Hope you enjoy Truro. Dossie.
She dithered over whether she should add an x and decided against it. She wasn’t here when they got back, though Adam told her he’d driven them home because Jamie had suffered a migraine attack. And since then Jakey’s been staying and, rather to her disappointment, there’s been no further communication.
Now she stares at the message on the small screen:
Thank you for my supper. Really enjoying it J x
She feels elated, relieved, and she wants to dash off an amusing remark but fears that it looks a bit too keen to reply immediately. After all, it’s been nearly a week since that first text. She’s been here before and she’s so afraid of giving herself away. Instead she puts the phone in her pocket and goes back into the sitting-room. Adam is still reading the paper, with Bells stretched at his feet, exhausted by her day down at the beach.
‘So you invited Sister Emily to our party?’ Dossie says randomly. ‘Brilliant. She really loves having a moment. The thing is, when are we going to do it? We ought to get a date in the diary. Can you come down again soon or are you all booked up for the next few weekends?’
‘I’d need to check my diary. I sometimes do viewings at weekends. I’ve got one coming up in Berkshire.’
He hesitates, as if he is going to say something else, but then says: ‘So it wasn’t someone telling you that they’ve got just the right puppy for you?’
‘No, it wasn’t,’ she replies. ‘And I’m not going to tell you who it was so it’s no good worming.’
He laughs at the old childhood expression. ‘I wasn’t worming. Just wanting to keep you on the right track. You’re dithering, Doss. Just get a dog. It’s not right without one here. It’s been lovely having Bells, hasn’t it? You’ve been in your element.’
At the sound of her name, Bells raises her head, her tail beats the floor, and then she collapses again.
Dossie sits down on the long sofa, tucking up her feet. ‘I know. Honestly, I do know it, but to tell you the truth, I’m wondering whether I ought to stay here in the long term, Adam. I know what I said about decaying grandeur, and part of me does really feel like that, but it’s crazy, really. This place is far too big, and I can’t afford the maintenance of it.’
He folds the newspaper and puts it on the table beside his armchair. He remains silent and she hurries on, glad to be able to tell him her thoughts at last.
‘And if I were to sell up we could share the money between us. I’d really like to do that.’
Even as she speaks she remembers Mo’s warning words, but she can’t help herself. It’s as if a high wall between her and her brother is crumbling at last and she has no desire to prevent it from falling or to allow anything else to divide them. It’s been wonderful to have him here this week with Jakey and Bells. They’ve had such fun together and Jakey has made his uncle promise he’ll come down again soon. Adam has been so happy, so free, and Dossie doesn’t want anything to be a barrier to this new unfolding relationship.
The silence seems to go on for ever. Bells stirs, as if she is aware of the change of atmosphere, gets up and pads across to Dossie, who bends to stroke her soft head, kisses her on the nose.
‘So how about this for an idea?’ says Adam. His voice is strained, nervous. ‘How about I move down, here to The Court, and help you keep the place going?’
Dossie stares at him in amazement. ‘Leave London?’ Adam nods. ‘But your job? You’re one of the top men.’
Adam shrugs. ‘There are estate agencies down here. Jackson-Stops in Truro, for one. No, I haven’t asked anyone but I expect I could get a job somewhere. I can sell my flat …’
He lets the words die away on the air, still not looking at her, as if he is afraid to see something negative on her face, and Dossie is overwhelmed with affection for him.
‘It would be utterly amazing. I can’t believe you’d even consider it. I mean, why would you? There’s so much for you in London. You love the concerts and the theatre, and your friends. What’s here for you?’
‘My family.’
Then she really does want to weep but she knows that he’d hate it and instead she buries her face briefly in Bells’ coat and then lifts her head.
‘I can’t think of anything I’d like more. I’d love it.’
She really means it, and because it is a genuine response Adam looks at her at last and makes a face.
‘Bit of a shock all round.’
She doesn’t pretend to misunderstand him. ‘Yes, it is. But in a good way.’
