DAY 58
Connect with your roots
“Why have you stopped?” she asked nervously.
The engine had died, and Radio 2 had abruptly been silenced. Dr. Max said, “Because. We’re here.”
Panic shot through her. “Are you sure? The sat nav—”
“I’m sure. It’s the only house on the road.” Road was pushing it; it was more of a dirt track and a lone house. The windows were lit up already. It had never really got light that day, and they’d been driving for most of it, all the way to this little house on its own beside the forest. Her father’s house. Maybe.
Annie scrubbed a patch in the steamed-up window. “I suppose I have to do this.”
“Well, we did drive two hundred miles to get here.”
“In a blizzard.”
“Och, that wasn’t a blizzard. It was only a wee flurry.”
A wee flurry indeed. The sky was cloudy with snow, falling white and sticky, covering the car even as they sat there. Annie took a deep breath. “I bet he’s not here, anyway. It was probably a different Andrew Clarke. It’s a common name.”
“Maybe.” His tone was noncommittal. “I think I better stay here, Annie. Come and get me if you need me.”
“Will you not be freezing?”
He gave a dismissive look. “This isn’t cold. I’ll put my coat on if it gets chilly.” He took out a book.
“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.”
* * *
Annie was vaguely aware of things. The warmth and crackle of the fire on the backs of her hands. Sarah and Dr. Max in the kitchen, murmuring to each other in low Scottish voices, the kettle boiling, the clink of cups. He had, she thought, tactfully explained the situation with Annie and her mum and Jacob. The light was fading outside—they wouldn’t make it back now before the real weather set in. Snow was already whirling around the windows, until Sarah whisked the curtains closed. She pushed a mug into Annie’s hands, which were cradling her head. “Drink that. You’ve had a shock.”
“I’m sorry. I just—I never thought I’d even meet him. I thought he was gone, and then suddenly I thought I might meet him, after all, and...I never will now.”
“He wanted to meet you. He knew he’d not done right by you, love. I tried to get him to write for years, but he was afraid.”
Dimly, Annie felt the blow, and knew she would suffer for it later. Her mother hadn’t told her they were in touch, for whatever reason—and now it was too late. That was what death meant. It meant it was too late for everything. There was no way back. No wonder Polly was trying to do so many things, be so many different people, all in the space of a hundred days. Once she was gone, it would be as if she’d never existed, and the rest of them would have to turn around and keep trudging on. Annie swallowed some tea, hardly tasting it. “I’m sorry, Sarah. I wouldn’t have come if I’d known.”
“We wanted you to, love. I wrote inviting you to the funeral.”
Her father’s funeral. He’d been buried and she hadn’t even known. If she’d found out in time, she could have met him. Forgiven him, maybe, for running out on her and Maureen. So many emotions were swirling in her head, she felt like she was in the middle of a blizzard. At least one person could understand. As Sarah and Dr. Max busied themselves in the kitchen, making yet more tea, just for something to do—Morag crept back into the room, her eyes red. “Hi,” Annie tried.
“Hmph.”
“I’m sorry about this. I had no idea—I didn’t know about you. I swear.”
“So...you’re, like, my sister or something?”
“I guess so.” It was so strange. A lifetime of being an only child, of having only her mother, and now there was this girl, sneaking looks at Annie out of the corner of her eye. A sister. “How old are you?” asked Annie.
“Fifteen.” Reluctantly, she flicked her eyes to Annie. “You?”
“Way older. Thirty-five.” So she’d been twenty when this girl was born. Working already, dating Mike. Morag could have been her flower girl at the wedding. But no, it couldn’t have been like that. There was no point in all these what-ifs. There never was.
Morag leaned in, lowering her voice. “Is that your husband? Or your boyfriend or something?”
“Dr. Max? Oh! No, no, he’s not. He’s...” She looked over at him, moving around the unfamiliar kitchen like he moved around his operating theater, picking up mugs and spoons, totally focused. His hair was damp with snow and his fleece was old and ratty. He must have felt her look because he glanced up, and mouthed a quick, Okay? Annie tried to summon up a smile back, but couldn’t quite manage it. She was going to need time. There was so much to explain. That she’d had a husband, but didn’t now, and Dr. Max definitely wasn’t it. And it hit her, suddenly. Jacob had been part of this family, too. He’d been her father’s grandson, and Morag’s nephew, but they would never know him. A fresh wave of loss slammed into her and she leaned back slightly, as if from a physical blow. “He’s just my friend,” she said.
