One Winter Morning

by Isabelle Broom

  I watch as Keith grazes his way half-heartedly through a patch of grass, his tail flicking away flies and his ears drooping contentedly to each side like those of a seaside donkey.

  It is difficult not to study Bonnie’s face, to spend time scrutinising each of her features in turn. Some – like her eyes and heart-shaped hairline – are exactly the same as my own, while others are totally different. Her nose is larger and her lips fuller, but I notice that we both twirl our hair around a finger when we’re nervous.

  ‘You know, nobody ever suspected that I was adopted when I was growing up,’ I say, drawing Bonnie’s attention away from the merrily tumbling river. ‘I always thought that was weird, because to me I felt like it was obvious – as if I was wearing a badge or something.’

  ‘I felt the same way about being a mother,’ she says, tossing a pebble into the water. ‘I could never understand why nobody knew, why nobody worked it out. I think I probably resented my parents for not somehow seeing it, but they never did.’

  ‘What about Simon?’ I ask, and Bonnie turns to me in surprise.

  ‘You met him?’

  I nod.

  ‘He knew I was hiding something, but he gave up asking eventually. He’s not a bad person – our relationship ended because I never gave it a chance. I know that.’

  ‘Don’t you ever get lonely?’ I want to know, but Bonnie laughs.

  ‘Hardly! I have Tui, and the horses. And Kit has been my live-in tenant for years now.’

  At the mention of Kit, I feel a tightness spread across my chest.

  ‘I’m not very good at relationships,’ she continues, looking at me apologetically. ‘I guess I just don’t trust most of the men I meet.’

  ‘I’m not surprised – not after what Seth did. It must have been so hard for you at the time, finding out that a man like him could have fathered your baby.’

  ‘He was a shithead,’ Bonnie pronounces. ‘But what he did to Lavender was arguably worse than what he did to me.’

  ‘Good,’ I say firmly, but just as David did, Bonnie shakes her head.

  ‘I don’t hold a grudge against her. We were all so young.’

  I still haven’t asked her about that night – the chapter of her story that she didn’t get around to writing. David has told me only the headline facts as he remembers them, but I want to hear it from Bonnie, too – I need to hear it from her. Lifting first one foot up, and then the other, I remove my boots and socks and dip my feet into the water beside hers. We both have long second toes, and apparently the same shade of dark red nail varnish.

  ‘David told me,’ I say, deliberately not meeting her eyes.

  She sighs, just once, perhaps drawing in breath to give herself courage.

  ‘I guessed he would.’

  ‘He told me it’s mostly all a blur, what happened, but that enough happened.’

  ‘That’s about the size of it.’

  Another pebble disappears with a plop into the river.

  ‘How did it happen?’ I press, desperate for details yet fearful of finding any out.

  ‘I always liked him, as you know, and we had grown closer since I moved in. He was missing Anna and I was upset about Seth cheating on me. We got drunk, it just happened. Or, it started to, and then David stopped. He said he couldn’t go through with it, that he was sorry, but he loved his wife.’

  ‘And afterwards?’ I prompt.

  ‘We just carried on as normal, never spoke about it. For the first few days, it was a bit weird and embarrassing, but after a while, we went back to being friends again. And then Seth disappeared. I hated the guy, but still loved him, and when I did the test a few months later and realised I was pregnant, I went racing off to find him only to learn that he’d scarpered, and that the police were after him because he’d stolen money and all sorts from Lavender.’

  ‘Bloody hell,’ I say, though I’m not actually that surprised.

  ‘I don’t even know if I would have told Seth that I was expecting, if I had managed to track him down,’ she continues. ‘But I doubt he would have been very happy about it. That man’s life began and ended with him – he was the focal point of everything. He would have made a useless father, because he was very selfish.’

  ‘And David was a better choice?’

  ‘Not only that.’ Another sigh. ‘While it was less likely that David could be your father, there was a chance – we both knew that. After I had tried and failed to locate Seth, I went back to the house in search of David, only to find Anna instead. She had come back to make things right, and suddenly she’s dealing with me, crying all over her and telling her about the baby.’

