Authors: Isabelle Grey
‘Whether or not he comes here, it makes no difference to how proud I am of Mitch. He knows that, doesn’t he?’ he asked.
Tessa watched him fold the empty crisp packet, then store it away to dispose of later: it was typical of his sense of responsibility, his kindness towards the world, and she felt a pang of regret at how little he had gained from all this upheaval in his life. She squeezed his arm. ‘Nothing could shake your place in his life,’ she told him.
Hugo stared at the ground in front of him. ‘I know it’s not the same for you,’ he said, with an unaccustomed meekness that cut into her heart. She started to reply, but he spoke over her. ‘I want to say something. And I don’t want you to interrupt because I want to make sure I say it right.’
‘Pamela told you?’
‘Yes.’ His face was suddenly grey and old. ‘So it’s important you don’t think I’m speaking out of jealousy, though
I admit to that – I’m terrified of losing you. But that’s not what this is about.’
Tessa could already feel a mild resentment stirring: she would not allow Hugo to speak ill of Roy. Why could no one see how difficult it was to have two mothers and two fathers and have to work out who she was in relation to them all, or understand the impact of discovering a stranger who had such faith in her? How could she listen to them when she was still in the process of becoming her new self?
‘This may sound strange to you,’ Hugo began, ‘but over the years I’ve felt a relationship with your real father – a kinship. I felt guilty, as Pamela does over Erin, that his loss was my gain. And I’d speculate about what he was like: was he an ordinary bloke like me or someone clever, with special talents, like you?’ Hugo reached out and patted her arm. ‘And how bitter was he, missing out on this beautiful child, this miracle I got to call my daughter?’
Tessa felt somehow trapped by such kindness, unable to rebel against it, but did as he asked and remained quiet.
Hugo sighed. ‘Even when you told us that Roy Weaver was in prison, I made up my mind that if you wanted me to, I’d accept him. Whatever he’d done, I’d shake his hand.’ When he spoke again his voice was stronger, more like himself. ‘But I also decided that I’d be failing in my duty as your father if I didn’t find out everything I could about him, so that, if needed, I could protect you.’
‘But I do know about him,’ Tessa burst out. ‘He wants to play a part in my life.’ Watching her verbal blade cut
into him, she felt a mixture of horror and voyeuristic fascination; while one part of her screamed at herself to stop, another thrust deeper. ‘He cares for me.’
Hugo nodded to himself several times, then spoke at last. ‘Of course he does. Anybody would.’
‘He’s not “anybody”,’ she protested, appalled now at her cruelty.
‘I didn’t mean that. I meant that you’re worth caring for, Tessa. I don’t care whose DNA you’ve got. You’re my child and I love you.’
It was wonderful to hear him say those words, and she longed to believe they carried real power, yet somehow they were not enough; somehow she was beyond their reach.
‘And that’s why I want to be sure that you understand exactly who and what you’re dealing with.’
‘I’m not stupid, Dad! Of course I understand. I asked, and he’s told me everything.’
‘Tell me, then.’ Hugo turned to look at her, and she quailed under his calm and level gaze.
‘She was his girlfriend,’ she answered. ‘They’d been together for years. But she was mentally ill. When he tried to help, she attacked him. It was a terrible, tragic accident.’
‘That’s manslaughter,’ said Hugo. ‘Roy Weaver was convicted of murder.’
‘It was self-defence. He lost control, and she was strangled.’
‘He strangled her,’ corrected Hugo. ‘And got a life sentence.’
‘Oh, what’s the point of you asking, if you’ve already made up your mind against him?’
‘If he’s got nothing to hide, then he won’t object to you asking as many questions as you need to.’
‘I have! He’s told me!’
‘Then what made it murder and not manslaughter?’
‘You’ll just have to trust my judgement,’ she said. ‘I believe him – that’s good enough for me.’
‘How long’s he been in prison?’
She remembered what Declan had told her about an average life sentence. ‘He must be coming up for release soon.’
Hugo flinched. ‘How often do you see him?’
‘I go when I can. And we write to each other.’
He nodded slowly. ‘Will you ask him? Ask him why it wasn’t manslaughter.’
‘He said his barrister couldn’t understand it either.’
‘Will you ask him why he was convicted of murder, not manslaughter?’
‘No.’ Tessa took a stand.
‘Why not? Is it that you can’t?’
‘I can’t because it would be rude and insensitive. If it comes up, fine, otherwise I’m not doing it.’
‘Then would it be possible for me to come with you one day?’
Tessa tried to imagine Hugo and Roy shaking hands, but good, kind, decent Hugo seemed somehow pale and insubstantial in comparison to her vivid recognition of Roy’s shared and inherited traits. She was once again sorry
Roy did not have other children: how wonderful it would have been to discover siblings so robustly like herself.
‘I’d like to meet him,’ Hugo persisted.
‘Meet who?’ Mitch had materialised beside them. The shocked expressions with which they both turned to him crushed his excitement about all he had to tell them.
Hugo jerked and his face trembled as if he were palsied. He deferred to Tessa, who, unprepared to take on this further responsibility, got to her feet, brushing at some fallen crumbs.
