sUnwanted Truthst

by Unwanted Truths (epub)

  ‘I’ve ordered two birth certificates,’ she said to the bespectacled clerk.

  ‘What name?’ the clerk responded as he had done many times before.

  ‘Maynard, Mrs Maynard.’ He strolled over to a wire tray.

  Jenny’s middle fingers on her right hand beat an urgent rhythm on the top of the counter that corresponded to the thumping inside her chest. She watched him flick through about a dozen buff envelopes. He looks bored stiff. How can he be bored by something that has so much significance for me?

  ‘Here you are.’ He handed Jenny an envelope.

  ‘Thank you,’ she whispered, suddenly regretting her decision and thinking that she should hand it back. She could say it was a mistake and she didn’t want them after all. It didn’t matter to him. He would just think she was crazy and go and eat his lunch. Why does she want to be certain? Surely uncertainty is preferable? But she couldn’t give the envelope back. She pushed through the swing doors and sat down on a seat in the corridor. The envelope was unsealed. Her hands shook as she removed the first birth certificate. It was Martin’s. Her eyes went straight to the name of his mother – Helen Mary Barretti of 11B, Cannon Place, Brighton, maiden name Neale. Her stomach heaved. She swallowed hard to stop herself from retching. So there was only one. It would be too much of a coincidence if there were two women of the same surname and maiden name, living at the same address. Written in black ink under the heading – Name of Father – was Enrico Guiseppe Barretti. She saw Martin’s birthday, 2nd February 1944. She opened the other certificate – Anna Veronica, born at the same address in July 1947 to Helen Mary Barretti. Again, Enrico was entered as the father. So, Ross was right about her husband not being my father.

  Jenny sat heavy as stone. The certificates hung from her hand as she stared at the marriage banns on the wall opposite. She tried to decipher the names, but was too far away. From the corner of her eye she was aware of a couple walking towards her. The woman was carrying a baby wrapped in a blanket. The father’s mouth moved as they stood at the end of the seat. Jenny stared at him not hearing his words. They sat down. Jenny felt the pressure of the woman’s body against her own, but didn’t move to make room for them on the bench. She continued staring straight ahead. Then she realised she was alone again, but couldn’t remembering them leaving. She sighed, put the certificates inside her handbag and left the building.

  ‘Could you put me through to Moira please?’ She leant for support against the door of the phone box.

  ‘Hello Moira, it’s me. I’m sorry, but I won’t be back after lunch. I don’t feel well, so I‘m going home. No, I’m sure I’ll be fine by Wednesday,’ Jenny replaced the receiver. She imagined Moira’s concerned face peering at her, as she probed into her personal life, thinking correctly for once, that it was making her ill. Jenny took a deep breath and walked slowly northwards, to where she had left her car earlier that morning.

  Traffic was light, and high waves pounded the shingle as she drove along the seafront and turned into Cannon Place. It had been one of many regency terraces in the centre of Brighton, but a shopping centre now graced the top end. A few of the original houses remained on the left hand side. Jenny parked and walked up to the one numbered 15. A dirty half curtain and a banner hung across an upstairs window. ‘Squatters,’ she muttered. 15B was a basement, and Jenny assumed that 11B, when it existed, would have been the same. She stared at the shabby exterior and remembered the day of Anna’s birthday. Had her birth mother recognised her then? No she couldn’t have. Had she said something to make her suspect that she was her daughter? She couldn’t remember, it was too long ago. Was that why they moved away so suddenly? Martin said his aunt hadn’t died until a long time afterwards. Perhaps that was just an excuse to stop us being together. ‘My sister always bit her lip when she was worried about something’ and ‘my mother always called my father that,’ Martin’s words replayed in her mind again and again as she walked back to her car.

  Jenny drove past the Peace Statue that marked the boundary between Brighton and Hove, and turned northwards until she saw the renovated sails of the windmill above the rooftops. Nearly there, she thought.

  Jenny parked and stared at the fields at the end of the road. Milk chocolate furrows stretched to rough grassland, too steep to be ploughed. A ribbon of tarmac divided the fields from private housing on the right-hand side. The afternoon sun shone blinding rays of light onto the rear windows of the cars as they crept to the summit. Crisp orange and yellow leaves twirled in the gutter in front of her car.

  She wondered what she should do now. Why did she have to find out? She wished she had left well alone. A Pandora’s box. Was this her punishment for leaving Robert? If she told Martin the truth, everything could change; his feelings towards her might change. He might leave her. She couldn’t disrupt Lorna and Nicky’s lives again. But, he doesn’t have to know. He would never find out, nobody could. It was only herself who could be given this information. She would never be able to tell anybody, but she wouldn’t want to. She would have to live with the truth, she had done that before; she could do it again.

