by Diana Finley
At this point I interrupt his account to say how much I’d always hoped that he’d had a good and loving adoptive family. That would have been some comfort for me, I tell him, but through the investigator’s research, we’d learned that this hadn’t been the case.
‘This news greatly upset me, darling Donal. I was heartbroken.’
Anaïs comes and sits next to me. She takes my hand in hers, holds it against her face and kisses it. Tears have begun to stream down her cheeks again. I sense some further news, bad news, which she’s aware of – she and Donal – but I am not, is about to be imparted to me. Apprehension surges through me. My heart is beating fast, my breathing rapid and shallow.
While Anaïs holds me, Donal describes in detail his arrival at the car park lower down the rugged hill, of his laborious climb up the path to the appointed meeting place. His words come slowly, effortfully, as if he were reliving that strenuous climb. At last he came to the top, to the site of their meeting place. At first there was no sign of Barry. With every word, my terror of what is to come is growing.
Donal tells me he searched the whole area several times. Before giving up, he decided on one final attempt. This time, he spotted what at first had just looked like a jacket left in some heather, but as he neared it, he realised it was a man’s body. He knew at once it was his brother; it was Barry’s body.
I give a loud moan. I can’t help it – a howl like that of a tortured animal, a desperate cry of sorrow. Anaïs hugs me tighter still. Donal comes and sits on the floor at my feet. He puts his arms around my knees and rests his head on my lap, tears flowing freely.
‘I’m so sorry, Mum!’ he sobs. ‘If I’d got there sooner, maybe I could have helped him, called an ambulance, done something – anything. But it was too late. He was already dead; he was already cold.’
For a while I cannot speak; the pain, the horror is too great. I stroke my Donal’s head and bend to kiss him. At last the words come. ‘It’s not your fault, Donal. There’s no call to blame yourself, son. Barry was sick; I knew that. He was dependent on heroin and cocaine for nearly ten years, nearly all his adult life, in fact.’
‘Marie, Donal was so shocked and so upset he couldn’t think straight. He was convinced he would be blamed for Barry’s death if the police knew he’d found Barry’s body.’
Donal nods his head at Anaïs. ‘I did something that may seem strange, Marie, may seem wrong. But I didn’t know what else to do. I changed clothes with Barry, so it would be thought it was me, Robert Carlton, who was lying there dead. I so much wanted to find you. So I decided I’d come to London and live in Barry’s flat for a few days. It appeared to be what Barry wanted me to do. He’d left detailed instructions and information for me to find in case he had died. He must have known how ill he was, and that him dying was a possibility.’
‘Oh, he’d have been very organised about it all,’ I say, shaking my head. ‘He was like that.’
Then Donal shows me a letter he’d found in Barry’s apartment from his renal consultant. It set out his need for a kidney transplant. He shows me the brochure about the private hospital in Newcastle too.
I realise immediately what one of Barry’s main motives was in contacting his brother. Donal doesn’t need to explain. I understand.
‘I was terrified when I found Barry’s body,’ Donal tells me, ‘and so desperately unhappy. Meeting Barry had been a great joy. A real proper brother! I’d been thrilled to find him – the first relative I’d set eyes on. Now suddenly, he’d been snatched away from me, for ever. I hated having to leave him up there on the cold hillside. It seemed so cruel, but I honestly didn’t know what to do next?’
‘Yes,’ I said slowly, the words shaking me, ‘I can’t bear to think of him lying up there all alone in the bitter cold. That’s a horrible thought.’ I wipe the tears now overflowing from my eyes. Donal hugs me close on one side, and Anaïs on the other. We weep together.
***
But what to do next? That’s the big question that now faces us all. At first, we all have different views. Donal, poor lad, is afraid that if it’s discovered that he’s ‘stolen Barry’s identity’ and thereby gained access to his money, home and possessions, he’ll have broken the law and will spend the rest of his life in prison. I’m convinced that won’t happen. After all, he hasn’t spent more than a fraction of what money could have been available to him. Besides, he had letters from Barry specifically telling him to help himself to anything that was his. Nevertheless, Donal wonders if maybe it’s best for the world to continue to think he’s Barry.
