Hello Grant. I am aware that you destroyed a letter sent to you recently by your father. I don’t know what was in it but I do know that he is very anxious for you to get in touch as a matter of some urgency. Please confirm that you will do so. If I don’t hear from you within the next two hours I will go ahead and pass your number on to Cameron myself. Douglas McKendrick
Grant looked at his watch. 4.15. He looked at the time against the message on his phone. 12.48. And he yelled at Sam across the car park. “Did you give that man my phone number?”
Several people glanced disapprovingly in his direction. Raucous behaviour in the carpark was not what they were accustomed to. Sam hurried over. “What man?” he asked.
“McKendrick.” He was still shouting.
“Of course not,” cried Sam emphatically. “I wouldn’t give that bastard the time of day!” The two men had chatted a lot during the game. The course had been busy so they had been obliged to wait for quite a few minutes before playing each new hole. Sam had ended up telling Grant about his reason for the weekend away.
Grant apologised. “Sorry, it must have been Mum. She’s given it to your mum. That’s how I found him in the first place.”
“What does he want?”
Grant showed him the text. “I’ve missed his deadline by a long chalk.”
“Would it really be so bad to speak to him, your father I mean?”
Grant gave him a withering look but admitted, “Looks like I might have to.”
“He mightn’t have done it yet. Give McKendrick a ring. But let me get well out of his hearing first.” Sam went back to his own car and drove away. He just wished that Douglas McKendrick would disappear off the face of the earth.
Grant sat in his car and activated the call function. Douglas answered almost immediately. “Am I too late?” Grant asked him. “I’ve only just got your message. I was playing golf.”
“Give your dad a ring, Son. He’s desperate to hear from you.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
“You didn’t do it yet, give him my number?”
“No, I figured you’d call me sooner or later. I’m not trying to cause trouble, Grant. I liked you and young Imogen. But Cam is my friend too.”
“I have nothing more to say to the man. I don’t need him in my life. Did he tell you what happened that second night after you had introduced us?”
“Not really. Just that the two of you hadn’t hit it off. But he wrote you something in a letter and he’s desperate for a reply before this weekend.”
“This weekend?”
“Give him a ring, Son. I’ll send you his number.”
“Instead of sending him mine?”
“That’s right. Ball’s in your court.”
“Thank you.” It was on the edge of his tongue to add but stop fucking my friend’s mother but he managed to contain himself. It wasn’t really any of his business.
A text message came through straight away so his biological father was now just a number away. But would he call? He’d go home and talk to Imogen first. What on earth had his mother been playing at anyway, passing on his phone number to that man? But he didn’t want a row. He would just let it go.
***
Sam was still living with Tania’s parents. He had to get out soon. Grant had offered him an escape route by suggesting Imogen’s apartment but he couldn’t expect Tania to accept that. The two of them sleeping in the same bed that Imogen had just vacated! No, that just wasn’t appropriate. But it was good to have Grant back in his life. He had really enjoyed his round of golf with him today. And it was the perfect solution for Jasmine. She had wanted her own space for some time now. Sam worried about Jasmine. Molly seemed to have more get up and go than Jasmine who was two years older. Molly was out there, seeing the world, meeting people, broadening her horizons. Had Jasmine ever even had a proper boyfriend? He didn’t think so. She was probably still a virgin.
Judy and Edward had suddenly announced that they were taking a week’s holiday. Would that be a problem? Would they be able to manage without them? Sam had been ecstatic. “No problem at all, of course not,” he had said, assuring them that they would manage. And now they were finding that it wasn’t easy. But it was good. The only downside was that they had no fall back, no-one else to rely on for support since they had alienated themselves from Patricia. But they had the whole house to themselves. All they had to do now was find their own accommodation where they could continue to be independent.
Lawrence and Maggie called round on Saturday evening. Maggie had spent the week trying to come to terms with the news Greta had given her concerning her dad’s state of mind in his dying days. She was glad of the distraction caused by little Stevie and enjoyed bouncing him on her knee and making him giggle whilst Sam chatted to Lawrence about his afternoon on the golf course, suggesting that he might like to join them next time. They all heard Tania answer her phone in the kitchen and speak to someone in an excited voice.
“That was Hugo, one of my colleagues from work,” Tania announced as she breezed into the room, still clutching her phone. “One of his friends has a flat to rent just round the corner from the salon. He says we could view it now if we’re free.” Tania worked with five other stylists in a modern hairdressing salon not far away. She looked at Sam for approval.
“Any chance you two would look after Stevie till we get back?” Sam asked.
“Please,” added Tania, addressing her brother with a pleading grin.
“He’ll be asleep in no time,” Sam assured a horrified looking Maggie. “You won’t have to do a thing. Just keep an eye on him.”
Maggie laughed, realising that her expression had given her away. “Go ahead then. It’s just that I’m not used to babies.”
“Neither was I until I had one,” quipped Tania. “You soon pick it up.”