‘Mo and Pa wouldn’t be pleased.’
Dossie shrugs. ‘OK. There were misunderstandings and differences. But that was then and this is now. I’d love us to share The Court. To be together and to have a dog. Let’s start there.’
Briefly she thinks about Jamie. How might that relationship develop? But she can’t legislate for that right now. There’s room for everyone; it’s a time for healing and growing.
‘In which case,’ Adam stands up, ‘I might have a word with Barnaby. Get things moving this end.’
She looks up at him. He looks taller, confident.
‘You do that, and I’ll get the ball rolling with the black Lab rescue society.’ She grins at him. ‘By the time we have that party there might really be something to celebrate.’
Through the open door they hear the light tread of footsteps. Adam grins at Dossie, points upward, and she looks resigned.
‘Dos-sie!’ The wail is uttered on two notes and Dossie responds in the same way.
‘Ye-es?’
‘I can’t sleep, Dossie. It’s too light.’
‘I’ll go,’ says Adam. ‘I remember what it was like trying to sleep on these long summer evenings. I’ll read to him for a bit. We’ve started The Hobbit.’
He goes out and Dossie sits listening, hearing Adam’s voice and Jakey’s treble answering him, and gives a great sigh. She thinks of Mo and Pa again.
‘But how can this be wrong?’ she asks them, still holding Bells’ head between her hands. ‘It seems so right. OK, so my track record isn’t great with men – well, not since Mike – but all my instincts tell me that this is the right thing to do.’
Bells slides down and curls up on the rug beside the sofa.
There must be no rush, thinks Dossie. Adam must find a job, give in his notice, and I shall have a dog. It will all fall into place if we give it time.
She lies along the sofa, her head on a cushion, one hand still reaching down to fondle Bells’ ears, and by the time Adam comes back she is fast asleep.
He stands looking down at them. Dossie’s face is untroubled, one hand tucked under her neck, the other lying loosely on Bells’ head. He is still trying to grasp this new reality; the way the world has turned and shown him a whole new landscape. He is afraid of it, not knowing if he can trust it, yet something within him is willing him on; willing him to seize it and run with it.
How quickly and generously Dossie responded to his suggestion. He knew at once that this was a genuine reaction, not pity or guilt, and his relief was out of all proportion; he hadn’t known how nervous he was until she spoke. Ever since that day in Truro – the time with Jamie in the car, his lunch with Barnaby – the idea had been building. Then that incredible moment with Sister Emily in Janna’s garden had put the seal on and given it a truth; a reality.
He sits down opposite, quietly, not wanting to disturb them, and tries to understand this new sense of homecoming; of being somewhere he truly belongs.
‘I wish you’d come more often,’ Jakey grumbled earlier. ‘Why do we hardly ever see you?’
Adam murmured something about things being different from now on, that he would be around more often. They’d gone to the beach, to the moors, to the Padstow Bookseller to buy books to be read at bedtime. They were both loving every minute of it.
At the same time there is a shadow of guilt, the knowledge that Mo and Pa didn’t want this to happen.
‘I’m not taking The Court
from her,’ he says silently to their shades. ‘Just enabling her to keep it. Don’t worry. I shan’t try to cheat her out of it.’
Adam rests his head on the cushion and stretches out his legs. He gazes at the bookshelves packed with his parents’ books; at the familiar watercolours hanging on the walls. He realizes that bitterness still clings to his thoughts of them, that he believes that somewhere they are disapproving his behaviour, but he won’t give up. He will show them that they are wrong; that he will be here for Dossie, and for Jakey, Clem and Tilly, should they need him. And there are other friends now: Jamie, Hugo and Ned. Prune and Ben. Janna and Sister Emily. He feels overwhelmed by his good luck. But there’s a long way to go yet. First he must find a job. He raises his wrist and glances at his watch. It’s too late now but tomorrow he will telephone Barnaby. He remembers the conversation he had with him about moving, and, just before he falls asleep, he wonders about Dossie’s text and who sent it.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
EMILIA PACES ANXIOUSLY. She was awake early, out on the beach before breakfast, and now she waits, watching the clock, rehearsing what she will say to Jamie. For three days she waited for him to contact her, her spirits gradually sinking into despair and then, just when she’d almost given up, the text arrived. She was almost mad with relief and joy when he got in touch with her, though she tried to show restraint with her response. And now he is due at any minute. She has no doubt that he will be exactly on time. She remembers that he hates to be late or early but somehow he will contrive to pull into that parking space across the lane at exactly eleven o’clock.
