Coming Home (26 page)

‘Do you think losing Graham could have changed Mum forever? Do you think she might never have got over it?’

‘Totally.’

‘I never realised. At the time, I never realised.’

M
y room was at the top of Clem’s house, up the main staircase, then an immediate right and up another narrow stairway that led to a small gap under the eaves, presumably once an attic. Clem had made it homely, though, painting it in soft shades of grey and white. Underfoot was a luxurious dove-grey carpet which softened sounds in the room, giving it a cosy feel. The wrought-iron bed took up most of the space; a matching chandelier hung directly above. I looked at my watch now, squinting at its face in what little light came in through the Velux windows. It was 4 a.m. I sighed and flipped onto my back. In the moonlight, the chandelier cast a shadow halfway down the wall. With its ‘legs’ facing up, it looked not unlike a dead spider.

My insomnia was only to be expected, really. I always got it at the times when I probably most needed my sleep: at stressful times; on the nights before important meetings; when I had a lot on my mind. The best part of a bottle of wine hitting my liver hadn’t helped, either. Having fallen straight into a drunken sleep just after midnight, I’d woken now, my mouth dry and my mind racing.

I remembered fragments of dreams. Anxious dreams about Tom; about him coming into Clem’s tea room but not seeing me; me chasing him down Warwick High Street shouting his name. Mum chasing me, asking who I was calling, and me stuck, torn, between the two of them. A dream, too, about me screaming at Dad. I couldn’t recall what it was about, but the feeling of anger remained with me, the upset.

And now I was wide awake. With another sigh, I got out of bed and pulled on the dressing gown Clem had left hanging on the back of the door. Opening one of the windows, I stuck my head out and felt the cold, clean air rush in. It carried the scent of cows, manure, countryside, and a freshness that I really missed in Dubai. The air there, except in the dead of what you might call winter, was always heavy with heat and often peppered with dust particles that clogged my sinuses.

Clem’s house was just outside Warwick and looked out over open fields. During the day, I’d been able to see for miles from my window but now, with the sky still inky black and the sodium glow of Coventry presumably in the far distance on the other side of the house, I leaned as far out as I could and started to count the stars.

Please
, I mouthed to them.
Please let it go well with Tom today
. Butterflies danced in my belly as I thought of the meeting that lay ahead. Looking east over the distant hills, I searched the sky for signs of dawn. There were no pinks, no oranges, no glorious colours of the sunrise—it was too early for that. Straining my eyes, though, I could just make
out what looked like a gentle softening of the unforgiving blackness in the far distance—a hint of something that lay just out of sight: the start of a new day. The day I was to get to know my brother.

T
he next day dawned grey; the clear sky of the night hadn’t lasted and clouds loomed ominously overhead, casting their shadows over the landscape and threatening rain, as Clem and I drove the short journey into Warwick. It was hardly the auspicious weather I might have hoped for. I shivered. Clem turned up the car heater. My stomach twisted itself into knots. I hadn’t been able to eat breakfast.

‘You said Tom had “stuff” to tell you,’ Clem said to break the silence. ‘Do you think it’s anything specific?’

‘No idea. Stuff about his life? What it was like growing up?’ I shrugged. ‘Or maybe nothing like that at all. Maybe he wants a summer job in Dubai!’ My nerves about the meeting translated into silliness. ‘Maybe he’s discovered that we don’t have the same dad after all; the whole thing’s been a massive mistake.’ A part of me was even hopeful that this was the case. Clem joined in the game.

‘No, not that. He’s so glad to have a sister he wants you to move to Warwick and has bought you a house—with your dad’s money!’

‘Maybe he wants me to get to know his mum. Maybe he’s bringing her.’

‘He forgot to tell you you’ve got a secret half-sister, too.’

‘Oh don’t! I couldn’t take any more secret siblings!’

At five to ten, Clem gave me a hug and left me alone in the drawing room, pulling the door closed behind her. She had offered Tom and me the use of the upper level of her tea rooms for our meeting—the secret sitting room. She was going to close it off so we could talk in privacy. It was thoughtful of her, but I wondered if we might have been more at ease in a crowded room; if the distraction of having other people around might have made things feel more natural. Although Tom and I had already spoken once in person, it felt completely different to have an arranged meeting with him.

