by Anna Jacobs
He spoke of her birth mother only with bitterness. If this Miranda had been so bad, why had he made a baby with her?
But Dad had always said not to pass judgement until you knew both sides of a story, so she was trying not to close any doors between them.
Now a further dilemma hovered: should she wait for Darren to finish his tour of duty and then tell him about her birth parents and ask his advice about her birth mother? No, that wasn’t how a self-reliant modern woman behaved. Katie prided herself on coping with anything and everything. A soldier’s wife had to.
It took her three days to bring herself to the point, but in the end she wrote back to the anonymous Mr or Ms Halliday saying she would like to know more and perhaps meet her mother one day. The return address on the letter was a post office box number in London.
After much thought she gave them her home address. It’d be stupid to hire a PO Box just for this and, anyway, she was in the phone book now. They could easily trace her on the Internet.
It took five days for Miranda to get a reply from the PI about her daughter. She saw another email from him when she switched on her computer in the morning and opened that one first.
Your daughter is willing to meet you. When will you be coming to England?
Jeff
‘As soon as I can,’ Miranda said softly. ‘As soon as I possibly can.’ She told the PI to say she’d be coming to England once she’d finalized a few things in Australia.
She loved her daughter’s name. ‘Katherine, familiarly known as Katie.’ She’d always loved that name, found herself murmuring ‘Katie’ at intervals. It seemed like a good omen. Or was she reading too much into things?
She got on the phone as soon as places opened for business, first contacting an auction room which had a good reputation to ask to have her possessions valued. Surely they’d sell for enough to provide the money to pay her fares and start renting a place in England? That was her first priority at the moment.
They’d not got probate on Lou’s will yet, but she could sell her own antiques straight away. Thinking of them made her angry all over again. Sebastian had refused to confirm to Hilary’s lawyer that they were indeed hers, forcing her to go through another series of hoops to prove that to the stupid woman’s satisfaction.
Although Miranda stressed the urgency of her wish to sell, the auctioneer said they were very busy planning a special auction of rare antiques. He asked what exactly she had for sale, and she mentioned one or two pieces, especially the eighteenth century chest of drawers and one of Lou’s paintings, which was by a well-known Australian artist. There was dead silence at the other end of the line, then he said, ‘I’ll send someone round this afternoon. It’ll not be till about four o’clock, but if it’s urgent, I’ll make an exception for you.’
He was doing it for himself, not her, she thought, putting down the phone, because he scented something valuable. That thought lifted her spirits a little. She went to look at the chest of drawers, running her fingers across its beautiful gleaming wood. Perhaps it was worth more than she’d thought? She didn’t really want to sell it, but hardened her heart, reminding herself she had no choice.
The rent money from the trust’s flat would make a big difference in England, too, helping with her daily living expenses. And surely she’d be able to get some sort of job?
She kept copies of all the business correspondence, printing out emails, photocopying letters and sending backup copies of everything to Sally, who had offered to remain her lawyer. Miranda had offered payment for this.
‘No need. I’m doing this for my own satisfaction, and for Lou,’ Sally had said, grinning as she added, ‘And just a little bit for women’s lib. Don’t let the cause down, Miranda Fox. Get out there and make a new life for yourself. That’ll be payment enough for me.’
‘I will.’
Miranda smiled at that memory and went home full of enthusiasm, sure she was well on the way to a new life, only to find a letter waiting for her from her father’s lawyer, Mr Tressman, to say that he and his fellow trustee didn’t feel it right to sell the flat when real estate prices were so depressed.
Knowing Sebastian, she’d expected that but was still disappointed. All right. She would manage without their help and if she ever got together any spare money, she’d take them to court about how they were managing the trust.
The valuer arrived at four thirty and went through her possessions carefully, not quite managing to hide his excitement at what she showed him. He refused to give her a valuation estimate, however, until he’d called in a colleague.
‘Now?’ she asked in surprise.
‘Right now. If what I suspect is correct, we don’t want to leave them uninsured for even an hour longer.’
There was only one conclusion to be drawn from that and excitement began to bubble up inside her.
The valuer and his colleague didn’t leave till eight o’clock that evening, phoning for insurance before taking the chest of drawers with them, carefully wrapped and secured. By that time Miranda was exhausted but elated. Some of the objects were definitely valuable then. It looked like she would have more than enough to live on and even buy a decent car.
She wished she could ask Lou if she was doing the right thing, though, or had someone to share her jubilation with. How had she let herself get to this age without making any real friends? Why had she let her family trap her in such a cloistered existence?
Since Jack was out and Tania had found herself another job, Miranda went into the kitchen to find something to eat. She’d have to go shopping for food soon, but only for herself. Jack was going to start looking for a new job next week and seemed confident that it’d only take him a day or two to find one. After that she’d be completely on her own here.
She made a sandwich and afterwards walked slowly round the house, room after room, at least half of them unfurnished. Ridiculous of Lou to move in here, only he’d not had time to wait for somewhere else suitable for a wheelchair to come vacant, and as it turned out, she was glad he’d had the pleasure of spending his final days in a beautiful home by the water.
