‘Yes, I think it did. It took her off guard. She probably remembers how very much I wanted children and was counting on a positive response. I think she actually believes she’s making some kind of amends for walking out on me.’
‘And what happens next?’
Jamie is grateful for the older man’s cool reactions. He doesn’t need sympathy, or anger on his behalf, he simply needs to know how to proceed.
‘She will speak to Lucy. Christ!’ He shakes his head. ‘And how will she do that, I wonder? “Oh, darling, you’ll never guess. A lovely surprise. You’ve got a new daddy.” How is she supposed to respond to that?’
He can hear the bitterness and rage in his own voice and he stops, biting his lips. He begins again.
‘If Lucy can begin to accept that this is a possibility then Ems will contact me. I simply can’t imagine how she will react.’
‘But how do you hope she will react?’ Ned’s voice is still calm; prosaic.
Jamie takes a deep breath. ‘I can hardly bear to think about it,’ he admits. ‘Part of me longs for it to be true. To believe that I have a daughter. And a grandson. But I have no idea how she, Lucy, and I could ever make a start. How is it to be done? And apart from a DNA test how would either of us be really sure?’
‘So you made no plan to see Emilia again?’
‘No,’ says Jamie abruptly. ‘This is not a happy family reunion. If there is any relationship from here on in it will be between Lucy and me. And Daniel and me.’
Ned purses his lips. ‘There might have to be some sort of crossover sometimes if they’re just down the road at Rock. No doubt Emilia will be visiting from time to time.’
Jamie shrugs. ‘OK. But you know what I mean. And if Lucy is my child then let’s hope she’ll have enough of me in her to understand, too. Even if she does look like Emilia. If,’ he repeats, ‘she is my child.’
Ned remembers that glimpse he had of her in The Chough, of the little boy, with black hair and brown eyes, who was running ahead of her.
‘I saw them,’ he tells Jamie. ‘In The Chough. I saw that extraordinary resemblance but I couldn’t place it until you mentioned it. And I saw Daniel.’
Jamie stares at him. He feels choked up, breathless. ‘And?’
Ned smiles at him; a tender smile. ‘I think you’d better begin to believe it.’
The sound of a text pinging in makes them both jump. Jamie gets up, rescues Ned’s mobile from the clutter on the dresser and hands it to him.
Ned shakes his head. ‘I suspect it’s for you.’
Jamie reads the message aloud:
‘It was so good to see you again Jamie. I shall talk to Lucy later and then be in touch. Please can we meet up again though? There’s still so much to say. Will you still be around for the rest of this week? Any morning will suit me. xx’
He frowns at the two kisses, and slams the phone back on the dresser.
Ned grimaces. ‘I’ll take that as a “no” then,’ he says.
‘Too right it’s a “no”,’ answers Jamie. ‘I told her how I was going to play it. Thank God we used your phone.’
A thought occurs to him and he takes out his own phone to check it: still no answering text from Dossie. He considers this for a moment.
‘Fancy lunch at The Chough?’ he asks casually. ‘We could invite Dossie and Adam.’
‘They’ve got Jakey with them,’ Ned reminds him.
‘So? He’s eleven? Twelve? Old enough to have lunch at the pub. I know it’s a bit late but we could still make it in time. Shall I text her and ask the question?’
Jamie glances up at the older man and sees that he is smiling, complicit.
‘I think you should,’ Ned says. ‘You need to keep your priorities right.’
Jamie taps out the message and waits. The answer comes back quite quickly.
Here already. What’s keeping you?
He begins to laugh. ‘Suit up, Uncle Ned. We’re going on a mission.’
PART FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
HOW HOT IT is, even though it’s still early in the morning. Prune stands outside the greenhouses breathing in the scents of growing things, looking around at her handiwork. There are pots of varicoloured peppers, aubergines and cucumbers. She’s managed to raise some pak choi in trays, and she’ll be able to plant out squash and pumpkin now.