I sat down, legs crossed, and looked around, my bottom foot tapping a rhythm on the polished floorboards. After a minute, I got up and dragged another chintzy armchair over to where I was sitting, trying not to dislodge the rugs. That done, I sat down in the chair that gave the best view of the door and flicked through the paper. Nothing went in. Rain slid down the leaded windowpanes; noise from the street below was muffled; the air inside stuffy with central heating.

I went to the bookshelf. With my head turned sideways, I browsed the spines. There was a good selection of bestsellers, most of which I’d read, and a surprising amount of historical romances. I say ‘surprising’, but maybe it’s only to be expected that the middle-aged clientele of a tea shop in a historical town would like historical romance.

These were the thoughts running through my head when Tom arrived, catching me by surprise despite the fact I was waiting for him. I heard the door open, I turned, and there he was, looking completely incongruous and larger than life in this low-ceilinged, flowery room. He stepped in, bringing with him a slice of sound—the buzz of conversation, the chink of china, a stab of laughter—from the shop below, and the scent of the fresh air and rain. Then he pushed the door gently to, shutting out the rest of the world with a click.

‘Hello again,’ he said.

‘Hello.’

We looked at each other. I smiled, still nervous. ‘Thanks for coming here. Did you find it OK?’

‘Yes, great directions, thanks. A friend dropped me off.’ He looked around. ‘Great place. How did you find it?’

‘It belongs to the friend I’m staying with. Apparently, residents usually hide up here, away from the tourist crowds. She’s locked them all out today, though.’ My laugh was brittle.

‘That’s kind of her.’ Finally, Tom stepped further into the room. He unbuttoned his coat and looked around for somewhere to hang it, deciding with a shrug to sling it over one of the other armchairs instead. We stood facing each other.

‘So,’ he said. ‘Here we are.’

‘Yes. I hope you didn’t think I was stalking you. In Harry’s.’

‘No. You’d only just found out. I’d have done the same.’

‘So why didn’t you? Track me down, I mean?’

‘Long story,’ he said. ‘I’ve had a few years to get used to the idea. But, look, I just want to say that however you want to play this, it’s fine by me. I’ve had an “absent” sister for three years so I’m kind of used to it.’ He shrugged. ‘I’m cool with it. Whatever you want to do … if it’s too weird and you want to just …’ His voice tailed off.

‘Oh God, no, I … I mean … thank you.’

We smiled at each other then looked away, suddenly shy.

‘Look, I’m dying for a coffee,’ Tom said. ‘Shall we try to get some? How do we order? Is there some sort of dumbwaiter hidden behind the bookshelf? Do we shout down the shaft?’

‘Clem—my friend—said she’d send up a waitress.’

No sooner had I said it than there was a knock and the door opened—a young waitress with a peaches-and-cream complexion appeared and took our orders. When she left, I perched on the edge of an armchair. Tom paced around the room. When he got to the window, he spun around to face me, rubbing his hands together.

‘So,’ he said. ‘I can’t believe we’re finally sitting here together. Where do we start? I mean, shit. What do we do in this situation? Tell me something interesting about yourself.’

‘Umm, let me see.’ I bit my lip and thought. ‘I knit hats for sailors.’ Tom looked suitably surprised.

‘Wow. I didn’t see that coming. Fantastic. So you knit them, and then what? Sell them at sailors’ conventions?’

‘No, it’s a bit more organised than that. I do it through a charity. But, come on, play fair: now it’s your turn. You tell me something about you.’

‘I used to have a stutter.’

‘Really? I saw on Twitter you do stand-up comedy!’

‘Well, yes,’ he said. ‘That’s actually why I started doing it: to try to beat my stutter.’

‘Brave. Did it work?’

‘W-w-well, w-w-what do you th-th-think?’ We laughed; the tension dissolved. A pause, then Tom leaned forward in his chair. ‘So you really didn’t know about me until just recently?’ he asked.

‘Seriously. I had no idea. It was quite a shock. But a good one. And you’ve known for three years?’

‘Yes. I was sixteen when I found out.’

‘And you didn’t want to try to find me?’

‘There was no finding to be done. I knew your name and that your family lived in Woodside. But I wasn’t allowed to contact you. Mum was adamant about that. She didn’t want to upset your mum. Believe it or not, she’s not the type to go around having children with other women’s husbands. I think she just wanted to pretend that everything was above board.’

‘So, if my dad hadn’t died, I still wouldn’t know?’

Tom shrugged.

‘Weren’t you curious? About me?’

