The Monday morning train from Waterloo was almost empty. Most people were travelling in the opposite direction – hurrying up to town. He’d bought a single to Bookham. He would find a bed and breakfast for the night as there was no sleeping rough in England in September. He knew he could always go back to London, less than an hour away, but in his mind he had begun his quest for a Holy Grail and he promised himself he wouldn’t return to London until he had found it.
It wasn’t a long train journey and it was only mid morning by the time he arrived at Bookham Station. He asked the stationmaster where he might find a telephone box and was directed a mile or more to the village.
He found it, complete with directory, and hurriedly leafed through. There was no ‘Donaldson, Alicia’ in the book.
Would she have reverted to her maiden name? He slid his back down the glass doors of the telephone box and sat on his haunches on the floor. “What was her maiden name?” He racked his brains. He had seen some of her paintings on the wall at Millcourt. Some paintings that she had done before she had married. What had been on them? He couldn’t remember. He tried to picture one particular painting in his mind’s eye. He could see it, it was in the Lake District, a bridge, over a small stream with a mountain in the background but what was the signature at the bottom?
He decided he must find a library and see if there were any amateur theatricals or arts groups in the area. There were so many pictures in those scrapbooks of Alicia involved in that sort of thing, she wouldn’t have given up on those.
On the library notice board in the narrow entrance there were notices about kindergartens and mother and children groups, the local church services, all sorts of things but nothing that mentioned a drama society or art classes. ‘Shit’. He stood in front of the notice board, his hands clasped around the back of his head wondering what he could do next.
He ought to go home. There must be another way of finding the truth. That’s his trouble, he told himself, he was stubborn. On the one hand he knew it was a stupid idea to try to find her, on the other, he wasn’t going to give up on the first day. And he could always try Polesden Lacey.
Then he spotted a notice about a Parish Council Election. The electoral roll. He could sit and look through for someone called Alicia. There wouldn’t be many and even if she had changed her surname she would still be Alicia. It wouldn’t take long. Yes! He punched the air with his right hand. Why hadn’t he thought of that before?
He didn’t know whether he had spoken out loud but he did notice an elderly woman who had tried to get past him and who he had practically knocked over.
“I beg your pardon young man!”
“Sorry! I didn’t mean to hit anything, anyone! Sorry! Are you all right?”
“I’m fine, thank you.” She said looking down at her bag that had been knocked from her hands. Carl leant down to pick it up and handed it to her.
“If you’re sure?”
“Absolutely.”
He walked quickly out of the door, not noticing the look on the old lady’s face.
He walked up the High Street, stopping every so often, seemingly looking into the shops, but really his eyes were focussed only on the wall in Millcourt and that picture. If he could only remember that name it might just give him a better chance.
He shouldn’t have expected it to be easy. He hadn’t expected it to be easy. She could be in Leatherhead or Guildford or Epsom or any other town in Surrey. Just because she had had a couple of postcards of the village didn’t mean she lived there did it? Or she could have moved. Or she could be dead. But he was going to keep looking until he found her or he ran out of time. He was not going to give up.
He looked up at a clock. 12.30. He’d go back to the pub, have a drink, calm down and get everything into perspective. It seemed like it had been a long day and it wasn’t yet lunchtime.
Shortly after he had been served and had sat down at a quiet table the woman from the library came into the bar. He picked up his pint and walked up to her.
In the voice he could put on when he was trying to create a good impression, he tried to excuse himself “I’m very sorry for my outburst earlier. You caught me at a bad moment. Can I buy you a drink to make up?”
“Of course you may, the usual please Dave. Come on, let’s sit here and you can tell me why a nice young man like you was swearing at notices about Nursery Classes.”
He felt as if she was laughing at him.
They talked for a while about nothing in particular, just as strangers do in pubs. He bought her a drink and she returned the favour. When she finally got up to go he knew she was a writer and her name was Maureen Shelton.
The name meant nothing to him.
Why should it?
Maureen had gained a lot more from the conversation.
She had thought she recognised something of Arnold in the boy at the library and had followed his wanderings around the village.
She hadn’t seen Carl Witherby for some years but there was so much similarity between him and his father that there was no doubt in her mind who he was.
He may call himself Carl Forster but she knew that this was Kathleen’s boy, her nephew. He may spin her some tale about travelling around, perhaps finding some work in the area but she had a fair idea of why he was here and who he was looking for.
As she was about to leave she asked him, almost as an afterthought “Do you need somewhere to stay? My daughter takes in lodgers. If you want I can give you her address.”
He was surprised at her kindness but didn’t think too hard about why she was giving him her friendship and trust.
“But I haven’t got any references or anything and you don’t know me from Adam.”
“You seem to have a trustworthy face.” was all she said, writing an address and phone number on a slip of paper and giving it to him.
“If I can’t find anything I may just call her. Thank you.”
“Now I must go. It’s been very,” she hesitated as if trying to find the right word “interesting, meeting you, Carl. Now I must go. Things to do. People to see.”
“Well well well” Maureen smiled to herself as she left the pub.
“You aren’t going to believe who I met today.”
“I’m not in the mood for games Maureen. Of course I won’t be able to guess. You’ll have to tell me.”
Alicia was lying in her hospital room, tubes attached to both arms. She had been in hospital for several weeks now and was tired of it. She wanted to go home. It was weeks since the operation and they still wouldn’t dscharge her. Maureen, sitting at her bedside had visited her almost daily, but her patience was wearing thin as all Alicia did was complain.
“A young man you haven’t seen for some time.”
“Not Charles?” She didn’t sound excited by the prospect.
They both knew that Charles lived a very quiet and uninteresting life in Sandhey, he sent her birthday and Christmas cards dutifully signed “With love from us both; Charles and Monika.” Occasionally he would include a newspaper cutting or some note from a magazine describing a talk he was giving or a programme he was contributing to. Apparently he was getting quite a name for himself in the world of ornithology. Alicia thought it would be nice to see him again, she hadn’t seen him since his sister’s wedding and that seemed a lifetime ago though it was only three and a half years or so.
She always thought of Susannah as Charles’ sister, never as her daughter.
“No, sorry to disappoint you, but this is slightly more interesting. He calls himself Carl Forster.”
“Carl?” She was disappointed “Why’s he turned up, he’s been missing for years.”
“Not really missing. Ted’s always known how to get in touch with him if anyone had wanted to bother.”
“Oh Ted, he always knows everything doesn’t he? Always knows things he shouldn’t. The trouble is, people talk to him – they think he’s so – inoffensive, so harmless.”