She might as well close the place up and go to England straight away, or at least as soon as the auction was over.
That made her wonder about the year-long lease. She hated the thought of wasting the money that had gone into it. A place like this cost a fortune. The mere thought of how much made her cringe. Could she let it temporarily? She went into the office and made a note to ring up the rental agent the following morning.
Although she stayed up late, reading in bed, she didn’t hear Jack come home and felt a little nervous. She was grateful for the security system, but even that wasn’t enough to give her a peaceful night. She kept starting awake, wondering if she’d heard a sound.
In the morning she woke with a dull headache and a fierce determination, born of the long wakeful hours, to get out of here as soon as possible.
Nikki watched Tim set off for school then she put the kettle on again. She was free first period and had a special dispensation to come in late, because of her condition. The kitchen was more like an alcove, and a dark one at that. You had to switch the light on to work in here.
Tim had left everything neat and tidy, he always did, but she looked round with loathing. She hated this place, especially the cockroaches that sometimes crawled out of crevices. She’d lost interest in Tim, in making love, in everything. What was mainly keeping her going was a grim determination to get the best possible results in her exams. After that, she’d re-evaluate the whole situation.
On an impulse she rang her mother. ‘I thought I’d pop round to visit you tonight. If you’d like, that is . . . if you’re free.’
‘Nikki, I’d love it. Come for tea. Um . . . do you want to bring Tim?’
‘No. He’s got some studying to do. I’ll see you around five thirty then.’
‘You still have your key. Come straight after school. I’ll run you home afterwards.’
‘All right.’
As she got ready to leave for school, Nikki looked down at her stomach, which was beginning to swell. Not much but she could feel the difference. She hated that, was dreading looking like a beached whale. She was excused games now, more because the sports teacher wasn’t taking any risks, she suspected, than because she couldn’t keep up with the others. Instead she had to walk briskly round the games field or gym on her own, because everyone kept saying it was still important to exercise. She’d rather have found a hole and crawled into it during games lessons because she wanted to join in. She’d always loved sport.
At school she tried to keep in with her old group of friends, but they chatted about boyfriends, clothes and pop music, all of which had lost their appeal to her at the moment. If she mentioned anything about being pregnant, there was an awkward silence and they’d ask half-hearted questions then quickly change the subject. She listened to them making arrangements to go out clubbing, or to sleep over at each other’s houses. No one invited her to sleep over any more.
The counsellor and nurse were keeping an eye on her, so she tried to appear cheerful when she was with them. She wasn’t sure she’d fooled them, though.
Let’s face it, she wasn’t sure about anything any more, except that she didn’t want to spend her life with Tim – and didn’t know how to tell him that. He was a really nice guy, like a happy, bumbling puppy, and quite good-looking too – but that sort of thing wasn’t enough for a whole lifetime.
She didn’t know what she wanted, just not to be with him all the time. His perpetual cheerfulness was driving her mad, and she was sick of hearing him talk about soccer.
Miranda had timed things well. There was a fine antiques auction the week after she’d had her things valued. The auctioneers set a reserve price on each item. The amount they set on the chest of drawers took her breath away and it was a moment or two before she could speak.
‘It can’t be worth that much, surely? I mean, it’s just been standing around full of rubbish for years.’
The auctioneer smiled at her. ‘We’d have put a higher reserve if you hadn’t been so eager to sell quickly, or we might even have sent it to London. Western Australia is a bit of a backwater as far as antiques of that calibre are concerned.’
She frowned, trying to do the sums in her head, then said slowly, ‘Put a higher reserve on it, then. I should have enough to get me to London without that.’
The second valuer smiled. ‘Good.’
Heartened by this, Miranda called to see the estate agent who’d rented them the house and explained that she wanted to terminate the lease and get some of her money back.
He frowned at her. ‘We couldn’t refund the whole amount. There are expenses to be incurred in trying to let that house again.’
‘But you could give me some of it back?’
‘If we manage to let it. Not everyone can afford such an expensive property. It might just sit there for months. Do you want us to try?’
‘I certainly do,’ the new Miranda said and proceeded to bargain them down on what would constitute ‘expenses’.
She’d not paid much attention to the weather in her eagerness to get things moving, but now she found herself caught in a heavy shower, one of the first of the rainy season. She took refuge in a café, saw Dorothy sitting on her own and hesitated.
Her sister-in-law beckoned her across.
As she took her seat, Miranda said, ‘I wasn’t sure whether you’d want to speak to me after I took out an injunction to keep Sebastian at a distance.’
Dorothy shrugged. ‘That’s none of my business. It certainly put him in a foul mood, though.’
Miranda was surprised. Her sister-in-law didn’t usually say anything critical about her husband.
Dorothy gave her a wry glance. ‘He’s not the easiest of husbands.’
‘No. I imagine not. I’m sorry.’
‘I cope. I’m not brave enough to defy him, as you’ve been doing lately.’
