Robbie went off upstairs to ‘do stuff’, as he put it. Sue went through to the kitchen to get us some tea. While I waited I had a look around the room. The walls and shelves were covered in lots of family photographs. Many of them were of Robbie at various ages. One, which looked like a first day at school photo, could easily have been a photo of Adam apart from the hair colour. I was fascinated by the pictures of Robbie and I thought how Rosie would love to see them. I felt a sharp stab of guilt as, once again, I realised what I’d deprived Rosie of by keeping Robbie a secret. To distract myself from this painful line of thinking I looked out of the window. Outside was one of the most colourful gardens I’ve ever seen.
“Here we are,” said Sue, arriving with two mugs.
“Thank you.” I said, taking one from her. “I was admiring your lovely garden. You must spend a lot of time getting it to look so good.”
“Oh it’s not me that’s responsible, that’s Bob’s department. He spends all his spare time either working in the garden or tinkering with engines.”
Sue told me how her husband had kept their various second-hand cars on the road over the years, as well as tending to his beloved motor bikes. She said that with the family to look after, and her job as janitor at the local primary school, she had quite enough on her plate.
“Mind you,” she said, “I’d not be able to do it without Bob. He’s always got stuck in at home. We couldn’t have done all the fostering or the adoption if we hadn’t both been pulling our weight. I couldn’t be doing with a man who didn’t roll his sleeves up and do his share at home.” I’m not sure I didn’t blush when I heard her last statement.
I ended up staying for lunch. Robbie was there and I met Julie, also seventeen years
old,
and also adopted. She was very quiet and was dressed all in black. Bob arrived when we were half way through lunch, having finished his shift driving the number twenty three bus. He appeared in the kitchen, where we were all squeezed round the table, and he seemed to completely fill the space that was left, standing there in his motor bike leathers, with his crash helmet in his hand. He greeted me warmly, as if it was the most natural thing in the world for me to be there.
After lunch both Robbie and Julie said they were going out for the afternoon. Sue, Bob and I went through to the living room, where I was talked through the family photo gallery. I saw pictures of Robbie from babyhood to the present and heard many stories of his childhood. They seemed to be a very close couple with tremendously big hearts.
Bob was keen to show me Robbie’s paintings. He guided me through the contents of a large folder. There were sketches and paintings of family members and pets, as well as some still life and landscape work. He also pointed out two framed pictures on the living room wall that he said had been done by Robbie. One was a small still-life of motor bike parts. The other was a watercolour, showing part of the garden. Robbie had clearly inherited his mother’s artistic talents. Bob said Robbie’s art teacher spoke very highly of his talent, and that Robbie wanted to study art when he left school. Sue commented that this was great, but she felt that he should do something more practical and keep art as a hobby.
However, Bob said that if Robbie really wanted to work as an artist then he should go for it. “Robbie has choices, opportunities I never had and I think he should go for it. Imagine us being the parents of a famous artist one day!” Bob beamed at the thought.
“Robbie’s biological mother was an artist wasn’t she?” asked Sue.
“Yes, yes she was,” I replied. I felt a bit awkward talking about Heather. It must have shown.
“I’m sorry,” Sue said. “I know it didn’t work out for her and it must be painful for you to talk about. At the time of the fostering, and then the adoption, we were told a bit about Robbie’s mother and her circumstances of course – as you know. And you and the other man – your brother was it – who came to see us at the time – you told us bits and pieces too.”
“My brother-in-law,” I said. “It was Heather’s brother – Dr Finch – who came with me. How much does Robbie know about his birth mother?”
“He knows most of what we know. We’ve told him it bit by bit as he’s got older. He knows that she had a difficult time as a young woman because she was on drugs, and that it took many years for her to get clean. But he knows too that she was sorting her life out by the time she was pregnant with him and that he was a very wanted baby. He knows she loved him. We just told him this year that she killed herself – although he’s always known that she died.” Sue paused, cleared her throat. “We haven’t told him about the reasons yet – but we will – once the knowledge of her suicide sinks in.”
I felt even more awkward now. “How did he take it – the suicide?” I asked.
“He was shocked, of course. It led to lots of other questions. It was then he started talking about finding your wife and you, and your family. He started to ask about his father too, of course – his biological father. But we said we couldn’t answer that. He wanted to know everything he could possibly could. We tried to persuade him to wait – we thought we’d convinced him. We did intend to go through the proper channels, Tom.”
“Yes, he explained that – don’t worry – he said he’d acted without your approval.”
“It must’ve been such a shock for you all – him turning up. We know you wanted a clean break at the time.”
“Yes, it was certainly a shock. We knew a young lad was coming to see us at the house, but the name Robbie didn’t mean anything to me. I still thought of him as James – the name Heather gave him. It was her father’s name.” Then it clicked, her father was James Robert. “You changed to using his middle name,” I said.
“Yes - with Robert being Bob’s name – we decided it was a nice father son link - and Robbie suited him,” Sue said.
I nodded. “When I did realise who he was, I didn’t handle it well. I’m sure Robbie’s told you. And I had my reasons for not telling my wife about him.”
“Robbie’s told us about your – your situation with your wife,” said Sue. “And he also told us about your son, Adam. He feels bad about him - and that he’s to blame.”
“I know he does and I’ve tried my best to reassure him that it’s not his fault – it’s down to me, I’m afraid. I’ve mishandled the whole matter.”