And here he is, his beautiful classic car sliding alongside the wall and then his long legs thrusting out of the open door and the rest of him following. Emilia stands well back so that she can watch him without being seen. How strange that he should be so little changed: that same wary expression, the tilt of the head. Danny has that same look, that same trick of putting his head very slightly on one side. Her gut churns with panic and she hurries to open the door.
‘Hi,’ she says brightly as he comes up the path.
‘Morning,’ he says.
He doesn’t comment on the cottage or its location and she stands aside so that he can enter the little hall, and then shows him into the sitting-room. For some reason he seems to dominate the space and she indicates a chair at the drop-leaf table.
‘Coffee? Black? No sugar?’ She tries to make it into a little joke, showing him that she hasn’t forgotten how he likes it, but he merely nods, says, ‘Thanks’ and turns to look out of the window.
She goes into the kitchen and makes coffee with Lucy’s new and complicated machine and carries it back on a tray to the sitting-room. She sees now that she is going to get no help from him and she feels very nervous. As she puts the mug down in front of him and sits opposite, she knows that small talk is utterly pointless and he will respect her more if she simply tells it like it is. She’s rehearsed this, just in case, and now she takes a steadying breath and begins.
‘Thank you for coming over, Jamie,’ she says, calmly. ‘It was a bit of a shock meeting you like that in Truro, though since Lucy told me that she’d met Hugo it wasn’t totally out of the blue. So let’s start at the beginning. When I left you all those years ago I had no idea that I was pregnant. I was having an affair with Nigel, and because it was at least two months before I even suspected that I was having a baby I imagined that it was his.’
Jamie lifts his cup to his lips, watching her all the time over its rim, and she looks back at him. She will not let him see how nervous she is but she doesn’t lift her own mug because she is afraid her hand might shake.
‘When Lucy was born she looked very much like me. My colouring, my features – well, Hugo probably told you how alike we are – so it wasn’t until after Daniel was born that I began to have doubts. The more he grows the more I begin to wonder if, after all, I was wrong and that Lucy might be your child.’
Still he watches her. He shows no surprise at this revelation and she is slightly thrown off balance. Surely by now there should be some reaction?
‘So,’ she goes on, less sure of herself. She hesitates. ‘Well, when I saw you in Truro I felt that it was time to be up front about it. Of course,’ she adds quickly, ‘Nigel is dead now and so … and so …’
‘And so,’ he says, ‘you decided to take the opportunity to tell me that I’ve had a daughter for twenty-seven years and a grandson for how many, two years, or is it three, and you’d like my reaction?’
‘He’s two,’ she says, confused. ‘Dan’s two.’
‘And if you hadn’t bumped into me in Truro?’
She stares at him. He has completely wrong-footed her. She’d expected either absolute anger or amazed delight but not this cool almost derisive reaction.
‘I don’t know,’ she cries. ‘It’s all so … well. It’s not as if it’s a cut-and-dried thing. How can we know for sure? It could be …’
She stops, seeing where she’s leading herself, and he nods.
‘It could be either of us who is the father. Me or Nigel, because you were running us both together.’
She can feel the blood burning in her cheeks but she tries to hang on to her self-possession.
‘I’d already planned to tell you that I was leaving you,’ she says quietly, determined to show some dignity, to appeal to his chivalrous side, ‘but when you got back that night you were in quite a state, you know. It was hard. I still loved you. It was just …’
She flounders and he smiles that secret, inner smile that infuriates her.
