by Diana Finley
Each minute that passes, I feel any stiffness, awkwardness between us gradually dissipating. Mum glances at me frequently, like she can’t believe I’m really there. We spot a café in the park and head for it to warm up with coffees, and hot chocolate for Nina.
The afternoon is growing cooler, the shadows longer. The sun has sunk behind the trees.
‘It’s very beautiful here. I’ve so enjoyed our day together today, Donal,’ says Mum. ‘I only wish Barry could have shared it too.’ She looks sad and pensive. I squeeze her hand.
‘Anyway, my children, just look at Nina. She’s nearly asleep on her feet. I think maybe it’s time for us to take her home now.’
‘All right, let’s head back to my flat and pick up your things. Then I’ll take you to the tube station.’
***
As their tube train rumbles towards us, we give each other more hugs. I want this time to last for ever. I help Mum into the carriage. Anaïs pauses and gazes up at my face.
‘I really want to see you again soon, Anaïs,’ I say quietly. ‘I want to see you very, very soon.’
‘I would like that too, Donal.’
‘I’ll ring you.’
‘Yes. Ring me tomorrow,’ she says as she extricates herself from my embrace.
I lift Nina on. The train doors shut. Mum and Anaïs stand inside, hands pressed against the glass of the door and watch me. Nina waves. Just as the train is moving out of my field of vision, Anaïs raises her hand towards me.
I watch them disappear into the tunnel, feeling very alone suddenly.
Chapter 43
2004
Donal
The following morning, there’s a tentative knock on the door of the flat. I open it, and there stands Mrs Winkelman shifting nervously from foot to foot. She gives a start on seeing me, as if she hadn’t really expected me to open the door to her.
‘Esther – how nice to see you,’ I say. ‘Won’t you come in?’
She hesitates on the spot. ‘Well … er … Barry, you see, that was exactly why I’ve come. I … I wondered if you would like to come to me – to my flat I mean – for a cup of tea or coffee? Perhaps this afternoon or Wednesday morning – if you’re not too busy, that is?’
‘Well thank you, Esther, it would be lovely. How kind of you – this afternoon would suit me fine. I’d really enjoy that. What time would you like me to come?’
Mrs Winkelman’s face breaks into a smile of delight and some surprise, as if she’d expected me to decline her invitation.
‘Oh, well, that’s very good … yes … good … um … shall we say about three-thirty this afternoon then?’
‘Three-thirty would be fine – thank you, Esther, see you this afternoon. I look forward to it. Be careful on the stairs going down, won’t you?’
***
Mrs Winkelman is very hospitable in her shy and self-effacing way. She leads me into her sitting room. Her flat is not unlike Barry’s in its dimensions – a bit smaller, and without the sloping ceilings and roof garden. It’s decorated and furnished in a much more traditional, old-fashioned style – a bit flowery and fussy. It feels warm and comfortable, and has a faint powdery ‘old lady’ smell, and a more fusty smell too, of times gone by. I remind myself she thinks I’m Barry.
‘I think your apartment is rather lighter than mine, Barry,’ she comments, seeing me looking about the room. ‘I suppose it’s partly having those big glass doors leading to the roof garden.’
I gaze at the heavy velvet curtains reaching from the ceiling to the floor.
Esther pours me a cup of slightly weak coffee and passes me a plate of oaty-looking biscuits.
‘Have you made these yourself, Esther?’
She smiles and blushes slightly.
‘Yes, actually, I have. I do hope they’re all right? It’s so nice to have a visitor to bake for – I don’t have many visitors … and most people seem to be on diets these days. It’s a recipe my mother used to make.’
‘Well, probably I should be on a diet too, but these are delicious! I’m honoured that you made them for me. In fact, I’d love another, if that’s allowed.’
‘Oh goodness, Barry, you don’t need to lose weight!’ Esther passes the biscuit plate to me in delight. ‘You’re just right as you are. Oh … oh … I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be personal …’ Esther blushes in confusion.
‘Not at all, Esther. Thank you for the compliment. Far too many people fuss about their figures, don’t you think?’
