by Hilary Boyd
‘Annie? Annie, are you awake?’
Annie had heard his whisper. But although rigid with irritation and thoroughly awake, she hadn’t responded.
‘I’m not drunk, if that’s what you think.’ He’d flopped into bed and attempted to snuggle up to her, laying a heavy arm across her body, the smell of alcohol rank on his breath. She’d pushed him off.
‘Why didn’t you ring me?’ she hissed at him in the darkness. ‘You said you’d be home and we waited for you. It was embarrassing in front of Daniel.’
‘I did ring …’
‘You didn’t.’
‘I’m sure I did,’ he’d protested.
‘I don’t know who you think you called, but it certainly wasn’t me.’
‘Whatever.’ He’d sounded almost surly; there was no hint of contrition in his voice. ‘I was just working.’
‘And you couldn’t tell me that?’
‘I’m sure Daniel didn’t mind.’
‘That’s hardly the point!’ The anger she’d felt had made her heart race uncomfortably. She’d tried to calm herself with a few deep breaths.
Richard had rolled over, turned his back on her. After a moment, his breathing slowed. Then she’d heard him mutter, ‘You wanted Daniel here so you could get to know him. Well, I’m not stopping you.’
She’d lain there, listening to his snoring, for what seemed like hours.
‘He’s never done this before – stayed out late, not phoned me, and so obviously been drinking,’ she told Marjory, plucking dispiritedly at the daisies. ‘Well, maybe about fifteen years ago, after a friend’s stag night. And now twice in as many weeks? It can’t be a coincidence.’
‘Maybe he really is just wanting to leave you and Daniel to get to know each other?’
‘I wish I thought that. And although the girls have been great, really supportive, Ed’s hardly spoken a civil word to me since I told him. He avoids most of my calls.’
Marjory cradled her takeaway carton of tea in her lap and was silent for a moment. Then she turned to Annie. ‘You really can’t blame them, dear. A few weeks ago it was all normal and cosy at home. Things were going well for you all. Then up springs a cuckoo and it all begins to fall apart.’
‘Daniel’s not a cuckoo!’
‘He is to Ed. And to a certain extent to Richard, too.’
‘You think I shouldn’t have let him stay?’
The old lady shrugged. ‘Hard to say … perhaps it was a bit soon.’
‘But Ed doesn’t live at home, and Richard never sees him! Daniel isn’t up when Richard leaves for work, and when he comes home, Daniel’s often out. And then the one time I ask him to be there …’
‘No, it’s not good.’
‘And it’s not like him, Marjory. He’s always been so solid, so there for me. Why is he behaving like this?’
‘You know why. He’s jealous.’
‘But I’m not having an affair with Daniel. He’s my son!’ She was exasperated. ‘He’s a grown man. Can’t he see how important this is for me?’
‘I’m sure he can. Things will be fine, I’m sure, once Daniel goes off to Edinburgh and Richard has time to reflect.’
There was a sudden squawking and two swans on the lake across the path rose from the water, their wings beating the air, their beaks snapping angrily at each other. Both women watched in silence for a moment, until the birds settled again as if nothing had happened.
Annie sighed. ‘He’s not much of a one for reflection, Richard. He’s an accountant.’
Marjory gave a laugh. ‘I’d never heard accountants were immune to self-awareness.’
‘No, well, it’s all about logic and sums with Richard. Daniel staying obviously doesn’t compute rationally and it upsets him.’
She began to gather the remnants of their sandwich packets together, angrily scrunching the paper cups into tight balls. Marjory watched her.
‘You and Richard have had such a good marriage, Annie. You’ve been happy – you fit together much better than most. He’s a good man. Don’t let this ruin things.’
‘I’m not ruining things. It’s Richard who refuses to consider Daniel part of the family.’
‘Listen …’ the old lady paused for a minute, obviously choosing her words carefully. ‘It’s quite possible that Richard – or the others for that matter – will never consider Daniel family. They might like him, they might be pleased to see him occasionally, but I told you, they haven’t the familiarity that makes family, and it’s too late for that now.’
‘I don’t believe that.’
