Mark had been dreading his arrival back home. He’d spent most of the train journey from Bournemouth to Southampton that morning thinking about what to say. Then he’d barely been able to concentrate on work during the day.
It hadn’t gone unnoticed. Adam had quizzed him about it over lunch, when the pair of them had slipped out to a nearby boozer, taking advantage of the fact that Wilder was tied up with a previous appointment.
He’d been sipping on a gin-and-tonic in a quiet corner, waiting for his chicken salad to arrive; hoping it wasn’t as bland as everything else in the cavernous chain pub, from the sleepwalking staff to the dreary background music. Having finished replying to an email, Adam – sitting directly across from him – had jammed his mobile back into his jacket pocket and muttered something about never getting a moment’s peace. Then he’d thrown Mark a quizzical glance, asking: ‘So how come you didn’t make it back last night? Is everything all right?’
‘It took a bit longer than expected, that’s all. I missed the last train, so I had to take the spare room and catch an early one back this morning.’
‘At least you managed to get changed before hitting the office,’ Adam had said, smirking, after taking a sip from his pint. ‘Otherwise people might have thought you’d been a dirty stop-out.’
‘Hardly.’
‘Seriously, though. Did you manage to sort things out with your sister-in-law? What’s her name again: Deborah, is it?’
‘Diane. Yeah, it’s … complicated.’
‘I thought as much. You’ve been away with the fairies all morning.’
‘Is it that obvious? Sorry, mate.’
‘Don’t worry about it. I only caught on because I work with you all the time. It’s fine, honestly. Wilder’s too wrapped up in his own crap to notice. Besides, I think he’s terrified of you after all the financial stuff you reeled off yesterday.’
Mark, who’d been occupying his hands by tearing up beer mats under the table, had laughed at this. ‘Well, that’s what you asked me along for, right?’
‘Exactly. Are you okay, though? If there’s anything I can do to help …’
Mark had lied, claiming to be fine, despite this being far from the truth. He’d then done his best to put his – and Diane’s – troubles out of his mind for the rest of the afternoon, although he hadn’t been particularly successful.
It had been the same story at the airport, during the short flight back to Manchester, and then the cab ride home. One thought had barely left his mind the whole time, bouncing around inside his skull like a rubber ball: what the hell was he going to tell Hannah and Mia when he got back?
Finding Mia waiting by the front door of the apartment had thrown him, but luckily he’d had the excuse of needing a shower first, which had bought him some extra time. Not that it had helped much.
Now he was facing the pair of them in the lounge, hair still damp from being washed, and no clue what to say.
His mind flashed back to twenty-four hours earlier when it had been Diane’s face staring expectantly at him, rather than those of her sister and daughter. But unlike them, it hadn’t been explanations she’d wanted. It had been Mark’s reaction to the bombshell she’d just dropped at her kitchen table.
‘Aren’t you going to say anything?’ she asked him, her face eerily calm.
Like what? How was he supposed to respond? She’d just told him she was dying! And this was Diane, of course, which made things even more complicated. Was it true – or merely the latest move in some elaborate game she was playing?
‘Um,’ he replied eventually, shaking his head as the words shuffled out. ‘I don’t know what to say, Diane. What … how?’
She sat back in her chair at this point, rather than continuing to lean over the table, but it did little to ease the tension.
‘It’s cancer,’ she said, her voice little more than a whisper. ‘Pancreatic. Terminal.’
As she uttered these words, the look in her eyes – or rather the absence of anything there, like a vacuum, bereft of hope – shattered Mark’s remaining defences. He reached forward and placed his right hand over hers as it gripped the kitchen table: one human to another, the past temporarily forgotten.
‘Diane, I’m so sorry. Does Mia—’
He felt her hand stiffen at the mention of her daughter’s name. ‘No – and she mustn’t! She can’t go through what Hannah and I did with Mum. You remember that, right? It was horrendous watching her slowly waste away. I don’t want that for my daughter, especially at her age. That’s why I brought her to you.’