“Well he’s always had an address where he could reach Carl if anyone had to, so Carl’s hardly been ‘missing’.”
“So what’s so great about him turning up here – when we could have reached him anyway if we’d wanted to.”
“Alicia. This is not about what you want or what Kathleen or any of the others want. It’s about what Carl wants and why he’s here.”
“What on earth do you mean why he’s here? in that tone of voice, you speak as if it is some great mystery.”
“It could be. I think he’s looking for someone, undoubtedly you. Perhaps he’s doing that because he wants to know the truth about his family and his parents.”
Alicia pressed the buzzer for the nurse and, saying she was tired, asked Maureen to leave her in peace.
Carl hadn’t called Maureen’s daughter about a room. He found that the Bull really was an Inn in the old sense as it had rooms and so booked in there for the night. Maureen was not like Sandie, he hadn’t felt the need to unburden himself to another stranger in the course of a few days – and there was something about the way she looked at him. She seemed to know more about him than she had let on. Why else would she have given him her daughter’s address?
He hadn’t wanted to ask Dave, the barman, about Maureen, she obviously knew him well and he would know where she lived, but he thought it better not to show too much interest. Instead he had found Maureen’s address easily – she was in the telephone directory – and with the help of the map on the wall of the bar he realised she lived in a flat above a shop just opposite the pub.
The next morning was spent sitting in his room waiting for her to leave her flat.
He didn’t think following someone would be very difficult – people appeared to manage it in films and on TV without too much aggravation. As long as she didn’t go into too many quiet places he felt he would be able to follow her.
She may not lead him to Alicia directly, but he may find out the reason for that ‘knowingness’.
It was after 12 o’clock when he was just about to give up his vigil and go down to have a drink when he saw her locking her front door and turning right, down the hill, towards Leatherhead.
For an old lady she walked pretty quickly but he managed to keep her in view. He reckoned they must have walked a couple of miles, when she turned into the driveway of a large Victorian building. It was a hospital.
He hung around outside the gates. Should he follow her in to try to see where she headed? Was she visiting someone or was the appointment for her? He felt awkward and very silly standing there.
Minutes dragged on and he wasn’t sure whether to stay or go. He stood by the gates kicking his shoes against the pavement, playing mind games about the moss between the paving stones until, perhaps an hour later, his thoughts were interrupted by Maureen, laughing “Hello. I thought I’d find you here!”
“You knew I was following you?” He was disappointed.
“I’m afraid so. Though I have to say you didn’t do too bad a job of it.”
“When did you spot me?”
“About when you came out of the pub.”
“That’s not fair – you couldn’t have!”
“There aren’t that many tall, good looking, deeply tanned young men in the village you know! And also you must remember that people of my generation went through the war and we weren’t all sitting at home knitting socks for prisoners!”
“I never thought that!” He was indignant that she should think he was that patronising.
“My God! You are so like your father!” she laughed gently
“You know my father?”
“I do indeed. I recognised you the moment we ‘met’ in the library. Anyone who knew your father would know you.”
“So you’ll know why I’m here.”
“Not necessarily. There could be any number of reasons but my guess would be that you’re trying to find Alicia.”
“Do you know where she is?”
“Of course I do. I have just been visiting her. She’s very ill you know.”
“No I didn’t. I haven’t had anything to do with the Donaldsons for years.”
“Or anyone else from the Wirral as I understand.”
“How much more do you know about me?”
Instead of answering directly she said “Come on, let me buy you some tea or something.”
They walked in silence back towards the centre of the town, Maureen far more comfortable than Carl who was wondering what it was about this woman, she must have been the best part of 60 but she still seemed very young. She seemed always to be laughing at him.
They walked into the café and Maureen sat down at a window seat. Carl sat opposite her.
“Two teas please.”
She had taken control.
“I know you and your family quite well.” She spoke matter-of-factly but he recognised the affection behind the voice.
“Even though you call yourself ‘Forster’ you are Carl Witherby, son of Kathleen and Arnold.” It was not a question.
“Yes, but my father....”
“Yes I know, your father was not Henry Witherby, it was Arnold. Very sordid at the time but I believe Kathleen was in love with your father even though he was married to Alicia and these things happen. Arnold had some sort of hold over Henry and it was all arranged. Kathleen wouldn’t get rid of you, you know. Obviously she’s a good Catholic and wouldn’t do that.”
He sat stunned by the easy way she had discussed the tragedy that was the beginning of his life.
“Am I supposed to be grateful?”
“Probably not.” She continued after a pause “Anyway, you were born and Henry loved you as his son.”
“He didn’t know?”
“No I’m absolutely certain he didn’t know. He was – how do I put this – not a very strong man. He was rather swayed by whatever wind happened to be blowing at the time.”
“He was not my father though.”
“No. Arnold was definitely your father, though in many ways I do think that Henry was more of a father to you. He certainly loved your mother, they were together for 12 years or more. You must remember that.”
“You’re sure he wasn’t in on it? He didn’t know he wasn’t my father?”
“No. Everyone who could know is pretty sure he didn’t, though maybe he guessed something was wrong – towards the end that is.”
“Do you think that’s what made him....”
“kill himself” she finished the sentence for him. “No. I think that was money. He had worked for your father for years, he had been under Arnold’s thumb for 20 years or more – he wanted something for himself that was not decided for him by Arnold. I think he was embezzling money from the business, I think he was up to his ears in debt. He was afraid that he would be found out. I’m really sorry to say this, but I am afraid he was not a clever man. He was going to be found out.”
“So he killed himself.”
“Yes. I believe he did.”
“How do you know all this about us?”
“I have family in the Wirral, they keep me in touch.” Maureen was not going to tell this young man the truth of their relationship.
He was hesitant, but he had to ask “Do you know how Susie is? Is she OK?”
“Susannah Donaldson, yes.” She said thoughtfully “What an odd girl! Do you really want to know?” She sat stirring her tea for a few moments “If I tell you there is no going back you understand.” She paused, suddenly serious. “You must forgive me, Carl, I am an actress and an artist, I see things in a dramatic way. I love words and I love to express myself clearly and unambiguously.”
She paused, and it was some time before she continued. “I think this conversation could be a turning point in your life Carl. If I tell you what I know you’ll never be the same person again. Does that sound melodramatic? Probably. But sometimes life does have its pivotal points. Whatever you do you’ll regret it, you will undoubtedly want to have done the opposite of what you are going to do. If I tell you about Susannah you’ll wish you didn’t know and if you choose not to know you’ll wish you did, as you have imagined worse. Whatever you choose you’ll have to live with the consequences for a very long time. It’s up to you.”