“Thanks,” chorused Tania and Sam.
Tania returned Hugo’s call. “We’re on our way,” she told him cheerfully. “Meet you at the salon.”
Two hours later they had signed the lease.
Chapter 7
Imogen and Grant had been living together in their own little love nest sharing the intimate secret of her pregnancy for two weeks now. She hadn’t suffered any sickness that might have given it away to others, just an excessive tiredness which could easily be explained away as a result of moving house. She was so glad she had moved in with Grant. They had put it off for too long. Imogen knew that Grant had been afraid of her feeling uncomfortable around things that had been Zoe’s but she didn’t, not in the least. And there wasn’t much anyway; their short marriage had ended so tragically before there had been time to gather up very many possessions.
What a year it had been. Imogen sat in her small but homely kitchen with a cup of coffee and a ginger biscuit and she began to reminisce. It was a ginger biscuit that he had offered her the very first time they met, the time she took a fall in his store. The spicy flavour was conjuring up an image of the two of them sitting in his office that day and she remembered being mesmerised by him right from that first moment. Such a lot had happened since then. There had been misunderstandings and secret fears which had conspired to tear them apart but they had survived the heartache and the trauma and had come through unscathed in the end. She had discovered a brother she never knew she had. Grant had discovered a father.
Imogen now recalled the gathering at Grant’s grandmother’s house just two weeks ago. Gertrude had called them all together to read them a letter that she had received anonymously, via the police. Well, it was Gertrude who had read the letter to them but it was actually addressed to her daughter, Grant’s Aunt Thomasina, whose husband had been killed in a hit and run accident years ago. The letter purported to have come from someone called Marguerite who claimed to be the wife of the driver in that incident. She said she had known nothing abo
ut it until very recently and that the man was now dead. It had been a very emotional occasion and both Gertrude and Thomasina had been very forgiving. Imogen shivered involuntarily. For quite a few months she had been plagued by the erroneous belief that her own parents had been involved in that incident. Even now she was extremely embarrassed to think about it. She quickly brushed that thought from her mind. But another thought refused to go away, something else that had happened that same day at Gertrude’s house. Grant’s mother, Catherine, had handed him a letter from his father in Scotland and he had immediately set fire to it, insisting that he wanted nothing to do with the man.
What if it had been something important? Imogen hadn’t dared voice her concern to Grant because she knew his strength of feeling on the matter but Catherine had only told him how to find his father because she believed that Imogen was worried about potential genetic factors. This had been due to a complete misunderstanding but now that Imogen was pregnant, it was beginning to take on a new significance. She couldn’t help wondering what had been in that letter.
She was aroused from her reverie by the sound of Grant parking the car outside and coming round the back with his clubs. How wonderful that he had struck up a friendship with Sam. And what a coincidence that they had known each other as children and even into their teens. Imogen would always have a soft spot for Sam. After all he had been the first man she had loved. It was sort of comforting to know that it was his sister who had taken over the flat, who would be sitting on her sofa and sleeping in her bed. So much better than some stranger she had never heard of.
“Hi, I’ve missed you,” she cried, flinging her arms around Grant as he came through the back door and expecting a spontaneous kiss. “How was the golf?”
“Good,” he replied but with a somewhat distracted air and no sign of that kiss.
“What’s up?” Imogen knew him like the back of her hand. She could tell that something had upset him.
“We should never have gone over to Edinburgh that time,” he now blurted out. “I have coped perfectly well all my life without that man. I didn’t even know he existed.”
“What’s happened?” Imogen asked, somewhat alarmed. “You always knew you had a father out there somewhere. You couldn’t have been born without one.”
“You know what I mean,” he chided. “My mum has always insisted that she didn’t know who he was. I had accepted that. I didn’t expect to ever meet him.”
“I’m sorry,” Imogen mouthed. “That was my fault. But has something happened? Has he been in touch again?”
Grant took out his phone and showed her the text message from Douglas McKendrick and Imogen burst into tears. Grant was at once baffled and worried.
“I’m sorry,” she sniffed, “but I’ve been worrying about that letter. What if he was warning you about some illness in the family, something that might be passed on to our baby?”
“Don’t be daft,” Grant told her, “sure I’m perfectly healthy.”
“But there are diseases that skip a generation or two.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know! But there are things that can happen. I’ve read about genetic defects that are inherited. It could be anything.”
“Imogen, calm down,” Grant said firmly. “It’s probably nothing of the sort.”
“So what then? Why did he write you that letter? Why is he so worried that you haven’t replied?”
“I’ve no idea. But I suppose I had better find out if it will give you peace of mind.”
“So you’ll ring him? Have you got his number?”
“Yes, Douglas sent it to me. I’ll do it tonight. Let’s have our dinner first. Better still, let’s go out for dinner. I promise you I’ll phone him as soon as we get back.”