Marjory shrugged. ‘I know, and I understand why. But if you don’t accept that this is at least a possibility – I’m not saying an inevitability – then there’s a danger you’ll fall out with Richard and Ed over Daniel. Can you afford to do that?’
Annie fought back the tears. She hated being distanced from either of them; she loved them both so much.
‘Do I have to give in to their small-mindedness then? When Lucy and Marsha have been so generous to Daniel?’
Marjory reached over and patted her hand. ‘It’s hard, dear, I realise that. I’m just saying find a way to connect with them again, if you can. This is your family.’
‘Alright … I’ll try, I suppose, but I gave in to other people’s demands before over Daniel, and I won’t do it again.’
‘You obviously feel very strongly about it, and you must do what you think is right. Just don’t expect too much from everyone else.’ Marjory gathered her bag and stretched out her hand. ‘Come on, hoick me up, my bones are beginning to crumble.’
‘Anyone home?’ Annie called up the stairs when she got back from the picnic with Marjory. Daniel’s head appeared round the banister.
‘Hi. Good day?’
She nodded up at him. ‘It’s lovely out there. Do you fancy tea on the terrace?’
‘Sounds extremely civilised. I’ll be right down.’
They settled in the wooden deckchairs outside with their tea, surveying the summer garden.
‘It’s so peaceful here,’ Daniel said, turning a grateful smile on his mother.
For a while they talked, discussing his plans for the play, his move, where he might live when he got back in September. There’s so much I want to say to him, she thought. So much that I want to hear. The days since his arrival had sped past, with precious few of the opportunities to talk with her son that she had envisaged.
‘I keep meaning to ask you. My – um – other father. I suppose that’s what you’d call him …’ Daniel spoke into a silence. ‘Did he ever get back to you?’
‘I had a drink with him on Tuesday.’ Annie looked cautiously at him. ‘He asked me not to say anything yet, he wants to think it out … about seeing you. It was a bit of a shock.’
‘I can imagine that.’ Daniel gave a short laugh.
She ignored what sounded like a pejorative tone. ‘I’m sure he will see you. He didn’t seem against it as such, but he didn’t want to let you down.’
‘What’s he like?’ Daniel glanced across at her.
‘Not quite how I remembered him, actually … sort of nicer. I liked him. He’s tall like you. Good-looking, charming.’
Daniel gave an embarrassed grin. ‘I’m glad it wasn’t as bad as you thought. I imagined from your write-up he’d be a bit of a posh arse.’
‘Posh, but certainly not an arse.’
‘Would it have made any difference, do you think,’ Daniel went on, ‘if he’d known about me right from the start?’
‘I have no idea. I imagine a shot-gun marriage would have been arranged by my mother.’ She gave a bleak smile. ‘I honestly don’t know.’
‘It must have been really hard, not telling him. Weren’t you tempted, when the adoption was being set up?’ He must have seen her expression, because he added quickly, ‘I’m not blaming you, Annie. I’d just like to know what happened.’
Maybe it would have been better for him if I had married Charles, even if it hadn’t worked out, she thought
. At least then he’d have known both his real parents.
‘I thought I might hear from him. Hoped like hell in fact. And if he’d called and wanted to see me, I would have told him, obviously. But I hated the thought of us being press-ganged into marriage when he clearly didn’t want to be with me.’
Now, telling the only person who really mattered about why she had done what she’d done, the excuses seemed so selfish, so empty of meaning. She swallowed hard, not trusting her voice.
‘The truth is, I didn’t want a baby then.’ The words fell cold and heavy into the summer air.
‘Me, you mean.’
She forced herself to meet her son’s eye. ‘Yes. I know what you’re saying, and I agree. It wasn’t just a baby, it was you I abandoned.’
She saw a frown flit across his face.
‘I’m so sorry, Daniel.’ She stopped. ‘Sorry is such an inadequate word to tell you how badly I feel, how ashamed I am. I could have kept you, I could have done it.’
‘You were young,’ he said, without much conviction, then threw his hands up in the air. ‘It’s stupid. Mum was wonderful … the most loving mother anyone could wish for. She was everything to me. I don’t know why this all matters so much to me.’