She waited for a few minutes and eventually added in a sad voice “Perhaps you shouldn’t have asked the question.”
“You make it sound so portentous, all I did was ask about Susie – and whether she was OK.”
“No you didn’t, Carl, you were asking whether you should re-enter her life. You were asking whether you would be good for her, whether you could love her again – or should I say ‘still’, whether she could ‘still’ love you. You were asking a lot more than just how she is.”
“You are playing with me.”
Carl was aware he was out of his depth. Maureen knew things he didn’t, she was holding this power over him and toying with him, as if he were a dog and she had a ball she wasn’t sure whether to throw into the distance for him to chase and retrieve.
“No Carl, I am not playing with you, It’s just that I make sure that you understand the importance of the question you ask. I will answer it truthfully and completely ‘the truth the whole truth and nothing but the truth as far as I know it’ but I must know that you can deal with the answer.”
He thought for a few minutes, drinking the tea, nibbling at the scone. He decided to change the direction the conversation was taking – perhaps then he could regain the initiative, at least gain some time before making his decision.
“While I’m thinking of that, what of Charles and Monika?”
“As far as I know they are well. They still live at Sandhey, looking after Max.”
“Have they married?”
“No, they will not. You know Monika had awful experiences during the war – she will never marry.”
“No. I didn’t.” He thought for a while “Is Charles queer?”
She was not surprised by his question “No I don’t think so. He is just” she sought the right words “just sensitive, vulnerable, careful, damaged.”
“Aren’t we all.”
“Some more than others.”
The conversation was more on an equal footing now.
“Are you going to stay with Phyl tonight?”
She was going to ignore the question that hung over them. She was going to carry on and let him turn the conversation back if he wanted to. She knew Kathleen well enough to see elements of her in her son now. He was weighing up pros and cons, all the while he was making polite conversation he was thinking.
Kathleen used to say that you could always make any decision by tossing a coin. You didn’t necessarily do what the head or tail told you to – it was just that you knew what you wanted the coin to do as it was falling to earth. That was what Charles was doing now. Their conversation was the equivalent of that coin spinning in the air – he was going to know very shortly which way up he wanted it to land.
“I have another night at the pub, perhaps tomorrow?”
“Will you have answered that question in your mind by then?”
“I’ve answered it now.”
“Maureen, may I call you that? I have loved Susie since she and I were in the nursery. I have always loved her. I will always love her. I can’t do anything about that. If I find anything out about her life I will only interfere if I can make it better. I would never, ever, do anything to hurt her. I’ll only do what she wants me to.”
“I believe you. But, and I ask this question carefully, how would you know whether you’d hurt her? How could you know whether you’d be good for her?”
“I would know.”
“Ah, the confidence of youth.”
“I will wait for her to make the first move.”
They finished their tea in silence.
“Will you meet me tomorrow – we can answer the questions then. I must give you the day to change your mind, a cooling off period if you like.”
“At the pub? At 12.30?”
“Done.”
They left the café, and although both should have headed in the same direction, Carl turned the opposite way so they would not be embarrassed. He walked through the town and out into the surrounding woods, imagining Susannah and her life. He had been lucky bumping into Maureen but it was Susie’s postcards, that he’d kept despite everything that had led him here. He found he’d walked to the gates of Polesden Lacey.
He’d try to find out the next day how Maureen knew so much about him.
The next morning The Bull was crowded. Carl made his way to the bar and asked for his pint.
“And a gin and tonic Dave, thank you.”
She had been waiting for him.
“Come over here, I’ve saved a table. It always gets crowded here on a Wednesday, never could work out why Wednesday.”
“Well...” once they were sitting down and he had drained half the pint in his anxiety.
“What? Here? It seems so – public.”
“No one is listening to us.”
“How’s Alicia?” He thought he would start on safer ground.
“She is very ill, the doctors have done what they can and she may go into remission for anything up to 7 years but they don’t hold out a great deal of hope.”
“She’s so young.”
“46. She will be lucky to make her 50th.” “Do they – Charles – Susie – do they know?”
“No, and she won’t have them told.”
“Sad.”
“Yes. Sad.”
“Anyway,” she continued after a suitable pause “have you decided what you want to know?”
“Yes. I have thought about this.” Maureen recognised some of Kathleen’s more annoying characteristics in his answer. “If I don’t know and can do nothing, I might do harm by inaction. If I do know I can either do something or do nothing, either way I may do harm or I may do good but if I don’t know, really know, then I don’t have the choice. I need the information to be able to make the decision. It’s then up to me to make the right one.”
“You have thought this through haven’t you!”
“Yes. I have.”
“Well,” and she took a big breath. “Susannah is married. No don’t interrupt until I have finished. Susannah is married, she has two children, a girl, 3 years old called Josie, and a boy, Jack who was born last month.”
She paused, waiting for the blows to sink in.
“What about her degree? Her career?”
“She did study for a degree but only just got it, not a good one at all, simply a pass. She has no career. She is a wife and a mother.”
“Oh. I thought she was going to do more than that.”
“So did we all.”
They sat for a few moments, Carl wondering how wrong all his other ideas of her life had been. But he had to ask the most important question.
“Is she happy?”
“From all accounts she is. Her husband is doing well in business in Liverpool, she has help with the family.”
“Monika?”
“Monika.”
“So there really is nothing I can do. If I was in her life I would do nothing to help her?”
“Probably not.”
“Nothing?”
“No. It doesn’t seem so.”
“Ouch.”
He had to ask “Who did she marry?”
“You might know him. His name is Joe Parry.”
“Not one of the fishing Parrys! I used to go out with Jimmy on his boat, he’d be Joe’s eldest brother. His sister worked behind the bar at the Lighthouse Keeper. Jesus Christ! She couldn’t have married one of them! Absolutely not! They were..... they were.....”
“Awful” she finished the sentence for him flatly.
“I was going to say ‘dirty’.” There was defeat in his voice.
That evening, as Carl lay on the narrow bed in the pub he allowed himself to think about the Susannah he had known, bright, intelligent, inquisitive, energetic, selfish – yes she had been a bit selfish but that came from her being so unhappy as a child – she grabbed what she could when she could as if she knew it was going to end soon. There was always so much more to her than a spoilt middle class child whose every move in life was pre-planned by her parents and her parents’ money.
