The Thing About Clare Page 22

  Anna shook her head. ‘Only me. Mum told me to burn it but I . . .’ She shrugged. ‘Well, it didn’t feel right and so after Mum died and I read it and . . .’

  ‘And now you are stuck in no-man’s-land not knowing which way to go?’

  He had hit the nail on the head. Anna nodded.

  StJohn looked out of the window and watched the swaying bamboo for a moment.

  ‘Would it help if I told you my side of the story?’ he asked, without moving his focus from the plants.

  Would it? Anna wasn’t sure. Her need for information was what had got her into this mess in the first place. But then again, wasn’t that why she’d come here? To learn something new. Oh, what the hell? In for a penny and all that.

  ‘Yes,’ she said quietly. ‘Please.’

  StJohn took a deep breath as if he were settling himself into the task ahead.

  ‘So,’ he began. ‘Let’s start with what you already know.’

  ‘Not much,’ said Anna, bringing her mother’s letter to the front of her mind. ‘You met Mum in a café. You got close. You had one . . .’ Anna paused. She could feel her cheeks starting to burn. God, this was awkward. They were talking about her mother having sex with this stranger. ‘. . . one . . .’

  StJohn just nodded and Anna, grateful that she didn’t have to say it out loud, moved on. ‘And that was about it. Mum had the baby. She told you. You moved away and we got on with the rest of our lives. Is that pretty much it, in a nutshell?’

  He moved his wheelchair over to the table and poured himself some more tea from the bone china teapot. He raised it in Anna’s direction but she shook her head. Then he went back to where he had been and by the time he had repositioned himself, he seemed to have what he wanted to say straight in his mind. He began.

  ‘I never married,’ he said. His voice was quiet but clear. ‘I never could. After I had met your mother, no one else seemed to compare. She was a good woman and totally devoted to your father. For her, what happened between us was an accident, a wrong turn taken in a period of great unrest. It was the only time, as far as I know, that she was ever disloyal to any of you. But for me, it was the sweetest, most precious part of my life, and no one has ever come close to matching it.’

  Anna watched him closely as he spoke. He placed his elbows on the armrests of his wheelchair and made a pyramid of his hands, the tips of his fingers resting on his lips. A triangle, thought Anna. How very apt.

  ‘After we made love,’ he continued, and Anna tried hard not to squirm at his frankness, ‘your mother knew at once that it had been a mistake. Not us being friends,’ he added quickly. ‘There was nothing wrong with that. It was a little unconventional but that was all. But we should never have . . . I should never have . . . Anyway, Dorothy was determined that we must never allow it to happen again. We met one last time in the park. It was a vile day, grey and drizzly, and we sat on a bench looking out at the grass rather than facing one another as Miriam slept in her pram. Dorothy explained how much she loved your father, that what we had done had been a terrible mistake, but there was no need for her to say any of it. I knew it all. I had been listening to her talk for weeks. I knew how much Frank meant to her.’

  His voice was even quieter now and Anna felt herself craning forward to catch his words.

  ‘And that might have been it,’ he continued. ‘A drunken mistake, instantly shoved under the carpet and never mentioned again, just like thousands of other encounters. But we are talking about Dorothy. She was such a good woman and she understood how hard it was for me. When Clare was born she wrote to tell me. Neither of us could know who Clare’s father was and so what was there to say? I never saw the child so I couldn’t tell you if I felt drawn to her by some parental instinct, and Dorothy didn’t send photos. I think that would have been too much of a betrayal for her.’

  StJohn turned his head and looked out at the garden again and Anna saw his hand sweep briefly across his eyes. He took a deep breath through his nose, letting it out slowly through his mouth as he gathered himself.

  ‘Not long after that I moved to Japan. Japanese gardens had always fascinated me so I decided to go and learn from the Masters. And that was it. A new start away. Dorothy knew where to find me if she needed me but she rarely got in touch and it wasn’t for me to contact her. The last time I heard from her, it was to tell me that she had left a letter for Clare with her will. And that, Anna, is it.’

