Tangled Lives (18 page)

They stood there on the lawn, not looking at each other. She reached over to a stem of yellow roses just off the path, picking at a browning petal on one of the blooms. The sun felt very hot suddenly.

‘You ask what adoption feels like,’ he went on, ‘but it’s
almost impossible to define. And I’m sure it’s different for everyone.’ He seemed to be analysing his position rather than engaging his feelings. She waited for him to go on, pressing the silky petal between her thumb and forefinger.

‘I suppose it’s as if I don’t have a solid anchor,’ Daniel said eventually. ‘Like I’m blowing in the wind. I’m sure other people feel like that too, for different reasons, but I’ve always thought it was part of being adopted.’ He paused. ‘It’s a sort of loneliness, I think. Maybe loneliness is too strong a word, but a confusion about who you are … a gap, a void. You don’t truly belong to anyone. And you can’t help wondering how it might have been.’ He looked at her, his eyes suddenly full of concern. ‘Please … don’t look at me like you pity me. I don’t want you to feel sorry for me. You asked how it feels, and I’m trying to tell you. But not so you can beat yourself up about what you did.’ He shrugged. ‘I mean, would I have been happier if you’d kept me? I’ll never know, and it’s dumb to look at happiness in such a relative way.’ He looked hard at her. ‘I am not unhappy. I
wasn’t
unhappy. Really I wasn’t. Please believe me.’

She wasn’t sure she did. There was a sadness behind his words she didn’t understand.

‘And finding us? Does that change anything?’

‘It makes me nervous.’

‘Nervous?’

‘Yeah. Suppose I’m not good enough … suppose I’m a disappointment to you or I don’t fit in with the family,
suppose you reject me for some reason.’ He shook his head. ‘You can’t help thinking like that. It’s why so many people never do it, I reckon.’

‘I felt the same before I met you. I wanted you to approve of me so badly,’ she said. ‘But it’s been worth all the agony to finally know you. At least, for me it has.’

‘And for me too,’ Daniel said. She noticed the slight flush to his cheeks and looked away to save him further embarrassment.

Her phone rang. ‘Hi, Richard … oh … OK … why? … No, I see. OK … yes, see you later.’

Daniel looked questioningly at her.

‘Richard says not to wait, he won’t be home until tenish.’

‘I get the feeling he’s not too keen on me being here.’ His voice was hesitant.

‘Oh, no. He’s fine with it. Just got a lot on at work.’ She wasn’t going to drag Daniel into a discussion about her husband’s behaviour, but the now familiar anxiety about the distance opening up between them cast a shadow over the afternoon. ‘But Marsha’s coming over. She and Lucy are meeting for a drink in town after work and she thought she’d come and say hi.’

Supper that night was a low-key middle of the week meal, with chicken salad, cheese and fruit; it was warm enough to eat on the terrace, the candles she’d insisted on lighting still pale in the falling light. The conversation was
easy-going, desultory; they were all tired from a long day and no one seemed inclined to make a special effort. She liked that. It was how normal families were.

She was in the kitchen, unwrapping the Brie and the goat’s cheese and putting them on the board, when she heard Marsha ask Daniel: ‘So … do you have a girlfriend? Or boyfriend maybe?’

She winced at Marsha’s cheek, but waited eagerly for her son’s response. This had been the one burning question she hadn’t managed to ask, and Daniel had so far volunteered no information whatsoever on the subject.

She heard his laugh, then a short silence. ‘There is someone, but it’s early days.’

‘Lucky you,’ Marsha replied. ‘Well, me, I’m fed up with the whole male species. They’re either wimps or predators.’

‘I get the predators, but how do you class a wimp?’ Daniel asked.

‘Oh, you know, media types who think they’re God’s gift because they write for a broadsheet, but couldn’t even change a light bulb or wash a sock.’

Annie heard the laughter.

‘So you’re after a Real Man? Capital R, capital M.’ The amusement in her son’s voice made her smile too.

‘Yeah … someone who has muscles that weren’t bought in a gym. Someone who could build a house, mend a burst pipe, ride a horse – or a motorbike … sail
a boat across the Atlantic single-handed. That sort of thing.’

She’d never heard Marsha talk about the sort of man she wanted.

‘But is clever and could read a book as well?’ Daniel asked wryly.

‘Do I detect a certain contempt – jealousy maybe – for Real Man?’ Marsha countered. ‘News flash, Daniel Gray! Being practical and strong doesn’t rule out being literate.’

