by Diana Finley
‘Would you like a glass of wine, Anaïs?’
She shoots me a look of surprise, puzzlement. This conversation is a total minefield. Panicky thoughts follow one after the other. I feel sweat prickling on the back of my neck, trickling an oleaginous stream down my spine. What had I said that was wrong? Possibilities rampage through my brain. Does she not drink? Maybe she’s a reformed alcoholic, or teetotal, or doesn’t approve of alcohol?
Was it the use of her name? Maybe Barry never called her by her name; maybe he always shortened it or used a nickname. The endless possibilities hit me, one after another in rapid succession, like fire from a machine gun. I’m hyperventilating again, feeling like I might pass out. Then suddenly her lovely face relaxes.
‘Yes, OK, Barry, thank you. Wine would be nice.’
With dizzying relief, I head for the kitchen. What might she like? I have no idea.
‘There’s a chilled Sauvignon, or a Bordeaux red!’ I call.
‘You know I don’t like Sauvignon, Barry,’ she says, standing in the doorway watching me.
‘Er … yes, of course, only joking. Bordeaux all right for you?’ I ask apprehensively.
‘Perfect,’ she says, with a hint of a smile.
I fuss about in the kitchen, putting two glasses of Bordeaux on a tray. I open a packet savoury snacks and one of roast cashew nuts, and pour the contents into two small pottery bowls. I hope she doesn’t notice my hands shaking. She watches as I carry in the tray and place it on the coffee table in front of her.
‘It looks like you’re getting very domesticated, Barry.’ She smiles uncertainly.
‘I can just about manage to pour some wine and put out a few nuts.’
I hand her a glass. She takes a sip of her drink and puts it down on the table. I push both the bowls of snacks towards her but she shakes her head.
There’s another awkward silence. I’m nervous about initiating anything with her.
‘Well?’ she says after a minute, her eyes on me. There it is: the enquiry I’d sensed was coming. Her eyes bore into me.
‘Well what?’
She gives a little frown of irritation. ‘Well, how did it go with your brother, Donal? When is he coming to London? Marie is desperate to see him, you know that.’
Oh Jesus … I’m heading towards deep, deep water here. I can’t delay responding indefinitely – there’s nothing for it but plunge straight in. I stand up in front of her. ‘Anaïs …’
She looks up anxiously. She fixes me with an intense stare.
I pace back and forth uneasily.
She stands up and blocks my path. ‘Barry? Barry? What is wrong?’
We gaze at one another. I feel tears welling up in my eyes. I can hardly breathe. She frowns. She reaches out and touches my arm, her face a question.
‘Anaïs … I’m so very sorry …’
‘What? What is the matter?’
‘I’m not … I’m not …’
The tears threaten to cascade down my face. I can’t stop them. She grips both my arms with her hands, her eyes searching my face.
‘Barry …? You are not what?’
‘No … I’m not … I’m not Barry, Anaïs.’
‘What are you talking about? Are you crazy? How not Barry? How can it not be you?’
‘I’m Robert … Robert. I’m sorry.’
‘Robert …? You are Robert? So where is Barry? What are you doing here?’
She starts to look around the room, a panicky expression on her face, as if she expects to see him hiding somewhere, and this is all a joke, a bad joke.
‘Anaïs, I’m so, so sorry,’ I repeat. ‘I have to tell you … Barry … Barry is dead.’
Her eyes widen in horror. ‘Dead? What do you mean?’
‘I found him up in the hills, where we were supposed to meet. He must have collapsed. He was just lying there on the ground, on the heather – in the open. He’d told me he was ill, but I had no idea how bad he was.’
I break down in tears.
Slowly, cautiously, she sinks down onto the floor too, shaking her head from side to side in disbelief.
I hesitate to touch her; it doesn’t seem my role. But I am drawn to comfort her somehow. I bend over and take her hands in mine. Very gently I help her stand back up. She puts her arms around my waist. She’s trembling. We, strangers until this moment, remain in a sorrowful, tearful embrace for some minutes. Then I guide her backwards to sit on the sofa. I sit next to her, my body angled towards hers, facing her.