He thought of her, married with a growing family. He was being selfish himself thinking that she was like him, ambitious, wanting to do something. Maybe she hadn’t ever wanted to be anything other than a housewife and mother.
Maybe he was wrong thinking that she couldn’t be happy as a mother and housewife. There was nothing wrong with that, even in these days of women’s lib and burning bras, the ‘swinging 60s’. It was important to have good mothers for children. It wasn’t everything to have a career.
He mustn’t think that there was anything wrong with ‘just’ being a wife and mother.
But he found it difficult to cope with knowing she had married one of the Parrys. She had had a choice and she had chosen a Parry.
But, he fought with himself over the answer, had she had a choice? She had a child of three. It must have been conceived so soon after he had left home. What had happened? Had she had to get married? How could she have thrown everything away like that? Was it a dreadful mistake?
Maureen and Carl met again the next lunchtime at the Bull. When they were both seated at what he was beginning to think of as ‘their usual table’ Maureen opened the conversation.
“You still haven’t asked me what you really want to know have you?”
“And what would that be?” he asked – knowing that she knew the question as well as he did. Would she give him the correct answer?
“You want to know if Susannah is your sister don’t you?”
He was surprised at the question, he had hoped that what Kathleen and Arnold had said that afternoon four years before was not true – but it hadn’t occurred to him that others might have wondered.
“They said she is. Why would they lie?”
“Oh, Carl, there are lots of reasons why people lie. Many of those reasons may actually seem good at the time. That’s not to say they should lie, or that lying is a good way to run your life, but it does happen and sometimes can be the lesser of two evils.”
“Are you saying they lied?” He didn’t want to think that they had – but if they had? What then?
“No. I’m saying that what they said may have been the truth as they saw it at the time, but it may not actually have been the truth.”
“You’re playing with words here, but what I think you’re saying is that they said we were brother and sister because that was what they believed at the time but they now know we aren’t?”
“No I’m not saying that. I’m saying that the truth is often not really the absolute black or white you young people would like it to be.”
“Either Susie is my sister or she isn’t. That’s pretty damned black and white to me.”
“Well it’s not to her parents.”
“Well who are her bloody parents then?”
He hadn’t realised that his voice had risen so high until he noticed two pairs of eyes turned towards them from the bar. He lowered his voice but he was beginning to lose patience.
“I’m sorry. It’s just that you are talking in riddles, deliberately leading me on. It may not be important to you but it bloody well is to me.”
“Carl, you are an academic, at least I understand you will be soon. You know that there are always more than several sides to every story. Also, you know that you cannot live in the ‘what ifs’ of life. What if Napoleon had won Waterloo? What if Josephine had had a son by him? What if General what’s his name hadn’t stormed that bridge at Salamanca.”
“Picton. It was General Picton and it was Vitoria, not Salamanca. And how do you know that’s my area?”
Not answering his questions she continued “Your father was a pedant too. Anyway, what would you do if it turns out you’re not Susannah’s brother?”
“Are you saying I’m not?”
“No. I am asking ‘what would you do if you weren’t?’ Think about it.”
He did think about it. He thoughtfully drank the rest of his pint, walked up to the bar and bought another round. Returning to their table he sat down and calmly replied:
“I would want to know how we aren’t. I’m obviously Arnold and Kathleen’s son so I would want to know how Susie isn’t Arnold’s daughter.”
“Good boy, you’re thinking now.”
“Susie’s birthday is the end of August. She would have been conceived at Christmas time. 1945. The end of the war. Was Arnold away? Did he serve away?”
“No. He served – as you so flatteringly describe it – in Yorkshire, at Catterick.”
“Would they have spent Christmas together? If they didn’t who would she have spent it with. Charles was, what, four years old?”
“Three”
“I was....?”
“about five months gone in your mother’s womb.”
“Arnold would have wanted to spend Christmas with Kathleen, wouldn’t he? She was having his baby – me?”
“Good, you’re getting warm.”
“So. What have we got? A cosy family Christmas with Arnold and Alicia, with their toddler and the nanny, was Monika with them then? and Kathleen and Henry, Kathleen quite pregnant – with me. Who else?”
“No one else. Though you have one or two details wrong. Charles wasn’t with them he was left behind with his nanny, and no, Monika didn’t join the family until well after the war.”
“So it was just the four of them.”
“Yes, Carl.”
“No.” Realisation of where Maureen was leading him to was dawning. “They didn’t do things like that then.”
“What makes you think that?”
“You’re saying that Alicia and Henry....”
“I am not giving details, Carl, I am simply describing a scenario. Make of it what you will.
“You are telling me, sorry, you are ‘describing a scenario’, where Henry is Susie’s father. That my father – sorry ‘the man I always thought of as my father’ was Susie’s father not mine?”
“I am telling you nothing Carl. I am simply identifying a possibility.”
His voice was very quiet, he spoke trying, not altogether successfully, to keep his emotions in check. “What you are saying is that my parents are Kathleen and Arnold, and Susie’s parents are Henry and Alicia. We are not related at all.”
“If that is what you choose to read from our conversation Carl, go ahead. It is a possible, indeed I would go so far as to say a probable, scenario. It is also, I am afraid, completely impossible to prove one way or the other.”
Carl sat over his drink, taking in the implications of what Maureen was saying.
“What were they thinking that day when they told us that we were brother and sister?”
“Ah. You have me there, Carl. They both, of course, knew who your parents are and Alicia is, of course Susannah’s mother but as to the father – I do believe at the time they both thought it was Arnold.”
“Thought”
“‘Thought’, ‘think’ whatever.”
“So that’s a definite maybe to Susie’s parentage.” He tried to make a joke of it but her tone of reasonableness was beginning to get on his nerves.
“I think it’s a little more than that.”
“Please Maureen, what has Alicia told you? What does she know that she will not say? Will she talk to me? Will she tell me the truth?”
“Carl, the problem in all this is that she is very ill. She doesn’t need all this history raked up, it will upset her far more than she can cope with at this time.”
“I am trying to be bear that in mind but fuck it, this is our lives we are talking about. It is all in her past, but this is our future, mine and Susie’s. We must know. She must tell us.”
“You are already making decisions, Carl. You are already talking about ‘us’ and ‘our’ you’ve already decided you’re part of her life and she’s part of yours.”
“Of course I have.”
“Don’t tread on too many dreams. Don’t upset too many people, my boy. Wrong upon wrong, lie upon lie, they don’t cancel each other out. If you do anything do it openly, do it without subterfuge, without causing any more pain.”
