The yard was whitewashed and had a row of broken glass and china cemented along the top of its walls to deter intruders, cats or little boys who might want their ball back. Several flower-filled tyre planters graced the walls and stood sentry by the back gate and a washing line, pegged with tea towels and aprons crossed the yard.
‘Your flowers make the yard look cheerful.’ Cleo felt she had to say something but the woman didn’t acknowledge the compliment.
‘It’s a back yard when all is said and done and there’s access to the garage,’ she pointed and then stood back clearly expecting Cleo to come back in so that she could close the door.
When she stepped back into the kitchen, the woman gave Cleo a hard stare with slate grey eyes that seemed full of suspicion. ‘You look perfectly trustworthy,’ she said, ‘So if you don’t mind I’ll let you look upstairs yourself. I get breathless going up them, that’s why I’m selling.’
With that, she sat at the kitchen table and Cleo wasn’t sure what to do.
‘Go on up then, you can’t get lost.’ She gave a tut of impatience.
Cleo walked back through to the dining room and up the open staircase to the upper floor, her mouth was dry so she found it hard to swallow as she opened the door to the room that she wanted to see first.
She walked across flat brown carpet and stared out onto the back yard. Mum’s room, her window, this was where Mum grew up. She scouted around for a sign, anything, but there was nothing to show who had slept here. Plain white walls, flowery curtains and no furniture just as if Mum had never been here.
Blinking back tears, she crossed to the front bedroom. A plain bed made up with blankets and a candlewick bedspread in green. No pictures. Cleo glanced at the dressing table with a hairbrush set and underneath it a linen tray cloth and then looked again. Embroidery, that golden thread; the tray cloth was cross-stitched in the centre and in the corner, in chain-stitch, the same as on the shoe bag containing the diaries, were the initials M D, Margaret Donaldson. Mum, she was there.
The smell of bleach led the way to the bathroom. She peered in and saw that the suite was a not quite avocado not quite beige-sludge colour. A cream linoleum floor with a brown bath mat completed the look. Cleo suppressed a shudder, the whole upper floor was cold and cheerless. After one last look into Mum’s room, she went downstairs.
‘You’ve seen all that you need to and no doubt you’ll make up your mind but I’m telling you now what I’ve told the others, I’m not taking a lower offer.
My husband and I spent a lot doing this house up and keeping it nice and I’m not being robbed. You’re not working for a landlord are you? I don’t particularly want it to be a rental either.’
‘I’m not working for anyone, Mrs. Donaldson.’ Cleo saw a chance of finding out more. ‘Did you and your husband buy this a while ago?’
‘Yes, I’ve told you we did all the renovations.’
‘Very nicely done and you’ve certainly kept the place looking smart,’ Cleo said.
With a sniff, the old woman agreed, ‘It’s not modern but it was in its day and we liked it.’
Here goes thought Cleo, ‘Is your husband no longer with you?’
‘That’s right. I lost him years ago, I lost him suddenly.’
‘That sounds like you had a tragedy.’
The woman gazed out of the window. ‘Tragic wasn’t in it. My husband couldn’t bear it.’
‘What happened?’ Cleo hardly dared to breathe.
‘Like all men, he was weak. He walked.’
‘He walked?’
‘Yes, he walked out and left me because he couldn’t bear to live here anymore.’
‘Where did he go?’ Cleo held her breathe. Had she asked too much?
‘He didn’t walk far but he was out of my life.’ The old woman frowned at Cleo, ‘Anyway that’s nothing to you. If you’ve seen everything you’d better go because I find all of this tiring.’
‘Sorry, I was just curious,’ Cleo said.
‘You know what curiosity did.’ The old woman reached for the front door handle.
‘Just one thing. Is your husband… is he alive?’
‘The house is in my name now so it doesn’t affect the sale.’
Cleo had to know, ‘But is he?’
The woman turned and stared at Cleo. ‘Why is that important to you?’
‘No reason,’ Cleo said as walked towards the front door thinking she’d better go.
