Sarah rang to say my offer has been accepted and it's a huge relief. I couldn't have lived with myself if I'd messed up a second time and Aggie's cottage had gone to yet another stranger. Stranger – it's funny, but Madeleine Brooks as a purchaser didn't turn out to be such an awful disaster, after all. Aggie would have loved her ideas and what she's done to the place, so the dream has been realised and soon it will become my home for the rest of my days.
What I hadn't anticipated is how that woman has managed to get under my skin so completely that her image is always inside my head. I seem to spend my time dodging advances from so many lonely women these days – some single, some married. So why is it that the one I can't have is the one I want so badly?
I'm not callous enough to try to compete with this Ryan guy. He's well off, good-looking and suave. Everything I'm not. Why would a lovely lady like Madeleine Brooks even consider someone like me? Rough around the edges, a big chip on my shoulder and emotionally screwed. And yet, that night we were together it wasn't lust, it was passion and there's a huge difference. But she's meant to be with someone like him, so everything he said was true. If I could undo that night, I would, for her sake – not for his. I guessed he'd move quickly and whisk her away to safety. She'll slot into his perfect life so easily, because there isn't one thing about her that isn't real, caring and full of heart. Women like Madeleine don't fall in love with sad cases like me. I feel awful not telling her the truth, but I knew that if I did it would pull on her sympathies. She'd probably have offered to sell me Ash Cottage there and then. The truth is, Aggie was my biological mother, but it's a secret I intend to take to the grave with me.
I feared there would be a paper among Aggie's personal effects that alluded to the adoption. It was there all right, but I felt it would have been betraying a client's trust to take the document, even though it has nothing to do with the cottage. Instead, I hid it, tucked it away inside one of the larger documents. When I get the deeds and the documents in the box, hopefully it will still be there and I'll burn it. The secret will, once and for all, be safe.
I was very young when my adoptive father died, almost too young to have any memories of him. However, my mother had lots of photos and they became my memories as the years went by. All I really knew was that my mother changed as time went on. It turns out that she never really wanted children at all, but it was her husband who convinced her to apply for adoption. Instead of being a comfort to her, I became a thorn in her side. She wanted to shut herself away in a little world where she could live with her memories, but having me around meant living in the moment. I was never neglected in any way physically, but mentally I felt unloved. The day he died she'd locked up her heart and I represented a burden with which she'd been left. She had rules that didn't always make any sense to me and when I hit my teens rebellion set in. It was at that time she sat me down and told me the truth. Shortly after that I left to join the army. I had a lot of respect for her, for the job she'd taken on and for seeing it through. But I never felt like her son, I was her charge and she was the person taking care of me.
It wasn't until much later in life that I decided to try to find my biological mother. Yumiko had convinced me that it was something I should do when I was ready, but it took a long time to get to that point in my life. It was only when I realised my adoptive mother probably didn't have too many years left that it occurred to me it might already be too late to find my biological mother. There was no one to ask about where to begin looking, so I approached a company who were experts in the field. I answered a long questionnaire about where my adoptive parents lived, what I knew about them and their backgrounds. It only took them a couple of weeks to identify the agency who had placed me.
They tracked Aggie down quite easily once they had her name. She'd never married, and the main family home had remained unchanged since the eighteen-hundreds. Aggie had left for college; always a gifted student, it had been her dream. When we met up for the first time she told me the whole story. It was love at first sight and the inevitable happened. My father's name was George Warner, and Aggie told me they were besotted with each other. From the day they first met they were inseparable and her trips home became less and less frequent. Her family thought she was simply applying herself to her studies; the truth would have been unimaginable to them.
My real father died late one evening when his motorbike was hit by a lorry. Patches of black ice caused several fatal accidents that night. At university during the day, he was working evenings and weekends to get some money together. His family rallied around her, as she was inconsolable and in no condition to be left alone. By then her own father was ill and Aggie knew she couldn't tear her family apart by revealing her situation.
So George's parents stood by Aggie until after the birth and I was given up for adoption. On paper my adoptive parents were good candidates. I know I was lucky, but things would have been very different if my adoptive father had lived. When he died, hope and love died too – but as a child you don't understand that the person you call mother has had her heart broken beyond repair. I simply thought of her as being a rather cold woman who didn't love me because I didn't deserve to be loved.
As an adult, of course, you understand the bigger picture. But the damage had been done and I still can't handle emotional stuff. My life has been about discipline and control. It's the only way I know how to function. When Aggie told me she had never stopped loving her lost son, it unleashed feelings I couldn't handle. She thanked me for giving her the one gift for which she'd prayed every single night of her life, and that was the joy of knowing I'd grown up to be a good man. I was humbled and she made me feel proud. That was a first for me, but it opened up feelings that were alien and hard to comprehend.
She wanted to sign the cottage over to me, so that after her death it would be mine. I couldn't let her do that because people would start asking questions. This intelligent, gentle old lady had been a victim of time and circumstance; one generation later and it would have been a completely different story. The guilt and pain she'd had to endure for all those years had weighed heavily upon her. I wondered if she had clung on to life in the desperate hope that her prayers would be answered. It was a miracle she'd lasted so long and we were both grateful as the weeks, then months went by – affording us borrowed time.
I called in on her a couple of times each week, and even though there wasn't an awful lot I could do, what she appreciated most were our chats. With no reason to have secrets from each other, and with a very different sort of relationship to the norm, there was no judgement on either side. I talked frankly about my life and Aggie listened, telling me that if I wanted to find someone to love, I had to learn to love myself a little, first.
"Why do I need to find someone? Anyway, who'd love me?" I'd laughed the day she'd said that.
"You're a catch, Lewis, and I'm not just saying that because you are my son and I'm proud of you. Remember that deep within you are the genes of your father and myself. There's nothing bad in you, Lewis, you've just had to bury your sensitivities through no fault of your own. You were the innocent one in all of this. Your career was an honourable one, but required you to divorce your emotions from your actions. It's a job not everyone can do and one which most people prefer not to think too much about. War and death go hand in hand. You're tough, Lewis, but what you need now is someone who will see the inner part of you and strip away those layers of armour. You don't need that in your life any more, my son. It's time to let it all go and become your own man."
I'd rubbed my shaven head, giving her a big grin.
"Only a mother would say that," I'd joked.
I clearly remember how she'd leaned forward to place her hand on my shoulder and stare deeply into my eyes.
"You are your father's son and that's all I ever wanted. He was a gentle man and, above all else, a gentleman. He was also as strong as iron in his determination."
Soldiers don't cry on the battlefield, their tears are within and silent. I couldn't cry that day either, but I did cry after she died.
If I'd found a woman like Madeleine, then maybe my life could have been different, but that's unlikely. I genuinely believe I'm meant to be alone. But what is important to me is that Aggie's family home remains in the family until my dying day, because that's my mark of respect to her. After that, a new family will take over and Aggie will accept that with grace. She was a woman who had no concept of bitterness, or anger, over the happy and loving life she could have had. A different sort of person put into her situation might have felt both of those emotions and ended up pushing people away. Instead, she was a kind and loving woman, adored by friends and distant family.
I vowed then that I would always try to make her proud of me. Helping Madeleine Brooks renovate Ash Cottage was my gesture towards that. Unfortunately, something else happened and instead of doing a good deed, I did something really stupid and selfish. It will weigh heavily on my conscience forever. I told myself I was doing it for all the right reasons, helping Madeleine Brooks regain her self-esteem because she’s an amazing woman. The reality was that I fell in love, without being able to understand that was at the root of the problem.