Morag was watching her carefully. Her eyes were the same as Annie’s own—blue, watchful. Their father’s eyes—she’d never known. Annie wondered what else they’d inherited. His inability to stay in anything, not a job, not a marriage? At least, that was how her mother had described him. But he’d stayed here, hadn’t he? Morag was fifteen or so. Fifteen more years than he’d had with his other daughter.
The feelings were swamping her. That her father had chosen this other life, other family, other child. That she had no one now. He was dead; her mother was lost in the darkness. And Polly. Soon Polly would be gone, too. She stood up, shakily. “I’m sorry,” she said, raising her voice so they could hear her over the boiling kettle. “I think we better go.”
Sarah looked disappointed. “Oh, hen! I thought you were stopping for dinner? You can stay the night, too, if you like.”
“No. No, we can’t. Our—my friend’s ill. We need to leave early tomorrow.”
“Are you sure?” Dr. Max had a flowered tea towel over his shoulder—it seemed he’d been washing up. “It’s no trouble to stay awhile, Annie.”
Why couldn’t he understand? She started looking around for her bag, ignoring the hostile expression that had crept back onto Morag’s tearstained face. “No. We should go. Will you take me, please?”
* * *
Much, much later, in the wee small hours of the night, as Dr. Max described it, the car pulled up at the gate of his mother’s house. It was icy cold, and still, not a breath of a mouse stirring around. Annie was stiff and freezing, her eyes sore. She hadn’t spoken the whole way back, over dark hills and rivers, the headlights catching the glowing eyes of nighttime animals. “We could have stayed, you know,” he said, turning off the engine.
She stared at her cold hands. He must be disappointed in her. She’d been cold, she knew, and awkward. “It’s a bit much to take, okay? Finding out my dad lives here, only then I find out he’s dead, and guess what, he was trying to meet me only Mum never passed on the letters, and I can’t ask her why because she thinks I’m her friend from school, oh, and I also have a sister I never knew about.”
“I know. I know it’s a lot. But...they were really trying. It’s not their fault.”
“Yeah, well, it’s none of your business.”
He paused for a moment. “I know it isn’t.”
“Look, I’m grateful to you for taking me. It’s just—it doesn’t seem fair. That I could have seen him, could have known him, but I’m too late. Story of my life. Nothing ever works out.”
She had the impression he was trying very hard not to snap at her. “Annie, I know things have happened to you, bad things... It must have been dreadful. But you’re not the only one, okay? Polly’s dying. Her family are going to lose their sister, their daughter, at thirty-five. And Dr. Quarani—you know he’s from Syria? Came here on a work visa but they wouldn’t let the rest of his family in, so he’s working all the hours he can to try and get them out. His sister’s stuck in Aleppo with her two little kids. He’s got their picture in his office—you might have seen it. No one’s heard from his brother in months. He’s basically all alone here, in a country that thinks he’s a parasite, while he works himself to the bone trying to save lives.”
Yet more sadness, yet more suffering. “I didn’t know.”
“I’m not trying to make you feel bad.”
“Well, you are.”
“Sorry. But it’s just the facts.”
They sat in silence for a while. Annie wiped her hands over her eyes, willing the tears to stay in. “That’s terrible. He must be so worried.”
“It’s how life is there. Don’t tell Polly, okay? She’d only blab to the whole hospital or try to organize some kind of rescue mission. He just wants to do his job.”
Annie saw that one light was still burning in the living room. “We should go in. Thank you for driving me.”
“That’s okay. Will you maybe think about contacting them sometime? Once things have settled a bit?”
“Maybe,” she muttered. She couldn’t imagine that things ever would settle. “Let’s just go in, okay? I’m tired. You must be, too.”
Inside, the warmth hit them like a wall. Polly was curled up on the sofa, wrapped in a blanket, with her ski hat on her head. Buster slept in the crook of her arm, snuffling away. It must have been thirty degrees in the room, and she was still cold. Not a good sign. Her blue eyelids fluttered as they came in. “Oh, there you are. Good trip?”
“Didn’t exactly go to plan,” Annie said stiffly.
“Why not? The weather? Thought you’d be fine with your famous snooow tirrrres.” She put a cod Scottish accent on the words.