Little Nina, bless her, is already fond of Donal and though she’s a bit confused that he looks so like her papa, she would probably just get used to calling him whatever she was told, once the relationship was explained.
The next steps matter a lot to Anaïs. She’s suffered at Barry’s hands; I know that. She doesn’t want Donal to have to become some different version of Barry for the outside world. She wants him to be free to be himself, for everything to be out in the open.
I’m not blind. It’s plain to me – as plain as anything – that Anaïs is already developing feelings for Donal, and he for her too. Maybe it’s too soon, but I can understand her feelings. I love him already. It doesn’t take long to realise what a lovely, sensitive, thoughtful, affectionate man he is. Anaïs wants him to remain Donal, for there to be no pretence. Maybe they’re hoping to be together.
What about me? It’s as if my heart is torn in two. I rejoice in being reunited with Donal. That part of my heart sings like a joyous bird in a tree on a summer’s day. But I mourn desperately for Barry and the difficulties of his growing up, the sadness of his life, and for the tragedy of his death. For all his faults, he was my son and I loved him: baby, child and flawed adult. I loved him dearly.
The three of us discuss the situation over and over again.
‘Donal, I don’t feel that you and Barry can somehow merge, to become one and the same person. Yes, you were twins, and looked alike, but each of you had unique qualities and characteristics personal to yourself,’ I say. ‘If you’re to be free to live your life honestly and openly, you have to be able to be yourself, and not to try to take on Barry’s persona. You can’t live a lie for the rest of your life. None of us can. That’s what I believe.’
Marie and Donal nod their heads solemnly, considering this argument.
‘Also,’ I continue, ‘it’s just as important for me to have Barry’s death acknowledged as it is to celebrate Donal’s life and his return to the family fold. I need to grieve for Barry. I need to honour his person, and to rejoice in his life – however troubled it has been.’
‘I absolutely agree with that,’ says Donal, looking thoughtful.
‘There needs to be a proper funeral, and memorial for Barry,’ I continue, ‘to acknowledge his qualities, and mark his passing. If that is to happen, we all know we have to make contact with the authorities in Newcastle very soon to make the arrangements, or else they might dispose of his body. They might assume that as “Robert Carlton” he’s without any relatives. I dread to think that might have happened already.’
Donal looks horrified at this possibility. He clearly hadn’t thought of that.
‘That would be like wiping out the whole of my life, my identity, before meeting Barry,’ he says.
***
I’m close to being overwhelmed by all that has happened, and by what needs to be done – immediately. As often at times of stress and doubt, I think of Erna Goldstein, and what she might have advised. I go to her room, where I always feel her spirit lingers. I speak to her and tell her of our predicament. I have always trusted in her wisdom.
***
Later that day, I call the whole family together again. Erna would have believed in consultation, in cooperation and agreement – I’m convinced of that. It’s vital to find a way forward with which all of us feel comfortable. So we arrange for a further gathering, in two days’ time, when all are free: Donal, Anaïs, Nina
and myself, as well as Sylvia – who knew of my plight from when Barry and I were alone and desperate in London – and Elsie, who was there with me at the beginning of Barry and Donal’s lives, and has witnessed my trauma of having to give one of them up. Like Sylvia, Elsie has always been my good friend and support. They’re all my extended family.
We talk and talk, well into the night, with the coffee pot refilled several times. But in the end, we’re all decided; we have agreed a plan of action.
Chapter 42
2004
Donal
It’s two weeks since Marie and I met, and I’ve seen her twice more since, once with Anais, Nina, Sylvia and Elsie and once just the two of us. It feels almost as if I’ve known her for ever. This morning I wake early, as often my head is still full of the puzzles concerning my brother – his plans, personality and motivations. What sort of a man was he really? A bleak picture is emerging of a complex man apparently with little conscience, little kindness and little ability to genuinely love. If it weren’t for the fact that I have been reunited my mother, Marie, I might have felt depressed, and desperately alone.
