Inheritance

by Thomas Wymark

Number 33 had a holly bush outside. Almost a holly tree. It was a tidy looking house. Painted white with neat borders and shrubs at the front. There was a garage, and no car parked in the drive. I could see lights on inside.

  ‘Drive past,’ I said to Neil. ‘Not too slow, they might see us.’

  Neil looked at me and drove on past the house.

  ‘How far do you want me to go?’ he said.

  ‘Just up to the end, then turn round and come back again.’

  On the return journey the house was on my side. I thought I saw shadows moving inside, but it might have been reflections on my window as the car moved forwards.

  ‘Keep going,’ I said again. ‘To the end.’

  At the end of the road Neil pulled over to the kerb.

  ‘What now?’ he said.

  My thoughts were spinning away from me so fast I wasn’t sure I could catch any of them. A boa constrictor had wound itself around my body and the air I desperately needed was only going one way — out.

  I opened my door and pushed my head out. It would have looked like I was being sick to any onlooker weird enough to look. But instead I was gasping for air. Trying to suck it into me. I was aware of pushing at the invisible snake still wrapped around my torso. In the distance I heard Neil’s voice. I signalled to him to just give me a minute. His voice fell silent.

  When the snake finally slithered away, I turned to Neil. My face burned and my hand came away from it clammy.

  ‘Sorry,’ I said. ‘I just needed some air.’

  ‘Are you OK?’

  ‘I’m fine. It’s just … you know.’

  He nodded. Waited for me to speak.

  ‘Now we’re here,’ I said. ‘I don’t really know what to do. I’m scared, Neil. I’m scared of what I might find. My mother might be dead. I might have the most horrendous mental illness waiting in my genes. Sleeper cells, primed and ready to activate as soon as they get the order to go.

  ‘What if he doesn’t want to know me? What if he’s hostile? Or denies being my father? Or tells me to fuck off and never darken his door again? Of course I want to see him, and if my mother is still alive … but the consequences could be enormous.’

  ‘That’s why we’re here, Chris. The consequences either way are potentially enormous. You’re already in the queue for a psychiatric assessment, which could happen any time now. Things are already not looking good. This has the potential to at least bring some clarity, some certainty. Even if there is no good news, at the very least you might find some truth.’

  I knew he was right. There was nothing to fear here, except inaction. Failure to do anything would indeed be failure. To have come all this way only to turn back at the final hurdle would be madness — which of course was part of the reason I was there. But still something shook within me.

  ‘Could you ring the doorbell?’ I said. ‘Ring the doorbell and run away?’

  ‘Are you serious?’

  ‘Then I can get a look at him when he comes to the door. Or maybe my mother.’

  ‘Chris, that doesn’t sound like a good idea, really. I’d be seen by someone. And these people, your father and possibly your mother, are getting on a bit. I don’t think it’s right to worry them like that.’

  I stared out of the window but focused on nothing. I chewed on my fingernail again. Rubbed my itching eyebrow.

  ‘Could you pretend to be someone?’ I said. ‘Like you did at the golf club. Just get him to the door, and pretend to be someone. A Jehovah or something?’

  ‘Do I look like a Jehovah? Seriously? I wouldn’t have the first idea what to say to him.’

  ‘What about a salesman,’ I said. ‘You could pretend to be selling insurance or double-glazing. I’ll hang around in the car and watch.’

  ‘I can, Chris. But what good would that do? You already know what he looks like from the photo in the directory. You don’t need to see him again. You need to meet him. Speak to him. I will come with you. We’ll go together. We’re in this together.’

  Except that we weren’t. Yes, Neil was with me. But he wasn’t in it with me. I was the one with the mental illness cells, I was the one with the scars on my head and I was the one whose parent or parents were behind the door of number 33 Pine Avenue. Parents I had no knowledge of and who had no knowledge of me. Thirty six years with no contact either way was a lot to overcome.

  ‘Come with me then,’ I said. ‘Stay with me and we’ll go there now. We’ll walk there.’