Diane went on to explain how her cancer diagnosis had been a bolt from the blue just a few weeks earlier. She’d been feeling under the weather for a while – tiredness, weight loss and some niggling stomach pains – but hadn’t thought much of it. The possibility of such slight symptoms being anything serious hadn’t even entered her mind, until she’d finally got around to having them checked out. Her GP had quickly escalated things and, next thing she knew, an oncologist was delivering the devastating news.
‘But how could you hide that from Mia?’ he asked.
‘It’s all happened so quickly, you wouldn’t believe it. I’ve barely got my head around it myself. Mia was at school when I had the hospital appointments. I made the decision not to tell her.’
‘But … who have you told? You can’t do this alone, Diane. How long have you even—’
‘A few months, best-case scenario.’
‘What? Jesus, Diane. And there’s nothing—’
‘It’s incurable.’
‘You have to tell Mia. And what about your dad and Hannah? They’re your family, Diane. They have a right to know. You’ve told your dad at least, right?’
‘No, I don’t want my family watching me die before their eyes. We’ve been through that already with Mum and look where it left us. The trauma ripped us apart.’
‘So what are you going to do?’
‘I want to die on my own terms, before things get too bad. Quick and painless, while I’m still me.’
‘What does that even mean?’ He threw his hands in the air, incredulous. ‘What exactly have you been doing since you left Mia with us, Diane?’
‘Mark? Hello, Earth to Mark!’ The insistent sound of his wife’s voice brought him back to the present: the last place he wanted to be, considering the dilemma he faced.
He blinked and dragged one palm up over his forehead into his freshly washed hair, beads of moisture running into the gaps between his fingers. ‘Sorry, I guess I’m tired,’ he fudged. ‘I’ve had a long couple of days.’
Knowing what he now did about his sister-in-law and the shocking reason for her recent actions, Mark’s gut instinct was – of course – to tell Hannah and Mia the truth. It would be a disastrous conversation, naturally; goodness only knew how Mia would react. She’d probably want to head back down to Bournemouth immediately.
But it wasn’t that simple.
Diane had made it crystal-clear she didn’t want her daughter or sister to know about her condition. She’d also said in no uncertain terms that should he decide to tell them anyway, she would be forced to reveal the truth about him being Mia’s father. Despite Mark pointing out how unfair that was, considering how it had come to pass and the fact he’d only just learned the truth himself, Diane had been insistent.
‘Fair or unfair, that’s how it is,’ she’d said. ‘I absolutely don’t want them to know – and the same goes for my father.’
‘So why have you told me?’ he’d asked. ‘Is this just another way for you to torture me, Diane? You seem to take great pleasure in putting me in impossible situations.’
‘Honestly, this isn’t about you,’ she’d insisted. ‘You came here tonight and, well, telling you suddenly seemed to make a strange kind of sense. But I can’t let that get in the way of how I need things to happen.’
And still Mark wrestled with what to do; what to say. Was protecting his secret, and thus saving his marriage, more important than telling a girl – his own daughter, as it now seemed – her mother was dying? Didn’t he at least owe Hannah the chance to try to make peace with her sister, rather than be haunted by regret for the rest of her life? But how could that ever happen if she found out about his and Diane’s night together? And what would the uncovering of this sordid secret do to Mia?
Dammit, he was in an impossible situation. Lying to Hannah and Mia about what had happened yesterday seemed like the only option for now. However, if either of them later discovered he’d actually known more, that too could prove disastrous. Talk about being stuck between a rock and a hard place.
‘So, er, yes,’ he found himself saying, although it was like he was outside his body, watching as an observer rather than a participant in the conversation. ‘I did manage to track Diane down yesterday.’
‘You went to our house?’ Mia asked. ‘Is that where you found her?’
‘That’s right. I took a taxi from Bournemouth railway station. Diane wasn’t home when I first arrived, so I got the third degree from your next-door neighbour.’
Mia, who was sitting opposite him, next to Hannah on the sofa, lit up at this. ‘Rod, you mean?’
‘That’s right. Big chap.’ Mark hunched his shoulders forward and clenched his fists in front of his chest. ‘I wouldn’t want to mess with him.’
‘He’s lovely really. He’s just a bit protective of me and Mum.’
‘I noticed.’ Winking in a bid to keep the mood as light as possible, he added: ‘Anyway, luckily Diane got back before he moved on to roughing me up.’
