by Diana Finley
‘B-Barry?’ he asks nervously.
‘Robert!’ I say. ‘Robert … this is wonderful! I’m so happy to see you.’ I stand up and move round the table towards him.
We’re standing face to face, staring at each other in silence. I’m not sure whether to extend my hand for a handshake, or to launch straight into a hug. I feel myself swaying, my legs suddenly weak and shaky. Sweat rolls down my spine.
‘Barry … are you OK?’ He looks at me anxiously.
I gather myself and try to smile reassuringly. ‘Yes … yes … Robert, I’m fine. This is all quite a shock, isn’t it? I feel quite overcome and shaky, but I’m absolutely fine. All the better for seeing you!’
I step forward and put my arms around him. He hesitates and then hugs me back, his embrace more uncertain than mine. He snuffles into my shoulder. For a moment I have no words for this situation. Those I had carefully prepared have deserted me. My brain has turned to mush. I can think of nothing to say to my brother.
‘Robert …’ I take a deep breath and start again. ‘Robert … Robert … thank you for coming. This is wonderful, isn’t it?’
‘Yes … yes … I … I don’t know …’ He gulps, rendered even more inarticulate than me. He wipes his eyes with the back of his hand.
I lean back a little, placing my hands on his shoulders. In the face of his reticence, his nervousness, I take charge. I notice the violent trembling of my brother’s body, tears now rolling down his cheeks.
‘Come, sit,’ I say gently, releasing him and returning to my seat. It’s a double wooden bench seat. I pat the cushion beside mine. ‘Come. Come and sit down.’
He takes a seat, turning his head to look expectantly at me. We are now side by side.
The fire is blazing like a furnace, making the small room uncomfortably hot. I rummage in my pocket and bring out a handkerchief. There’s something ridiculous about its red spotted design. I mop my face just before the café owner steps through the doorway.
‘Now then, gents, what can I get you? Eeee, but you’re nice and cosy in here with the fire, aren’t you? Open the window if you get too hot.’
‘I’d like two poached eggs on toast please,’ I say decisively, consulting the menu, ‘followed by a piece of that delicious-looking coffee walnut cake … and a pot of tea for us both …?’ I look at Robert for confirmation, holding up the menu for him to see.
‘What about you …?’
‘Yes. Same,’ he blurts, without looking, ‘please.’
‘Oh well, that’s straightforward then, isn’t it?’ says the woman with a cheery smile, and bustles out of the room.
Although the gloom blurs some of the details of each of our faces, I can tell he looks very like me. I wonder if he’s surprised by my beard, hurriedly grown in preparation for our meeting. It must obliterate half my face. I remember I’m still wearing the large sunglasses. They might strike Robert as odd, if not ridiculous, in such darkness. I take them off and slip them into my breast pocket.
‘I didn’t expect you to have a beard,’ he says. ‘Have you always had it?’
‘Well, not when I was a kid,’ I say with a smile, ‘but for a while.’
I peer at him and then put my sunglasses on again.
‘Sorry about these,’ I say. ‘Looks stupid in these conditions I know, but … erm … I’ve recently been diagnosed as having … er … glaucoma and they’re supposed to help.’
I wonder briefly if actually having glaucoma would mean Robert, as a twin, would also have it. Do identical twins always have the same ailments? As far as I know, my eyesight had always been good, with no need for glasses of any sort. The ‘glaucoma’ is a pretence to explain the sunglasses.
Robert is staring intently at me. ‘Barry, did our … er … mother … have cancer for long? Did she suffer?’
‘For a few months. She had some treatment … It helped, but you know, not in the end. She was brave though.’ I pause, looking at him. He looks so sad. ‘Robert,’ I continue, ‘I’m sorry it wasn’t possible to make contact with you until after our mother had died. It’s very sad that you couldn’t have met her.’
He nods and looks thoughtful. ‘What was she like?’