‘Well, you’ll have to take some home with you, I can’t possibly eat them all myself …’
She folds her hands on her lap, and gives me a long, pensive look, her head to one side, as if trying to work out some mystery about me, something that was puzzling her.
‘Barry?’ she says, twiddling her fingers diffidently. ‘I do hope you won’t mind me saying this … but you seem to have … well … you seem to have changed in some way.’
‘Oh?’ I reply cautiously. ‘The beard maybe?’
A chill envelops me suddenly, despite the rampant central heating.
‘Yes … no it’s not that, Barry. You’ve lived here for a while, and … I don’t want to be rude … or over-personal … but … oh dear, Mother always criticised me for being too personal, and too nosy!’
‘Mmm? Go on, Esther, ask away. I don’t mind.’
‘Well … you see, until very recently I was a bit concerned about you. Please don’t be offended … but you didn’t look awfully well, and you seemed rather withdrawn … rather depressed, I would say. In all the time you were here, I don’t think you exchanged two words with me or any of the other neighbours, except maybe to greet Hector – you know, the jogger? – and he’s such a cheery, hearty sort, he talks to everyone …’
She hesitates. ‘I just wondered if anything had happened? I wondered if perhaps you had had some … sort of … treatment?
This question is so unexpected and I’m so taken aback by it that I roar with laughter, rather louder than I had intended.
Esther puts her bony hands up to her mouth and looks at me in alarm.
‘Oh, I see! So you thought maybe I was mad, did you, Esther?’
‘Oh no, no! No, of course not … I didn’t say that, Barry … I’m sorry, I really didn’t mean to cause offence. Oh, I always say the wrong thing …’ she mumbles in confusion.
‘No, don’t worry. I’m not offended, not in the least. You’re absolutely right – I’ve been a terrible grump since I moved here. I’m afraid things had all been very difficult a while – everything seemed to go wrong at once. I had problems at work, I wasn’t very well, and I separated from my wife – so it wasn’t a very happy time. I got pretty downhearted about it. It’s observant of you to notice. But recently I’m making a conscious effort to put things right, and that’s made me feel much better. I’m sorry if I appeared to be unfriendly before.’
I feel guilty about being so dishonest with her, but now is not the time to reveal the truth about my identity. She smiles at me in a sweet, shy way and pats my knee, as if I’m a schoolboy who has just bravely admitted to a misdemeanour.
Mr Lewis, my old drama teacher, would have been proud of me. He always did think I was a talented actor.
Chapter 44
2004
Donal
I can’t settle this evening, my whole body tense with excitement; my head is full of images of Anaïs and her little daughter, and our times together. I hardly know her, I remind myself. Logic and good sense tell me to give her, and myself, time to think about the direction we appear to be heading, not to make assumptions, not to rush. But good sense gives way to the intensity of longing. I want to ring her now, this minute. I want to hear her voice again, but I know I shouldn’t put pressure on her. I’m being ridiculous; like a love-sick schoolboy. I should act my age. ‘Don’t expect too much too soon,’ I mutter.
At that moment, the phone rings. I nearly jump out of my skin. My heart thunders.
‘Hello?’ I qu
aver.
‘Donal? I just want to say thank you for the nice lunch, and the walk. It was such a lovely time. I liked being with you … very much. Marie was so happy. Nina also.’
‘I enjoyed it too Anaïs. It was so … wonderful … so special. Can we meet again soon?’
‘Yes. When would you like?’
‘How about tomorrow? Shall I come to your house tomorrow?’
She laughs. ‘Well, you could … but maybe you prefer I come to you?’
‘Either way I’m happy, but what about Nina?’
‘I’m free tomorrow, Donal … Nina will be in school and then having a sleepover with her friend Lola. Lola’s mummy looking after her for two days and nights. We take turns. Next time Lola comes to us.’
I take a deep breath. ‘I see. Well, I’ll love to see Nina again. She’s such a sweet child. But … why don’t you come to me this time, and I’ll accompany you home … whenever you want.’
‘OK, good. We can spend the day together, and I’ll bring a simple picnic lunch.’