Clearly she knew about me, but I tell her the whole story of our fragile new relationship, Barry’s and mine. It comes pouring out of me. How he wrote to me and asked that we meet for the first time in Durham. How he lied to me, telling me Marie was dead.
But then he must have had second thoughts and told me the truth. I explain to Anaïs what Barry told me about his drug addiction and his serious illness, and how he hoped I might agree to donate one of my kidneys to him, to save his life. He was afraid Marie wouldn’t let me do that – risk my life by giving up my kidney, I tell her.
‘I could have saved him, Anaïs. I had decided. I was going to let him have my kidney, because I came to love him. We only met twice, but he was my brother. And even though he lied to me at first, I think he loved me too, And now it’s too late.’
I take some deep gulps of air.
‘When I found him, just lying there, it was so terrible. I didn’t know what to do. My brain was in shock I guess, frozen. I hugged him. I wanted to be close to him. I was so afraid I might be blamed for his death somehow. I couldn’t just leave him lying there with no one finding him, maybe for weeks, could I? I wasn’t really thinking straight. I decided to change places with him, change identity. So people would think it was me, Robert, who had died and was lying there, not Barry, just at first, until I worked out what I was going to do. That’s why I dressed him in my clothes and dressed myself in his clothes.
‘I took his car, leaving mine in the car park. I found a phone box in a village and rang the police. I told them I was out walking and had found a body. Gave them the map reference and then hung up. I was too scared to say who I was, nor did I give them his name.
‘I stayed in Newcastle that night in a hotel, then I took Barry’s car back to the hire company, and got the train to London. Barry had left me details of his address, and almost every aspect of his life: keys to his flat, instructions, everything … so that’s why I’m here. I wasn’t trying to impersonate Barry. It just seemed the only thing I could do at the time, until I could find the best way of explaining everything to Marie. Anaïs, I so want to see my mother. I don’t want her to hate me.’
Anaïs listens silently to this account, her eyes wide, scarcely blinking.
‘Mon pauvre, mon pauvre …’ she says, big tears welling and then slowly spilling down her cheeks. I’m not sure if she means Barry or me.
‘I knew Barry had met you in Durham, was it?’ She pronounces it Durr-ham.
I nod.
‘And also in York, yes? Marie knew too. He told her about meeting you. She knew he was going to Northumberland to meet you in the hills, Robert. In fact, it was she who told me that – Barry and I were hardly speaking.’
Anaïs shakes her head from side to side, looking thoughtful.
‘Marie was very worried about Barry,’ she continues. ‘We both knew he was ill, but he hadn’t explained how ill, or exactly what was wrong with him. He and I didn’t get on well any more. I only saw him when he came to see Nina, our little girl.’
‘He told me a bit about that,’ I tell her. ‘Anaïs, do you think it’s all right, me staying here in Barry’s apartment for the moment? It seemed to be what he wanted. He wrote me a letter and gave me lots of information to be read if he had … died. He must have known it was a possibility. You don’t think it’s wrong?’
‘I think it’s all right, Donal, for the next day or two. But we must arrange for you to visit Marie as soon as possible. She needs to be told about Barry. Tha
t really can’t wait.’
I notice she slips into calling me Donal more and more. I like that.
‘I agree. I can’t wait to see her either. Will you talk to her about it?’
Before she leaves to go home, Anaïs and I agree she will have a think about the best way forward, and will ring me at Barry’s apartment so we can make the arrangements. We must talk to Marie very soon. She can’t be left believing that Barry is still alive, and busy occupying himself with arranging a happy family reunion with her long-lost missing son, when all the time, he is dead. I must meet my mother as soon as possible, and she has to be told of Barry’s death. I long to meet her, I long for her to know me as her son, her Donal, but will that be possible? Will she think I have brought about Barry’s death?