‘Brave? Me? I don’t think so.’
Dorothy smiled. ‘In your own way you are. And you coped all those years with your father – how, I don’t know. Tell me what you’re going to do with yourself now.’
‘Go and live in England. I’ll have to rent somewhere, since the trust refuses to sell that horrible flat.’
‘It’s a dreadful place, isn’t it? I told them at the time it was too small and they’d get a better return from a larger place, but Sebastian overruled me. Where are you going to live? Somewhere near Regina?’
‘Probably. I don’t know. Depends on rental prices and what’s available in her area.’ Miranda suddenly realized she was being skilfully pumped for information and decided to offer some for free. ‘You have excellent taste, by the way.’
‘Do I? In what?’
‘Furniture. That chest of drawers you’ve always admired turns out to be very valuable, and so are my aunt’s other antiques. Strange, how it all works out. If I hadn’t had all this upset, I’d not have had to sell them and would never have realized what a fine legacy she’d left me.’
‘May I ask how valuable?’
‘Go to the premium antiques auction at Peabody’s next week and find out.’ As the rain seemed to have eased up, she finished her coffee and stood up. ‘Have to rush. There’s a lot to do.’
She looked back into the café as she passed the huge window and saw Dorothy already speaking on her mobile phone. No doubt calling Sebastian.
Suddenly Miranda laughed aloud, not caring whether people stared at her. She was doing it, coping, planning her escape, and to hell with Sebastian.
She ought to have done this years ago, and maybe she would have if she’d realized how long her father would live.
Nikki let herself into her mother’s flat, kicked off her shoes in the hall and walked slowly round her old home. She’d thought it a terrible place to live, with no garden and only her own bedroom when she wanted to have her friends round. Now, it would seem the height of luxury.
Her former bedroom was nearly as big as the whole of the studio flat she and Tim were living in, and had its own modern shower room. She was surprised to find her things as she’d left them, and couldn’t resist picking up one or two of her favourite books, comfort reads, and stuffing them into her school bag.
In the kitchen she found a note saying ‘HELP YOURSELF’ with a smiley face beside the scrawled words. She made a mug of drinking chocolate, an old favourite when she got home from school, and sat at the table drinking it slowly and eating one of the coconut snacks her mother loved and always had in.
When she looked at the clock there was still an hour before her mother got home, so she went to sit on the comfortable sofa, leaning her head against its velvet softness just for a minute or two. She’d do some of her homework after that.
Regina let herself into the flat, saw Nikki’s shoes in the hall and frowned to see how scuffed and worn they were. There was no sound coming from the living area, so she opened the door tentatively, wondering if Nikki was lost in her homework.
When she saw her daughter fast asleep on the sofa, long lashes resting on her cheeks, hair looking ragged and in need of a cut, she moved quietly into the room. Nikki’s face looked thinner and there were dark circles under her eyes. Her stomach was pushing against the school skirt, and she’d been biting her fingernails, too, something she hadn’t done for years.
This wasn’t the face of a happy person.
Regina moved across to the kitchen and switched on the kettle, trying to keep quiet, but soon heard sounds of Nikki stirring.
‘Oh, you’re back, Mum. I must have dozed off. I was going to do some homework while I waited for you.’
‘You can do it later. I thought I’d cook a chicken stir-fry, if that’s all right with you.’
‘Sounds wonderful. No one does chicken stir-fry as well as you. Can I do anything to help?’
‘You can do the onions. You know how they make me cry.’
They worked tog
ether, as they had done so often. ‘I’ve missed having you around,’ Regina said softly.
‘I’ve missed being here.’
‘Are things not working out? Is he . . . not treating you well?’
‘You couldn’t find a nicer guy than Tim, but . . .’
‘But what?’
‘It doesn’t matter.’
‘It does to me.’
‘I don’t want to spend my life with him. I don’t want to be tied down at all.’ She suddenly burst into tears. ‘I’ve made such a mess of things!’
‘It’s too late now for an abortion.’
‘I still wouldn’t have one. I told you. I can’t face that. Oh, you don’t understand!’
As she swung away, Regina caught hold of her and pulled her into a tight embrace. ‘I do understand. Truly, I do.’
‘How can you?’
She hesitated. She’d kept the secret for so many years. ‘Let me finish this and I’ll tell you something. You’re old enough now.’
She served up the food, which she hadn’t the slightest desire to eat, and gestured to her daughter to begin eating. But neither of them showed any great appetite.
‘What were you going to say?’ Nikki asked at last, pushing her plate away.
‘I suppose you can’t have a drink. Would you mind if I had a glass of wine? This isn’t going to be easy for me.’
She’d wondered whether one day she’d reveal all to her daughter, and now she knew the time had come.
Twelve
Brody tried to arrange to meet his daughter a third time, calling and getting her voicemail, so was only able to leave a message. It seemed like a very long time till she replied. He wondered if he dare push to see his grandson this time, but she was so cool with him he only dared take things slowly.
At their meeting he asked casually, ‘What did your husband think about you meeting me?’