‘Oh, honey, I didn’t know that. I assumed from what he said, you were his stepdaughter.’ Roma sits back and there is a genuine look of shock on her face. ‘I thought that was how he came to bring Alice on his own. I mean, why would you bring one daughter and not the other?’
We both look at each other. I have no doubt we are both thinking the same thing. It takes a moment for me to conjure up the words. ‘Maybe I’m not really his daughter after all,’ I say. It’s my turn to slump back in my seat. I don’t know how I feel. ‘I’ve always wondered why he never took me. How he could choose between his own flesh and blood, but now it all seems so obvious. It makes sense now. I’m not his child.’ I drag my hands down my face, my fingertips cover my mouth as I take in this realisation. It also means that Alice is not my full sister as I had always thought. She is, in fact, my half-sister. I examine this notion. It’s easier than thinking about Patrick. I don’t feel any differently about Alice, not one bit. She’s my sister, full or half. She’s always been my little sister.
‘Are you okay?’ asks Roma. ‘Would you like something stronger to drink?’
‘No. I’m fine. It’s okay. Patrick not being my father makes a lot of sense. It answers a lot of questions. I’m okay with it. Honestly. Although, it does mean I don’t actually know who my real father is. I don’t know why Mum has never told me. Do I want to know who he is? Wow, it’s answered one lot of questions, but has thrown up a load more.’
‘It’s a shock nevertheless,’ says Roma. ‘Take your time to get used to the idea. I’m sorry if I’ve upset you. I may have just gotten hold of the wrong end of the stick … Maybe I should go now.’ She takes a couple of notes from her purse and leaves them on the table. ‘My treat.’
‘Thank you for coming,’ I say. ‘Oh, wait … how did you come to have the address for my mother? The one you gave to Alice after my father died?’
‘It was by chance, really. A letter came one day when he was away on business, it was postmarked London, England. It sat on his desk for three days before curiosity got the better of me. I steamed open the envelope and it was a letter from a tracing agent asking him if he was Patrick Kennedy of such and such address. I remember thinking that they must have got him muddled up with someone else because, of course, he was Patrick Kendrick to me. But, for some reason I made a note of that address – don’t ask me why but I did. Anyway, Patrick came home and just told me it was a spelling error and not to worry about it, that it was all sorted out now.’
‘And you kept the address all that time?’
‘Yes. Maybe because Patrick’s life in the UK had always been a bit of a mystery and this was the only connection. I don’t know why, but it felt important to keep it. To be honest, I forgot about it and then, after Patrick died and I was sorting out our things, I found it. That’s when I gave it to Alice. I did say to her I wasn’t sure whether it was a wild-goose chase I was sending her on, but it seemed wrong not to give it to her.’ Roma stands. ‘I really need to go. Please take care of yourself. And if you do get in touch with Alice, tell her I was asking about her and I’d love to hear from her.’ Her smile is laced with sadness and I believe her sentiments are genuine. I get to see a lot of liars in my line of work and maybe it’s just a gut feeling, but I believe Roma cares about Alice. Roma pauses. ‘Oh, one more thing.’ She delves into her handbag and produces a brown envelope. ‘There are some photos of Alice in there. I thought you might like them.’ She places the envelope on the table in front of me. ‘Goodbye, Clare.’
‘Before you go, can I ask just one more question?’
Roma is standing now but she pauses and nods. ‘Do you have any other children? A daughter, perhaps?’
‘A daughter? Not if you discount Alice. I just have a son, Nathaniel. Why?’
‘I just wondered,’ I say.
‘Okay, well, goodbye, again.’
I watch the elegant woman leave the coffee shop. She stops at the window and looks in at me for a brief second, before putting on her sunglasses and walking away.
I pick up the envelope and am just psyching myself up to open it when my mobile rings. I flick it on to silent as I look at the screen. It’s Luke. Twice in one morning. Now, that is unusual. I can’t ignore it – the little voice in the back of my head that warns me it could be an emergency at home with Mum or the girls won’t let me.
‘Hi,’ is all I say.
‘Clare. Where the fuck are you?’
‘Er … just out having a coffee. What’s up?’
‘Where – having a coffee? Where exactly are you?’ I can hear the anger in voice, although he’s practically hissing the words. ‘And don’t say at Nadine’s.’