‘Perfect. I’ll provide the picnic wine.’
She gives a little laugh. ‘OK then. See you tomorrow, Donal.’
‘See you tomorrow, Anaïs …’
***
The day turns out to be fine and unseasonably mild. The sun’s warmth is still gentle rather than strong, but sheltered from the breeze it’s warm enough to be outside without coats or jackets. We decide to have our lunch on the roof garden. Anaïs is delighted with the view.
‘Oh it’s so beautiful! Like a park or a huge garden. It is magical. Such tall trees – oh, and look! There is a squirrel! Oh, Nina would love to see! Look, look, Donal! See how he runs round and round the trunk of the tree there! I think he is happy that spring is coming, don’t you?’
I love her uninhibited enthusiasm. It’s a joy to see that she shares my own pleasure in my temporary new home. Suddenly it feels like a real home, not just somewhere circumstances have decreed I should live.
We lean over the railing to watch as the squirrel disappears in a tangle of smaller trees and bushes. I spontaneously put my arm loosely round her shoulders. She glances at me, smiling, and does not resist.
After lunch we go inside to finish our wine. She tells me about her family in France, how she misses her mother who had died of cancer some years before, and how special Marie has become – like a second mother to her. I try hard to make sensitive and appropriate responses. I want to show my understanding of her sadness, and her appreciation of Marie – my mother. I would have loved to explore Anaïs’s relationship with Marie, and her experience of her as a person, but it seems an area fraught with possible dangers, in view of Barry’s difficult relationship both with his mother and his wife. Far easier to change to more neutral territory.
‘Anaïs, would you like to go for a little walk along the canal while it’s so fine? It’s still getting dark quite early these days. Maybe we shouldn’t leave it too late? Then I can take you back to the station, if you like.’
She looks a little surprised, but quickly agrees that she would enjoy a walk.
We amble along the towpath, looking at the houseboats, light-heartedly discussing what it would be like to live in a boat. Anaïs tells me she’s never been to Camden Market, so we make our way there, fighting through the cosmopolitan crowds. Anaïs loves it – she comments with excitement on every stall: the jewellery, the clothes, the fragrant foods of every type. Spontaneously I ask her what her favourite colour is. ‘It’s turquoise! Why?’ she says with a laugh.
‘Oh, no reason. Just curiosity.’
We find a little pop-up café and order coffee. When I finish mine, I ask Anaïs to excuse me a moment, as if I need to find a gents’ toilet. She nods amiably, stretching in the sunshine like a cat.
I rush off to find a stall I’ve noticed, with hand-made jewellery of semi-precious stones. The man shows me all he has in turquoise. He explains where each item comes from. He’s travelled widely, he says, in Turkey and the Middle East, in China and South America, always searching for beautiful pieces of jewellery, but at a reasonable price. I choose a delicate bracelet of a series of turquoise stones set in antique silver. It’s made in Turkey, the man tells me, and is neither too heavy and large, nor is it ostentatious. I can imagine it encircling Anaïs’s wrist. The man puts it in a small plain box. I pay him and put it away in my pocket.
Anaïs smiles and stands up when I return to her. We walk slowly along the canal back to my apartment.
‘That was lovely,’ she says when we arrive at my flat. ‘I love the market! I’ve heard about it, but never saw it before.’
‘I’m glad you liked it. What do you want to do now? Shall I come to the tube station with you, or would you like something to eat first?’
‘Neither,’ she replies. ‘I’m not hungry, and I don’t want to go home yet. I would like to hear some music. You had that blues CD I saw last time. Will you play that?’
We sit on the sofa together.
‘I got a little present for you, Anaïs.’ I hand her the box.
She looks astonished. ‘It’s for me?’
I nod.
She opens it slowly, carefully, and then gasps.
‘Oh … it’s beautiful, beautiful. Donal … thank you.’ Her eyes fill with tears. I wipe them away gently with my thumb and fasten the bracelet round her wrist. She smiles at me, shaking her head a little.
