Familiar Rooms in Darkness (12 page)

Bella laid the photograph aside. ‘Tell me everything he said.'

Adam told her.

Her face was expressionless as she listened, but there was something oddly dislocated about her gaze, as though it was shifting between mental states. Hardly surprising,
thought Adam, as he drew to a close. Someone calmly telling you that you're not the person you thought you were. He tried to imagine the incredible jolt, suddenly being set at a remove from everything that had ever bound you to family, blood and being. News that made you a stranger to yourself.

If she believed him.

She sat very quietly, staring at her coffee. Then she shook her head. ‘I think you've been had, Adam.'

He nodded. ‘Well, possibly.' He felt embarrassed by his own certainty, by having to pretend he thought she might be right.

‘I don't blame you for believing it. It's the kind of revelation that helps your book. I mean, if it were true, it wouldn't be anything especially scandalous or startling, but at least it would be something new.'

Again he nodded. He felt rather foolish. He didn't really want to assist her to deceive herself. ‘Well, now you know.'

She put down her mug and covered her face with her hands. He thought at first she was crying, but she wasn't. She took her hands away, her face tired. ‘The thing is – I don't know, do I? I'm utterly convinced there's not a scrap of truth in it, that he said all this just to stir up mischief. I mean, if it
were
true, wouldn't my birth certificate show a different name? It just seems too farfetched to bother thinking about. But until I speak to my mother, I won't know. I can't believe she wouldn't have told Charlie and me. I can't believe it. You don't let someone grow up not knowing the truth about themselves, do you?'

Adam shrugged. He remembered what Meacher had said.
You get to a point where it's more of a problem to tell the truth than carry on lying
… ‘I don't know. I honestly don't know.'

There was a long silence. At last Bella said, ‘But you think George Meacher was telling the truth, don't you? Otherwise you would never have said anything to me.'

He hesitated for a few seconds, then met her gaze. ‘Yes. I could be completely wrong. Completely. But I do think so.'

‘So – I have to speak to my mother. I have to ask her. God.' She picked up the photograph. ‘Can I borrow this?'

‘Of course. It belongs to your mother, anyway.' He paused. ‘I'm sorry. I'm sorry if I've started something that's going to – to cause trouble.' It sounded inadequate.

Bella gave a wan smile. ‘That's your job, isn't it?'

‘I didn't think my job was going to get this complicated.' He glanced at his watch. ‘It's nearly half twelve. Why don't you let me buy you lunch? There's quite a good–'

‘No,' interrupted Bella. ‘I'm not really in the mood, I'm afraid. I'd better be going.' She stood up and stuffed her feet into her trainers. ‘Thanks for coffee. And for your time.'

The more Bella thought about what George Meacher had told Adam, the more ludicrous and unlikely it seemed. Over the next few days, the little seed of uncertainty which had been planted within her almost shrivelled up and died. But not quite. She left rehearsals late one
afternoon and went over to Dulwich to see her mother. She did this with the calm certainty that the whole thing was a fiction.

Cecile was busy in her workroom, engaged in the fiddly business of lining the jacket of a suit which she was making for a friend.

‘Darling!' She kissed her daughter on both cheeks. ‘What a lovely surprise! I'm just busy in the back room. Time I stopped for a break. Come through.'

Bella followed her mother to the kitchen. She was aware of a growing sense of nervousness. This was such a weird and horrible thing to be asking her mother about. But it had to be done.

‘Drink or tea?' asked Cecile. She put her hands together and raised her eyebrows in that lovely, smiling way which Bella knew so well. This is my mother, thought Bella. No matter what.

Bella smiled and sat down. ‘Drink, please. I really need it. I've had the lousiest day. I hate this play. I wish I wasn't doing it.'

‘I never cared too much for Orton.' Cecile fished in the fridge and brought out a half-full bottle of Chardonnay. ‘That mixture of silly and sinister.'

‘I just have a dud feeling about it. Something tells me nobody's interested in an Orton revival right now.'