  He looked straight at her now. His eyes were fascinating, Anna found, mesmerising somehow as they held her gaze. She could see why her mother might have been drawn to him. Anna pulled her stare away first.

  ‘It’s such a sad story,’ she said without really thinking. ‘God, I’m sorry. That was thoughtless of me.’

  ‘Yes, possibly.’ He gave her a resigned half-smile. ‘But true nonetheless. The discovery and subsequent loss of your mother has been the greatest sadness of my life, but over the years I have come to terms with it. And it is lovely to meet you, Anna. I can see your mother in your face so clearly. It is a shame that I will never meet Clare but—’

  ‘You could meet her,’ Anna interrupted, her mind racing with the possibilities, but StJohn was shaking his head.

  ‘No,’ he said firmly. ‘Your mother was sure that that was the wrong thing to do. You say she told you to destroy the letter before she died?’

  Anna nodded sheepishly.

  ‘Well, that’s what you should do, Anna. She had decided that there was nothing to be gained by telling Clare now and I agree. I am an old man. Both your parents are dead. What would Clare do with that knowledge except let it eat away at her?’

  ‘But doesn’t she have a right to meet you?’ asked Anna. ‘I mean, there is a chance that you are her biological father.’

  ‘How I hate that expression,’ StJohn said. ‘Biology is just chemicals. Your sister’s father was Frank. I have no claim over her. Maybe, eventually, the secret will reveal itself, when the time is right. But not now.’

  Anna couldn’t see how the truth would come out if only she and StJohn were aware of it, but she didn’t labour the point.

  ‘And now, if you don’t mind, I would like to be on my own,’ said StJohn.

  Anna jumped up.

  ‘Yes, of course. Thank you for seeing me and telling me about Mum.’

  ‘You’re welcome.’

  He started to manoeuvre his wheelchair towards the door.

  ‘And I think it would be best if we didn’t meet again, Anna. If you don’t mind. I have spent a lifetime putting this out of my mind and for my own sake I would like to continue to do that.’

  Anna nodded. He was right. She had the whole picture now. Her curiosity was sated. She would carry her mother’s secret to her own grave and the identity of Clare’s biological father was a detail that none of them needed. As StJohn had said, what difference would it make? Her father had always been Clare’s father and that was that.

  ‘Goodbye, then,’ he said as he opened the door to let her out.

  ‘Goodbye.’

  Anna turned and walked down the path. She didn’t turn round but she could feel his eyes following her, watching her leave.

  IX

  Anna hated the gym. What was the point of it? Well, she knew what the point of it was: she had to stay in her favourite jeans somehow. Also, she kept reading magazine articles about all the hideous things that were about to happen to her body. Hot flushes, sleepless nights, mood swings, osteoporosis. The list just went on and on. With all these battles on the horizon, the least she could do was invest a bit of her time in preparation, but she did it with extremely bad grace.

  She stepped up and down, up and down. It was relentless. She must surely be halfway up Everest by now – at Base Camp at the very least. She cast a sideways glance at the machines on either side of her. The man on her right looked like he might have a heart attack at any moment and droplets of his sweat kept flicking on to her machine. On to her as well, no doubt, but she couldn’t bear to think
about that. The woman to her left looked like a gazelle. Anna sighed inwardly, ignoring the wobble that she felt in her thighs each time they pushed down, and stared at the data screen. She could get off in ten, nine, eight . . .

  Climbing down with her quads burning, she went in search of a different machine of self-inflicted torture. The rower, maybe? That wasn’t too excruciating and at least it generated its own breeze.

  So now what, she thought as she pulled hard and sure on the handle with long rhythmic strokes. Seeing StJohn Downing the day before had clarified her thoughts. The letter to Clare had to disappear. This morning, as she was having her breakfast, Anna had extracted the will from the envelope in the pile on her table, where it had been hiding in plain sight. She was hoping for a light-bulb moment, something that she hadn’t thought of before that would allow her to keep the will and not the letter, but nothing had come to her. The two documents were totally joined at the hip.