“I’ve got to see her, talk to her, sort this mess out.”
“Think carefully, you and she are not the only two involved in this. There’s the husband, the children....”
“....who exist because of the lies that have been told.”
“But they can’t be proved to be lies. You can’t prove any of this.”
They sat for a few minutes, Carl trying to find an answer.
“Blood tests. We could have a paternity test done. We could check that way. Arnold and Susie can do blood tests – we would know then if they were related or not...”
“Unfortunately no, there is one thing I haven’t told you.”
“I don’t think I’m going to like this am I?”
“I don’t think you are. Arnold is dead. He died last June.”
She went up to the bar for another drink while she let that information sink in, but Carl had felt absolutely no emotion at being told his father was dead.
He had never felt Arnold’s son, the years they all lived at Dunedin Avenue had been when he was growing up – his interests were Susie and his friends – not his family – and his mother had been so tied up with Arnold and the failure that he was coping with. The impact of his father’s death was a practical not a sentimental one.
Maureen put the glasses down on the table and looked at Carl. He was very clear as he looked back at her.
“That’s it then. No paternity test. No confirmation. No proof.”
“No.”
“Shit.”
“I did warn you that answers to questions more often than not throw up more problems than they solve...”
“I know. But still shit.”
“You could always forget her. Get on with your life.”
He had to clear something up that had been niggling in the back of his mind.
“Will you tell me something, Maureen? How do you know so much about me, the family, the Peninsula thing? Just coming from the Wirral isn’t enough.” She sipped at her drink while deciding how to answer.
“You won’t remember a man in your father’s old office – not the factory, the lawyers in Liverpool – there is a man called Ted. He used to work for your father and he always had a special interest in the family. I never did understand exactly why, as he had many clients and there were other partners in the firm. I think it was probably that Arnold used to get him to do things that he should have done himself.”
“Was he the one who used to drive Charles to school – the one who lost him in Anglesey that time?”
“Well he didn’t exactly lose him – Charles gave him the slip – but yes that’s the chap.”
“He always used to turn up at odd times – tall, rather stuffy, big nose, nice face.”
“That’s him. Well he keeps in touch with me. I think he cares very much for Alicia. Sad really. He tells me what’s going on with the people she used to care about and I, well I tell her the things I think she should know, the things that won’t hurt her. She really has been very ill for a long time you know.”
“Will you tell her about me?”
He waited a few moments for her answer. “Well, will you?”
“Do you want me to?”
Carl stayed at Phyl’s that night. He was beginning to know so many important things, but he felt there was still so much more to learn.
On her next visit to Alicia Maureen decided to jump in with both feet.
“I’ve been seeing quite a lot of Carl these last few days.”
“Kathleen’s boy?”
“Yes, Arnold and Kathleen’s boy.”
“You said you had seen him. I’m not completely ga-ga you know. I do remember some things. But why should I care whether you’ve seen him or not?”
People moved around the ward, Maureen sat knitting by the bedside, waiting for Alicia’s curiosity to force her to show an interest.
Eventually Alicia broke the silence “He must be quite grown up now. A man really.”
“Indeed, and a very good looking one too. Clever, he got a First and is now going to do post grad at Cambridge.”
“Don’t tell me. History – the Tudors? Just like his father.”
Maureen nodded her head “But not the Tudors, Wellington. But you’re right when you see him you don’t really need to guess at his paternity.”
“I don’t suppose many people did, it was so bloody obvious.”
“Well, he seems to be a very nice boy – man.”
“Does he look very like Arnold?”
She couldn’t answer directly. “You can tell they’re father and son, but he is somehow softer than Arnold. His long hair and dark tan make him different, but he has the eyes.”
“Is there anything of Kathleen?”
“Probably not to look at, but definitely in the mind. He is a very intelligent boy, but also somehow far more clever than Arnold ever was – more practical. I think there really is a lot of her in him. He certainly inherited his conscience from her.”
“Did she bring him up by her faith?”
“He hasn’t said. I don’t know. He certainly ran a mile when you dropped that bombshell on him about Susannah being his sister. He seems to want to do the right thing.”
“Whatever that might be.”
Alicia lay back on her pillows and wondered why people were always so desperate to ‘do the right thing’. It didn’t occur to her then to worry about how much her not ‘doing the right thing’ had affected that young man’s life. Susannah had ‘done the right thing’ by marrying that boy and that had always looked like a disaster waiting to happen.
Maureen told her snippets of information about her family though how she knew Alicia had no idea. She told her that she was a grandmother and that Joe was doing well at work and Susannah seemed to be satisfied with her life as housewife and mother.
Alicia didn’t believe a word of it.
She could not see how any child of hers would be happy with being a housewife – especially with that awful boy as a husband. She had seen neither Josie nor Jack Parry. She knew that Charles and Monika visited them, Monika looking after the children as she had done their mother. She knew that Arnold had recently died.
Other than the bare bones of ‘hatches, matches and despatches’ she had little knowledge of the goings on in her immediate family. She didn’t really care. They hadn’t been a family for the best part of twenty years.
“Do you want to meet him?”
The question surprised her “Why on earth would I want to do that?”
“He is an interesting young man and he wants to see you.”
“What does he want to see me for?”
“I think he wants to find out a bit more about you, a bit more about himself. He knows he is living dangerously.”
“I should coco! Oh hell, bring him along. What have I got to lose?”
Carl went to see Alicia the next day, he had been briefed by Maureen that he would find a very sick, very frail woman, she had warned him to be very careful.
It was unfortunate that as soon as he saw Alicia he saw Susie. He saw Susannah’s face, he saw her vulnerability and he saw her smile. He had not seen his Susannah for over four years but he now saw her lying in the bed in front of him – this woman was Susannah, just a lot older.
Where Carl saw Susannah in Alicia, Alicia saw much of what had attracted her to Arnold all those years ago.
It occurred to her that she had also been in a hospital bed when she had first met Arnold. Maureen had been right. It was the eyes.
As Maureen watched the two beginning to get to know each other she was not at all sure she should have introduced them.
“When do you get out of here?”
“Soon, I hope.”
“What are you going to do then?”
“I don’t know.”
“Who is going to look after you?”
“I don’t know”
“You know very well, my dear” interrupted Maureen rather impatiently, “You are going home in a week or so and then Harry, Phyl and I will be looking after you, as we always do after your operations.”
“I am always so grateful to you all but I really shouldn’t put on you as much as I do?”