“Annie’s had some bad news,” Dr. Max said, closing the door. “Maybe you shouldn’t—”
“What’s happened now?” Polly yawned. She actually yawned. What did that mean, what’s happened now? Did she mean Annie was always finding problems, reasons to be sad?
“My dad’s dead,” she said stiffly. “He died two years ago.”
“Oh, God! Annie, I’m so sorry. That sucks.”
“Yeah. I’ve also got a half sister I never even knew about.” She heard her voice tremble. “She’s fifteen.”
Polly beamed. “But that’s awesome! A sister! I bet you’re glad I did all that digging now. And there you were all grouchy with me.”
Annie’s hands clenched. “Polly, you shouldn’t have done it. It was up to me to look, if I ever wanted to.”
“You wouldn’t have. You were too scared to shake things up. She wouldn’t, would she?” Polly appealed to Dr. Max, who was shutting the curtains and putting the fireguard on.
“Leave me out of this,” he said shortly.
“So what if I was?” said Annie. “It’s up to me. You can’t control every aspect of my life. You can’t just decide when it’s time for me to meet my dad, or find out I have a sister. What am I supposed to do with that? My dad’s gone, and she had him all her life. I had him for, like, a day and I don’t even remember. How am I meant to deal with that?” Polly rolled her eyes. Annie felt icy rage pour into her veins. “What?”
“Oh, Annie. You’re so determined to feel miserable. You were sad you had no family left, and here I’ve found you a sister and you aren’t even grateful.”
“You haven’t found me anything! You’re not God, Polly! You don’t get to push us all around!”
“Annie, keep it down,” Dr. Max said reasonably. “Everyone’s in bed.”
She turned on him. “You agree with me! You know she’s always interfering. You were the one who said she was unstable.” Annie was quivering all over. Polly was just staring at her, unmoved. She heard herself say, “I’m leaving. First thing tomorrow.”
“We’re all leaving tomorrow. Don’t be so dramatic, Annie!” Polly drawled.
“I’m leaving without you. I’ll get the train.”
“Fine. If you want to make me do the journey by myself, when I’m ill.”
“You’ve got your brother, and your neurologist, who incidentally is taking time off from saving lives to hang about in Scotland with you. Because everything always has to be about you.”
Finally, Polly snapped. “Is that so much to ask for?” Her eyes blazed. “I got three months, Annie. That was all. One hundred days, to do everything I ever wanted. This cancer, it’s taken so much away from me. My hair. My dignity. I can’t eat, I can’t sleep, and no one will look at me except to see if I might be dying soon or stick needles in me. I have nothing, and you begrudge me a few days of attention? Jesus, Annie. I thought we were friends.”
Annie gulped. She wasn’t going to let Polly play any more cancer cards. “Friends don’t push each other around like...like...a puppet on a string.”
Polly laughed. A hard and unfriendly sound. “You’re mixing your metaphors, Annie. And where would you be if I hadn’t pushed you? Stuck in that job you hated, miserable, hating every day? Feeling sorry for yourself, wasting your life? You’ve no idea how lucky you are! I just helped you along.”
“What do you mean?” Annie frowned. But as soon as she said it she realized she knew. The link to the YouTube video. Jeff never went on YouTube; he was far too dedicated to the job. What were the odds he’d just stumbled across it? Someone must have sent it. “You didn’t. Polly! Did you get me fired?”
Polly shrugged. “Someone needed to. You were going mad in that place. I just gave you a little boost.”
“You got me fired! How could you? You—you...you’re unbelievable. You’re the most selfish person on the planet.”
“Good,” said Polly. “I want to be. At least that way people might remember me when I’m gone.”
She felt Dr. Max’s hand on her arm. Not the way she would have liked him to touch her—gentle, loving—but warning. “I think you should stop this now. Go to bed, both of you.”
Polly snarled, “Don’t think I don’t notice you two making eyes at each other. I bet you’re delighted—me dying’s worked out great for you. Fall in love over my dead body, why don’t you. It’s not fair. Everyone else will get to go on with their lives and I’ll be gone, dead and gone!”
“No one’s in love,” Dr. Max said coldly. “You’re acting like children. Both of you. Now go to bed and we’ll sort this out tomorrow.”
“I won’t be here tomorrow,” Annie said, making her own voice cold, too. “Like I said, I’m going. I have a life to get back to and a job to find. Thanks to her.”