This hot weather, following a wet, cold May Bank Holiday is very welcome, and Prune is distracted by the birdsong, the azalea blossom, and the colour of the copper beech leaves. She stands and stretches, her fingers stained with earth, and she feels happy and sexy. She and Ben made love last night down on the beach, moving to the rhythm of the sea, listening to the waves, and they’d clung together in the cliff’s shadow and watched the moon setting. Although it was late, the sky was still light.
‘Not long till the solstice,’ Ben said, his arms around her. ‘Longest day. Let’s go up on the moor and watch the sunrise. We can sleep in the car.’
She shivered, pressing close to him, wondering what Ned and Hugo might say. Oddly, she had a feeling that old Ned would probably say, ‘Go for it,’ and she gave a little chuckle, which Ben felt and he looked down at her and kissed her. She wrapped her arms around him, holding him tightly and they made love all over again whilst the moon disappeared below the horizon and the world grew dark.
Later, home again, she let herself in quietly but at once heard the sound of the piano and knew that she wouldn’t be able to creep away to bed. She listened for a moment. She guessed it was Hugo playing, probably Chopin. He was in a contented mood after his visit to London but there was something going on; some new atmosphere in the tall, old house. She stood for a moment, listening, checked that all her clothes were straight and braced herself to go upstairs and enter the drawing-room. Thank goodness the dogs would detract attention from her.
Mort and Brioc came to greet her so that she was able to avoid the looks of all three men. She buried her face in Mort’s furry ruff, reached a hand to Brioc, hoping that making love didn’t somehow show, and then said ‘Hi,’ quite naturally. Hugo stopped playing, smiling at her, asking if she’d had a good evening, and the question made her want to burst into giggles, which was just so childish. Ned’s expression was a mix of amusement and a kindly knowingness, which confused her, but it was Jamie who got to his feet and said: ‘Just in time for a nightcap. A nice brew of dock leaves?’ And then it was all right and everyone was standing up and moving around and she was able to feel composed and calm.
‘Hot choc, please,’ she said to Jamie, as they went down together.
He was being a bit odd just lately: kind of preoccupied but something else as well. A kind of battened-down excitement, as if he were waiting for something, but anxious, too. And Hugo has been slightly distracted. She wondered what might be going on but doesn’t feel she can ask. They were talking about the party that Dossie is planning. Adam has gone back to London and they’re waiting to know when he can get down again. Everyone wants to make a contribution and they are discussing what they might bring.
Jamie made the hot chocolate and then Hugo said, thoughtfully: ‘It crossed my mind …’ and paused, considering.
‘And that,’ Jamie said quietly to Prune, putting her mug of chocolate beside her on the table, ‘is neither a long nor complicated journey.’ Ned burst out laughing, Hugo gave his cousin a swift blow to the ribs, and in that moment everything seemed easy and natural again.
Now, as she stands in the sunshine, Prune rubs her hands together, relishing the gritty feeling of the earth. She needs to sow the French climbing beans in the border and bed out some tomato plants. But all she can think about is Ben. She wants to be back on the beach with him, watching the moon set.
Prune can hear voices on the paths screened by azalea and rhododendrons. She has no idea how long she’s been standing here, dreaming, and she turns quickly and goes into the greenhouse, back to work.
Up on the cliffs, Lucy stands watching the gulls cir
cling below her. She’s had a shock that has rendered her unable to think clearly.
‘The kitchen’s all finished,’ Mum said, calling her a few evenings ago. ‘You have to come and sign it off, darling. I must get back to London and there’s something I need to talk to you about.’
‘Well, you can go back,’ Lucy answered. ‘I’ve got a key. You needn’t worry, Mum.’
‘No, no.’ Her mother sounded agitated. ‘I mean, if there’s something not quite right or you want changed I can stay on for a day or two, if you can make a quick dash.’
Actually, it was quite good timing. Tom’s parents were over, which meant she could leave Dan for forty-eight hours, so it was probably a good idea.
‘OK,’ she said. ‘Can you pick me up from Newquay?’
So it was agreed, and she’d made the journey, arriving in the early evening. The kitchen was everything she’d hoped for: the new slate floor, the dark blue Everhot stove, the Belfast sink. They’d just sat down to supper when Mum started on this whole new thing about Dad probably not being her father. To begin with she simply couldn’t take it in and Mum was behaving like this might actually be good news; like, now that Dad was dead, suddenly here was this other guy back in her life again, who could stand in for him and be a grandfather for Dan.