Chapter 39
2004
Marie
There’s a strong sense of something strange going on. I’m not sure exactly what it’s about. I’ve noticed there seems to have been an ‘atmosphere’ lately, but I can’t say just what it means.
Barry, for one thing. What’s going on with him? He’s always been a bit secretive, especially with me, but even so, he doesn’t usually let more than a fortnight or so go by without visiting me – or telephoning at the very least.
And now, having told me he’d found Donal, Barry must surely realise how desperately impatient I am to see my son, missing all these long years. Why doesn’t he bring him? Surely he wasn’t lying when he said he’d found Donal? That would be too cruel. Yet, as the days go by, I’m almost starting to wonder. I couldn’t bear it if he’s raised my hopes only to dash them by telling me he hasn’t really found Donal after all.
I know Barry had planned one of his walking trips up in Northumberland, but he rarely allows himself more than a week’s holiday – ten days at the most. He must have been back for a fortnight or even longer, surely, but I’ve still had no word from him. I do hope he’s all right; he looked so unwell the last time I saw him. I pray he’s not back on the drugs. He promised me he’d stay clear of them, but I know I can’t really trust him in that regard – those drugs have such a hold on him, he can’t resist them. Once an addict, always an addict, I suppose.
I’m thankful I’ve had Sylvia for company; she’s always such a loyal friend. Sometimes it’s hard to remember she’s almost seventy; she’s that lively and fit as a flea for her age. Just a bit slower on her feet these days perhaps. Friends are so important. I feel blessed in Sylvia and Elsie.
The three of us had a lovely day out together last week. It was a fine day – sunny and not too cold, for all it was still only April. We got the coach at Lewisham station, and an hour later landed in Tunbridge Wells, very fast and comfortable – and all for nothing with our bus passes! Such a good scheme. At least there are some advantages to getting older!
The journey’s always a treat in itself. You see a different part of London, and then out into the countryside, which looks so beautiful at any time of the year, but especially in the spring. Everything starting to burst into life and colour. I love it.
So there we were in Tunbridge Wells. I like the quaint country feel of the town. It’s not too big for walking around, and there are some lovely shops to explore – though ‘a bit on the posh and pricey side’ according to Elsie. Anyway, we were mostly just window-shopping – only buying a few knickknacks, some little presents for the family. It’s not as though any of us is hard up nowadays, but I suppose we’ve all spent so many years being careful, looking after the pennies, it’s hard to break the habit.
After the shops, it was off to our favourite pub for a good lunch of fish and chips. Eddie, the landlord, is a cheery soul. He always remembers us and gives us a warm welcome – literally! – a special table by the fire. We were practically melting!
So many new and interesting dishes on offer these days (Eddie says he’s had to employ a Latvian chef!), but in the end we tend to prefer the traditional old favourites. The others noticed I didn’t have my usual appetite that day, what with expecting to see Donal in a few days. Anyway, we worked off the meal in the afternoon, with a gentle walkabout and then sit on a sunny seat in the park, enjoying watching the children playing. It reminded Elsie and me of when our own children were small, and all the little tricks they got up to.
A dark cloud of sadness threatened to overtake me then, as I think of Donal and all the lost years. The longing for my precious boy has never ceased – never – and since Barry said he’s been found, that longing is stronger than ever. Surely Barry is telling me the truth? Surely I will see my Donal soon. Sylvia and Elsie understood why I was so distracted by my thoughts on our day out. They’re such good friends.
After a while, when the sun had gone and the afternoon started to grow cool, we found a cosy café and treated ourselves to a pot of tea and a piece of cake before the journey home. We all agreed how important it is to get away from time to time. Sylvia’s been on her own for most of her life, and Erna’s passing has left a huge vacuum in mine. Elsie’s lovely husband, Greg, died of a heart attack two years back. He was only fifty-seven, poor love, and of course the children have all flown the nest now, so she’s on her own at home as well. It does her good to get out. It does us all good.
