Different Genes

  “Well your father hasn’t actually asked me to marry him yet, but it is a possibility.”

  Simon sat down again in surprise.

  “So maybe you’d better tell me all about yourself, Oliver. I’m not going to accept anyone as a stepson.”

  Simon was astounded. He had never seen Louise this confident.

  “I was only joking,” mumbled Oliver.

  “Well I wasn’t,” continued Louise, “Tell me about yourself. You’re obviously an early riser. Simon and I were still in bed.”

  Oliver stuttered. “I was on my way to Hastings, and I thought I’d drop in.”

  “It’s really lovely to meet you. Can I get you some breakfast? We’ve got some bacon haven’t we, Simon?”

  Oliver was so surprised by Louise that he accepted the offer of breakfast. Simon opened the bacon. A few minutes later they were all sitting in the kitchen eating bacon sandwiches. Louise kept talking.

  “So when are we going to see you again? I’m only staying for a few days, so how about tomorrow? You could come for dinner.”

  “I think I’m busy tomorrow. Can I text you, Dad?”

  “Of course, son.”

  And Oliver was gone.

  Simon sat down on the hall floor and gazed at Louise.

  “That was one of the most impressive performances I’ve ever seen. How on earth did you do it? I thought you would fall apart. Oliver can be very provocative.”

  “My dear Simon, I have spent over thirty years dealing with stroppy teenagers in a classroom. You just have to stand up to them and call their bluff. Oliver may be older than the kids I taught, but he was no different. He wanted me to crumble. Do you think I’ve upset him?”

  “I should think he’s in shock. His mother would never stand up to him like that, but you did it so… charmingly.”

  “Simon, perhaps it’s time you told me a bit more about your first marriage?”

  “I agree, but you must promise not to be too hard on me.”

  Simon made another two mugs of coffee and settled in the living room with Louise. He told her how he had met Julie in the summer of 1980, a few years after he graduated. He was working for a large computer company as a systems analyst. Julie was a junior secretary, and Simon was impressed with her warm, friendly manner and stunning good looks. They married in 1981. Julie worked part-time until their sons, Joe and then Oliver, were born a few years later. She then gave up work to be a full-time mum. Simon believed he was an attentive husband and caring father. He worked hard to provide his family with everything that Julie wanted. With the emergence of the worldwide web, and the need for more skilled computer personnel, he was rapidly promoted. In the late 1990s Simon left his job and set up his own website design company. He was very knowledgeable and a good manager of his new and growing team. His timing was perfect. Within five years Simon was turning over several million pounds and employing over fifty junior website designers. During these years, he worked long hours and became increasingly focussed on developing his business. His wife, Julie, with no job of her own and no desire to pursue a career, began to feel neglected. The boys grew up, both sets of grandparents had died, and her perceived role in the family diminished. She was, however, still an attractive woman. In 2010 Simon came home early from work and discovered his wife in bed with another man. Julie begged for his forgiveness and promised the affair was over, but, however hard Simon tried, he could not forget her transgression. In 2012 he asked for a divorce. He sold the business, gave Julie an income and the family home in Ninfield, and bought himself a substantial pension. He purchased the house in Battle, close to his older son, Joe and his family. Oliver stayed in Ninfield with his mother. Since the divorce, Julie had made every attempt to turn her younger son against his father, but despite occasional hostility, Simon had managed to maintain a relationship with Oliver.

  However, even with Joe close by and with considerable financial security in retirement, Simon had not coped well with the adjustment to a life which had changed so suddenly. He was lonely and felt restless, now without full-time work or marriage.

  “Are you sure you don’t want to go back to her? After all, it’s only been a few years,” Louise asked fearfully.

  “I could never go back, Lou. I know I seem pretty easy going, but I find it difficult to forgive people, when they really hurt me. I felt like that, on your behalf, when I met Karen and discovered what she had hidden from you.”

  Simon went into the kitchen to clear away. In his head he could still hear Louise’s words to Oliver about marriage. “Well it is a possibility,” Louise had said. Louise followed the sound of scraping plates and watched Simon bend over the dishwasher and slide the crockery into the rack. He sensed her presence, turned round and kissed her. “There is something about you I want to take issue with.”

  “What?”

  “You are a stealer of duvets. I had to get a blanket last night.”

  Louise giggled, “I do tend to wrap myself up when I’m tired.”

  He kissed her again, and moved his hand inside her shirt. He sensed inner arousal from deep within her body.

  “I think you and I need to practise duvet sharing. Shall we try now?” She kissed him very deliberately and led him by the hand towards the kitchen door. He stroked her back as he followed her upstairs and sat on the bed beside her. He gently unbuttoned her top and unclipped her bra. He stroked her breasts and moved his mouth over her each of her nipples before laying her down on the bed. She helped him to remove the remainder of their clothing, between kisses. He picked up the duvet, covered her body and climbed under the bedclothes beside Louise. Simon felt a renewed confidence as he eagerly began to explore her innermost places with his fingers and his lips.

  “I love you, Louise Watson.”

  “I love you, Simon Ellis.”