‘Oh, I know that feeling. The awful instinct that something's a pre-ordained flop. You must inherit it from me. Bad luck. I'm sure it'll begin to feel better closer to the opening.' She handed Bella a glass of wine and sat down opposite her at the kitchen table. She lifted the tape measure draped round her neck and dropped it on the
table. In the little silence which ensued, Bella picked it up and began to wind it round her index finger.

‘Mother, I've got something to ask you, and I'm going to do it right away so that it's over and done with.'

‘My lord,' said Cecile, ‘you do sound serious.' Her mind ranged instantly over the possibilities, but did not come close.

Bella put down the tape measure. ‘Do you know a man called George Meacher?'

The question so stunned Cecile that it seemed to reverberate, rolling like thunder in her hearing. She let the echoes die away. She took a drink of wine. She became immediately conscious of the very set of her own features, wondered what her expression was. She did not think she had moved a muscle. What had her expression been before the question? Fear took a very hard hold of her, squeezing her insides.

‘No, I don't think so.' She essayed a smile.

‘A friend of Dad's? Someone he lived with after the war?'

‘I didn't know any of your father's friends from around that time, darling.' But the clear, poised features had suddenly begun to soften and tremble.

Bella picked up her canvas shoulder bag from the floor and took out the photo. She gave it to her mother. The effect was distinct and remarkable. Cecile's jaw slackened, her eyes blinked warily. ‘Do you see him? There, at the back?' Watching her mother's reaction, Bella's mind faltered. She felt the sudden sick surge of possibility well up within her.

Cecile's words came out with a little gasp. ‘Oh, him.
Yes, I remember him vaguely. What did you say his name was?' The effort was supreme.

‘George Meacher.'

Cecile nodded. Silence lengthened. ‘What about him?'

‘He told Adam Downing that Charlie and I were adopted.' At the very words, Bella felt tears pricking at the back of her eyes. The gaze which she kept fastened on her mother's face was almost pleading.

Cecile said nothing for a long, long moment. She felt shaky, sick.

Bella continued to regard her mother, but tears blurred her vision. The sense of certainty that now gripped her was cold and heavy and awful. She put out a hand and grasped her mother's. ‘Mother?'

Cecile's strong, handsome face had grown weak and fearful. ‘Oh, darling… You are my daughter. You are!' She clutched Bella's hand with both her own.

‘Is it true?' She had to fight against the awfulness of her mother's distress. She had to know.

Her mother began to sob. ‘Yes. Yes, it is.' Her voice was a rasping whisper. In that instant, Bella felt Cecile's tears on her hand, and was shocked by how repulsed she felt at their wetness. This was not her mother. This was Cecile. But she was not her mother, never had been. That thing she had told herself – whatever happens, she is my mother – was suddenly untrue. The shock hit her, and seemed to pass through her mind and body with a shudder. She felt as though she were free-falling. Suddenly cut off and pushed out into a great void.

‘Who am I?'

‘You're Bella! You're mine!' Cecile dropped Bella's
hand and reached forward, trying clumsily to embrace her. But Bella pulled back.

‘How could you never have told us? How could you let our entire lives go by and never have said a thing? Not a thing!' She stood up and walked across the kitchen. She turned and looked at Cecile, who was weeping.

‘Who am I? Who's Charlie?'

Cecile drew a hand across her eyes and looked at Bella. Bella was astonished to see anger on her face. ‘You're who you always have been! Who do you think you are?' Cecile's expression collapsed pathetically. ‘You've both been mine since you were only days old! You've never belonged to anyone else. You're
my
children! I'm your mother… Nobody else.'

Bella stared at her. There was a world of incomprehension here, clearly.

Cecile began to cry again, and Bella went to her side, knelt down, and put an arm round her. She had to steel herself to be kind, to contain her own anger. Her voice shook as she spoke. ‘Don't you understand, Mum? Don't you know what it is to be told you're not who you thought you were?' Cecile lifted her head and looked at Bella. ‘Don't you have any idea?'