Alicia was very experienced at manipulating people’s sympathy.
“Have there been many operations?” Carl knew nothing of this woman’s life other than what he had overheard from his mother and Arnold where words such as lazy’, ‘bitch’, ‘never done a day’s work in her life’ ‘good-for-nothing sponger” were the ones he remembered. He had never heard ‘ill’ ‘cancer’ ‘operations’. Perhaps they had chosen not to know or, at least, if they had known they had chosen that no one else would.
“Yes, dear.” Alicia had decided this young man was going to like her. “Yes, this is the seventh in seven years. I seem always to be in the hospital.”
“Oh Alicia, don’t be so dramatic.” Maureen interrupted again. “It’s true she’s had seven operations, but several of them were quite minor, and she has usually been home in a week or so.”
“Still that’s a lot isn’t it?”
“Now, that’s enough about Alicia – tell her about you and what you are doing.”
So the conversation went onto safer ground.
Carl told Alicia something about his life, the Forsters, the university, his summer in Spain. Alicia listened, observing closely the eyes, listening to the nuances of the voice, hypnotised by his youth and enthusiasm.
At the end of the hour Maureen and Carl got up to leave
“You will visit me again won’t you?”
“You will be out of here very soon” Maureen replied before Carl could answer.
“Then you will visit me at home won’t you – I would so love to hear more about your trip to Spain.”
So throughout September Carl stayed with Maureen’s daughter Phyl and visited Alicia, first at the hospital and then, after she had been discharged, at her home on Pilgrims Way.
When Phyl and Maureen drove the five miles up to the little house twice a day they did not take Carl, so it was quite a trip for him. He had to take two buses and what with the walks to and from the bus-stops it took him the best part of two hours. He didn’t mind and he made the trip two or three times each week.
He enjoyed the time he spent with Alicia.
He was getting to know Susannah’s mother, he was getting to be part of the family that had once almost been his.
Talking to Alicia he found himself remembering things about his stays at Millcourt, and found himself building up something of the history of his life – a life he had never had any previous inclination to remember. She was quite happy to tell him about those people and those places because it kept him with her – and she was beginning to want not to lose him.
The times he wasn’t with her he spent in the library, reading – reminding himself of his real life.
It was a very comfortable few weeks but it was only a matter of time before Alicia asked him to stay overnight. It would save him the trip – he spent so much time with her anyway he might as well stay overnight especially as the evenings were getting shorter and the spare bedroom was always made up. It would be no trouble for her as he could help with food and drinks, and help her downstairs to the television.
On the first Saturday in November, he finally took his suitcase from Phyl’s and paid her all he owed.
“Are you sure about this? We have loved having you here.” Maureen had talked to her daughter about her concerns that Alicia and Carl were getting too close.
“Absolutely, I spend much of the time at Alicia’s anyway – and she has invited me – it would be odd not to accept.”
Alicia was getting better, able to get up every day, able to walk along the lane to the village shop and cook her staple diet of macaroni cheese. They came to an arrangement whereby Carl shopped and cooked every other day.
On Wednesday 29th November Carl took Alicia to London to celebrate her birthday.
He had asked here where she would like to go as a special treat ‘money no object’. It was a target date for her to feel better by. She said “The Savoy” without really thinking about the cost or the history. It was certainly special and he had seemed to like the idea. Carl hired a car and drove up to town – they didn’t want to worry about buses and trains. He chose something comfortable and luxurious.
It was nearly 10 years since she had been a regular visitor at The Savoy and she was happy to see that it hadn’t changed. She imagined the concierge recognised her. She knew that she was older, gaunter, but she had always imagined her voice was unforgettable.
As she had been driven up those same roads she had travelled so many times on the bus it would have been difficult for her not to think of her trips to meet Max. She wondered how he was, what he would have thought of her today. She realised she hadn’t thought of him for a very long time and would probably never see him again.
She wondered whether this trip would be so very different.
And there were distinct similarities. Carl had booked adjoining rooms, overlooking the river. It didn’t occur to her to wonder how he could afford this as she took advantage of the wonderful bathroom and, sitting alone in one of the armchairs wrapped in the luxurious towelling robe, drank the champagne she had ordered from room service and looked out of the window at the lights glimmering on the Thames.
She took more care dressing than she had taken for a very long time.
She wore a dress that, although ten years old, at least two sizes too large and completely unfashionable, managed to convey a style which was timeless. She wore the long pearl drop earrings that she knew made her neck look like a giraffe’s. She knew she looked good. She stood looking at her reflection in the full length mirror. “Not bad for 47 old girl”.
They met, as arranged, in the American Bar. She got there a few minutes late to ensure her entrance was sufficiently dramatic. He had somehow organised a very stylish dinner jacket.
Alicia thoroughly approved of this young man. He had, she tried to think of the right words, presence, class, panache. Although his tan had faded he was striking enough to draw the admiring glances of most of the women – and some of the men – in the bar. She felt they made a fine couple.
Carl was an attentive host as he bought her cocktails and escorted her to the River Restaurant for dinner. As they sat down at a window table he voiced the question that had also been going through her head.
“What do you think people are thinking?”
“About us?”
“Of course.”
“They are thinking how lucky I am to have such a handsome escort. Actually, they probably think you’re my gigolo!”
“Even if they are they’ll be thinking I struck lucky to be escorting such an attractive woman. Happy Birthday, Alicia. Many Happy Returns.”
“Unlikely” was her rueful answer. She continued in lighter vein “One night I was staying here, some years ago, and I couldn’t sleep, so I crept down to this room, and sat – just over there – and looked out over the river. It must have been 3 or 4 o’clock in the morning. I’d just slipped a shirt on and was woefully underdressed, barely decent really. So I sat there, in the quiet, and wondered about my life and what I was doing and whether what I was doing was right – you don’t need to know the details. And in came a waiter, completely dressed as he would have been for dinner hours earlier, a white napkin over his forearm. He asked if I was a guest with them and I replied that I was. He asked if there was anything he could do for me. I said a jug of orange juice would be wonderful and so he brought me one – a full jug of freshly squeezed orange juice, a bowl of ice, a glass, a long silver spoon – all on a silver salver and asked if I wanted him to pour or whether to leave it. He never asked me for my room number or name or anything. It was wonderful. Just perfect.”
After their comfortable and companionable dinner they went upstairs to her suite.
They sat looking out over London, finishing the champagne, sipping the coffee in silence as they each thought about the evening, enjoying the feeling of having eaten and drunk very well, not too much – just very well.