‘Hold on,’ said the woman, ‘there’s something about you, about the way you look. Who are you?’
‘I’m just a house hunter,’ said Cleo. Her voice sounded wobbly and she had to get out of there.
‘I’ve been racking my brains for who you are like and I think I’m onto you. Are you something to do with our Margaret?’
Cleo turned and nodded and saw the old lady’s face darken to utter hatred. ‘Yes, I am.’ she said. ‘Do I remind you of her?’
‘Her?’ she spat out, ‘No, not her… them! When I look at you, you’ve got that Fenwick hair and eyes and you’re the double of his mother. How dare you come to this doorstep? How dare you be so brazen? What are you looking for, an inheritance? Because no bastard grandchild will get my house!’
‘No, no that’s not it. I just wanted to see where Mum lived. To meet you and hear about my grandfather.’
‘You’ve seen me, you’ve poked about and now you know that your grandfather left me because he couldn’t stand living here without his little ray of sunshine. He spoilt Margaret and look what happened.’
Cleo had to try again, ‘Where did he go?’
‘Oh, not far. He found digs in Ethel street and more I don’t wonder from that Lottie Fletcher.’
‘Is he… is he still alive then?’
‘Not to me he’s not. Neither of them are, not him nor Margaret.’
‘Is he still alive?’
She gave a cold stare that made Cleo shiver. ‘Last I heard he was in the nursing home. When Lottie Fletcher passed, she left him her house so he could stay there, she was that fond of him. When he couldn’t manage, he sold up and moved into Sunny Court. I haven’t seen him; it’s those that go to St. Michael’s that told me he’d moved into care last year.’
Cleo said, ‘I’d better get going.’ She waited. Was this woman going to ask how her daughter was? ‘Do you want to know how Margaret is?’ she asked.
‘I do not. I don’t want you back here ever again, either.’
Cleo turned on her heel and walked towards her car. What a vile, hard-hearted woman! As she slipped behind the wheel, the woman called,
‘Wait there a moment. Did your mother eventually marry? Did she have any legitimate children?’
Cleo considered whether to answer or not. ‘She did, I have a younger sister.’
‘That’s the one I’d like to meet then. She’ll be proper family. She’d be welcome but no one else.’
Cleo left feeling rejected again. ‘Why did she feel so bad? Who would want anything to do with that nasty, vindictive creature?’
As she made lunch, Cleo mulled over everything that Mrs. Donaldson had revealed. Her grandfather had been alive when they had visited all those years ago but he hadn’t lived at that house. She remembered the words ‘you killed him’ like it was yesterday. Did her mum know that her father was still alive? They’d have so much to talk about when she got back.
She could hardly video call and say, ‘Guess what, Mum, I’ve been researching our family tree.’
Cleo took her pasta into the office and opened the map app on her iPad. Where was Sunny Court nursing home? She was surprised to see that it was near Elswick and less than three miles from here.
Should she go and visit? No, when should she go and visit?
39
Sunday brought clear skies, a slight breeze and sunshine. It was one of those glorious September mornings when summer seemed to call back, just for the day. Mum would say, ‘She’s forgotten something’ or ‘She needs one last look at her beaut
iful work.’ Cleo smiled at the thought.
Mum personified all of nature, loved the sun and moon and Cleo had always laughed at what she thought of as Mum’s tree hugging tendencies. She really had missed her and with what she knew now, they’d have plenty to catch up on. She realised that she really wanted to get to know her mother better, not just as ‘Mum.’
She set off on her early morning walk to call out for Pharos. She knew a lot of her neighbours now because of her week’s efforts to find him. If he was still alive, lots of people were looking out for him and there were posters all over the area. Heather had passed his disappearance round on twitter and said that would widen their helper base.
After touring the streets, she stood by the wharf and out over the Tyne. Had he slipped in there and drowned? She shuddered. Here she was wanting Mum back home but how the hell would she tell her she’d lost her beloved boy?
