‘Shall we go and get a coffee now?’ she says, turning to him. She frowns. ‘What is it? You look … worried.’
‘I don’t know. Something doesn’t feel right. About Dad. About that article.’ He’d told Jen all about it after his shift that night.
‘Why don’t you just ask him about it?’
‘My dad isn’t like yours.’ His father-in-law is the polar opposite: warm, kind, fun, loving.
‘I know, but if you confront him about this he can’t wriggle out of it. Theo,’ she says softly, ‘you know I love you, but where your dad is concerned, you … I don’t know … pussyfoot around him.’
He laughs. ‘Pussyfoot!’
‘Yes, pussyfoot. It’s like you’re scared of him.’
‘You’ve met my father!’
‘Yes. He’s formidable. I’m not gonna lie.’ His wife is being diplomatic. Even Jen’s effusive and bubbly personality couldn’t win his father over. He’s never told Jen this but after he first brought her home his dad said she was common. It was the only time Theo had stood up to him after his mum’s death. He told him he loved her, and if he ever heard him say or do anything nasty to her he’d never speak to him again. His dad had looked shocked, then muttered something about it not lasting. But here they were, five years later and married for the last three.
‘He won’t tell me the truth. Dad should have been a politician.’
‘There must be someone you could ask. I know your grandparents are dead, but … a cousin perhaps?’
He takes his wife’s hand and they walk out of the cemetery together. He doesn’t know his cousins. It’s hard for Jen to understand because her family is huge and they all get on. ‘I’ll start by asking him. And if he doesn’t give me what I want, I’ll find out for myself.’
‘Good. And I’ll help. It will be a distraction.’ She smiles but her eyes are too bright.
It feels as if someone is squeezing his heart. ‘Jen … we could go and see someone. Get some tests?’
She shakes her head, a blonde curl falling into her eyes. ‘Not yet. I’m not ready to face that yet. Let’s just wait for now.’
He kisses her hand in response, his mind already slipping back to his father and the newspaper article. Tomorrow, he vows. Tomorrow I’ll find out who my dad is looking for, and why.
10
Lorna
It’s too dark and quiet, and Lorna is finding it difficult to sleep on the hard futon, knowing her daughter and her boyfriend are on the other side of the wall. She still finds it difficult to get used to the thought of her only child having sex and now carrying a baby. A baby. She can’t believe she’s going to be a grandmother.
She misses the sounds of San Sebastián – the occasional laughter and screeches of teenagers, the thrum of music from a neighbouring tapas restaurant. The comforting noises of city life, not this God-awful silence. Then her mind wanders to Alberto. She turns onto her side and reaches for her phone on the pine bedside cabinet. It’s gone midnight. Spain is an hour ahead. She expects he’ll still be at the bar, the proverbial night owl.
She sits up, trying to shake the image of her boyfriend surrounded by a flock of scantily clad women. There’s no point lying here trying to sleep – she’s suffered from insomnia in the past and all the advice she’s read on the subject says to get up. She throws on her hot-pink kimono and opens the bedroom door quietly so as not to wake Saffy and Tom and pads down the hallway towards the little bedroom. She’s drawn to it, that bedroom, that insight into her past. She pushes the door open, wincing as it creaks before continuing into the room.
There are no curtains at the window and a shard of moonlight illuminates a patch of black varnish stuck like tar to one of the floorboards. She stands at the window that looks over the garden. The hole in the ground looks even more ominous in the dark. The woods, thick and dense, line the back boundary. She forces her brain to remember more. What happened here? she whispers to her reflection. But it just stares back at her, like a ghoul with big curly hair and wide haunted eyes. She turns away from the window, to survey the room. Her bed was in that corner, by the door, where the boxes are now. Yes, yes, she remembers. It had a white iron frame and a colourful crocheted throw with large yellow daisies, and underneath she kept a pair of red patent shoes, like Dorothy’s in The Wizard of Oz. She hasn’t thought about those shoes for a long time. They had been her favourite. Where did they go when they moved to Bristol? And the iron bed frame and the crocheted throw?