  ‘Did she know?’ I ask. ‘About you and David?’

  Bonnie nods, her expression haunted.

  ‘She had to know. I don’t think she ever would have agreed to it all had there not been a chance that David really was your father. They decided not to find out for sure because it was more fair, more equal, but as far as the official channels were concerned, you really were his.’

  ‘His name is on my birth certificate,’ I say, even though I know she is well aware of the fact.

  ‘Yes, and perhaps that is exactly where it belongs.’

  ‘Do you really think David could be my real father?’ I ask.

  ‘What I think,’ says Bonnie, putting a tentative hand on top of mine, ‘is that he already is.’

  ‘But can you see him in me?’ I implore. ‘Can you see any trace of Seth?’

  ‘It was so long ago.’

  I can tell that she is being deliberately vague.

  As a child, I was so often told how much I looked like my dad, and all those times I dismissed our similarities. Like him, I enjoy reading, but that could just as easily have come from Seth, who was studying English when he met Bonnie. David had dark hair, but so does Bonnie. His skin is fair, but Seth was blond, so presumably he would have had a similar complexion.

  ‘You could do a DNA test,’ suggests Bonnie, breaking a dry twig into several pieces then wiping the residual dirt on to her leggings.

  ‘David said the same thing.’

  ‘That would give you a definitive answer, if that’s what you need. And you would be well within your rights to find out,’ she says.

  ‘I need time to think,’ I tell her. There has been too much information to take in over the past few days, and not enough time to act.

  ‘That’s fair,’ she agrees, bringing her feet up out of the water. ‘Shall we start heading back?’

  ‘There’s just one more thing,’ I say, reaching for my socks. ‘You said before that you were too scared to come back to England and find me, and that you had no idea about the accident until you got there?’

  ‘That’s all true.’

  ‘What was it that made you get on the plane, then? And why, after all this time, did you write down that story for me?’

  Bonnie turns her face so it’s pointing towards the sun, her shadow falling away behind us.

  ‘That,’ she says, ‘is a whole other story entirely.’

  45

  Bonnie

  It was the new tumble drier that did it.

  If it hadn’t been for that rogue bra getting tangled up in the bedding, and the underwire melting so that it dug into her side, Bonnie may never have found the lump on her left breast. At first, she told herself that it must be nothing, then convinced herself that it would go away by itself. As the weeks and then months went by, however, the lump stubbornly remained where it was, and eventually, Bonnie could ignore it no longer.

  ‘You can get dressed again now.’

  Dr Kenyon got up from the stool she had been perched on and made her way back to her chair. Bonnie watched from the curtained-off corner of the consultation room as the doctor tapped away at her computer keyboard, only to curse in irritation and bang the mouse against her desk.

  ‘This machine is even older than I am,’ she explained, to which Bonnie quipped back, ‘Not a day over twenty-five, then.’

&
nbsp; Dr Kenyon, who had celebrated her fortieth birthday that summer, smiled amiably across at her patient.

  ‘I think we should perhaps test your eyes for you, too,’ she said. ‘While you’re here.’

  Bonnie and the doctor knew each other well, the former having spent a lot of time in and out of appointments with Tui when she was still a child. They had spoken frankly about Bonnie’s entire medical history, which of course included her first pregnancy, and the fact that the doctor knew so much about Bonnie’s life had made approaching her about the lump less daunting. Dr Kenyon had been as brisk, frank and professional as she always was, and organised for a biopsy to be done at the earliest opportunity. The lump, meanwhile, had lurked uncomfortably like a thorn in Bonnie’s side, goading her. She had watched her mother succumb to breast cancer, and was terrified at the prospect of the same fate.

  In true Bonnie Moon style, however, she had told no one about either her lump or her fears. Tui would not understand, and even if she did, it would only scare her. Kit was a friend, but not someone that Bonnie confided in about anything this personal, while Simon was now far too busy looking after his new family. She had handled things by herself before, and figured that she would handle this latest crisis, too. Bonnie had actually believed that she was doing a good job of remaining strong – and certainly she looked as if she was. Nobody would ever have guessed that something serious was troubling her.