She stood up and looked out of the window at the lights playing on the river.
“Do you know Bitter Sweet?” she asked, rather wistfully.
“A film?”
“No, silly, the musical play.”
“I’ve heard of it, of course. I don’t know anything about it. Why?”
“It meant a lot to me years ago. Without it my life would have been very different. “
Alicia then began to softly sing Noel Coward’s words,
I’ll see you again,
whenever Spring breaks through again,
Time may lie heavy between
but what has been, is past forgetting
She stopped singing and held out her arms to him “Will you dance with me?”
He stood up and held her lightly around the waist, her hand resting on his shoulder. She began to sing again quietly.
This sweet memory
Across the years will come to me
Tho’ my world may go awry
In my heart will ever lie
Just the echo of a sigh
Goodbye
“I sang that song on the stage, many years ago.”
He hardly heard her ask “Would you like to take me to bed?” as she turned away from him to pour the last of the champagne into his glass. He didn’t have time to answer as she continued as if she had said nothing.
“I was Sarah and I sang it with my husband whose name was Carl. Sarah and Carl were made for each other but they didn’t spend much time together before tragedy intervened. That’s quite ironic isn’t it?”
She could be very persuasive.
So he did as she asked.
As he rang for the butler to bring them early morning tea she started to laugh quietly.
He didn’t want to ask her what was so funny as he didn’t want to appear as unsure of himself as he felt. He had been in this “morning after” situation before, but that not many times – and certainly not with someone he knew he really shouldn’t have slept with.
Perhaps he should have thought more about this trip – he had just wanted to give her a memorable birthday.
“What’s so funny?”
“Oh darling, not you, not you.”
She had not called him ‘darling’ before and he didn’t like it. It was too equal in a condescending sort of way.
“What then?”
“You know what yesterday was don’t you?”
“Your birthday of course.”
“No it is also my wedding anniversary. It would have been 26 years. That makes me feel very old.”
“It makes me feel very young.”
“I’ll take this with me and have a bit of a soak darling.” Alicia excused herself, picked up her teacup and walked through to the bathroom. As she closed the door firmly behind her Carl thought that they had both come to the same conclusion.
There would never be a repeat of last night.
On the drive back Carl said he had to leave. He had to get back to the Forsters, he had not seen them since before he went to Spain and then only for a short time. He really had been very rude, he said, and he must make up for it before the house became chaos for Christmas.
He had wanted to give her a wonderful birthday present, one that she would always remember him by, but he really had to move on. She was so much better now, she could manage much better on her own. There was no need for him to stay, invading her space.
“Of course, darling. You must go back to your home.”
He wished she would not keep calling him ‘darling’. It wasn’t just that the night had been a mistake and that he had serious regrets about it – it was that he hated the word. He found the word offensive, it was so false – as if someone couldn’t really be bothered to find a more personal term of endearment. It reminded him of his mother, calling Arnold – he still couldn’t think of Arnold as his father – ‘darling’. It hadn’t seemed like she meant it as a sign of love either.
As they drove through the woods on top of the Downs, nearing the end of the journey, Alicia finally asked the question she had been wanting to ask since Carl had first visited her at the hospital, nearly three months earlier.
“Now that you’re going I do need to know something. Why did you want to meet me? I mean, in the first place. Why did you go to all that trouble to find me? There must have been a reason.”
“Of course there was. But I didn’t realise you were so ill. You needed looking after.”
“and you got to like me too I hope.”
“Of course I did. Do.” He corrected himself quickly – but she had noticed.
“Well, are you going to ask me the vital question or not?”
“What makes you think there is a ‘vital question’?”
“Stop beating around the bush Carl. I think we both know what it is don’t we? Let me do it for you.”
She continued, sounding so much harder than she had the previous night “You are still, have always been, in love with my daughter. You were devastated when you found out she was your sister and you have been completely lost ever since. You have worked hard and studied well but emotionally you are lost. She is your soul mate – or so you firmly believe – and so you have come to me to beg me to say that she is not your sister. Am I right?”
“Not exactly.” He stopped the car in the lay-by. He did not want to drive when such things were being spoken of – and perhaps he would be able to live more comfortably with the events of the previous night if he had some answers. “Not exactly.” He repeated. “Part of what you say is absolutely right but I have not come to beg you to say something that isn’t true. I came to ask you if there is any way Arnold is not her father. I mean, I know he was your husband and everything.” He was beginning to get flustered as he realised the enormity of the accusation he was about to make.
“Yes, Carl, he was my husband.”
Having led him into the situation where he had to ask her intrusive, and probably offensive, questions she was not going to make it easy for him.
He drew breath. He had come so far he just had to do it now. “I know he was your husband but is there any chance he would not be Susannah’s father? I mean...”
“I know what you mean Carl.” She admired his bravery. Not many young men would have the courage to ask what he was asking.” She was not going to let him off lightly “Especially in these circumstances.”
She tried to catch his eye, but he was avoiding her.
“You are asking me if I was unfaithful to my husband, whether I had an affair, that someone else – an unknown man – could be Susannah’s father. Well the simple answer is that I was never unfaithful to my husband. I never had affairs whilst I was living with him. Certainly not until several years after Susannah was born.”
“Oh. I had always.....” his voice tailed off, his disappointment palpable.
“You had always hoped that I was as faithless and disloyal to him as my husband had been to me? He had affairs, I know, and your mother was certainly not his only mistress. Oh yes, for that was what she was, his mistress – for many, many years – certainly since before the war. No. Don’t interrupt. Your mother, Kathleen, had been kept by your father as his mistress for several years before she married Henry. Arnold’s father had kept Kathleen’s mother so it kept it all in the family. Interesting don’t you think?” She said this as if it had only just occurred to her.
“They wouldn’t have cared if you were sleeping with Susannah, if you were sleeping with your sister, they’d been sleeping with each other for years. Incest was perfectly normal for them.
“It never made the slightest jot of difference to either of them. As soon as they both got back from the war they were at it again. They had no shame, they had no consideration of my feelings. They couldn’t care less what anyone thought – and then she was pregnant. God knows how they got Henry to marry her, she didn’t care a fig for him and he probably knew it. Anyway marry him she did.”
She paused slightly, she had the opportunity to stop there, but she was watching his face – there was no judgement in it, simply shock and pain.
If she went on she would tell him everything and he would have to live with that for the rest of his life.
She continued.
