saying. She decided against another drink here. 'Did you have a chance to look round the exhibition? It was very crowded, I'm amazed anyone could see any of the art. Pity, because there was some really good work there.'
'I bought something, actually.' Marcus swirled the ice round in his glass nonchalantly.
'Really?' Lu leaned forward, although if she got much nearer she'd be sitting on his lap. 'What?'
'I should make you guess, but... I bought one of Jerry's.'
'Right.' Lu had to admit it sent him down a bit in her estimation. At least he bought art, which was more than most. 'Was it the one with the...' She stopped, embarrassed.
'Nipples that look like lumps of bubblegum? Yeah.'
'That was what I was going to say.' Lu knew exactly which one it was. You could hardly miss it: the paint was heavily applied in great vibrant blobs and the pose was explicit. She looked up at him, suddenly less certain. 'Do you buy much art?'
'When I can. I can't paint or draw to save my life, so I'm in awe of those who can.' Marcus gave her a teasing sideways glance. 'Perhaps I should buy something of yours.'
Lu smiled back at him, uncertainties evaporated, her skin tingling with anticipation. 'I don't sell my illustrations.'
Marcus leaned towards her. She could smell his aftershave, fresh and lemony. 'You might make an exception.' His voice was enticing. Lu shook her head.
'Never,' she said, her eyes on his.
'A challenge for me, then. I like a challenge.' To her surprise, instead of following up with something wonderfully seductive and flirty, he withdrew slightly, fiddling with his cufflinks. 'Pity I won't be able to take it up in the near future.'
'Oh?'
'I'm going away next week. To Minneapolis.'
'On business?'
'Yes - I wouldn't be there for any other reason. It's not exactly Barbados.'
She should have known Marcus went to Barbados on holiday, Lu thought. First class, most likely. He could probably waterski. He drank from the minibar and never smuggled the rolls from breakfast up to his room for lunch. 'So how long are you in Minneapolis for?'
Marcus gave a rueful smile. 'For ever, perhaps.'
So it turned out the gods weren't smiling on her after all'
- ooo -
'There's good news, and bad news,' Lu said as she plonked herself down the next day in the seat opposite Briony at the cafe around the corner from the gallery. Briony ate there so often she'd nicknamed it her second office, her first office being a damp cubbyhole down in the basement under the gallery. Lu thought she probably did more work in her car than either of her offices.
Briony looked up from the stack of papers she'd been making notes from and pushed them to one side. 'Oooh, let's have the good news first.'
'Marcus rang.' Lu quickly ordered a cappuccino and a piece of carrot cake from the waitress. No point in being on a diet now.
'And?'
'And we went out for a drink, and he's absolutely wonderful, just what I was looking for. He's really interesting, knows lots of scientific stuff that I don't even understand what the words mean let alone the sentences, and he has the most gorgeous eyes.' Lu sighed and rested her chin on the heel of her hand. 'In fact he's perfect in every way.'
'I knew he would be.' Briony squealed with delight. 'I'll have to pump Jerry for information - I wonder when he's next playing squash with him.'
Squash meant quick reactions, Lu thought. Lovely legs. Adrenalin... testosterone... Mind you, that would also have been true for Jerry, and she didn't fancy him one little bit. 'Jerry will never play squash with Marcus again. That's the bad news.' Lu sat back in her chair. 'He's going to Minneapolis.'
Briony frowned. 'Where's that?'
'Minnesota.' She could sense that Briony was about to ask where that was, and got in first. 'North USA, to the left of the Great Lakes. The starting point of the Mississippi, land of ten thousand lakes. Home once of the Chippewa and Dakota Indians, about to be home to Marcus.'
Briony looked doubtful. 'Might be a nice place to visit...'
'I'm not sure it's my sort of place - I Googled it, and the first site that came up was one for rogue taxidermists. They stuff roadkill.' She supposed that at least it was a form of creative recycling and a bit whacky, but then there was whacky in a
good way, and whacky in a bad way. 'Anyway, it's hardly likely that we're going to see each other again. You wouldn't just happen to be passing by, or be able to pop out for a quick drink.'
'There's always email.'
'Come on, it's not as if we've been together for a while. We've only just met. You can't build a passionate, earth-shattering relationship on the basis of a couple of mojitos and some emails.' The waitress placed Lu's coffee and cake in front of her and she murmured a thank you before picking up the fork and spearing a corner of carrot cake.
'No, but you could keep things going until he gets back. How long is he going for?'
'That's the point. He might never come back. He's got a wonderful opportunity to go out there and build his own division blah blah blah. It's just too depressing. I meet someone who has real potential, and they're going away practically the next day. I really thought he could be Mr Right, just the timing's wrong.'
'Mr Right at the wrong time is Mr Wrong.' Briony sipped her espresso, dark as her hair and clothes. The only colour on her was her scarlet lipstick.
Lu slumped in her seat. Nothing was going well; every direction she tried came to a dead end. No wonder she needed carrot cake. 'I am so fed up with this. All I want is a nice normal relationship with a nice normal man, one who doesn't have vast quantities of baggage. You'd have thought it wouldn't be too much to ask.'
'But they've all got baggage. Everyone has, even you.'
'Not me. I've no ties, own place, own car, own career - not that that's brilliant at the moment, but at least it exists - no dodgy exes lurking round the corner, nothing.'
'No dodgy exes? You've got more exes than I've had hot dinners.'
'I haven't.'
'Come off it. You're always falling for men, and they're all wonderful at first and then they turn out to be wrong in some way. What about Bill? Or Alec? Or what was that one called? The one you dumped because he was too needy? Dan, that was it.'