‘Oh God. I was everything. Curious, furious, happy, confused, excited, terrified. I was all over the place, like you must be now. Only you’re probably far more in control of your emotions than I was at sixteen. I didn’t know what to think. It was a rocky time. But, ultimately, when everything had calmed down again, you can’t miss what you never had.’

‘So you didn’t try to look for me?’

‘I wasn’t allowed to. I Googled you once. Saw that you worked in Dubai. But I’d grown up as an only child.’ He paused. ‘I suppose I guessed it would all come out one day. And—well, here we are.’

‘Indeed. Here we are.’ There was a silence and I struggled to know what to say. There was so much. ‘You sound like him.’

‘Mum says that.’

‘You sound like Dad but look like my brother … Graham?’

The waitress returned with our order and we sat with our thoughts as she set out the coffees, the pastries.

‘I know it’s a huge thing for you suddenly to get another brother. How do you feel now?’ Tom asked when she’d gone again. ‘To see me looking so like your brother, and sounding like Dad? Is it odd?’

Why, I wondered, had Tom referred to my dad, a man who’d fathered him after a one-night stand, as ‘Dad’? Maybe he was trying to make me feel at ease. I smiled. ‘God. It’s beyond weird—but, depending how we get on …’ I gave him a quick smile. ‘It’s nice, too. It’s kind of nice to have a brother again.’ My eyes slid to the floor, shy.

Tom doffed an imaginary cap and bowed low from his chair. ‘I’ll try to do my best in the noble position of brother.’

‘Thank you.’ We laughed. There was another silence. I became aware of the clock ticking on the mantelpiece. I didn’t dare look at it; didn’t want to be reminded of the passing of time. ‘I couldn’t believe it when I saw that you
were going to be working at Harry’s Café. The badge thing threw me, though,’ I said.

‘Oh yeah. That was funny. Your friend was asking me about my name deliberately, wasn’t he?’

‘Yep.’

‘He doesn’t have a kid brother called Sebastian, does he?’

‘Nope.’

‘That’s really sweet, what he did for you.’

‘It is, isn’t it?’

Tom nodded, eyebrows raised. ‘He seemed like a nice guy. So how did you find out about me in the end? How did you break Fort Knox?’

‘Well, let’s just say Dad wasn’t as careful as he might have thought. He hadn’t buried you without a trace.’ I realised as I said it how inappropriate it sounded, but Tom looked expectantly at me. His fingers drummed on the armrest. I carried on. ‘I found an email your mum had sent to Dad with a link to a photo-sharing website. There were pictures of you and she referred to you as “our son”.’

‘Ahh.’ There was a silence. ‘Anyway, Evie, thanks for your emails.’

‘Oh, you’re welcome. I wanted you to know what a great dad he was. Even if you never got to know him.’

Tom’s energy seemed to shift. ‘Thanks,’ he said, his mind not on the subject. He looked away, his face tense once more. Then he looked back up at me. ‘Look, Evie, there’s something you should know. I don’t know how to say this. But I have to. Please don’t take it the wrong way.’

‘What?’ My nerves of earlier flooded back. ‘What’s up?’

Tom sighed. ‘Your emails? It’s very sweet the way you want me to learn about Dad.’ There was that word again. Why ‘Dad’? ‘But the thing is. Oh God, Evie. If you’re going to be able to have any relationship with me, and with Mum, you have to know this.’ It was obvious he didn’t want to say what he had to say; that it was taking him a lot of effort to find the right words.

I felt sick. This wasn’t about a summer job in Dubai.

Tom was struggling. He tried again, a different tack. ‘When you say that our dad was a good dad, I agree—sometimes he was. He tried to be and, most of the time, he was. But he didn’t always succeed. He had his flaws.’

I stared at Tom, the hairs on the back of my neck prickling. I could tell something bad was coming—maybe even on some level I knew what it was that was coming—but I didn’t want to hear it.

‘How do you know? How do you know he wasn’t always a good dad? Just because he wasn’t always there doesn’t make him a bad dad.’ I shook my head. ‘He had a lot to deal with after Graham … and he worked. Really hard! He was successful.’

‘Evie, I know because he was my dad, too.’ Tom looked at me, as if to check I understood what he was saying.

I laughed, the ten-year gap suddenly making me feel old, wise, like an aunt not a sibling. ‘Oh please! Only biologically. Not even in name!’