‘How’s she doing?’ Mia asked. She leaned forward, her green eyes all the more piercing for not being circled by her dark make-up.
‘Well …’ he replied, realising the crucial nature of the next few words he would utter. He looked at the concern etched into the teenager’s face and wondered, not for the first time, whether she already had some idea her mother was ill. Diane may not have told her anything, but she was a bright kid. She must have been wondering what had led her mum – the person who’d single-handedly brought her up – to suddenly take the drastic measure of driving all the way to Manchester and leaving her here, with him and Hannah.
‘We had a good long chat,’ he continued. ‘So much so that I missed the last train back to Southampton and had to stay the night in your spare room. Luckily your mum was good enough to give me a lift to the station early this morning.’
He looked at Hannah as he said this, knowing she was hearing it for the first time; she looked confused and surprised rather than angry, which was probably as good as he could hope for in the circumstances. He realised he probably ought to have mentioned it when they’d spoken on the phone earlier. But he’d bottled out, keeping the conversation deliberately short and blaming it on being busy with work.
‘Did she say when I can go home?’ Mia asked. ‘Has she got herself sorted out?’
Mark took a deep breath, but before he could continue, he was interrupted by the sound of Hannah’s mobile phone ringing.
He looked at his wife, expecting her to answer it or at least check who was calling, but she waved her hand dismissively and told him to ignore it. ‘If it’s important, they’ll leave a voicemail,’ she said.
But no sooner had the ringing stopped than it started up again. And when this happened another time, Hannah frowned and walked across the room to her desk, where she pulled the mobile out of her handbag and announced: ‘That’s odd. It’s Dad.’
‘I thought he was on a cruise in the Med,’ Mark replied, but by that point Hannah had already answered the call.
As she strode out into the hallway with the phone to her ear, he heard her ask her father if everything was all right, before requesting him to slow down because she couldn’t understand what he was saying. Then there was the sound of a door opening and shutting, which Mark took to mean she’d gone into the bedroom. While this wasn’t particularly unusual behaviour – Hannah often lay on the bed to take phone calls she knew might last a while – Mark had a bad feeling. Frank didn’t call very often, especially not when he was away on holiday. There had to be something wrong.
‘Do you think everything’s okay?’ Mia asked him, her furrowed brow giving away her own concerns.
Mark forced his mouth into a smile, which he hoped looked more convincing than it felt. ‘Oh, I wouldn’t worry. I’m sure it’ll be nothing. I hear you and Hannah went out for dinner yesterday. Somewhere in the Northern Quarter, wasn’t it? Did you enjoy it?’
‘Yes, thanks,’ Mia said.
‘Good, good. And what have you been up to today? Anything exciting?’
‘Todd and I hung out together for a bit.’
‘That’s nice. It’s great you two get along. Did you—’
Before Mark could ask his question, Mia posed two of her own. ‘Do you think Grandad’s call might be to do with my mum? How was she when you said goodbye to her this morning?’
Mark gulped. ‘What makes you think it’s about Diane, love? It could be anything. Your grandad’s not even in the UK at the moment. It’s probably to do with his holiday. Maybe Joan’s fallen ill or something.’
Mia didn’t appear convinced. The look on her face was locked somewhere between pensive and terrified.
Then they both heard the muffled but unmistakeable sound of Hannah letting out a sudden hair-raising shriek from the other room. They looked at the open doorway of the lounge and then back at each other in perfect sync.
‘That doesn’t sound good,’ Mia whispered. ‘Had you better check on her?’
Mark’s heart was racing so hard he feared she might see it thumping through his fresh grey polo shirt. ‘Yes,’ he said, jumping to his feet.
‘Do you want me to come too?’
‘No, Mia,’ he replied, more abruptly than intended. Adopting a softer tone, he added: ‘I’ve got this. Don’t worry. I’m sure it’s nothing: probably a storm in a teacup.’
She nodded once, remaining where she was on the couch, yet looking unconvinced.