I sometimes wonder why on earth I ever responded to Barry’s letter. In fact, why had I left my life in Newcastle behind, to be immersed in what sometimes felt like a nightmare? All right, I was hard-up and lonely, but my life had at least been relatively peaceful, simple and straightforward. What choices are open to me now?
One thing I’ve never regretted for a moment is now having Marie in my life, and I’m equally sure that I want to see more and more of my mother, and Anaïs and Nina as well – to really get to know them. I want them to know me – the real me. I want them to recognise that I’m different from Barry, in all sorts of ways.
It’s still early, but impulsively, I dial Anaïs’s phone number.
‘’Ello?’
Her voice is croaky with sleep, combined with that delightful French accent, even in a single word. I picture her face.
‘Anaïs, it’s me … er … Donal. I’m sorry it’s so early. Did I wake you?’
‘Oh … ’ello Donal. No, it’s OK. I was just getting up – it’s nice to hear you. Is everything all right?’
‘Yes, yes, everything’s good. I just wanted to say I had a really special time the other day, at Mum’s. I enjoyed seeing you very much … and Nina, of course.’
There’s a long pause. I can hear her breathing. ‘I enjoyed our day too, and Nina did also. I’m always happy in Marie’s company, and you seemed …’ She pauses, apparently unsure how to continue.
I take a deep breath. ‘What, Anaïs? What did I seem?’
‘You seemed relaxed, affectionate … so very different to Barry … kind, warm, emotional … I don’t know exactly, but you were very nice, you are very nice.’
‘You’re very nice too, Anaïs, very, very nice.’
‘Oh, no need to say that, Donal.’
‘I think there is a need, because it’s true. Anyway, I’d really like to see you again, and soon. I wondered if Marie – and you and Nina – would like to come here for lunch, maybe next Saturday? Of course I can’t promise as expert a meal as you made, but I’ll do my best. Would you be able to come, Anaïs? Would you like to come?’
There’s a long silence at the other end of the line. Have I made a mistake in asking her? Might she be uncomfortable contemplating a visit to me away from the security of her own home? Does she have a new romantic involvement that might make her feel continuing to meet up with me is inappropriate? I hold my breath. I feel nervous as an adolescent arranging a first date.
‘Yes, Donal. I would like to come very much,’ she says at last.
I exhale, my heart beating hectically.
‘I’m really keen to see you again. Nothing formal … just a simple lunch for the four of us … no need to dress up or anything, erm … just come as you are …’
Shut up you idiot, I think, sweating. ‘Come as you are’ indeed.
Maybe she’s in her nightdress or her underwear!’
The still-present adolescent in me tries to repress an exciting image at that thought.
‘Donal, you know … it will be a bit odd for me to have lunch in Barry’s flat. I have never eaten a meal there before.’
How stupid of me not to think of that. She sounds nervous too, unsure of herself. I can hear her breathing.
‘Would you like I bring dessert?’ she asks.
‘No need for dessert, I’ll make something simple … but thank you for offering. Look, Anaïs, I’d just like us all to have a happy, peaceful time together. Maybe a chance for me to get to know you all better. Does that sound all right for you?’
‘Yes, I would like that too, and Marie will enjoy it very much.’
***
As the week goes on, I spend time obsessively cleaning and tidying up the apartment. I try to see it through Marie and Anaïs’s eyes. Would they see it as Barry’s home – somewhere where he should be host, and not me? I remember Anaïs likes flowers. I’m sure Mum would too. On the Friday afternoon I walk to a small greengrocer and florist nearby. I choose a large bunch of deep blue irises and another of creamy white roses. I buy some small things to amuse Nina too: bubbles, some balloons, paper and crayons.
At the flat I arrange the flowers carefully in a simple, tall glass vase I’ve found at the bottom of a kitchen cupboard. They look beautiful, the colour combination perfect. I imagine Mum and Anaïs seeing them for the first time, as they enter the sitting room.