‘Wait,’ she shouted at her mother at one point. ‘Just wait. What are we saying here exactly? Were you and this man still lovers while you were with Dad?’
And then Mum had explained that, though she was leaving Jamie, he and Dad had briefly overlapped, as it were, and so it was possible that either of them might be Lucy’s father.
Remembering, Lucy shuts her eyes and wraps her arms tightly round herself. It was as if Mum could have no perception of what it might be like to hear this. Tom is right. Her mother lives out of her own reality; there’s some kind of disconnect.
‘Can you hear yourself?’ she asked her coldly. ‘Am I supposed to be jumping up and down with joy? As I see it, you have no proof except that you think Dan looks like … Jamie.’ Odd how hard it was to say his name. ‘And why didn’t you mention it before?’
So then there were more explanations, more excuses.
‘It doesn’t matter,’ she said at last. ‘I don’t want to know,’ and Mum had just stared at her in amazement.
‘But you can’t just ignore it,’ she said pleadingly. ‘Think about Dan. He has a right to know his grandfather.’
‘Then he can decide for himself when he grows up,’ Lucy shouted. ‘And now I’m going to bed and tomorrow I shall book the flight home and you can go back to London when it suits you.’
She stormed upstairs, crashing around, slamming doors, and finally falling into bed, though not to sleep. She was unable to look at the furniture and linen she and Tom have chosen together; to feel pleasure in the things that were so important to her. She longed to talk to him but simply couldn’t bring herself to shout all this shocking information across the very patchy connection between Rock and Geneva. How could she possibly explain it all – and what could he do about it? She dozed and woke again many times through the long night, then this morning she got up early, made herself coffee. There was no sign or sound of Mum, so she grabbed her jacket and let herself out of the cottage, walking through the village, out across the coast to the beach at Polzeath. She climbed up the path to the cliffs, trying to clear her mind, striding out, rounding the point where she can look along to the little fishing village further up the coast and out to sea towards The Mouls. Suddenly she remembered how Hugo said: ‘We’re neighbours. Across the cliff in Port Quin Bay.’
Now, Lucy stands still. Thinking about Hugo. Mum explained about him, too. How she’d actually been going out with him when she met his cousin. Jamie. Christ! She could almost laugh, if she weren’t so near angry tears. What is Mum like! Hugo, then Jamie, then Dad … except it seems that he might not be Dad any more.
She begins to walk again, instinctively drawn across the cliffs towards Port Quin Bay, though she can’t quite think why, except that she feels that it would be a comfort to see Hugo again. He seemed so stable; so nice. He’d remembered Mum after all those years, noticed the resemblance, and Lucy wonders how badly he was hurt; how hard it must have been to lose out to his cousin. She wishes now that she’d spoken to him in The Chough; made her number with him and reminded him of their meeting in Relish. Perhaps, if she had, she might have someone she could talk to about all this.
She has no idea how far she’s walked, nor how long it’s taken her, but at last, exhausted, she sinks down on the grass at the edge of the cliff. She sits, ankles crossed, clasping her knees and resting her head on them. What is she to think? Is it possible? How do you cope with this kind of thing: a father she’s never known about suddenly appearing into her life? How would he fit in? How does it work? She doesn’t need this … but then, what if it’s true?
She is so preoccupied that she doesn’t hear the shouts, or the pounding of paws, and she screams as a dog suddenly snuffles in her ear and licks her face. As she struggles to her feet, the dog whines, as if apologetically, and slumps to the ground. A man is beside her, steadying her, apologizing, and it is Hugo: the man she met in Relish, Mum’s friend, but she finds that, after all, she is unable to speak naturally because of the man who is with him. He has black hair and brown eyes, and he is leaning on his hiker’s stick. His expression is wary, assessing, and his head is tilted just very slightly to one side. It is as if she recognizes him because of Dan, and her heart sinks.
‘Lucy,’ Hugo is saying gently. ‘Are you OK? Sorry about Brioc.’