At ten thirty, she set off for Sunny Court. Now that she knew about her grandfather, she couldn’t wait to meet him. Would he want to meet her or would it be Grannygate repeated? The home was a modern building with ample parking in front of the main entrance. She buzzed and told the intercom that she was here to see Mr. Donaldson and the door opened to allow her into a large foyer with a reception desk.
Cleo had rehearsed a few stories as to why she wanted to visit and decided that researching the Donaldson family tree was the simplest and nearest to the truth. The young girl on reception didn’t even ask.
‘Hi, just sign the book and you can go through.’
Cleo signed and explained, ‘Mr. Donaldson isn’t expecting me. Do you want to let him know?’
‘Bobby’s always happy to see visitors, he has a regular tribe. He’s in the garden pulling a few weeds this morning, maybe you could call at the kitchen and take him a cuppa. Strong tea, a touch of milk and no sugar.’
Cleo walked through and followed the sign saying kitchen. She found a small communal kitchen for residents and visitors to make drinks. She made a coffee for herself and the strong tea that Bobby liked and then wandered out to find him in the garden.
The garden was enclosed by high walls and much bigger than she thought. As she stood by the door, he wasn’t in sight. She clasped the mugs tightly because her hands were trembling and she wasn’t sure which path to take. She saw someone on their knees in the flower bed at the far end of garden and made her way over there.
As she got nearer, Cleo’s throat felt dry. An elderly man with a shock of white hair and a tanned complexion was pulling up weeds and throwing them into a wheelbarrow.
‘Mr. Donaldson?’
‘Yes, my love, that’s me,’ he smiled and it reached his eyes, as light and bright as her mother’s.
‘I’ve brought you a cuppa,’ she said.
‘How lovely! I’m in need of that.’ He got up slowly and stretched out. ‘These knees aren’t so good nowadays and I can’t kneel for long but I’ve made good headway with the weeding, don’t you think?’
‘You have,’ she agreed.
He pointed to the two mugs, ‘Ah, you’ve come to join me have you? Well, let’s go and sit on the bench in the sun over there.’ He glanced at the sun in the clear sky and chuckled. ‘Yes, she’s back because she’s forgotten something.’
Cleo smiled at Mum’s saying, it was this man that she had got it from, and followed with the mugs as he walked over to the bench in easy strides. He was fit for an old man.
They sat down at the bench, ‘So, are you a new volunteer at Sunny Court?’ he asked.
This was it. This was the time she dropped the bombshell.
‘No, Mr. Donaldson, I’m not.’
‘Call me Bobby; everyone does.’ He sipped his tea. ‘Perfect. You make a good cup of tea, some of the staff make it like dishwater,’ he laughed.
‘Bobby, I came to see you because I’m researching my family tree, the Donaldson tree,’ she explained.
‘How interesting. My branch is pretty thin, one brother killed in the war and me. He was born in ’24 and I was born in ’26 so I’ll be ninety this November.’
‘You don’t look it,’ she said truthfully. Cleo sipped her coffee. How was she going to say this? Would he go into shock? He seemed strong enough.
‘You aren’t the last of your line though are you Mr Donaldson?’ she asked thinking, please don’t you erase my mother’s life.
‘No, I’m not but I can’t help you with that.’ His eyes, looking into hers, were so open like her mother’s. She liked what she saw, would he like her after this?
‘I don’t need help with that, Bobby. I’ve got all of Margaret’s details.’
‘You have? You’ve traced her?’ Bobby’s eyes widened with delight. ‘I searched for years and got nowhere. Is she alright?’
‘Yes, she’s fine. She came back to find you, once. She visited Middle Row and was told that her leaving had killed you, so she thought she’d lost you.’
‘What? When was that?’
‘It was four years after she left.’
‘That woman! She made both our lives a misery living with her and she still had to do that when we left her.’ He put his empty mug on the arm of the bench and turned to face Cleo.
‘Tell me, my love, how do you know all this about my Margaret and how did you find me here? Are you a Donaldson, too?’
‘I’m her daughter, your granddaughter… the one she ran away to keep,’ she admitted stiffening for the backlash. She didn’t expect his arms to be flung around her and to be clutched to his scratchy woollen sweater, it took her breath away.