As lunchtime on the Saturday approaches, I feel increasingly nervous and agitated. It’s just as well I was kept busy preparing our meal: a quiche of tomatoes and mushrooms, fresh herbs and thin slices of smoked trout, topped with goat’s cheese and a little parmesan. For dessert, I’ve followed a recipe cut out of the newspaper for a meringue base enclosing a mixture of fresh fruits, topped with a swirl of cream. I fret that I should have asked her what foods Nina likes, or more importantly, doesn’t like.
They arrive punctually, for which I’m grateful. The quiche can’t wait much longer, and nor can I. Mum smiles her lovely warm smile and hugs me close for several seconds.
‘Hello, my dearest boy, my Donal. This is so good of you. What a treat,’ she says, looking all about her. It appears Barry has never asked her to his flat before.
Then Anaïs enters and also gives me a hug. I’d nearly forgotten just how gorgeous she is. No, I hadn’t. She smiles at me, her head to one side. Next comes Nina. She lifts her arms for me to lift her. I love the feel of her warm little body in my arms.
‘Hello, Uncle Donal,’ she says.
They look around at everything in the apartment with great interest. Anaïs exclaims in pleasure at the flowers, and Mum comments on the furniture, the floors, the bedroom, the kitchen and the roof garden. She especially likes the roof garden.
‘Oh, it’s lovely here! Look at all the trees. We could eat our lunch outside!’
‘Better wait a couple of months for summer, Mum – it’s still a bit chilly for sitting outside. Quite a lot warmer here than in the North East though …’
She smiles at me and takes my hands.
‘Then we’ll have to come back in the summertime, won’t we?’ she says.
We retreat inside again. I pour some wine, and some juice for Nina, who is engrossed in blowing bubbles.
Anaïs immediately admires the quiche. She tells me it’s the most ‘délicieux’ quiche she’s ever eaten, and asks for a second slice. The fruit meringue is pronounced ‘expert’ by Mum.
‘Where did you ever learn to cook like this, Donal?’ she asks.
‘Entirely self-taught, Mum, this last fortnight. Before that it was non-stop fish and chips.’
They all laugh.
Nina eats everything without complaint, like the good little French girl she is.
‘Donal, you keep this secret – you are cordon bleu! Have you been on a cooking course?’ Anaïs says with a smile.
I don’t tell her it’s the first ‘proper’ meal
I’ve ever cooked!
Afterwards, Anaïs helps me carry the dishes out to the kitchen, while Mum sits on the sofa. Nina is absorbed in her colouring now. I bring out a box of CDs and select a Saint-Saëns disc to put on the player.
‘Some French music for you.’
I return to the sofa and sit next to Mum. She links her arm in mine and leans her head on my shoulder.
‘You know, I’ve dreamt of this for so many years,’ she says, ‘to have you close, and safe.’
‘You might get fed up with me in time,’ I joke.
‘Never, never, never.’
She leans against me and strokes my hand. We sit with the remains of our wine and we talk and talk. After a while I notice Nina getting a bit restless.
‘Mum, Anaïs, it’s such a nice day. Would you like to come out for a walk? Nina might enjoy it. I can show you something of this area – Primrose Hill, Regent’s Park, and the zoo …?’
‘Oh yes, I like that very much. I don’t really know this part of London,’ Anaïs says, and Mum agrees.
***
We walk for about an hour, talking all the time. Mum clings firmly to my left arm for the entire walk. Anaïs slips her arm into my right one periodically, and Nina skips along chattering about everything she sees.
As we stand watching ducks and other birds drifting lazily on one of the ponds, on impulse I reach out and stroke Anaïs’s hair. She does not pull it away. Mum smiles up at me. We head for the zoo and I tell them all how I like hearing the animals’ noises. We decide to walk around the outside fence and save a proper visit for next time.
We play a game of listening and taking turns to guess what animal is making each noise. There’s a roar.
‘A lion?’ suggests Mum.
‘Hmm … an elephant perhaps?’ says Anaïs.
‘No … Sounds more like a big ape to me. A gorilla maybe?’
‘Oh? You know him? Is he one of your cousins, Donal?’ she says teasingly. Nina laughs and makes ape-like noises. Mum watches us, her head to one side.