‘Back in a minute,’ he added, before walking to the bedroom with feigned calmness. He paused in front of the closed door, fingertips resting on the cool metal handle, as he listened for a moment but heard nothing. Taking a deep breath, he pressed down and felt the door swing open, revealing a silent Hannah perched on the edge of the bed, her head resting in one hand; the other trembling slightly, but still holding her mobile to her ear. ‘And then?’ she puffed breathlessly into the phone before looking up at Mark with a blank stare: the redness of her tear-soaked eyes like gaping wounds in the sheet-white skin of her face.
‘Is everything okay?’ he mouthed.
She shook her head in slow motion and absent-mindedly waved him away.
Mark nodded, whispering: ‘You know where I am.’ He backed out of the bedroom, gently closing the door behind him, and stood in the hallway wondering what on earth was happening and what to do next. He knew Mia would be crying out for answers when he returned to the lounge, yet he had none to give. Despite what he’d told her, he too had a horrible, deep-seated feeling that this was something to do with Diane.
He darted into the main bathroom, locking the door behind him before sitting down on the closed lid of the toilet seat and holding his head in his hands.
What was he doing? Why was he hiding here rather than speaking to Mia? She was his daughter, for goodness’ sake. Wasn’t she? In truth he still hadn’t fully accepted this, despite everything Diane had told him. Even though she’d seemed so sincere, he couldn’t forget the way she’d manipulated him before. Was this genuinely the reason, though, or was he burying his head in the sand and using that as an excuse? Maybe it was a bit of both. God, what a mess everything was in …
Mark had never wanted to have children. He’d decided that years ago – and he had good reason for it, based on the tragedy he’d lived through when only a child himself, which had torn his family to shreds.
He’d always been upfront about this with Hannah. He’d made sure she was okay with it before asking her to marry him. He’d genuinely been prepared to walk away, painful as it would have been, if she hadn’t been able to accept this. Not having children was definitely a compromise on her part. Mark had never kidded himself about this fact. But it had been her choice, rather than something he’d imposed on her. That was important. And they’d had a good life together as a result, full of the kinds of freedoms parents of young children didn’t have: the regular luxury holidays and nights out, for instance. You could even argue that it had granted Hannah the opportunity to pursue her dream of becoming a professional author.
But all of that was, of course, built on a lie when you brought Diane into the picture. Specifically that one illicit night they’d spent together and, as he was now finally starting to accept, the child it had produced.
There was one key moment in his and Hannah’s relationship when Mark had questioned whether she regretted her decision to forego parenthood. And that was after seeing the look in her eyes when she’d taken him to visit Diane and Mia for the first time in hospital. He hadn’t said anything to her at the time. He hadn’t dared to, fearing the answer and where it might lead.
Hannah had soon settled into the role of loving aunt. And how she’d loved that little girl! She’d doted on her, showering her with affection and gifts galore at every opportunity. It had been losing contact with her niece that had smashed one of the biggest cracks in his wife’s psyche following her and Diane’s spat. Young Mia had been a beacon of hope in the devastating wreckage left by her mother’s death. So when that too had been taken away from her, only darkness had remained.
How would Hannah feel about Mia, with whom she was now finally reunited and starting to bond, if she discovered the terrible truth of her origin?
Mark levered his resistant body into a standing position. He walked over to the sink, ran the cold tap and splashed water on his face before staring at himself in the mirror. He searched his tired, unshaven doppelgänger for some hint of Mia and, as he did so, felt a gear shift in his conscience.
He remembered how he’d felt all those years ago, while looking after Mia for a couple of days at Diane’s house. That gut feeling he’d had about her being his daughter – it had been right. And when he’d felt it back then – when it had punched him so hard in the belly he’d been unable to think of anything else – he’d known he had to do right by her, despite all that it might cost him. He’d recognised that he couldn’t run away from his responsibilities like his own dad had. He’d understood that what he wanted wasn’t the most important thing any more.
The same was true now. He was a father. Mia’s father. That mattered more than anything else. It was time for him to stand up and accept his duty.
At that moment his phone, which was on silent in his trouser pocket, announced the arrival of a message with a short vibration. He pulled it out and saw, to his surprise, that it was from Hannah.
Can you come to the bedroom NOW? Need to speak to you alone urgently. Don’t let on to Mia.