  The man on the stepper slid off and virtually collapsed in a soggy, hot pile on the floor. That cannot be good for him, Anna thought. The gazelle woman was still going with even strides, looking like climbing to the moon would be a breeze for her.

  This whole situation would be so much easier if she could just talk to one of the others. Miriam would know what to do and Sebastian would at least pull sympathetic faces if she brought it up with him, even if he didn’t actually tell her what would be best. Anna knew that that wasn’t an option, though. The fewer people who knew the truth the better, especially if the decision was not to tell Clare. Anna was on her own.

  She realised that she was rowing more and more slowly until eventually she just stopped. Enough deliberating! She would destroy the letter and the will today. It might mean that Sebastian would lose his right to their mother’s engagement ring but surely that was better than Clare losing her identity. And anyway, making sure Clare never found out was what her mother had wanted her to do, wasn’t it?

  Now that she’d finally made the decision Anna felt immediately better and started to pull again on the rower with long sure strokes. The breeze bathed her face. This was easy when you knew how.

  She worked her way round the rest of her programme feeling as light as air, which was more than the weights did. Mission accomplished, she ticked the box on her programme with a flourish, tucked it back in the box on the gym instructor’s desk and headed for the showers. As she let the hot water run over her skin, she congratulated herself on a decision well made. She could deal with holding a secret. She had broad shoulders.

  As she got dressed, she checked her phone for messages. There was a missed call and a text from Miriam.

  ‘DISASTER! Washer dead. No clean knickers. Help!!’

  Anna smiled. It was so rare that Miriam ever asked for help. She punched in a reply.

  ‘Cavalry to the rescue. Use mine. No worries. Xxx’

  She pressed send and seconds later . . .

  ‘Thank you xxxxx You are an angel. Maybe still there when you get home?’

  ‘Yes. Home around 6.30. See you then xx’

  Leisurely she packed her kit back into her bag, brushed her hair, thought about what she might cook herself for dinner. There was a chicken breast in the fridge, some nice salad— The thought struck her like a bolt of lightning. Her entire body went cold. Adrenaline pricked in her fingers and at the base of her neck. The will! It was just sitting there on her kitchen table where she’d left it that morning. The letter to Clare was still hidden under the pile of magazines and bills but the will was lying there.

  Anna’s breath came in quick short gasps. What should she do? She could hardly ring Miriam and tell her that the washer wasn’t working after all. Or ask her to ignore the document handily marked ‘The Last Will and Testament of Mrs Dorothy Bliss’ that was just waiting to be read. Anna’s heart was racing. She needed to get home as quickly as she could to try to avert disaster.

  She grabbed her bag and ran for the door.

  There was an outside chance that she would get to her house before Miriam did but it was more likely that Miriam had had her car packed and ready to go when she sent the text and would be well on her way by now. There was nothing else for it. She would just have to cross everything and hope that Miriam just put the clothes in the machine and then left.

  Anna drove home as quickly as she dared but as she turned on to her street she saw Miriam’s car parked outside her house. Anna reversed her car into the space next to Miriam’s. One of her tyres was on the pavement but there was no time to sort that out. She abandoned the car and raced to the house, fumbling for her house keys as she went.

  The front door banged behind her.

  ‘Hi, Miriam. Did you find the washing powder and everything . . .?’

  There was no reply. Anna opened the kitchen door, her heart in her mouth. Miriam was sitting at the table. In front of her was the will, open at the last page. Anna didn’t speak. She wasn’t sure that Miriam had even heard her come in. Her eyes were scanning over the legal niceties of the signature page.

  ‘Miriam,’ said Anna after what seemed like an eternity but was probably only a matter of seconds.

  Miriam turned to look at her. Her mouth was open, her eyes questioning.

  ‘Anna, what’s this?’ Her voice was gentle, as if she were trying to take on board what she had just read.

  Anna swallowed.

  ‘It’s Mum’s will.’

  ‘And why have you got it? I’m not sure I understand. Did you go back to the house after we’d left? Did you think of somewhere we hadn’t looked? Why didn’t you ring me when you found it?’

