He choked on his words, and it took him time to recover. I sat frozen in my chair, hardly daring to breathe.
‘After that, I don’t really remember very much, but I had some form of breakdown and was hospitalised for a while. That was when Marguerite, bless her, had no choice but to take Rory and have him at High Weald. I eventually came out on endless drugs, and Rory was brought back to me, with a nanny to care for him. I was encouraged to – as my therapist put it – “bond” with him. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t even bear to look at him. Then my father died too and that just about did it. Eventually, after a series of unsuccessful nannies, whom I frightened off with my aggressive behaviour, Marguerite suggested that Rory should come to live at High Weald with her full-time. They’d all given me up as a lost cause. And I was. I let both my architect’s practice and the farm go to rack and ruin. The upshot is, Marguerite has had the burden of taking care of Rory for the past five years, and has been unable to move forward in her own life or career. And Rory himself . . . God, Star, he thinks I’m his uncle! And worst of all, he knows nothing about his own mother! I haven’t let anyone mention Annie to him his entire life! He’s so much like her; she was a talented artist too . . . How can I ever make it up to him?’
There was silence then, as Mouse sat, breathing heavily, with his head in his hands.
‘Well,’ I said eventually, ‘at least you made him brownies the other day.’
He looked up at me then, the agony in his eyes obvious. Then he raised his hands.
‘I did. And thank you,’ he signed perfectly back to me.
44
I told Mouse that I needed to go to sleep. I was exhausted from my own trauma of the past few days, and now his. I lay down on the bed and wrapped the blanket and eiderdown around me like a cocoon, needing to analyse the facts before my heart made a decision.
Although I felt deeply for Mouse and the complexity of the loss he’d endured, I also felt for Orlando, Marguerite and especially Rory. Innocent of all charges. Damned only by being born.
And yet . . . he was a happy, untroubled soul, who engendered love simply by his generous giving of it. He had accepted his unusual circumstances as children did – as I had – without question. And despite his father’s behaviour towards him, there had been others there to cradle him if he fell, as there had been for me.
As for Mouse’s confession about his feelings, I steeled myself not to take them too seriously. He’d had an epiphany, due to returning to Cambridge. And all the years of loneliness and misery had almost certainly collected into a misplaced love for the only single female within reach: me. I’d worked for his brother, put food in his stomach and cared for his son . . .
It was an easy mistake to make.
Yes, I thought, that is the reason. And there was no way I was going to unlock my tender heart and allow it to pour its feelings into the turbulent waters of Mouse’s emotional storm.
But I will stay here, I thought, as I closed my eyes. For Rory.
I’d just returned to High Weald after taking Rory to school the next morning when Mouse arrived through the door. I noticed he was wearing the same clothes I’d seen him in yesterday, as if he hadn’t gone to bed at all.
‘Hi.’
‘Hi,’ I said, as I collected the eggs and bacon from the pantry for Orlando’s breakfast. I glanced at him briefly as I walked towards the range and thought that this morning, he looked completely broken. Part of me felt he deserved it.
‘Did you think about what I said to you last night?’ he asked.
‘Yes.’
‘And?’
‘Mouse, please, there’s been so much for me to take in over the past few days, I can’t do this now.’
‘Of course.’
‘Besides, this isn’t about you, or me. It’s about Rory. Your son.’
‘I know. Look, I’ve been thinking too. And you’re right. I can’t expect you to trust me, let alone love me, after the way I’ve behaved towards both of you. But . . . are you going to stay here?’
‘Yes. Rory needs stability. Also, I do have a job here at the bookshop these days.’
‘Well then . . .’ I watched him shift from foot to foot. ‘What I’d like to do, with your help, is to try to mend my relationship – or at least begin a relationship – with my son. There’s not a lot I can do until the sale of the bookshop goes through and the funds arrive in the account, so I thought I could use the time to be with Rory. I won’t be very good, I know, but I can get better, I’m sure of it.’
‘If you want to, then yes, you can.’
‘I want to, Star, believe me, I do.’
‘Well, that solves one of my problems. You could collect Rory from school, then I can help Orlando at the bookshop for longer and drive him home. There’s a lot to do there before we open.’
‘Great,’ he said immediately. ‘Though I’m not sure my cooking’s up to much.’
‘I’ll cook when I get back, but there is bath time . . .’
‘And story time. I know.’ He gave me a tentative smile.
‘Good morning, all,’ said Orlando, walking into the kitchen. He looked at both of us, sensing the tension in the air. ‘Have I blundered in here at an inopportune moment?’
‘Not at all,’ I said. ‘Breakfast is nearly ready. You’ll collect Rory at three thirty?’ I confirmed with Mouse, damned if I was going to offer him breakfast too.
‘I’ll be there. Bye now,’ he muttered and promptly left.
Orlando cocked his head at me quizzically.
‘Mouse told me last night. About Rory being his son.’
‘Ah. Well now, that’s certainly a move forward, given that he wouldn’t acknowledge it to himself up until recently. You’ve worked a miracle, Miss Star, truly you have.’
‘I’ve done nothing, Orlando,’ I said as I put the plate of bacon and eggs in front him.
‘Then should I say that love has worked a miracle. Of course I’ve known since the first moment he first set eyes on you that—’
‘Enough, Orlando.’
‘Forgive me, but please, Miss Star, at least give him a chance to mend his ways and endear himself to you.’
‘I’m more interested in him endearing himself to Rory,’ I countered as I slammed a frying pan into the sink to wash it.
‘Do I finally see some fire rising in that belly of yours? Perhaps Mouse isn’t the only one around here who’s changed recently, due to affairs of the heart.’
‘Orlando . . .’
‘I shall say no more. Other than the fact that, when sinners repent and try to atone for their mistakes, it is our Christian duty to forgive them. I have, at least. My brother is a jolly decent man, and if it hadn’t been for Annie’s death—’
‘Enough!’ I turned to him with the wet frying pan in my hand, and he held his hands up in mock self-protection.
‘No more, I promise. My lips are sealed. It’s up to Mouse now.’
‘Yes,’ I agreed fervently. ‘It is.’