‘Marie? That was her name, Marie Tully. She was a very emotional person. Very loving and sweet-natured, although I didn’t always find her easy. We had a bit of an up and down relationship.’
He nods.
‘She only told me about you recently, but I know she never got over having to give you up to be adopted, Robert, never. Of course, she’d be out of her mind with joy to think of us sitting together like this. It’s so good I was able to trace you, so good – just a shame it couldn’t have happened a bit sooner … a lot sooner.’
‘I never knew … anything about her. Nor about you, Barry.’
‘Yeah. I know. It’s strange to think of us each growing up, exactly the same age, yet knowing nothing about one another, isn’t it?’
‘Why didn’t our mam, I mean Marie, tell you about me until recently?’
‘Well, yes, good question … I think … perhaps misguidedly, she thought it would upset me when I was a kid. Then, I suppose even when I was a young adult, she wasn’t sure how I’d react. I’ve been through some difficult times, so probably she thought such momentous news was more than I could cope with, that it would further disturb me. It was meant well, I suppose, but … misjudged.’
‘Mmm.’ Robert looks thoughtful. He fiddles with the cutlery. ‘And did it?’ He looks straight at me.
‘Did it what?’
‘Did it upset you, disturb you?’
‘It was quite a shock, if I’m honest, finding out about you. But it certainly didn’t upset me, Robert. It took me a while to process the idea of having a twin brother – as I’m sure it has you too? But far from being upset, I’m delighted, really I am. It’s almost as though there was a gap, a vacuum, in my life as I was growing up – and that you’ve filled that now.’
He smiles and presses his hand on my arm for a moment.
‘So, let’s not regret the time gone by, eh? Let’s just make up for lost time. Now that we’ve found each other, we must never lose contact, must we? Now, I really want to hear something about you, Robert. Tell me about your life. What about your adoptive parents? Why didn’t that work out?’
‘I honestly can’t remember a thing about that time, Barry. I was only two when they returned me to the local authority. I suppose I was a difficult and disturbed child. I wasn’t happy in the children’s homes. They were very … impersonal, not like being part of a family.’
So we talk, and talk. I make sure to demonstrate great interest as Robert tells me of his life up to now. It sounds depressingly bleak, and I can’t help feeling sorry for him – that great series of dreary orphanages, the mostly unsuccessful foster homes, the lack of affection, of stability, or of real opportunities, despite him clearly being intelligent.
It was all so cold, so limited and pathetic compared to the warmth and almost cloying devotion I’ve been shown by Mother and Auntie Erna. I tell him about my education and how fortunate I’ve been to be supported by Erna Goldstein. Robert tells me he did have one or two positive experiences with good and caring teachers who showed a special interest in him and encouraged him. Thank God for them.
‘The only really happy time I remember was with a couple of lovely foster parents, Len and Betty, when I was much older, twelve or thirteen,’ Robert says, ‘They were like a mam and dad and grandparents all rolled into one. I loved them to bits, but they died too soon.’
He looks so sad as he talks about them, yet he appears completely without bitterness, which amazes me. I reach out and squeeze his arm.
‘I’m really glad you had that experience, Robert, even though it was too short.’
‘Aye,’ he says thoughtfully.
I laugh. ‘You know, Robert, that’s the first “Geordie-ism” you’ve come out with! I was worried I might not understand you – I expected you to talk with a stro
ng Geordie accent when I heard you live in Newcastle! But it’s hardly noticeable at all.’
We both laugh at that.
‘The thing is,’ Robert says, ‘I moved that many times as a kid, all over the country, so many different orphanages and foster homes and schools, that I had to get used to a new local accent each time! I got pretty good at imitating them. You had to, or you were marked out as an outsider, and that made you a target – fair bait for the bullies. I found I could switch from one way of talking to another at the drop of a hat. Some of the kids could be pretty rough. I think I ended up with almost no accent at all.’