  When the biopsy results had come through, however, and Dr Kenyon had summoned her back to the clinic, Bonnie had fallen to pieces in the waiting room and almost bolted back home to the stables. She had decided there and then that cancer was not an option, that she would not tolerate so cruel a twist. Finding out a few minutes later that the lump she had found was, in fact, just a cyst after all, had made Bonnie weep all the harder. She had come so close to allowing time to run out, and while she had never been superstitious in her life before, she took this scare as a sign that she must seek out her lost daughter – and that is exactly what she did. Following a relatively simple operation the following week, Bonnie had fired up the ancient computer in the office at Koru Stables and booked herself the first available flight over to England.

  ‘How have you been feeling since the op?’ Dr Kenyon asked now, sipping from a half-empty bottle of water.

  Bonnie pictured the puckered scar under her arm.

  ‘Fine. A bit sore right after, but nothing for a while now.’

  ‘Good.’ The doctor nodded in satisfaction. ‘And no other lumps or bumps anywhere they shouldn’t be?’

  ‘Well,’ Bonnie said lightly, ‘I did eat a lot of stodgy British food while I was away, so there may be a few around my middle.’

  Dr Kenyon swept a frowning eye from Bonnie’s neck down to her sandals, and scoffed.

  ‘It was a bit foolish of you,’ she said, turning back to the old monitor, which had begun humming like an idle bus, ‘to scarper off abroad like that before the stitches were even out.’

  ‘I know.’ Bonnie did her best to look sheepish. ‘But it didn’t feel like it could wait. Finding the lump and going through the terror of it being potentially cancerous, it made a few things fall into place for me, you know? It was just a cyst this time, but next time it might not be. I realised that I’d been a bloody wimp for long enough, and that I should go and get things done while I still could.’

  ‘And did you?’

  For a moment Bonnie thought about Genie, and the ride they had gone on together the previous day, how much they had already shared with one another, and how understanding her daughter had been. She was an incredible young woman, she really was, and even though Bonnie had had no part in raising her, she still felt proud. Genie was her girl, and what a wonder she was.

  ‘You know what, Doc?’ she said. ‘I really think I did.’

  The centre of Queenstown still bore witness to the parties that had rampaged through it on New Year’s Eve. Bonnie took hold of Tui’s hand as they weaved in and out of high-spirited tourists and hopped over a discarded pink cowboy hat. Having left England in such a hurry, Bonnie had forgotten the promised new shoes for Tui, so they were going to choose her some now.

  ‘What colour are you thinking?’ she asked her daughter, as they stared at row upon row of trainers, sandals, flip-flops and boots. Tui’s forehead was furrowed in concentration – this was not a decision to be taken lightly.

  ‘Red,’ she announced. Then, catching sight of an ultra-shiny brogue, ‘Or silver.’

  ‘How about all the colours of the rainbow?’ suggested Bonnie, holding up a particularly eccentric wellington boot.

  Tui nodded solemnly.

  ‘I don’t think so, no.’

  ‘Maybe not the right shoes for school,’ agreed Bonnie, grinning as Tui dissolved into bellows of deep, throaty laughter.

  ‘I think these,’ she said, surprising Bonnie by selecting a rather sensible blue pair with a good sturdy heel and neat set of gold buckles. ‘The same as Evangeline’s shoes in my books.’

  ‘Oh, yes!’ Bonnie was enchanted. ‘So they are – aren’t you clever?’

  Tui had knelt down to examine the display shoe, her hands twisting together with excitement on her lap.

  ‘Come on.’ Bonnie ushered her to her feet. ‘Let’s try them on, shall we?’

  When the assistant had returned with a fresh new pair in a box, however, Tui started to fret, her moans growing louder as the man attempted to slide one on.

  ‘What’s the matter, darling?’ Bonnie was unconcerned. Tui often communicated her dislike of things through sounds rather than words as she searched for the right ones to use.