“Well, from what Robbie says, you’re fine with him now. The past can’t be undone and we never doubted you wanted what was best for him. We’ve always told him that, Tom.”
I was touched by that and I said it was clear Robbie couldn’t have had better parents.
“It’s very nice of you to say so,” said Sue. “We couldn’t have children of our own, but it’s been a privilege to have Robbie, and we’re grateful to have had the chance to be his mum and dad.”
Hearing Sue say this, I wished Rosie could hear it too. I said it would be good if they could meet Rosie and the rest of the family some time, and they agreed that it was something they’d very much like to do. By the time I left their house, I felt my burden of guilt to be slightly lighter.
Chapter Twenty Seven
As I drove along Ferry Road, heading for home, I thought about the Sutherlands and Robbie and the closeness of their family. It gave me a strong urge to go and see Rosie and the children. Rosie would’ve told the children about the cancer by now, and I wanted to be there for all of them.
Next thing I knew, I’d turned the car and was heading over to the south side of the city. I made the unlikely find of a parking space in the Morningside
street
where the flat was. As I walked up the path to the stair door, I glanced in the bay window of the front room. What I saw stopped my progress and flooded me with a clammy nausea.
Max and the girls were together on the sofa. Sam had her arm round Max’s shoulders and her head was inclined towards him obscuring his face. She seemed to be talking to him. Jenny was leaning forward and looking up, as if about to stand. I followed her gaze and saw that she was looking at Rosie. Rosie - standing in the arms of a man - in the arms of Rick Montgomery to be precise. Rick, Lucy’s brother, supposed absentee tenant of the flat, and one time boyfriend of my wife. As I watched he stroked Rosie’s back and then held out an arm to Jenny. She walked over to him and her mother and he embraced her too.
I turned and ran. It took all my self control not to throw up there in the street. I got into the car, my mind buzzing with questions. What was going on? How long had Rick been back? Was he staying at the flat? What was he doing with his arms round my wife and my daughter? Where were Kirsty and my mother?
I don’t remember much about the drive back to East Lothian. But I do remember deciding I wasn’t going to mention the fact I’d gone to the flat to anyone. Well, not yet anyway, I needed to think. And before I could do that I had to visit Adam. I fought to suppress the ghastly image of that man’s arms round my Rosie.
Ruby was aware I was coming and knew what I had to tell Adam. When she let me into the house she didn’t say very much. She must’ve sensed that I just wanted to get it over with, and I was grateful to her for that. She did say that
noone
else was in and to stay as long as I liked. Then she called upstairs to Adam and left me to wait for him in the front room. I felt dreadful, very apprehensive and took several deep breaths to calm myself down.
As I waited for my son, the scene I’d witnessed at the flat broke through my fragile defences. The nausea and panic returned. My hands trembled and sweat trickled down my back. Even though I was sitting down I felt unsteady. So I grasped at whatever I could, at whichever of the myriad thoughts racing round my head offered any kind of hope. If I could just persuade Adam to come home then Rosie would come back too. She wouldn’t be able to resist being with her beloved Adam, would she? And she’d be so impressed with me, grateful even. Then I could work on her – show her I’d changed – wrestle her out of Rick’s clutches. Maybe when I told Adam that Rosie was ill and he was still in shock he’d be susceptible to the suggestion. Looking back, I’d like to think that there
was,
somewhere in my mind, a seed of self-disgust that I would even consider manipulating my wife and son in this way - but at the time…
“What do you want, Dad?” Adam said, coming into the room. He sat opposite me.
“I wanted – that is – your mother wanted – your mother asked me to come and see you.” My mouth felt parched. “And I wanted to see you too,” I added hastily.
“I’m not coming home, if that’s what she wanted you to say.”
I didn’t miss a beat. “Well, of course, that’s what Mum and I both want – but no, that’s not why I’m here – not the main reason anyway.”
“So what is the main reason?”
“I need to tell you something– something important – serious – about your mother. Max and the girls have been told – they went to see Mum today as you know.”
He looked wary now. “What do you mean serious?”
“Adam, your mum’s ill. She has cancer – breast cancer – and she’s undergoing treatment for it at the moment. She’s had an operation and now she’s receiving drug therapy.” I tried to swallow, tried to keep breathing.
Adam looked horrified. “What – no, I don’t believe you! Mum can’t have cancer. She can’t. You’re lying – trying to make me come home.” He was on his feet, pacing, running his hands through his hair.
I stood up too. All thoughts of using his distress to my advantage were gone. Christ, we could lose Rosie to the cancer. I couldn’t manipulate us out of that.
I went to him. I put my arms round him. He fought me off but I persisted in trying to hold him. “It’s true, son. It’s true. I wish it wasn’t, but it’s true.” I had tears in my eyes. He looked into my face. I nodded at him. He crumpled and stopped fighting against me.
He was crying now. “No, no, not Mum,” he sobbed into my shoulder.
“She’s getting good treatment. She’ll get better.” I stroked his back.
He broke away from me. “You don’t know that! You can’t know that! People die of cancer. Gran died of it, didn’t she? Mum might die.” I reached out to him, but he pushed me away. He sat down and put his head in his hands.
“Yes, it’s serious, Adam,” I said. “Yes, people die from cancer, but lots of people survive it.”