She was enjoying the power that knowledge gave her and the pain it was causing. She wanted to shock this young man who sat next to her in the car in the lay-by in front of the church. She wanted to make him hurt as she had been hurt by her lost opportunities, her lost talents, the battle she was now losing against her body.
But she knew herself well enough to know that this wasn’t about Carl, the last few weeks, and especially last night. This was about Arnold. She wanted to hurt Arnold one last time now it was too late. She wanted to hurt the man who had ruined her life, the man who this young man was so like in so many ways.
She had made love the night before to the Arnold she had hoped Arnold would have been.
Once he was committed and his objections had been overruled Carl had been gentle, sensitive and thoughtful in his love-making. She knew she would never make love ever again as her body’s weaknesses increasingly defeated her.
She felt that the last time a person made love was as important as the first.
Arnold could have been like this she had thought over and over as his son had made love to her.
It was only months later that she was able to justify her actions to herself in these terms. At the time she didn’t think of the implications or of the effects her words would have on the lives of others. At that time she had just wanted him to hurt as much as she did.
“We went away for Christmas that year just the four of us. It was engineered completely so that Kathleen and Arnold could be together. Henry and I were observers only.”
He thought he knew where this was leading, it was somewhere he had been with Maureen. Maureen had been right.
“So Henry was Susannah’s father.”
“Yes. Henry was Susannah’s father.”
She was not going to let him off without knowing the whole truth.
“He raped me. Henry came to my room and raped me. It took only a few seconds. Not enough time to create a life, but it did. Susannah is the child of rape. Unloved and unwanted from the moment she was conceived. Born with the very few good features of her father and the very many bad ones of her mother she never had a chance.”
She then proceeded to tell Carl exactly what had happened that night, exactly why she had not shared a bed with her husband for years.
“It’s ironic isn’t it, darling” she continued as Carl tried to find some response – any response “you were born effectively a bastard, your parents were brother and sister though you were conceived in what I suppose must have been love of a sort. And then your Susannah was born in wedlock but out of hatred and malice, unwanted, unloved by her mother, unknown to her father, despised by everyone, except you. I suppose that makes you a couple worthy of each other.”
“Fuck you,” was all he could say when she eventually stopped.
“Very apt,” she said dryly.
“This is not a fucking joke.” He had snapped. He wanted to hit her. Hard. He really wanted to slap her across the face. He had never been violent, never ever wanted to hurt anyone but he wanted to hurt this woman now. Why was she telling him all this stuff if she didn’t want to hurt him too.
Carl, who had been experiencing so many emotions – pain, sorrow, regret, embarrassment – as Alicia had told her story, had reached anger. It was not an emotion he was familiar with. He had never learned to deal with it. He so rarely lost his temper. He couldn’t remember when he last shouted at anyone.
But now he was very angry.
He spoke slowly at first, deliberately spacing his words, making sure he found the right ones. As he spoke his anger rose and he just said whatever came into his head.
“You all fucking knew. When you separated Susannah and me you all fucking knew. Why? Why did you do it? What did you hope to gain? You are all so fucking selfish. You were only concerned with yourselves. You’ve only ever cared about yourselves. The children – us – your children – Charles and Susie and me – we just happened to be there. That was just so fucking unfortunate for you all wasn’t it? You couldn’t carry on with your stupid fucking little mind games. You had no fucking responsibility for us. You handed us over to other people because we all got in your fucking way. You are all shits, fucking shits – I can’t think of words bad enough for what I think about you. Anything I called you would be too bland. You all knew all of this and you couldn’t fucking well bring yourselves to ease anyone else’s pain and hurt because it would mean you would all have to admit what utter shits you’ve been all your lives. You probably didn’t care how much you hurt anyone as long as you were OK. You and your precious fucking lives. What about us? What about our lives? I don’t care why you did it. You did it.”
She slapped him as hard as she could across the face.
“Stop it. Carl. Stop it. You’re acting and talking like a little boy.”
“A little boy! You have just told me that my life, Susie’s life, they’re all built on absolutely fucking nothing! You tell me my parents were brother and sister! You tell me that your utter god-awful selfishness and your fucking lies are fine because you were all doing it. You were all lying. You have all always lied. And you call me a little boy!’”
He grabbed the car keys from the ignition and, slamming the car door behind him, practically ran into the churchyard, sitting down on a tomb as soon as he was out of sight of the car.
He had not thought that knowing Susie was not his sister could possibly cause him so much agony. The joy of knowing that they could have been, could be, together was completely lost in the knowledge that, because of this woman’s lies it was all too late.
He couldn’t marry Susie.
He couldn’t marry anyone.
He could never have children of his own.
His parents were brother and sister.
He sat there trying not to think what might have been, if only that bitch hadn’t lied.
And he had slept with her!
He not only hated his mother, his father, Henry and that woman, he hated himself.
It took a while, but he did eventually pull himself together. He did get himself back under control and went back to the car, where she was still waiting.
He drove her back to her house, he packed his things and put them in the back of the car. He was leaving and he would never see her again. If she said something like ‘don’t think too badly of me’ he probably would have hit her so it was lucky she didn’t say a word as he piled his things into a case and a rucksack and left – not even ‘goodbye’ or ‘thank you’.
He took the car back to the garage, walked to the station and caught the first train to London.
As he sat in the empty carriage, going home, he cried for everything he had lost.
He was embarrassed by his emotional response. He wished he hadn’t said some of the things he had said. She was right, he had been childish, he realised his vocabulary had been limited – what a pity there weren’t enough words for ‘fuck’ when you were angry. She was absolutely right he had reacted badly.
But he knew he had had every right to.
He went back to the Forsters and over the next few days spent many hours in his room, reading, trying to study, trying to take control of his life again. Pat and Jeff didn’t press him for explanations, they didn’t ask any difficult questions.
They just let him find himself again. They knew he would start being Carl again when he was ready.
He kept thinking how much he wished she had not told him. But he had wanted to know. It was just that truth didn’t stop where he had wanted it to and he now had all sorts of knowledge that he really didn’t want. He could have gone through life never knowing, possibly eventually marrying and having children.
Maureen had known. She must have known. She had hinted that the truth would be too much. They had both asked him whether he really wanted to know.
He had always understood knowledge to be a good thing, the only bad thing about knowledge was not having it. He now knew that that was not always the case.
Not only had he lost Susannah, he had lost his future. He couldn’t marry now. He couldn’t have children. He would be the no issue on the family tree. His genes wouldn’t go on down through the generations to come.
He was the end of the line.