‘Well, the poor guy won’t have much time between building houses and riding about mending pipes to read anything significant!’

‘Sneer as much as you like,’ Marsha declared. ‘I know what I want.’ There was silence outside for a moment.

‘I agree with Mash,’ Lucy joined in. ‘I’m in love with Real Man already.’

‘Well, you stand more of a chance of meeting him than I do, Luce. You’ll come across loads of those earnest, shorts-wearing Médecins sans Frontières types in Africa. They have to fix dodgy generators and beat off snakes and bandits all the time. But I work in a PR company in Soho.’

‘Aren’t there more snakes and bandits in Soho than in the whole of the African continent?’ The question was Daniel’s.

‘Too bloody right!’

Marsha persisted. ‘So what’s
your
type?’

‘As a self-confessed wimp I’d definitely go for someone
who could put up shelves and unblock the sink … when I get one, of course.’

Marsha’s mobile rang at that moment. Annie took the pears and cheese outside to find they were talking about a politician in the news that day.

12

Annie had neglected her mother of late, but it was still with a good deal of reluctance that she walked up the marble steps of the Cadogan Gardens flat. She knew she had to tell Eleanor about Daniel’s paternity herself, before the news filtered back to her via the gossip grapevine. She would never be forgiven if that happened.

It was a good half an hour into her visit, however, and she still hadn’t plucked up courage to reveal her long-held secret.

‘Charles Carnegie?’ her mother almost shrieked when she finally told her. ‘Angela Carnegie’s boy?
He’s
Daniel’s father?’

Annie nodded, almost enjoying the shock on her mother’s face.

Her mother was speechless for once. They were in her drawing room, just about to walk down Sloane Street to Harvey Nichols; Eleanor wanted some face cream.

‘Wouldn’t P.J.’s be closer?’ Annie had asked, but Eleanor was scathing in her reply.

‘Peter Jones is a very sensible shop, darling, and it certainly has its uses. But it has none of the
flair
of Harvey Nicks. I want to browse,’ she had told her, with a childish gleam in her eye.

‘But … but,’ spluttered Eleanor now, ‘why didn’t you tell me it was him at the time? I thought it was some lout you picked up at one of those parties that Walsh boy was always dragging you to. I assumed you didn’t even know the man’s name.’

‘Thanks, Mother,’ she replied through clenched teeth.

‘Well, darling, you can forgive me for being a little suspicious, seeing as you waited thirty years to tell me who he is.’

‘What’s that got to do with it?’

‘Don’t be rude, Annie.’ Her mother went quiet for a moment, and Annie wondered what she was thinking.

‘You’re a very stupid girl not to have told me. Carnegie would have married you.’

‘I doubt it. And if he had, it would have been against his will. Not a very promising start to a life together.’

‘But his family is
ancient
,’ Eleanor objected, a faraway look in her eye. ‘It could have been marvellous.’

‘So if I’d have told you the baby would be part of the “ancient” Carnegie dynasty, would you still have insisted I give him up for adoption?’

‘Well, no, of course not.’ Eleanor looked outraged at
the suggestion. ‘We would have come to some arrangement with Angela and Henry, I’m sure.’

Arrangement? She was beyond speech herself. God! It was as if they spoke a different language sometimes.

Her mother’s beady eyes suddenly narrowed. ‘You never told me you were going out with the Carnegie boy. Why didn’t you tell me? How long were you seeing him before …?’

Eleanor paused and Annie didn’t answer. I could lie, say that it had been going on for weeks and weeks. She’d slip into a coma if she knew I’d had sex on a first date. But she held back, said nothing, and Eleanor didn’t press her.

‘So when can I meet Daniel?’ Her mother looked excited by the prospect.

‘Oh, are you sure you want to, Mother? Won’t you be worried he’ll be violent, or feckless? Not share our values?’

‘I don’t like your tone of voice, Annie. Of course I want to meet Charles Carnegie’s son. He’s my grandson, don’t forget.’ For the first time, and for all the wrong reasons, her mother had finally owned her own flesh and blood. But it brought Annie no joy.

She sighed. ‘Come on, Mother, let’s go to Harvey Nicks.’ What else had she expected? ‘I have to get back to the bakery soon.’

‘Go, if you have to. I don’t want to delay you,’ Eleanor said airily, making no attempt to stand up. ‘I’m not sure I want to go out at the moment, anyway.’

‘Don’t be like that.’ Now she’s taken umbrage, she
thought. ‘I’ve plenty of time to walk down with you.’