  Turning her head, she saw a dozen rusty nails scattered across the red brick wall that formed a backdrop to the front garden. Some of them still held fragments of her father’s frayed gardening string. Tears flooded down her face, as she sat mesmerised by them.

  Ten minutes later she wiped her cheeks with the sleeve of her coat, and walked up the garden path. She passed the flaking front door, and opened the low gate that led to the back garden. The triangular vegetable patch had been cemented over. Only the gnarled apple tree remained; its stubby trunk rising from a postage stamp patch of earth encircled by concrete. Jenny recalled the acid sharpness of the fruit, remembering how she loved to dip the slices in sugar when her mother wasn’t looking.

  In front of the dividing trellis had been a well-tended lawn. Now, tufts of tall grass sprouted from rough brown patches that stretched uneasily to the broken wire fence that separated the houses. Locked into the ground were two climbing frames – forgotten skeletons in an open air museum – their bones chipped and fractured. Jenny felt uneasy; she was trespassing in someone else’s life. She walked back to her car, and sat staring at the fields. So, her birth mother hadn’t been a young girl at all, she was a married woman, neither was she from far away, she was from the same town. Too close for comfort. It certainly was now.

  ‘Get a fucking move on will you.’

  Startled, Jenny looked behind her. A heavily pregnant young woman was dragging a coffee-coloured toddler up the path to the front door. The girl’s face was framed by a straight blonde fringe and shoulder-length hair. A large gold hoop hung from each ear. The boy screamed and more expletives followed as the girl urged the reluctant child forward. She glowered at Jenny, who looked away. A door slammed and Jenny looked round. They had disappeared inside the flat. Jenny sat and stared straight ahead until her right leg cramped, making her face twist with pain. She stretched her leg to release the muscle and then turned the ignition key.

  She braked as the traffic lights changed, and looked across to the church and windmill. Not now, she thought. I can’t visit the graveyard today. My two mothers lying feet away from each other. I need to be stronger for that. Her stomach rumbled like distant thunder and her nausea returned.

  Jenny parked in her usual space and ran into the cottage. She threw her handbag and coat onto the sofa and opened the back door for Toby. Grabbing two plain biscuits from the tin she looked up – four o’ clock – Lorna would be home soon. She picked up a box of matches and took a newspaper from the top of a pile on top of a chair. Returning to the sitting room she opened the glass door to the fire, took a bundle of thin pieces of wood from the basket in the hearth, and layered them with torn newspaper inside the stove. She struck a match, and then reached for her bag that lay beside a travel guide to Rome. She pulled out Martin and Anna’s birth certificates together with the letter from the General Register Office and ripped them int
o pieces. The flames burst into life as she fed them, carefully turning the wood with the poker. She then pulled out her own birth certificate and tore it into shreds.

  There was a squeal of brakes, and a familiar clunk. Jenny dashed over to the window. Martin’s Land Rover stood outside. ‘What’s he doing back now?’ Her heart hammered against her ribs as she ran back to the fire and slammed the door shut with her foot. She fell onto the sofa, and opened the book… Rome lies along the banks of the River Tiber and is one of Europe’s most continuously occupied cities, dating back two and a half thousand years. It is also known as The Eternal City… In her clenched fist she held the remnants of her certificate. The door latch moved upwards and Martin filled the room.

  ‘I’ve had enough for today. There was a bunch of school kids mucking about all morning. One of them must have opened the display case as some of the exhibits are missing. I suppose I’ll have to phone the school tomorrow. You’ve lit the fire already?’

  ‘Yes, I felt cold when I got home.’ She continued to stare at the pages of the book… traditional stories explain the earliest history of the city in terms of legend. The most famous being the story of Romulus and Remus, the twins suckled by a she-wolf…

  Martin stepped towards her and bent down. She closed her eyes as she met his lips.

  ‘You’re reading up on Rome, that’s good. It’s not long now before we go. Do you think Lorna’s O.K. about staying with Robert?’

  ‘Yes, she’s fine about it. Could you put the kettle on for some tea?’

  ‘I’ll make you a cup, but I need something stronger.’

  As he left the room, Jenny dropped onto the floor and opened the glass door. She unclenched her fist, threw the remains of her certificate into the fire, leant back on her heels and watched as the flames leapt higher.