Four hours later Grant and Imogen arrived home after a lovely meal in one of their favourite haunts in ‘ballysnackamore’. There were so many super restaurants in that area these days that they were always sure of getting in somewhere, even when they hadn’t booked. Imogen had assured Grant that she was perfectly happy and that the issue of his father’s letter was the one blip on the horizon. She had just panicked because it had been on her own mind today before he had arrived home and shown her the text. She had blamed it on her hormones. Grant had kissed her and promised that he would make the call. What harm could it do? And now he was ready to do it. He selected the number and nervously activated the call function. He heard a phone ringing.
“Hello? You’re through to Cameron Ferguson.”
He took a deep breath. “Hi.”
“Who’s calling please?”
“It’s Grant.”
“Grant! Oh, at last. I’m so glad to hear from you. Thank you so much for calling. Can you come on Saturday, you and Imogen?”
“Saturday?”
“Yes, the party. It’s this Saturday.”
“Look, I’m sorry, I don’t know about any party. I’m only phoning you because I had a message from your friend, Douglas. He said you were anxious about something. He asked me to ring you.”
“But you got my letter? It’s all in the letter.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t read your letter. I burnt it.”
There was silence from the other end of the phone. And then eventually,
“I’ve been waiting for your reply for over two weeks but you haven’t even read it?”
“No.”
“I suppose I deserve that. I’m sorry for the way I treated you when you searched me out. It was unforgivable. I realise that.”
“Is that what you said in the letter?”
“Yes, but there was more, much more.”
“Tell me now then.”
“I can’t. I can’t say it over the phone. I took so long to put that letter together, to organise what I wanted to say to you.”
Grant began to feel a bit guilty. The man did sound apologetic and even despondent. “Was it handwritten?” he asked, “or would you have saved a copy?”
This brought about a more animated response. “I saved it, yes.”
“Email me a copy then. I’m sorry for destroying it.”
Grant proceeded to give him his email address and Cameron thanked him and wrote it down.
“I’ll do that right away,” he said. “I’m so glad you got in touch. Thank you.”
Grant disconnected the call and turned on his computer. In less than five minutes a buzz alerted him to an email coming through. He opened it, clicked on the attachment and selected the print option. And the letter he should have read two weeks ago began to materialise in front of his eyes. He took it from the machine and sat down on the sofa with Imogen beside him. “Right, here goes,” he grimaced. “Let’s see what was so important about this.”
***
Jasmine had made three more runs from her family home to her new apartment transporting her clothes, her books, her painting equipment and all sorts of toiletries and household goods. She couldn’t wait to spend her first night under her very own roof. Kenneth and Patricia had called to view the accommodation and had given it the thumbs up. They appreciated her desire to have her own place but commented that the house was going to feel very empty now with just the two of them rambling around what had once been the home of three lively, young children.
“You two can have a second honeymoon now,” joked Jasmine, “at least until Molly gets back.”
“She won’t be staying for long either,” Kenneth reminded her. “She’ll be off to university across the water.”
Jasmine was glad to see her dad smiling. “So where have you decided to go for your birthday weekend?” she asked.
“Spain. Your mum is taking me to Barcelona.”
“Wow! Lucky you! Make sure you take plenty of photos.”
Nobody mentioned last weekend in Scotland and Jasmine had no idea whether her dad suspected anyt
hing. With both Sam and herself warning him off, she really hoped that Douglas McKendrick would get the message and steer well clear of their family.
Kenneth and Patricia were just leaving when two young men got out of a silver BMW and headed towards the building.
“You must be Jasmine,” one of them said to her, extending his right hand in a friendly greeting. “Jillian told me about you moving in.”
Patricia did a double take. “I know you,” she said hesitantly, addressing the other man. “Aren’t you Cathy’s nephew? Alastair?”
“Aunty Patty!” Alastair exclaimed in surprise.
“I’m Bradley,” the first man now put in, also recognising Patricia. “I remember you too. We used to know your son, Sam.”
“That’s my brother!” Jasmine cried and then she too did a double take. “You’re Bradley!” Jillian had said her fiancé was called Bradley. The heart-throb she had worshipped as a child was living upstairs! She stared at him. Yes, that was him all right. Older and just as handsome, even more handsome.
“We were just leaving,” Patricia said after reminding her husband how she knew the two young men. “Give my regards to your mother and your grandmother, Alastair.”
“Small world,” muttered Jasmine, shaking her head in disbelief.
The older couple drove off and Bradley invited Jasmine to come up for a chat.
“Jillian will be sick of the sight of me,” Jasmine replied. “I was already up for a coffee earlier.”
“Don’t be daft,” he insisted. “We can talk about old times. Come on, it’ll be fun.” Jasmine didn’t need any further persuasion. Wait till Molly hears about this, she thought to herself, wondering at the same time what Rebecca was up to these days. Well, she would soon find out. What a day it had been. Little did she realise then that this was indeed one of those life-changing days that would stay in her memory for ever.
Double Cheque Page 5