Eleanor said nothing, just stared at Annie as if she wasn’t seeing her. She looked at her mother more carefully. ‘Are you alright?’

The old lady sank back in her chair. ‘I’m perfectly fine. I’ve remembered I’ve got a few things to do, that’s all. I expect I’ll pop out later in the day.’

She went closer. ‘Are you sure you’re alright, Mother? You look tired.’

‘I said, I’m fine. Stop fussing, will you?’ Eleanor seemed to have revived, and was impatiently brushing Annie away. ‘Hadn’t you better be off?’

‘OK … well, I suppose I should get going.’ She kissed her goodbye, more tenderly than usual. ‘Talk tomorrow,’ she said. Her mother raised her hand without a word.

Annie heard Mercedes in the kitchen, and crept through to talk to the housekeeper.

‘Everything OK?’ she asked.

Mercedes looked at her questioningly.

‘I just thought Mother looked a bit tired,’ Annie went on.

Mercedes threw her arms up in the air. ‘She do too much, your mother. She up early, she no sleep much. I hear the radio in the night
mucho, mucho
. She always go out, see too many of those people.’

Annie nodded, smiled.

‘She old lady now, your mother. But she no think so,’ Mercedes added with a shrug.

‘No, well, that’s not going to change,’ Annie agreed.

‘I say nothing.’ Mercedes’ voice dropped to a whisper. ‘She get very angry if I say she do too much. She say it not my business, I just work for her.’

‘That’s not very nice.’

Mercedes laughed. ‘Your mother is sometimes not nice. But I used to that.’

‘You’re a saint.’

‘Your mother is not bad person. She not know what she says.’

I’m not so sure about that, Annie thought, but it was neither the time nor place to debate her mother’s bad manners.

At that point, Eleanor came round the door of the kitchen. ‘I thought you were in a rush,’ she said pointedly.

Annie saw Mercedes look immediately nervous.

‘I was just having a chat with Mercedes.’

‘How nice.’ Eleanor smiled icily, and Annie took her leave, hoping there would be no unpleasant repercussions for the Spanish housekeeper.

Later that day, when she was at the bakery, her mobile rang.

‘Annie …? Charles Carnegie.’ His tone was businesslike.

‘Hello,’ she replied. She was annoyed with him. It was ten days since they’d met and this was the first communication he’d made.

‘Er … how are you?’

‘I’m fine.’

‘You don’t sound it.’ She heard a low chuckle and his voice dropped to a whisper. ‘Listen, I thought I’d have a moment to talk, but I’ve just seen my three o’clock on the horizon, so can I call later? Better still, meet up?’

Jodie sat opposite her, busy tapping away on the computer, but Annie could tell she was listening.

‘What for?’ What did they have to say to each other that they hadn’t said already?

‘Well, there’s been a bit of fallout from our discussion the other day. That’s why I’ve taken so long to get back to you.’ He paused, and she heard him greeting someone called Mark, telling him he wouldn’t be a sec. Then the sound of his shoes echoing across a hard surface. ‘I can’t talk now, but I’d really appreciate a chat about … Daniel, if you have the time.’ He spoke his son’s name hesitantly, as if he wasn’t sure it was the correct one.

What did he mean by ‘fallout’? ‘OK … if you like.’

‘I’m around this evening,’ she heard him say. ‘I’ll come up your way if it suits, or we could meet halfway. What about the Ritz?’

She laughed.

‘What’s so funny about the Ritz?’

‘Nothing, I suppose. I was imagining more a quiet corner in a north-London pub.’

‘Eurgh! Hideous thought. Can’t be doing with pubs. And there’s no such thing as a quiet corner of one. No,
let’s do the Ritz. Great cocktails, and the bar’s reopened after the refurb. Looks like an ageing Lothario’s gin palace. Love it. You must have been there.’

‘Of course I’ve been to the Ritz.’ Cheeky sod! ‘But not for about thirty years.’

‘I didn’t take you there, did I?’ There was another chuckle. ‘Just joking … but so much of my youth is lost in a haze of, well, cocktails, I suppose. Got to go.’

She didn’t respond to his comment. ‘I’ll be there at six,’ she said, and ended the call

‘Hot date?’ Jodie teased, perhaps assuming she was talking to Richard. Then looked taken aback as Annie, to her horror, found herself blushing. There was an awkward silence while Annie concentrated hard on her mobile, checking non-existent texts. She hadn’t told the people at work about Daniel yet. It’s not really their business, she’d told herself. But the truth was she was worried they would be shocked by what she’d done and see her in an unsympathetic light.