  Neil parked the car up on the kerb as I tried to make my hair look decent in the sun-visor mirror. We climbed out of the car and Neil came round to join me on the pavement. He took my hand and squeezed it as we started off, step by step, down Pine Avenue.

  I looked up at the trees for evidence that the chill brushing the back of my neck had been caused by a breeze. But the leaves were still. I felt the snake slip its body around mine again, and breathed as deeply as I could, before it became impossible to do so. The sound of our shoes on the pavement echoed around the empty space that seemed to currently exist inside my head. All the previous contents had vacated the area.

  As Neil let go of my hand and took my arm instead, I realised I was trembling. My whole body was shaking. As though I had been too long in the cold, and hypothermia was just setting in. I was relying entirely on Neil to keep our forward momentum going. My vision had blurred and my version of time had broken down. For the first time since becoming ill, I wanted a blackout. We may have walked for days, but all too soon the echoing footsteps died.

  ‘We’re here, Chris.’

  We had stopped walking and Neil’s voice was now the echo inside my head.

  ‘You need to come back,’ he said. ‘Focus. Look at me, Chris. Make sure you’re here.’

  I turned my shivering head towards him and blinked my eyes several times. The colour had gone from his face and his frown ran deep. Because I was shaking so much, it made it look like Neil was too. I wished I could stop shaking so I could see whether he really was.

  He held my shoulders and looked into my eyes. I thought for a moment he was going to shake me back and forth, like they do in the movies.

  ‘Don’t forget who you are,’ he said. ‘You’re Christine Marsden. The best thing that ever happened to me. You’re my wife, my lover and my best friend. You are the mum of Michael and Rose and you’re everything to us.’

  He leaned forward and kissed my forehead.

  ‘And you’re The Mighty Atom!’

  The chill that had been touching the back of my neck turned to a warm breeze. The constricting snake was gone and the afternoon air flowed into me as it did to everyone else who breathed. My heart played its part by returning to its anatomically correct position, and functioning at something closer to its normal speed. And the vacant plot in my mind suddenly became filled again with all the paraphernalia and junk that had existed there before.

  Before me I saw lists. Lists of questions I wanted to ask. All neatly written, all laid out in order of importance. At the top of the list, in large letters, was “WHY?”. The last thing I wanted was for everything to sound like recriminations. I mentally moved the question to the bottom of the list and hoped it would stay there. And sounds came to me. Cars drifting past in the distance. Birds, closer by, calling to each other. And the rustle of leaves blowing. There was a breeze. And Neil, breathing slowly through his nose. Calming himself down subtly, in the hope that I wouldn’t notice that he had needed to do it at all.

  I nodded at him and breathed out a long sigh. He smiled at me and we turned together walking as one up the drive to the front door of number 33.

  Neil stood back and let me ring the doorbell. Within fifteen seconds, which may have passed as fifteen years for all I knew, I was looking into the face of my father.

  He looked first at Neil and smiled. His eyes drifted down to me and his smile widened. I smiled back. But something behind his eyes flickered. His head twitched as though a tiny pin prick had pointed him in the back of his neck. His smile s
huddered slightly.

  Neil looked at me. I stared at Richard Lapton.

  He flicked his eyes up to Neil.

  ‘Can I help you?’ he said.

  His voice sounded soft. A West-Country accent. But tinged with a hint of something else. Perhaps his education had taken place in London or the South East. He didn’t sound posh, but there was definitely something added.

  ‘Mr Lapton? Neil said.

  ‘Yes?’

  Neil looked at me again, forcing Richard Lapton’s gaze to move with his. His old eyes looked into mine and the lines on his face quivered.

  ‘My name’s Christine,’ I said.

  Again something went off behind his pupils. This time a dozen pin pricks had stabbed him. A rash of colour ran up his neck. He seemed to topple backwards slightly and reached for the door frame to hold himself steady.

  ‘Yes?’ he said.

  His voice sounded throaty. As fickle as his balance had been just a few moments earlier.

  ‘Mr Lapton,’ I said. ‘I think it’s possible that I might be your daughter.’

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