‘Hi. Are we leaving straight away? I’ve made some brownies, and there’s coffee on the boil.’
‘That sounds wonderful,’ said a voice that was both familiar and new all at the same time. It sounded like me speaking in an American accent.
‘I’ve brought somebody to meet you,’ Mouse said, guilt written across his face.
And then, from behind him, a facsimile of the photograph Orlando had shown me stepped from the lobby and into the kitchen.
‘Hello, Star,’ the facsimile said.
I stared at her – at her face, at her body – and then I couldn’t see any more because my eyes were blinded by tears. Of anger, fear or love, I didn’t know which.
‘Star,’ said Mouse gently. ‘This is Sylvia Gray. Your mother.’
I don’t remember much of the next few minutes, only that Mouse’s arms shielded me as I cried onto his shoulder.
‘I’m so sorry,’ he whispered into my ear. ‘I went to Cambridge to listen to her lecture, then introduced myself to her afterwards. She was desperate to come and meet you. Tell me what to do.’
‘I don’t know,’ I said, my voice muffled by his Barbour.
Then I felt another pair of arms folding around me. ‘I’m so sorry too,’ she said. ‘Forgive me, Star, forgive me. I’ve never forgotten you for a moment. I swear. I thought of you every day.’
‘NO!’ I shouted and shrugged her off.
I ran through the lobby and outside into the bracing November air, down into the garden, where I paced through the maze of weeds and plants. I didn’t need a past, I didn’t need a mother . . . I just wanted a future – one that was safe, real and clean. And that woman waiting to pounce on me inside High Weald was none of those things.
I made my way blindly to the greenhouse, where Archie had once nurtured his seedlings, which Flora had carefully planted so they’d grown strong and firm out of love. And sank to the floor, shivering with cold.
How dare she come chasing after me! And how dare Mouse bring her here? Does this family really think they can control my life like this?
‘Star? Are you in here?’
I don’t know how much time had passed when I heard Mouse enter the greenhouse.
‘I’m so very sorry, Star. It was badly thought out. I should have warned you, asked your permission . . . When I went to Cambridge that night, and then saw Sylvia afterwards and told her who I was and who Orlando and I thought you were, she begged me to bring her here to High Weald to meet you.’
‘She probably wants to see the house her grandfather owned, not me,’ I spat.
‘Well, maybe she wants to see that as well, but she wanted to see you more, I swear.’
‘She hasn’t wanted to for twenty-seven years, so why now?’
‘Because her mother lied to her and said you had died when you were a baby. She even has a faked death certificate for you that her mother gave her.’
‘What?’ I looked up at him then.
‘It’s true. But . . .’ He gave a deep sigh. ‘I think it’s her job to explain all this to you, not mine. Star, forgive me. This was wrong, the whole thing . . . we should have respected your wishes. But when I saw her, her desperation to meet you overwhelmed me.’
I didn’t reply. I had to think.
‘Well, I’ll leave you be. And again, I apologise.’
‘It’s okay.’ I wiped my nose on my sleeve and stood up. ‘I’ll come with you.’
Garnering every sinew in my body to help me to standing, I did so. I wobbled towards him and he clasped a strong arm around me, taking me back through the walled garden and into the house.
Arriving back in the kitchen, I could see that Sylvia had been crying. Her perfect, subtle make-up had slid underneath her eyes, and she suddenly looked far more fragile than when she had first walked in.
‘How about I put the kettle on?’ Mouse suggested.
‘Good idea,’ said the woman who was apparently my mother.
Mouse duly filled the kettle as I stood shivering with my back to the range, trying to pull myself together.
‘Will you come and sit down?’
‘Why did you give me away?’ I blurted out.
Her face crumpled, and there was a pause as she delved deep for the words. ‘I didn’t, Star. After you were born during the Easter vacation, my mother insisted I should return to Cambridge to take my first-year exams. She was ambitious for me. I was bright, clever . . . In me she saw a future that she’d been denied. She’d had a hard life – my father had died young, leaving her to bring me up alone . . . She was bitter, Star. Very bitter.’
‘So you blame your mother now, do you?’ I shot back, horrified to hear the bitterness in my own voice.
‘You have every right to be angry. But I swear to you, when I left you that May in the care of my mother, you were a healthy, bouncing and very beautiful baby. The plan was that she would look after you until I’d finished university and completed my degree. I hadn’t even thought about giving you away. Not once, I swear. But yes, if you want the truth, I needed to make both of our lives better. Then just a few days after my exams were over, I got a letter saying you had died – from cot death apparently.’ She reached into her slim leather handbag and pulled out an envelope. ‘This is the death certificate she gave me. Take a look at it.’
‘How can something like that be forged?’ I demanded, not taking it from her.
‘Easily, if you happen to be as good as married to the local doctor. After my father died, she was his daily for years. He was probably as eager to assist my mom as she was to deceive me. He was a horrible man – a staunch member of the local Catholic community; he probably felt I should be punished too.’
‘By telling you your baby was dead?’ I shook my head. ‘This is difficult to believe. How did you even know I was alive now, if you thought I . . . wasn’t?’
‘Because my mom passed away a few weeks ago. I didn’t attend the funeral – I hadn’t spoken to her in almost twenty-seven years. But I did receive a letter from her solicitor, to be opened after her death. In it, she confessed what she had done all those years ago. Of course she did,’ my mother said, more to herself than to me. ‘She probably thought she was off to hell, after the terrible lie she had told me.’
‘Did the letter say who had adopted me?’
‘She said the doctor had given you to the priest at the church, who had taken you to an orphanage somewhere in the East End. But when I went there only two days ago, just before I met Mouse, they said they had no record of any baby by the name of “Lucy Charlotte Brown”.’
‘My adoptive father would never have taken me if he’d known the true circumstances,’ I said defensively.
‘I’m sure he wouldn’t have. But my mom always was a pretty efficient liar. Thank God I took after my grandmother, Tessie. What a wonderful lady she was. Worked hard all her life, and never once complained.’
My legs felt weak. I slid down the range to the floor, my arms crossed over my chest. ‘I don’t understand how Pa Salt found me.’