  Their love making was long and hard and tender.

  When they finally emerged, it was almost midday.

  Louise wanted to cook an evening meal in Simon’s kitchen. She walked into Battle to shop for food. Simon was banished from the trip, so he asked Louise if he could borrow the photograph of Nana to examine, while Louise was shopping. He printed two photocopies then scanned the original photograph into his computer. The photo was then placed safely back in the envelope.

  He enlarged the scan. There was no sign of a road name, but he could see the number nine on the front door. It was a start. He opened a free version of his location search software. Search for property… browse your computer… enter. The software threw up 7000 matches. Refine search… Kent. 600 matches. That was a bit better. He switched on his printer and produced a list. How on earth was he to sift through so much information?

  Twenty-Seven

  The Return of Bob

  As Bob approached retirement, he began to have problems with his knees. The hospital recommended knee replacement, but Bob could not be persuaded to undergo the surgery. He made medical excuses to Joan, but she suspected that he was afraid of the after-care. When Bob first moved to Hastings, Joan had called at his house, but he had not invited her in, preferring to talk to her on the doorstep. Joan soon realised that Bob never let anyone inside his house. A knee replacement would have necessitated home visits from both a carer and a district nurse, and Bob could not have coped with the intrusion. Joan occasionally asked Bob what he would do if his knees got worse, but he always changed the subject.

  When Louise finally split up with Charlie, Bob had hoped to spend more time with her, but he soon discovered that his knees would not allow him to access Louise’s studio. He found the stairs very difficult to climb, and had to stop and rest several times when he attempted them. Louise was relieved, because she thought he might have become a nuisance. She always claimed a prior engagement, when Bob invited her out somewhere else for a coffee or lunch, and he eventually stopped asking. He occasionally enco
untered Louise at Joan’s bungalow, but noticed that Louise did not stay long, if he was there.

  Joan had not been surprised by her diagnosis of cancer. She had felt increasing discomfort in her stomach over several months, and no amount of self-medication offered relief. It was only when the pain became severe, and she began to feel breathless that she visited her GP. Despite the immediate referral to hospital, it was too late for the consultant to offer any solution other than palliative care. The prognosis was estimated at about six months. Joan invited Louise for tea at the De La Warr Pavilion. She was still driving at the time, and arranged to meet Louise in the upstairs café. Joan wanted to tell Louise in a public space to avoid too many tears. She knew her daughter cried easily, but would be better controlled, if on view. She had judged the situation well. Joan delivered a well-rehearsed speech to Louise, and watched her blink back the tears.

  “Can’t they do anything, Mum?” asked Louise.

  “It’s better this way,” replied Joan. “I don’t want to be poked about and opened up just to give me a few more months.”

  Louise suspected her mother had delayed treatment on purpose. “What did Bob say?”

  “I haven’t told him yet. I wanted to tell you first.” Louise was grateful that Joan had assigned her priority.

  When Joan finally explained the situation to Bob, he seemed annoyed that Joan had told Louise first. He wanted to have a role in comforting Louise, but felt excluded. He began to regard Joan as the enemy and slowly convinced himself that it was Joan who had prevented him from getting closer to Louise. As Joan grew weaker, Bob gained a sense of self-importance. He started to enjoy the psychological power he could exert over Joan. Unable to admit to Louise that she had been right about Bob, Joan pretended that all was well. She allowed Bob to abuse her verbally and told no-one about his unkindness.

  “It’s a good thing that Peter is dead,” Bob would frequently say. “He wouldn’t want to see you looking like this. Your face has grown ugly with the cancer.” Joan was too tired to argue with Bob. Fortunately, her final two weeks were spent in a hospice, and she gave instructions that only family should be allowed to visit.

  After Joan died, Bob decided that now was the time to revive his relationship with Louise. Louise would inherit sufficient money to buy somewhere more accessible, and she would undoubtedly be grateful for the attention he had paid to Joan in her later years. He imagined his old age sitting in a seafront conservatory holding Louise’s hand. In his solitude, the fantasy had become very real. He began to drive regularly to Robertsbridge and park somewhere hidden, where he could take secret photos of Louise, as she left her studio. He still had a key to Joan’s bungalow, and made occasional visits. He was determined that at some stage he would surprise Louise by climbing the stairs at the studio. He waited a month until after Joan’s funeral and then drove on a mission to Robertsbridge. He had taken several pain killers and smothered his knees in analgesic gel in order to negotiate the stairs. He reached the ground floor front door and knocked loudly several times. Eventually, Doreen from the downstairs maisonette opened the ground floor entrance door.

  “Sorry to disturb you. Is Louise in?”

  “I’m afraid not, dear. She’s gone to stay with her young man.”

  “Young man?” Bob began to twitch. He knew nothing about Simon.

  “Well yes. He isn’t really young, I suppose, but he seems young to me,” explained Doreen.

  “I’ve got something for her. It’s a surprise. Could you let me in so I can leave it in the studio for her?”

  “And you are?”

  “Bob, I’ve known Louise since she was three.”