The music fills the room. Anaïs takes my hand and taps out the rhythm softly on my fingers. I look at her and she holds my gaze. Her body sways to the music. I raise her hand to my mouth and kiss it. She touches my hand to her cheek and closes her eyes.
‘Anaïs …’ I begin.
She puts a finger to my lips to shush me. She stands up and gently pulls me up too. I put my arms around her and pull her close to me. She does not resist. Her arms encircle my waist. We move slowly to the music. I feel her body softening and merging with mine. I kiss the top of her head, breathing in the fragrance of her hair. She raises her face. I kiss her very gently on the lips. I want her desperately, but is it too soon? Is it really what she wants too?
The music has ended. I extricate myself from our embrace, choose another disc and the music starts up again.
‘I’ll make us some coffee …’ I say. She puts her head on one side and smiles at me. She stretches out on the sofa, while I make us both coffee. We don’t drink it. We sit side by side, gazing at one another. Her eyes are dark, the pupils huge as saucers. I stroke back the hair that has fallen over her forehead. We both know we’ve reached a boundary, but neither of us wants to reverse, or even stay still. She takes my hand and kisses the fingers, one at a time. I trace the outline of her lips with my finger, and then kiss them. Anaïs stands up and, holding my hand, pulls me to the bedroom.
***
Moonlight seeps through a gap in the curtain and makes patterns on the wall beside the bed. We lie side by side, blissfully exhausted. She strokes my chest, softly, rhythmically. I run my fingers slowly along her arm and neck, spent, but thrilled by the depth of our feelings. She gazes at me in the shadowy gloom of the room, lit only by the light of the moon.
Suddenly she half sits up, propping herself on her elbow and looking into my eyes. She watches me in silence for several minutes.
‘Donal,’ she whispers at last, ‘I want to know … is it all right? Are these feelings all right, do you think, after all that has happened? You know I was married to your brother. It’s not wrong is it, that I am … enjoying being with you? It’s not as if I am … betraying Barry, is it?’
My heart lurches.
It is several minutes before I can speak. Her eyes are fixed on my face.
‘Please believe me, I didn’t consciously plan for us to sleep together today. Surely our feelings can’t be wrong. Strange and tragic circumstances have brought us together, but I think I felt for you from the first time I saw you. Those feelings are spontaneous. I know it’s harder for you. You were Barry’s wife after all.’
>
‘Yes, I was married to Barry for some years, it is true. At the beginning he loved me. In his way he loved me. But he was not gentle, not kind, not considerate, not thoughtful of my feelings. You are all these things. You are a very different man to Barry. I don’t feel I am deceiving him. Our marriage was over long before you and I met.’
‘Anaïs, you’re a beautiful, warm, wonderful woman, and I think I’ve fallen in love with you.’
She lies down again, on her side, looking at me pensively as I speak.
‘Do you know, one thing that first drew me to you, Anaïs, was that you called me “Donal” from the start. All my life people have called me Robert or variations of that name, because Robert was the name I was given legally by my adoptive parents, who gave me up when I was two years old. Then I was variously called Rob, Robert, Bobby, Bob in the children’s homes I grew up in, until my wonderful foster parents, Len and Betty, called me Robbie. It was Barry who told me I’d been named Donal by our mother. When you started calling me Donal, it was as if you’d given me back my true identity.’
I stop to take a much-needed breath.
‘I never knew I had a brother until Barry wrote to me, out of the blue, and we met briefly in Durham and then York. I was really eager to meet up with him the third time, in the hills – to get to know him properly. I hoped perhaps through him to meet, and know, the rest of my family. But when I found him … and he was dead … it was terrible. I knew immediately he was dead, Anaïs. I was so sad, so upset – and so scared.
‘I never planned any it – I just didn’t know what to do when I found him dead.
‘So when I changed clothes with him, I suppose at first I thought maybe I could just take his place in the family. I know it was stupid, illogical – it didn’t make sense, but I so much wanted a family. I wanted my mother. I didn’t mean to trick you, any of you. I didn’t mean to deceive you. I’m sorry … but … I didn’t expect to fall in love with you …’
She wraps her arms around my neck and rests her head on my shoulder. I stroke her hair.