“Jilly Cooper’s Rivals?”
He looked sheepish. “I got into them when I was a resident. You only get wee bits of time to read, so you need something gripping that you can pick up and put down. And I guess...I liked the glamour. You know, everyone not covered in boke and blood and dying all over the place.” He opened the book. “On you go now. Don’t disturb my reading, someone’s about to bonk in a horse box.”
Annie opened the car door, feeling the rush of cold air. “God. It’s freezing.” The snow fell on her face, like the touch of icy fingers. Inside her stomach there was also a nervous flurry. What was she doing? Her father had left when she was two days old. She didn’t know if he’d ever changed her, or given her a bath. If he’d loved her, or if he couldn’t wait to get out the door. Her mother never talked about him, except to imply it was his fault they couldn’t have nice things. How could she do this—go up to the door and ring the bell, and smile, and introduce herself, and then have it out with him about missing the last thirty-five years of her life?
She’d have bolted, but there was Dr. Max in the car, reading his bonkbuster, waiting for her. Annie began to crunch across the yard, the stones already slippery with snow. She wiped it from her eyes as she rang the doorbell. No answer. Relief surged through her. They must be out; they must just leave their lights on—
“Hello?” The door opened an inch, on a security chain. Behind it, she could just about see a woman’s face, wearing big glasses.
“Um...” Annie’s mind went blank.
“We don’t buy door to door. There’s a sign...”
“No. That’s not—Um. I’m sorry. I don’t know how to...” Deep breath, Annie. Deep breath. She could imagine Polly rolling her eyes. Try not to sound actually mad, Annie. “My name’s Annie Hebden,” she said. “I mean...Annie Clarke.”
There was a silence.
She tried again. “I’m sorry to interrupt. It’s just I’m looking for...someone...and I thought he might live here.”
The door rattled, then swung open wide. The woman there was about fifty, and dressed in a long cardy and jeans, glasses on her nose, long undyed graying hair. “Come in.”
“But—”
“I know who you are, hen. Come in out of that snow.”
Unnerved, Annie followed her into the kitchen of the house, which was blissfully warm after the chill outside. Logs burned in a fireplace, and the table was set for dinner, with round gray bowls and tumblers the colors of stained glass. A teenage girl was curled up in front of a TV, her face sulky. She was watching Countdown, and Annie had a sudden lurch of memory, her mother in front of the TV with her quick pen, finding the sense in the jumble of letters. It felt like a betrayal just being here. “Turn that off now, Morag,” said the older woman, who had to be her mother. They had the same long pale hair, same glasses. The girl wore a black T-shirt with Nirvana on it and ripped jeans. She stared at Annie. Annie stared back.
“Can I get you a wee drink, cup of tea?”
“Um, I don’t...” Annie had no idea what was going on.
“Take a cup of tea, hen. It’ll help.”
“All right, then. Um. Milk, please.”
“Morag, make the tea.”
The girl gave a theatrical sigh and flounced to the kitchen area, flicking on the kettle. She caught Annie’s gaze as she passed and Annie felt a deep jolt run through her. She had blue eyes. Familiar ones.
“Sit.” The older woman patted the sofa, which was comfortable and squashy. Annie did. There was a framed family picture on the TV, but she couldn’t examine it in detail without being obvious. “So. Annie. You came.”
“Well, yes, but how... I’m sorry—you’re...?”
“Oh! I thought you knew. I’m Sarah, that’s Morag over there.”
Morag busied herself reading the packet of tea bags.
Annie said, “You must be wondering why I’ve just turned up out of the blue.”
“Och, no, dear, we thought you’d come sooner to be honest. I’m sure you must be busy, down in that London.”
They did? And how did she know Annie lived in London? She plowed on. “The thing is, I’m looking for someone called Andrew Clarke. Does he—does he live here?”
The woman—Sarah—blinked hard. She looked at Morag, and the two seemed to have a hurried silent conversation. Sarah sighed and turned back to Annie. “Oh, hen. You don’t know, do you?”
“Know what?” Annie felt rising panic again. Her hands clenched.
“Well, Andrew—your dad...” Annie thought she might be sick. “I’m sorry, hen, but he passed away two years back.”
Annie didn’t understand. There were words, and they were in English, but somehow the meaning of them could not sink in. “Oh.” There was a noise from the kitchen, and the girl—Morag—let out a choking sob and dashed from the room, throwing the box of tea bags into the sink.
Sarah sighed again. “Poor wee thing. She was very close to her daddy.”
Her daddy. Her daddy. So that meant... “I’m sorry. I’m not really... A friend of mine—well, I say ‘friend’ but I’m actually pretty cross with her right now—she tried to find him for me because she knew we’d never met, well, not that I can remember, anyway, and she gave me this address and I came and—”
“So you really knew nothing. Dear God, hen, what was that mother of yours thinking? I wrote when he got sick. I thought you should both know. She didn’t tell you?”
“My mum’s not well. She...she gets confused.” Had her mother known he was dead? Was that why she kept talking about him? “But...did Mum not reply?” Annie wasn’t understanding any of this.
“Let me explain, hen. I can see you’re all at sea. Andrew—your daddy—he lived here, yes. You’ve come to the right place. And I’m—I was—his wife, and Morag there, she’s your sister. Half sister. Your dad, he got sick a few years back, and I wrote to your mum. And your mum, she wrote back, all about you and that you’d had your baby. She wanted him to know.”
Jacob. Her father had known about Jacob. “Oh.”
“He was ever so pleased, love. He’d wanted to get in touch for years, ever since Morag was born, but he thought—he didn’t know what your mum would say. When she replied he thought he’d get to see you before he... She didn’t pass it on?”
Annie shook her head slowly. “She already had it by then. The dementia. Maybe she forgot, or maybe...oh, I don’t know.”
Sarah looked stricken. “Oh, hen. I am sorry. Your dad wasn’t verra well himself at the time. He didn’t have long left. If only—ah, well. It can’t be helped.”
Annie wasn’t sure what happened next. All she knew was she needed Dr. Max, needed him like you need a life buoy when you’re drowning in the ocean. She got up, upsetting her tea over the beige carpet, and ran out, crunching over the ground to him, waving her hands hysterically. He opened the car door, laying aside Jilly Cooper. “What...?”
She didn’t realize she was crying until she felt the tears cold on her face. “He’s dead. He’s dead, Dr. Max. My dad is dead.”