  ‘I hate my school, that’s all,’ she announced, her voice shrill.

  The assistant, who was now struggling to work the buckle, glanced up at her and smiled.

  ‘You absolutely don’t hate school,’ Bonnie reminded her. ‘You love it.’

  Tui bit down on her own hand, her temper now on the verge of making a full-blown appearance, but Bonnie, who was well accustomed to such displays, merely laughed it off.

  ‘Why do you hate school, Tui?’ she asked gently. ‘Is it because Beavis can’t go with you?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Is it because you’ll miss Mummy?’

  ‘No,’ Tui said, sounding calmer. The assistant had valiantly got one shoe on, and was now pulling scrunched-up bits of paper out of the other.

  ‘Oh, I know!’ Bonnie slapped a hand against her head. ‘It’s because you’ll miss Genie?’

  ‘I love her so much,’ Tui whined. ‘I want her to live with us in Kit’s room.’

  Bonnie pulled her daughter against her in a half-hug.

  ‘Maybe she will one day,’ she said. ‘But for now, I’m sure if we asked her very nicely, then she would come and pick you up from school tomorrow with me. Would you like that?’

  Tui agreed that she would, cheering up almost immediately and getting up to lope around the shop in her new shoes.

  ‘Genie?’ The assistant turned to Bonnie. ‘That’s an unusual name – is she one of your daughter’s friends?’

  Bonnie watched as Tui came to a halt in front of a full-length mirror, into which she gazed with her wonderful lack of self-consciousness, smiling her wide, pure-hearted grin and finding only delight in her reflection.

  ‘Her big sister,’ Bonnie said, thinking then that she might never have felt as happy as she did right now, in this very moment. ‘But Genie is her best friend, too.’

  46

  I find the note pinned to the door of the apartment.

  David and I had just spent the afternoon wandering through Queenstown, trying to find ways to talk to each other. Every time I look at him, it becomes a study, as I search his face for clues that we could be related by more than a fraudulent birth certificate. I am still swinging unsteadily on the rickety bridge between outrage and relief, and the relentless effort it is taking to prevent my shaken-up emotions blowing skywards, like a cork out of a bottle, has left me feeling drained.
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  When David suggested that he return to his hotel and leave me to my own devices for the evening, I agreed with perhaps too much enthusiasm – but then I figured that maybe he needs some time alone to reflect, just as I do. There is too much to digest for it all to be resolved over the course of a few days, and I am still grappling with the concept of a birth mother – let alone a biological father.

  My ride out with Bonnie the other day felt like a tonic, and I found myself opening up to her much more than I had expected. Either she is adept at listening and being sympathetic, or she is making a special effort because of who I am. Either way, it doesn’t really matter – I am still consoled by the fact that she will eventually become a friend. It is so strange. I came here prepared to dislike the woman who had, as I saw it, abandoned me, and now I cannot imagine my life without her in it. When she told me about finding that lump, and believing for weeks that she had cancer, it made me go cold all over. And it makes perfect sense that a scare that momentous would have prompted her to finally seek me out, just as Anna’s death had been the catalyst for me attempting to locate her. I hate that she had to go through something so frightening alone. The thought of losing another mother is simply too much to bear, and Bonnie’s confession made me realise just how important she is to me – and always will be now that we have been returned to each other.

  I am chasing these thoughts and more around in my mind as I walk up the steps of the apartment, and in my preoccupation, I don’t even see the note until my hand is almost on it.

  At first, I simply stand and hold it, immobilised by an irrational fear that it somehow must be bad news, and not wanting to face it. Telling myself not to be such a coward, I lean back again the wooden railings, take a breath, and open the envelope.

  Genie,

  By the time you read this, I’ll be on the road to Welly. I didn’t want to just bugger off without at least telling you why, because even though we haven’t known each other all that long, a lot has happened. A lot of bloody drama. I saved your life, for one thing! Nah, I’m only pulling your feathers out – I would have done that even if I didn’t like you much. Probably.