He got up and began to walk down the garden, his hands stuffed in his jeans pockets. She got up too and followed him.
‘Of course it matters.’
The afternoon was so perfect: the air still, warm, fragrant with the scent of flowers and mown grass, only the sounds of small children splashing and shouting in a blow-up pool two gardens away. Daniel stopped near the shed at the bottom of the garden and turned to Annie.
‘I can’t possibly know what you went through. It’s easy to say now that you could have kept me, or that you should have told my father, and your children. You didn’t, and I have to accept that … have to respect your reasons.’ Daniel’s speech was resolute, as if he were determined to do the decent thing by his birth mother.
She stooped to pick up a large twig from the grass.
‘What does it feel like? Being adopted?’ She couldn’t help asking him something that had long tormented her.
He looked as if he were about to tell her, then thought better of it.
‘Look, I’ve been lucky, Annie. I was loved. And if Mum hadn’t told me I was adopted, would I have felt anything but completely normal? In a way it would have been easier if she hadn’t told me.’
They stood there on the lawn, not looking at each other. She reached over to a stem of yellow roses just off the path, picking at a browning petal on one of the blooms. The sun felt very hot suddenly.
‘You ask what adoption feels like,’ he went on, ‘but it’s almost impossible to define. And I’m sure it’s different for everyone.’ He seemed to be analysing his position rather than engaging his feelings. She waited for him to go on, pressing the silky petal between her thumb and forefinger.
‘I suppose it’s as if I don’t have a solid anchor,’ Daniel said eventually. ‘Like I’m blowing in the wind. I’m sure other people feel like that too, for different reasons, but I’ve always thought it was part of being adopted.’ He paused. ‘It’s a sort of loneliness, I think. Maybe loneliness is too strong a word, but a confusion about who you are … a gap, a void. You don’t truly belong to anyone. And you can’t help wondering how it might have been.’ He looked at her, his eyes suddenly full of concern. ‘Please … don’t look at me like you pity me. I don’t want you to feel sorry for me. You asked how it feels, and I’m trying to tell you. But not so you can beat yourself up about what you did.’ He shrugged. ‘I mean, would I have been happier if you’d kept me? I’ll never know, and it’s dumb to look at happiness in such a relative way.’ He looked hard at her. ‘I am not unhappy. I wasn’t unhappy. Really I wasn’t. Please believe me.’
She wasn’t sure she did. There was a sadness behind his words she didn’t understand.
‘And finding us? Does that change anything?’
‘It makes me nervous.’
‘Nervous?’
‘Yeah. Suppose I’m not good enough … suppose I’m a disappointment to you or I don’t fit in with the family, suppose you reject me for some reason.’ He shook his head. ‘You can’t help thinking like that. It’s why so many people never do it, I reckon.’
‘I felt the same before I met you. I wanted you to approve of me so badly,’ she said. ‘But it’s been worth all the agony to finally know you. At least, for me it has.’
‘And for me too,’ Daniel said. She noticed the slight flush to his cheeks and looked away to save him further embarrassment.
Her phone rang. ‘Hi, Richard … oh … OK … why? … No, I see. OK … yes, see you later.’
Daniel looked questioningly at her.
‘Richard says not to wait, he won’t be home until tenish.’
‘I get the feeling he’s not too keen on me being here.’ His voice was hesitant.
‘Oh, no. He’s fine with it. Just got a lot on at work.’ She wasn’t going to drag Daniel into a discussion about her husband’s behaviour, but the now familiar anxiety about the distance opening up between them cast a shadow over the afternoon. ‘But Marsha’s coming over. She and Lucy are meeting for a drink in town after work and she thought she’d come and say hi.’
Supper that night was a low-key middle of the week meal, with chicken salad, cheese and fruit; it was warm enough to eat on the terrace, the candles she’d insisted on lighting still pale in the falling light. The conversation was easy-going, desultory; they were all tired from a long day and no one seemed inclined to make a special effort. She liked that. It was how normal families were.