‘I’ve prayed for this day. I’ve knelt in St. Michael’s and asked and asked to be forgiven and here you are.’ Tears glistened in his eyes and Cleo knew that he meant every word.
It had been a marvellous visit, better than she could ever have hoped for. Grandad Bobby, he’d asked her to call him that, was full of questions about her and Alex and how her mum had done. He was delighted that she was exploring Egypt because she’d always loved ancient history and he was full of stories of Mum as a girl.
He’d laughed at Mum’s choice of name saying that he might have guessed she’d pick an Egyptian theme. He’d spent years trying to trace Margaret Donaldson but never in his dreams would he have looked for Neferteri Moon.
Cleo had told him all about her project to support pregnant students and their babies and he’d told her he was proud of her. Her grandad was proud of her and that made her extraordinarily happy.
She’d been kicked out by the staff at lunchtime but promised to meet him on Thursday after school. Every Thursday, he played bowls and she was going to pick him up from his club and they’d go out for an early dinner. He’d told her ‘It’s not a hospital here you know, I can come and go as I please, but I get all mod cons.’
There was only one dark cloud. She had a grandad who wanted to know her and who was proud of her and she so wanted to tell Alex and share him with her. When would Alex talk to her?
40
Cleo left school late on Monday. It was a progress meeting about the unit with Jim the caretaker and the workmen, so she didn’t mind. The project was taking shape and the building would be complete and ready to furnish after half term. The builders had kept to every deadline so far. Jim had told Cleo that her enthusiasm had rubbed off on them and they didn’t want to report back that they were behind schedule. It could be that but she knew that Jim kept a close eye on them, too.
Back home, she played George Ezra and had a long soak in the bath, washed her hair and defrosted chilli for supper. She put on a new fine knit top and trousers in a silver grey, too good for bed but lovely for lazing about. The faded teddy pyjama look wasn’t on tonight when Dan was returning from his conference. He was staying with her for a couple of nights before going to see his parents in Dunleith. She had so much to tell him and couldn’t wait to hold him.
After pouring herself a glass of pinot, she sat in her office dealing with emails she hadn’t had a chance to respond to while she waited for D
an.
‘You look like a silver moon goddess in this,’ he said as he stepped through the doorway and proceeded to remove the top. ‘But you look much better now,’ he added when he had her stripped naked. Taking her hand, he led her to the bedroom saying, ‘Much, much better.’
They sank onto the bed more hungry for one another, than the chilli that waited on the bench.
Teri needed to talk to Cleo. She took a deep breath and turned on her laptop. She had left Greg chatting to some of their scuba diving friends in a bar of the Jasmine Palace hotel. He had suggested earlier that she should either phone or video call Cleo to see if she would open up about what the girl’s big fall out was about and, after mulling it over, she thought she’d give it a try.
She sat at the desk come dressing table in their room and adjusted the screen so that she’d have a good view of Cleo’s expressions and took another calming breath. She felt edgy. Would Cleo pick up or avoid her call? Did she want to know what this row had been about? Definitely. She practiced a smile; it felt a bit forced but she wanted to start the conversation in an upbeat way and try to get Cleo to open up.
She called and there was no response. It was late evening in the UK and Cleo should be home but she might not be plugged in, or whatever, because they usually planned their skype sessions for a certain time. Maybe she should use the phone? Or text and arrange a session for later? She would have liked to see Cleo face to face as they talked. She sat there, unsure of what to do.
It was after ten when Dan and Cleo finished their supper and Cleo popped into her office to pack up her laptop for work in the morning. She noticed that she’d just missed a video call from Mum. They hadn’t planned one, was she OK?
‘Dan, I’m just going online to chat to Mum. Won’t be long.’ She would never sleep if she didn’t know Mum was fine.
Teri was sitting at the desk lost in thought when the video call tone startled her. Cleo was calling her back.
A Jarful of Moondreams: What Secrets Are Ready to Spill Out? Page 23