  Anna took a deep breath. This was her way out. She could just lie, let Miriam believe that she’d had a sudden and lucky flash of inspiration. She could just pretend that the letter wasn’t with it and then none of the stuff about Clare need ever come out and she could go back to living her simple, straightforward life. The chance was just there in front of her. One lie and it would all be over. She couldn’t believe she hadn’t thought of this before. But as the thoughts flew around her head she saw something change in Miriam’s face, a kind of understanding that started small but grew and finally took hold. Anna had hesitated too long.

  ‘You knew!’ said Miriam accusingly. ‘You knew about the will. You had us crawling all over that house and all the time you knew where it was.’

  Anna opened her mouth to speak but Miriam wasn’t finished.

  ‘And we had that enormous row with Clare. About how we should divide everything. With Sebastian and the ring and me and that china. And my girls. They get a gift each. Oh, Anna! How could you?’

  ‘Look, Miriam. I didn’t know. Well, I knew that I had the will, obviously. Mum told me where it was and asked me to go and get it. But I didn’t know what was in it. Well, not then. I hadn’t read it then. Honestly.’

  This was all going too fast. Anna’s head spun as she tried to work out what to tell Miriam and what to keep to herself.

  ‘Why on earth didn’t you say?’ said Miriam, standing up and waving the will in the air in front of her. ‘What possessed you to keep quiet? You could have just brought it along to the house and we could have all opened it together. Why didn’t you do that, Anna?’

  ‘I don’t know. I didn’t know what to do.’

  ‘What do you mean, you didn’t know what to do? It’s not hard.’

  Then Miriam’s face changed again and now her eyes were cold and accusing as she stared at Anna. ‘Oh, I get it,’ she said, nodding slowly. ‘You wanted to check what was in it first. This is starting to make sense now.’

  ‘Miriam. Calm down,’ said Anna. ‘You sound like Clare. You’ve got it all wrong.’

  ‘I don’t think I have. You were worried that Mum might have done something that would water down your share and so you decided to sit on the will and let us all think that there wasn’t one whilst you worked out whether you’d be better off with or without it.’

  ‘That’s ridiculous,’ said Anna, and it was. Of all the
reasons she could possibly have for hanging on to the will, that was the most ludicrous. Surely if she just stayed calm then Miriam would realise that?

  ‘Oh, is it?’ replied Miriam, not sounding at all calm. ‘Well, it doesn’t seem that ridiculous from where I’m sitting. In fact, it’s all starting to make perfect sense.’

  Anna’s mind was racing. What should she do? She couldn’t let them find out about the letter. That decision was made. Her mother, StJohn and she all believed that giving Clare the letter would be a disastrous mistake. And if she mentioned it now, then there would be no reversing. Miriam would want to tell Clare and Sebastian in the interest of honesty and then it would all be out in the open. No, it was better to keep quiet and face the full wrath of Miriam to protect her mother’s secret.

  But how could she explain her behaviour without giving Miriam the whole picture . . .?

  ‘I didn’t tell you about the will,’ she said, still trying to concoct a feasible story as the words tumbled out of her mouth, ‘because . . . because I thought you’d all think it was strange that Mum told me where the will was and not any of you. I know you all think that I was her favourite, which isn’t true by the way, so I thought that if you knew that she’d asked me to get it then you would all think badly of me. And see! I was right!’ Anna could not keep the triumphant tone out of her voice, although it was more to do with her relief at having come up with something half plausible. ‘I was going to hide it,’ she added, the final cherry on the cake, ‘so that one of you would find it, but then . . .’

  She nodded to the will lying on the table. Anna could almost see the cogs turning in Miriam’s head as she tried to make sense of what she was hearing, and for a moment Anna thought she had convinced her. But then Miriam spoke again.

  ‘But we were having that enormous row,’ she reasoned, her eyes narrowed. ‘You could have stopped all that. You could have brought it all to an end with one simple sentence. “I have the will.” Surely that would have been more important than you worrying about all this crap about favourites?’