Cecile dried her eyes with the end of the long scarf that hung loosely at her neck. ‘We would have told you. No – that's not true. I mean, we were going to. But when Harry and I split up, you were quite little, you see. And it didn't seem a good thing to undermine what security you had. We were so anxious to make you both feel that we loved you, despite the divorce, and so on. When you were teenagers – well, I came close to telling you. But I didn't.
I don't know why, but I didn't. It was never discussed between Harry and myself. By the time you were almost grown up, I was too afraid. You and Charlie could be quite hostile creatures a lot of the time, anyway – you know, all those ups and downs, the fights… I suppose all families have them, but I was so afraid that if I told you, it might drive you away completely. And then… well, there never seemed to be a right time. We'd left it too late. After a while, it didn't seem to matter any more. You were both who you were, you had grown up into such secure, lovely people… There didn't seem any need.' She gazed fearfully at Bella.

‘Any
need
? When we could have gone on throughout our entire lives, believing something that simply wasn't true?' Bella rose from where she knelt. She pressed her fists hard against her skull, unable to contain the anger and outrage. ‘You horrible, horrible, selfish woman…'

‘No! No, I'm not! I did everything for the best–'

But Bella was now a human storm of tears and emotion. ‘You lied to us! Isn't silence a lie? Letting people go through their lives thinking they're something they're not – isn't that a lie? How could you do such a thing? I don't even know who I am, where I come from! I thought everything began with you and Harry, I thought we
were
you. What am I? Where the hell am I from?' She leaned against the sink and wept, while Cecile watched her.

‘Oh, darling… I never, ever wanted any pain for anyone–'

Bella turned round. ‘Don't
say
that! What on earth do you think you've been storing up all these years?' She
struck her chest with her fist. ‘You let me and Charlie think we're your children, when we're not!'

‘But you are!' Cecile's voice was thin with anguish. ‘Please, please, sit down. Sit down here. Cry all you like. I'm still your mother – you know that. I'll tell you everything. Sit down.'

Bella shook her head, but she did as Cecile said. She sat down. She wanted to hear. It took her some moments to control her tears. She took a deep breath. ‘Go on. Tell me. You owe me that much. Tell me.'

Cecile pressed her trembling lips together, determined not to let herself start crying again. ‘Harry and I were married for eight years before we found out we couldn't have children. It was something to do with me, something they couldn't put right. I very badly wanted a family. Very badly. So we decided to adopt. We found out we would have to go through a dreadfully long process, lots of checking and bureaucracy… the prospect was a nightmare. I got very depressed, very anxious…' Cecile dabbed at her eyes with the end of her scarf, and pushed back strands of loose hair, trying to compose herself. ‘While we were still deciding whether or not to go ahead, Harry must have spoken to George Meacher. I hadn't seen him since we were married. I never liked him. He was a horrid little drunk, I always thought, always scrounging money from people and saying vile things behind their backs. Anyway, I don't know what he said, but the next thing I knew, he'd put Harry in touch with a doctor, someone in Deptford, who knew a family…'

‘A family?' Bella stared at Cecile. The shadowy female
figure which she had begun to imagine – some young girl in trouble, perhaps – instantly vanished.

‘Yes.' Cecile met Bella's gaze. ‘The woman had one child already, a boy. They had a lot of debt, a lot of problems. The husband was threatening to leave if they had another baby. He was a drinker, gambled a lot, and the woman was the only wage earner…'

The man. The woman. My mother and father, thought Bella. How could Cecile tell this story so dispassionately? Maybe to her that was what it had become. Just a story, the ghostly background to the real life she and Harry had given Bella and Charlie. That must be how she saw it.

‘We were quite well off back then. Harry was doing very well. The doctor arranged it so that Harry paid for everything – the nursing-home fees, all the expenses, and a few thousand besides. And we got you and Charlie. It wasn't anything illegal, you know. Just private. A private adoption.'

‘Did you meet her – my birth mother?'

‘Oh, yes. We met them, we checked the family out very thoroughly. Well, as thoroughly as we could.'

‘Was she upset? Was she sorry about what she was doing?'

‘Darling, I don't know. It was something she had decided she had to do. It was very much a business arrangement.'

A business arrangement. My life, thought Bella. Charlie and me. We have a brother somewhere. I am not who I thought I was. I am… Her own identity suddenly failed her. ‘What was their name?'