She shakes her head. ‘It’s fine.’ She won’t look at the other man again. ‘He just took me by surprise.’
‘This is Jamie,’ Hugo goes on, quite naturally, quite calmly. ‘He was married to your mother quite a long time ago.’ He turns to the tall dark man. ‘Jamie, this is Lucy.’
She is covered with confusion, trembling with anger. She wants to run away but pride keeps her rooted to the spot. She knows that Jamie has been to see Mum and that Mum is waiting for some reaction from her before making any further gesture. Mum has made it clear that it is all up to Lucy. She forces herself to look at him. Once more she is struck by the resemblance to little Dan: that colouring, that stare, the way he puts his head to one side. She takes a deep breath and summons up all her self-command.
‘How do you do?’ she says politely. ‘You couldn’t make it up, could you?’
She sees the flash of amusement in his eyes, the way his smile touches the corners of his eyes but not his mouth, and once again she feels a tug of recognition; swift but real.
‘So Ems has spoken to you?’
It’s more a statement than a question and she is oddly touched by the use of the nickname, an indication of intimacy that stirs her, and unsettles her.
‘Yes,’ she answers briefly. ‘It’s a lot to take in … Sorry.’
‘No,’ he says swiftly. ‘You have absolutely nothing to be sorry about. This is your call. And just for now this is between you and me.’
She looks at him, frowning a little, and he nods at her.
‘Just you and me. And Daniel, if it gets that far. No go-betweens.’
She understands him at once, and feels grateful. How awful it would be to have Mum present at this moment, or at another meeting. Perhaps later on … She catches herself up.
‘I’m going back to Geneva later today,’ she tells him. ‘I shall be back to Rock, of course, but I don’t know when. Do you live locally?’
He points down into the harbour, to the house at the end of the quay, and she raises her eyebrows.
‘Really?’ She glances at Hugo, who is watching her with sympathy. ‘You were right. We’re pretty close neighbours.’
‘And if you want to leave it like that I shall understand, but should you want to be in touch, for any reason, I could give you my phone number.’
‘Hasn’t Mum got it?’ she asks coolly.
He shakes his head. ‘No. She
has a number that I can be reached on.’
She sees exactly what he’s saying and once again she feels that treacherous shaft of liking for him. She wants to smile but she doesn’t want to give anything away. Not yet.
‘This is between you and me until you say otherwise,’ he repeats. ‘If I give you my private number then, should you decide to do so, you can get in touch with me.’
She hesitates, then nods, and pulls out her phone. He takes his out and reads the number to her. She types it in, reads it back, he nods.
‘Have a good flight home,’ he says, and turns away, calling the dogs.
She looks at Hugo who smiles, says, ‘Goodbye, Lucy,’ and hurries after him.
Lucy waits, watching them go, and, as they begin to descend, Jamie glances back. He hesitates, just fractionally, and then raises his hand. She lifts her own in response, and then he disappears from view. She stands for a moment, quelling a strong longing to run after him, then she turns and begins the long walk back to Rock.
Emilia is packing. Slowly and methodically she checks each room, makes certain that nothing is left in the fridge. Lucy has gone, rushing back to Geneva, though she seemed very slightly less abrasive when she returned from her walk.
‘Thanks for all you’ve done here, Mum,’ she said. ‘I don’t want to talk about the other thing. Not yet. Sorry. Way too much to think about.’
Emilia had to hide her disappointment; her need to make something happen. She could tell from Lucy’s face that discussion was not an option. She caught herself thinking: she gets that stubbornness from Jamie, and then wondered how many times she’s had that reaction through Lucy’s life but squashed it at once. Now she can allow herself to think about it: the way she convinced herself that the baby was Nigel’s. After all, she had no desire, then, to go back to Jamie, and she knew just how he would react if he thought she was carrying his child. He longed for them to have a baby but it would have tied her down, committed her to that life of rules and regs and the separation and loneliness. So much easier to convince herself that it was Nigel’s baby, to blot out any other possibility. Until now. Now she is alone again. Now she has met Jamie again and remembers why she fell in love with him. Now she wants another chance and, through Lucy and Danny, she thought she might have it.
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