She was in the kitchen, unwrapping the Brie and the goat’s cheese and putting them on the board, when she heard Marsha ask Daniel: ‘So … do you have a girlfriend? Or boyfriend maybe?’
She winced at Marsha’s cheek, but waited eagerly for her son’s response. This had been the one burning question she hadn’t managed to ask, and Daniel had so far volunteered no information whatsoever on the subject.
She heard his laugh, then a short silence. ‘There is someone, but it’s early days.’
‘Lucky you,’ Marsha replied. ‘Well, me, I’m fed up with the whole male species. They’re either wimps or predators.’
‘I get the predators, but how do you class a wimp?’ Daniel asked.
‘Oh, you know, media types who think they’re God’s gift because they write for a broadsheet, but couldn’t even change a light bulb or wash a sock.’
Annie heard the laughter.
‘So you’re after a Real Man? Capital R, capital M.’ The amusement in her son’s voice made her smile too.
‘Yeah … someone who has muscles that weren’t bought in a gym. Someone who could build a house, mend a burst pipe, ride a horse – or a motorbike … sail a boat across the Atlantic single-handed. That sort of thing.’
She’d never heard Marsha talk about the sort of man she wanted.
‘But is clever and could read a book as well?’ Daniel asked wryly.
‘Do I detect a certain contempt – jealousy maybe – for Real Man?’ Marsha countered. ‘News flash, Daniel Gray! Being practical and strong doesn’t rule out being literate.’
‘Well, the poor guy won’t have much time between building houses and riding about mending pipes to read anything significant!’
‘Sneer as much as you like,’ Marsha declared. ‘I know what I want.’ There was silence outside for a moment.
‘I agree with Mash,’ Lucy joined in. ‘I’m in love with Real Man already.’
‘Well, you stand more of a chance of meeting him than I do, Luce. You’ll come across loads of those earnest, shorts-wearing Médecins sans Frontières types in Africa. They have to fix dodgy generators and beat off snakes and bandits all the time. But I work in a PR company in Soho.’
‘Aren’t there more snakes and bandits in Soho than in the whole of the African continent?’ The question was Daniel’s.
; ‘Too bloody right!’
Marsha persisted. ‘So what’s your type?’
‘As a self-confessed wimp I’d definitely go for someone who could put up shelves and unblock the sink … when I get one, of course.’
Marsha’s mobile rang at that moment. Annie took the pears and cheese outside to find they were talking about a politician in the news that day.
12
Annie had neglected her mother of late, but it was still with a good deal of reluctance that she walked up the marble steps of the Cadogan Gardens flat. She knew she had to tell Eleanor about Daniel’s paternity herself, before the news filtered back to her via the gossip grapevine. She would never be forgiven if that happened.
It was a good half an hour into her visit, however, and she still hadn’t plucked up courage to reveal her long-held secret.
‘Charles Carnegie?’ her mother almost shrieked when she finally told her. ‘Angela Carnegie’s boy? He’s Daniel’s father?’
Annie nodded, almost enjoying the shock on her mother’s face.
Her mother was speechless for once. They were in her drawing room, just about to walk down Sloane Street to Harvey Nichols; Eleanor wanted some face cream.
‘Wouldn’t P.J.’s be closer?’ Annie had asked, but Eleanor was scathing in her reply.
‘Peter Jones is a very sensible shop, darling, and it certainly has its uses. But it has none of the flair of Harvey Nicks. I want to browse,’ she had told her, with a childish gleam in her eye.
‘But … but,’ spluttered Eleanor now, ‘why didn’t you tell me it was him at the time? I thought it was some lout you picked up at one of those parties that Walsh boy was always dragging you to. I assumed you didn’t even know the man’s name.’
‘Thanks, Mother,’ she replied through clenched teeth.
‘Well, darling, you can forgive me for being a little suspicious, seeing as you waited thirty years to tell me who he is.’
‘What’s that got to do with it?’
‘Don’t be rude, Annie.’ Her mother went quiet for a moment, and Annie wondered what she was thinking.
‘You’re a very stupid girl not to have told me. Carnegie would have married you.’