He gazes at me with an openness and truth that puts me at ease. ‘Next time, wear dark glasses and a hat; your eyes and hair are too distinctive,’ I say.
That brings back the smile I sense I’m going to become very attached to. ‘Call me Danny. One day, I’m hoping you’ll call me “Dad”， but I know I’ll have to earn that. Come through. Miriam’s already waiting for us in the garden. We love watching the boats go by on the river.’
Danny. Danny. Danny. Mentally I practise his name before I walk into the house.
The airy lightness and large windows draw me in. And the aromas.
‘Something smells nice.’
Danny is relaxed and charming. ‘It’s one of my signature Thai curries. I’ve taken up cooking since I retired. I get such a lot of pleasure rustling up different dishes.’
A man who cooks. That was one of the things that attracted me to Joe. I’m warming to Danny already.
Lining the walls of the hall is a gallery of photographs and certificates. I stop to admire them. There are so many. A suited and booted younger Danny giving and receiving industry awards, seated at the head of the table at business meetings, a framed trusteeship document for a company, photos with celebrities and minor royals. My gaze jumps from picture to picture searching for her; a photo of a black woman who might be my mother. There are no black people, men or women, in this exclusive world of Danny’s.
Suddenly, the photo inside Sugar’s private room invades my mind. Plenty of black faces there – the four young women. And the Good Knight.
Snap out of it, Eva! I do, telling my birth father, ‘You’ve certainly mixed in high society over the years, Danny.’
He stops and looks at the photos, his expression a surprising one of disdain. ‘That world’s all rubbish, Eva. That’s a hard lesson I learned, and I learned it too late. It’s connecting to people that matters, not amassing piles of money.’ Which I suppose explains the open-toed sandals he wears. Waving a dismissive hand at them he adds, ‘I leave all those photos and certificates on the wall as a reminder.’
‘Would you be in this lovely house if it wasn’t for all this rubbish as you call it?’
His voice has an undertone I can’t make out. ‘This was my mother’s house. When she passed on I moved here.’ The blue of his eyes darkens. ‘I was sorry to hear about your adoptive mother. The death of your mum is a blow you sadly never forget the sting of.’
Cherry’s death is still so raw all I can do is nod my thanks. We pass by rooms where the doors are open; a house with nothing to hide. Two sets of French doors mark the back of the house where curtains billow, bending back and forth in the breeze like stiff legs being exercised.
Outside the sky is spotless apart from an occasional wisp of cloud that dulls the sun for a moment, before passing over again like a parent playing peek-a-boo with a child. The grounds here are luxuriant, huge, the grass neatly tended, the colours of the flowers harmoniously shifting in the sunlight. The motion and sound of the gently lapping water is soothing. Danny is very lucky to have such a secluded view and access to the river.
Miriam sits at a table, wearing a pair of red-framed Jackie O sunglasses in her rocker-girl chic, except this time the jeans have been replaced by a denim mini skirt and leggings.
She bounces up with delight when I appear. ‘Eva! Sis!’
We hug and kiss, clinging on to each other. Danny looks on with a grin of satisfaction before fetching a jug of Pimm’s loaded with ice, citrus fruits, cucumber, strawberries and fresh mint. Soon we’re talking and laughing. Danny asks me lots of questions about my life and listens intently, nodding with approval at the decisions I’ve made. I skate over my time in the children’s home because I haven’t come to his home to guilt-trip him. But it soon becomes clear that Danny is one of those men who knows how to make a woman feel good about herself, and before I know it I’m telling him about my professional woes at work.
Danny sighs. ‘Sugar and Cherry have done a fantastic job bringing you up. Infinitely better than I would have done.’ Miriam purses her lips slightly at that. Danny goes on, ‘I’d like to meet Sugar one day. He sounds like quite a guy; I’d like to shake his hand.’
Maybe it’s because Danny is so attentive that I tell him about the whole sorry saga of my dust-up with Sugar, about the mystery woman, Ronnie, moving in. The pain and outrage of seeing her coming out of Sugar’s private room is still fresh. And what my adoptive father is doing in his secret room.