***
Anaïs rang me this morning to ask if she can come to see me tomorrow, in the afternoon at two o’clock. I’m glad to hear her voice again – what a lovely girl she is – but oddly, she sounded a little different, a little strange this time. She paused before each sentence, like she had to think carefully about every word she spoke. Very unusual – she’s usually so spontaneous. Also, it’s unlike her to make such a formal ‘appointment’ to visit me. She knows she’s welcome any time. I told her so.
‘Any time will suit me fine. I’m always happy to see you – you know that. Are you coming on your own, lovey?’ I ask her, hoping she’ll bring Nina with her – she’s so precious to me. Anyway, Anaïs pauses for quite a while as if she really has to think about it.
‘No, I won’t be coming on my own … erm … your … son’s coming too’ she says carefully at last. Well, that’s an odd way of putting it – your son – isn’t it? They must have had another argument. It’s so sad.
‘Shall I ask Sylvia to join us then?’ I ask her. This time she answers straightaway.
‘No, Marie, not today, if you don’t mind. We just want to speak to you on your own this time, just the two of us.’
How mysterious she’s being today!
‘All right then, my darling, see you at two o’clock.’
It’s unusual for her and Barry to visit me together these days. In fact, I can’t remember them ever doing so since they split up. Maybe it’s good news? I can only hope it is, but something in Anaïs’s tone suggested it wasn’t. Could it be something to do with Donal … some problem? I do hope not.
Well, at least I’ll be able to ask Barry all about Donal. Maybe that will put my mind at rest at last.
***
I lay a tray with tea and a lemon cake I’d made a couple of days before. Lucky it’s still fresh. I like to have something baked in case of visitors – and if no one comes, Sylvia and I always manage to finish it off between us! We’re neither of us bother about dieting or silly ideas like that. Anyway, I’ve always been thin myself. Even in my older age I never seem to put on any weight. Sylvia isn’t as slim as she used to be, but just ‘comfortably rounded’ is how she puts it.
The sound of the bell comes as such a shock that my hands are trembling when I fumble with the key to open the front door. I must have got more worked up than I realised after speaking to Anaïs in the morning.
Chapter 40
2004
Robert
I’ve seen no further reports about ‘Robert Carlton’s’ death in the newspaper, so that aspect of the story has gone quiet. Probably a good thing. Allows me to feel more calm and ready – ready for the next steps in my return to the family fold.
After breakfast, just as I’m starting to think about t
he best way of making further contact with Anaïs, the phone rings.
‘Donal, it’s Anaïs. I’ve been thinking. We can’t leave it any longer. We absolutely must arrange to see Marie and tell her about Barry, as soon as possible.’
‘I agree … I’d just been thinking that too. We really can’t delay any longer.’
‘No, but it’s bound to be a huge shock. We must be careful how we do it,’ she says.
‘So … how shall we start? What do you think we should we do first?’
‘I think I will phone her today, and suggest we come to see her tomorrow, maybe in the afternoon.’
‘Yes. That sounds good,’ I say, absolutely terrified at the prospect.
‘So we’ll go to see her together, unless you’d rather talk to her on your own, Donal?’
‘No, together is better this first time, I think, Anaïs. I may be her son, but I’m a stranger to her. It may be very stressful – for both of us.’
‘However we do it, Barry’s death is going to be a terrible blow for Marie. At least she will be so happy to have found you. Can you even imagine how she has longed for you?’
‘I hope she’ll be happy about being reunited with me. But in the circumstances, she may regard me as something like an evil omen, returning to her after all these years of longing, but in doing so, bringing about the death of her other son.’
‘No! Don’t say that, Donal. You did not cause his death in any way. You can’t take the blame for that – and Marie will not blame you either; never, never, never – I’m quite sure of that. I know her very well – we are very close. It’s very, very tragic about Barry, but he brought it completely on himself. It is not your fault. Anyway, maybe we need to talk a bit more together about how exactly how we tell Marie, do you think?’
‘Yes that would be helpful, but is there time if we’re going to speak to her so soon?’