‘How very generous of you,’ he says lightly. ‘To be ready to comfort the warrior on his return from battle despite your divided loyalties. So, to cut to the chase. Lucy might be my child or she might be Nigel’s. It would need a DNA test, I suppose. Does she know that this doubt hangs over her origins?’
‘No,’ says Emilia quickly. ‘No, there was no need …’
She stops again, seeing her mistake.
‘Until Nigel died and I showed up?’ he suggests.
‘It occurred to me,’ she says, trying to be dignified, ‘that if there has been a mistake about Lucy’s paternity then perhaps now is the time to put it right.’
‘And how do you think she will react to this spectacular revelation?’
Emilia searches about for the correct response. She hasn’t, actually, thought too much about Lucy. She’s been too obsessed with the prospect of seeing Jamie again and telling him this. It was as if she had something she could offer him to make up for walking away from him, and it was to do with the hope of beginning again; having a second chance. It’s so odd that he seems neither very angry nor very pleased. Instead, there is something slightly edgy, scary, about him.
Belatedly she asks: ‘Do you have children?’
He smiles then, almost pityingly.
‘Do you ever think anything through to a logical conclusion, Ems? Or do you still just simply react?’
His query, his smile, the affectionate use of the nickname, all restore her spirits at once. There is still hope here but she must be careful. She grimaces, a kind of ‘Aren’t I hopeless?’ face and smiles at him.
‘Probably not. It’s just that since Danny was born, I’ve begun to wonder, and seeing you like that … well, it just seemed meant, if you know what I mean?’
He looks at her. Is that affection or pity in his eyes?
‘OK,’ he says. ‘Then the next step is to talk to Lucy about it. That’s your call, I’m afraid. Be in touch if she wants to go forward. Thanks for the coffee.’
He stands up and walks out, striding down the path to the car, and before she can follow him, she hears the engine rumble into life, and he’s gone.
Jamie pulls in next to the Volvo, switches off the engine and drops his head into his hands. He massages his scalp and tries to put his feelings into some kind of order. Hearing Ems talk like that was extraordinary. It was as if this is a perfectly rational process: Nigel has died.
Lucy might be Jamie’s daughter. Let’s sit down and have a discussion about it.
Thank God Hugo alerted him. Imagine if all that had come out of the blue – however would he have dealt with it? Even being warned, discussing it with Uncle Ned, he had only just enough strength to listen to her without allowing his anger and pain to show. Can she have any idea what it might be like to be told that you’ve had a daughter for twenty-seven years and haven’t known it? To know that you’ll never see her as a baby, watch her as a toddler and a small child getting to understand the world around her; never know the schoolgirl, the teenager. He’s missed all that. How he enjoyed walking out on Ems! A sweet revenge for that letter all those years ago.
Jamie gets out of the car and slams the door. He goes into the house, ignoring the dogs who swirl about him, and into the kitchen. Ned looks up from his chair. He doesn’t speak, he just raises his eyebrows. Jamie strides to and fro, allowing his anger free rein at last.
‘The woman’s out of her mind,’ he cries. ‘It’s as if she thinks she’s giving me some bloody consolation prize for buggering up my life twenty-eight years ago. “Oh dear, I think I was a bit naughty, wasn’t I, so here’s a lovely surprise for you. A daughter and a grandson. Doesn’t that make you feel better? Now we can start all over again.” Thank God Hugo warned me. Christ! I might have killed her otherwise. I still might.’
He can see that Ned isn’t convinced by this threat and he sits down at the table, pushing newspapers and empty mugs aside with a sweep of his arm.
‘So she just came straight out with it?’
‘When she saw I wasn’t in the mood for small talk, or in the mood for some kind of grisly reunion, yes, she told me that she’d never really suspected that I might be Lucy’s father until Daniel came along. But now she’s pretty sure that it’s on the cards. Oh, and Nigel’s dead so isn’t it all very convenient?’
‘And you remained calm? That must have surprised her.’
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