  “I don’t think I can give you the key, Bob, but if you leave whatever it is with me, I’ll see she gets it. She said she would only be away for a few days… probably.”

  “Thank you, but that would spoil the surprise. I’ll wait ‘til she gets back.” And Bob watched Doreen retire back into her lobby. She moved very slowly, and he glimpsed the rack of keys hanging in her hallway. Bob limped back to his car and drove home.

  Twenty-Eight

  Journey to Chatham

  In late November 2016, after a few days apart, Simon collected Louise from Robertsbridge, and they set off for Chatham. It was the week before the start of Advent, and they drove past a gathering congregation beginning to decorate the area surrounding the village memorial. They didn’t notice Bob’s car parked at a safe distance waiting for them to leave. Simon turned on the radio to hear the local traffic news. They listened in the car for a few minutes, then turned off the radio. Simon broke the silence.

  “Are you alright, Lou? I’ve missed you.”

  “I’ve missed you too, but I did have to go home and prepare for our trip.”

  “Did you manage to do any painting?”

  “No. My mind was too active. I’ve brought a few paints with me, though. I thought I might get a couple of sketches done at the dockyard.”

  “And your nightmares?”

  “Worst they’ve ever been.”

  “I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I feel responsible. Are you sure you feel strong enough to do this?”

  “You don’t have to keep asking me, Simon. I am able to make my own decisions.”

  “Sorry.”

  They stopped for a late lunch just outside of Rochester, then drove to the hotel in Chatham. Simon had insisted on paying for a suite for the five days.

  “When we go on our world cruise, you can pay,” he told Louise.

  Louise and Simon had not discussed their finances in detail, but she suspected he had money to spare. It was a modern hotel, and the room was beautiful. It had a large marble bathroom and separate lounge area. They had plenty of space. Their house sharing time together had helped them to adjust to each other’s routines. They knew who would have which side of the bed and allowed each other space to unpack.

  “Wow,” Louise finally admitted, “This suite is amazing. I think I’ll investigate my adoption more often.” Simon put his arm around Louise with affection. She suddenly felt grateful he was in his sixties. Simon would take his lead from Louise and would not overwhelm her with physical demands. She remembered being immediately pounced on by Charlie every time they had entered a hotel room. She knew Simon would keep his distance for the rest of the day. He would need to rest after the drive, and Louise needed to think.

  Simon lay on the bed and connected his laptop to the free wifi, while Louise made them both a coffee. She looked out of the seventh floor window and realised she could see the estuary. She moved a chair in front of the window, put a small plastic mat on the floor and set up her portable easel. After they had both finished their coffee, Simon fell asleep, and Louise lost herself in her painting.

  The following morning, they had an appointment with the senior administrator at Hellingham House. They ate a substantial breakfast and left plenty of time for the short car ride. The building was well signposted as Hellingham House, KCC Social Services. Simon turned into the tree-lined gravel drive and pulled in to one side.

  “I’m just giving you time to absorb this, Lou. You have an amazing visual memory, so something might register.”

  “I don’t feel like I’ve been here before. Let’s keep going.”

  Simon parked in the small tarmacked car park. They stood beside the car and looked at the building. To the left was a large extension with offices, not really in keeping with the original architecture. Louise held up her photograph from Joan’s folder and compared it with their view.

  “This is definitely it. The extension wasn’t there, and the windows are new, but the original porch is still here. Look how small I am in the photo in comparison to the doorway, and I was tall for my age. It’s almost time. Shall we knock?”

  They approached the impressive entrance and pressed the intercom.

  “Louise
Watson, here to see Mr Burton.”

  They were buzzed in. The hallway was grand with original plasterwork on the Victorian ceilings. Louise wanted to recognise something. She wanted to please Simon for his efforts, but there was no sense of the familiar.

  A man arrived and held out his hand. “Mrs Watson, welcome to Hellingham House. I am Matthew Burton.” He turned to Simon,“And you are?”

  “Simon Ellis, a friend.”

  “Good. It is always important to have support on these occasions.”

  Matthew led the way to a comfortable reception room. “Please sit down. I do have some information for you, but first I need to ask some questions. Have you got your ID?”

  Louise produced her passport. “And are you happy for Mr Ellis to be included in the disclosure?”

  “Yes.”

  “Can I call you Louise?” Louise nodded.

  “I am the senior administrator here. I have overall responsibility for personnel, health and safety and finance, but my most rewarding job is dealing with historical adoption queries. I have to warn you that the information which I disclose to applicants can sometimes be very distressing. Are you certain you want to continue?”

  “I am certain.”

  Simon gripped Louise’s hand.

  “We do have a list of counselling services which you can access, if you think it would help.”

  Simon was growing impatient, but he held his tongue.

  “How old are you Louise?”

  “I’m sixty-one.”

  “Most of our applicants are much younger. Why did you wait so long?”

  “My mother died a few weeks ago. I only discovered from a cousin recently that I was adopted. This paper and photograph were in a file at my mother’s house.” She stopped to think before continuing, “I get nightmares, unexplained flashbacks from my early childhood. I need to know my history.”