‘Must have been really tough. Mum would have been so upset to know what you had to go through.’
He nods.
I tell Robert a bit about my own life.
‘You’ve been very successful compared to me,’ Robert says.
‘If making money counts as success, I suppose I have …’
‘But …?’
‘But my relationship with my mother … our mother … was tricky at times, and my marriage to my wife, Anaïs, is not going too well just now … on the rocks, in fact, some might say. Mostly my fault, I guess. I’ve never admitted that openly to anyone that before,’ I say, swallowing hard. ‘Are you married, Robert?’
‘No, I’m not, no children either. I’ve had some girlfriends, of course, but no real long-term relationship.’
We look at one another sympathetically. I feel a need to try to deflect the emotional turn our conversation has started to take.
‘At least we share a lovely little daughter, Anaïs and I – Nina. She’s four years old. She’s adorable.’
‘Well, you’re a lucky man then,’ he says, smiling at me.
***
After we finish our meal, I suggest we walk together along the river and past the imposing cathedral. Robert agrees, and we stand up and gather up our things. He spots something on the floor under the table and bends down to pick it up. He squints at a folded piece of paper.
‘Some sort of letter,’ he says turning it round in his hand. ‘I think you must have dropped it, Barry.’
‘Oh, yes … I think I did. Thanks.’ I hastily stuff it into my bag. ‘Now, I’ll just go and pay. No, I insist, Robert! I’m a rich man, remember?
***
Outside, the sun is lower in the sky but still shining brightly. I’ve put on my sunglasses, hat and coat again. I’m aware I must look a bit odd and formal compared to Robert. Perhaps the smart, expensive outfit was a mistake for a casual meeting up of twin brothers, especially the Homburg-style hat? Altogether somewhat old-fashioned and strange, what with the straggly beard and sunglasses too. I must have made a mysterious and unconventional impression.
‘Do you want me to take your arm, Barry? I mean, the path’s a bit rough and steep. I just wondered … what with your eyes and that?’
I’m taken by surprise for a moment, but I thank Robert and assure him I can manage.
We walk all around the riverside, circling the cathedral towering over us. I do most of the talking. Robert’s not a garrulous type. Yet there’s a warmth, there’s an honesty about him.
We find a bench overlooking the river.
‘Let’s sit here for a few minutes, shall we? I’m going to have to get my train back to London shortly – and I’m just remembering that steep hill up to the station!’
‘Aye, it’s quite a pull all right,’ he says with a smile. ‘Thanks for coming all this way north to see me, Barry. I really appreciate that. It’s been really … special.’
‘Robert, what’s a three-hour train ride between brothers? It’s been fantastic to meet you, very special, as you say. It’s really great that we’re making a start at getting to know one another. I’m so happy about that. But there are years and years to catch up on, aren’t there? Far too many for just one meeting. I suggest we meet again soon – very soon … say in about two months’ time? What do you think about that?’
‘Yes, I’d like that very much.’ He gives me a sidelong look, half-pleased, half-embarrassed.
‘Please don’t be offended by me saying this, Robert,’ I say carefully, ‘but it seems to me that you’ve been pretty unlucky in your life, whereas I’ve had things fairly easy. From what you’ve told me today, I can tell that life hasn’t always been easy for you over the years. I realise that I’ve been fortunate in having many opportunities, which you haven’t …’
Robert glances briefly down at his cheap-looking, ill-fitting clothes. Probably from a charity shop, I realise. Then he raises his head and looks at my obviously expensive outfit, my leather case, my smart shoes, and he nods.
‘Look, Robert, I don’t want to embarrass you, but I really want to give you a little contribution now, to help make things a bit easier and … more comfortable for you …’
‘Thanks, Barry … but there’s no need. I’m OK, you know …’
‘You’re more than OK – I really admire how you’ve coped with such difficult times and stayed positive. Anyway, next time we meet,’ I continue, ‘I’d like us to discuss how I can help you get your life … erm … to turn in a much more positive direction.’
I hold a fat envelope and reach it towards him.
‘Barry,’ he says, his voice a bit shaky, ‘I’m really happy to get to know you, happier than I can say. I’m really pleased you want to see me again … but there’s no need … you don’t have to … I don’t expect …’
I put my hand up to stop him. ‘Please, Robert, please take it. It’s a pleasure to help you – my brother – in whatever way I can, I mean it. Now, I must just head to the gents’ in that pub we passed, and then we better make our way to the station to get our trains home.’
Robert is still hesitating, so I gently press the envelope into his hand.
‘Thank you, Barry, that’s very kind, but all I really want is to stay in touch, to see you again and get to know you better.’
As we walk up the steep hill towards the station, I try not to show what an effort it is for me. I really must make an effort to improve my fitness. I notice Robert looking furtively at me every now and then.
***
At the station, my southward train is the first due to arrive. Robert waits on the platform with me. I hand him an ordnance survey map of Northumberland.
‘Present for you, Robert. Maybe we can meet in Northumberland for one of our future get-togethers? I’d really like to share some of my favourite places with you, and this is one of them. But let’s plan for a rendezvous, convenient for both of us next time – like Durham has been. Do you think early April would be good for our next meeting?’
‘Hmm, I’ll have to consult my social diary,’ he says with a grin, ‘but it sounds like a pretty good time to me.’
‘Fine. Let’s talk about the details of meeting up when we’re next in touch.’
I’m pleased he feels relaxed enough with me to make a joke.
The train rumbles slowly into the station. We embrace warmly, without reserve this time.
‘It’s been so good to see you, Robert. I’ll give you a ring in a day or two.’
I step up into the nearest carriage and turn to give Robert a wave.
Chapter 27
2004
Robbie
I think a lot about my meeting with my brother, with Barry. I find myself thinking particularly about my – about our – mother. I’m aware the relationship between Barry and Marie has been complicated and not too easy. My predominant feeling about her is sadness. Why couldn’t Barry have found me before she died? That really hurts. I would so like to have met her, to have known her. Now that can never be. There’s a great hollowness, a deep sorrow inside me to think I’ll never know my mother. Marie. Knowing her name makes her real somehow for the first time. A real mother I can never know.
What do I think of Barry? What do I feel about him? Certainly I’m flattered and delighted that he likes me enough to want to meet again, and so soon. Yet, there’s something mysterious about m
y brother – the oddness of his clothes, and something a bit stiff and formal about his manner. Maybe it’s to do with him being a southerner – I haven’t met many of them before – or maybe it’s because he’s so much richer and more sophisticated than me. He’s generous with his money though. That envelope he stuffed into my hand contained a thousand pounds!
In a way, he felt more like an older brother than a twin, but I put that down to the way he took charge, took control of the conversation a lot of the time we were together. Probably because he’s more confident, and I was so nervous.
I wonder fleetingly whether maybe he doesn’t want us to be seen together – not recognised as twins anyway? Why would that be? Perhaps he’s a bit ashamed to have a twin brother who’s so obviously less affluent, doesn’t want it known that I’m his twin? It almost feels that way. Was that why he took trouble to look slightly odd and unconventional? Was it to make him look different from me? Doesn’t really make much sense though, after going to so much trouble to arrange for us to meet up. None of it makes much sense. Maybe it’s just too much to process suddenly, out of the blue. I suppose I may need much longer.
***
Just a week later, another letter from Barry arrives. My brother certainly seems keen on his letters. It arrives only two weeks after our initial meeting. Reading it, I realise Barry might have been too embarrassed to communicate the information verbally over the phone, even though he knows I’ve bought a mobile with some of the money he gave me.
I’m quite pleased to see that this letter is much shorter than the last one! But its contents really shake me to the core.
Dear Robert (or should I start calling you Donal?!),