‘Are you seeing someone?’ Mitch asked. ‘A boyfriend?’
‘We’re talking about Tessa’s biological father,’ said Hugo quietly.
‘Really? Why? Have you found him?’
Feeling under attack, Tessa avoided her son’s candid gaze.
‘Tessa has, yes.’ Hugo answered for her. ‘His name is Roy Weaver.’
He paused, offering Tessa the option to speak, but Mitch was impatient. ‘So who is he? What’s he like? Can I meet him?’
Tessa remained silent, so Hugo spoke. ‘It’s not easy, I’m afraid, Mitch. He’s in prison.’
‘Prison? What for?’
‘He killed a woman,’ Hugo told him.
Tessa knew she should be the one to explain to her son, but, suddenly afraid of her own reluctance, reassured herself she shouldn’t have to be the only one to account for a situation that was not of her making.
‘He’s a murderer?’
Tessa heard the shock in Mitch’s voice and faced him squarely. He was pale, his eyes wide, and she thought how brave he was. ‘It was a long time ago,’ she assured him. ‘She was his girlfriend, and it’s his only offence. I’m sorry it’s such a shock, Mitch, I really am.’
‘You’ve been to see him?’
‘Yes. A couple of times.’
‘When?’
‘When you were at school.’ She curled inwards, away from his expression of disgust.
Mitch pointed at the gold bracelet. ‘He gave you that, didn’t he?’
‘Yes,’ she admitted.
‘And?’
‘And he’s my father.’ She reached for him, wanting to console him. ‘Your grandfather.’
‘I’ve got a grandfather!’ Mitch moved to stand beside Hugo, who shook his head in sorrow then awkwardly laid a hand on the boy’s shoulder, making Tessa aware of what she had not noticed before – that Mitch was now almost the same height.
‘He’s a member of your family too, Mitch. You should keep an open mind.’
‘So when can I meet him?’ he asked.
‘I think it’s time we all went,’ said Hugo. ‘Lauren too. She may be young, but let’s not have any more secrets. How about it, Tessie? You can make the introductions.’
This was what she’d thought she wanted, but now it felt like an attempt to encroach upon something delicate and private. ‘I’d have to ask Roy,’ she hedged.
‘Why?’ Mitch’s indignation was unexpectedly fierce.
‘Because he has to agree,’ she admitted, dismissing the skulking notion that Roy might refuse.
‘But he’s a criminal. In prison.’
‘He still has to send a Visiting Order, or you won’t be able to get in.’
‘Ok, so when’s he getting out?’
Tessa couldn’t help but meet Hugo’s eyes. ‘I’m not sure.’
‘So, like, is he going to be part of our life once he gets out?’
‘Maybe,’ said Tessa. ‘But hey, you might be living here by then, a Cambridge law student!’
Mitch fell silent, and Tessa was grateful to Hugo for following her lead in trying to change the subject. Mitch submitted to their questions about his speedy tour of the various colleges, offering only a subdued account of what he had seen. On the journey back to Felixham, it was clear that his preoccupation with this unwelcome information dominated all their thoughts.
As they came off the train into the station car park, Hugo went to open Tessa’s car door for her. ‘Are you any happier, Tessa?’ he asked softly. ‘Now that you know him?’
She looked for some stabbing irony behind his words, but there was none. The gentleness of his concern made her feel shabby, as did Mitch’s perplexed silence on the short drive home.
THIRTY
Tessa turned off her computer and stood a moment, running through her mental checklist before leaving the house. Her heart sank when she heard a key in the lock and dropped even lower when she heard the front door open and before it even shut again Lauren already calling, ‘Mum?’
Tessa went into the hallway. ‘What are you doing home from school?’ Seeing her daughter’s hot and tear-stained face, she went to place a hand on her forehead. ‘Are you not well, sweetheart?’
‘Miss Hughes wouldn’t let me swim!’
‘Is it your period?’
‘No. She said I need a new swimsuit.’
‘Why? We only bought it at the start of last term.’ Lauren hung her head, mumbling: ‘It doesn’t fit any more.’
‘You can’t have grown out of it already!’
‘It’s not my fault!’ cried Lauren, her cheeks reddening.
Tessa looked at her watch, in no mood for mercy. ‘How
tight is it?’ she asked. ‘If you could just slim down a little, maybe you could make it last the summer at least? Cut out some of the chocolate and crisps?’
Lauren glared at her, starting to well up again. ‘You’re the one who gives them to me!’
‘Ok, Ok. But you could say no. Take an apple instead.’
Lauren pushed past her and thumped upstairs. Tessa was furious. She knew Lauren was right: every morning she caved in to her daughter’s demands to put both crisps
and
a chocolate bar in her packed lunch because it was easier than starting every day with a scene. But if she didn’t leave now, she’d forfeit her place in the queue for visits, and, despite the arduous journey to Wayleigh Heath, end up seeing Roy for only an hour. She regretted her sharp words, yet was it honestly too much to ask for a single afternoon when she could do something for herself?
She made her way reluctantly up to Lauren’s bedroom. Her daughter was curled up on the bed, still sniffling. Tessa sat beside her, placing a consoling hand on her hip. ‘Come on, sweetheart. It’s not so bad as all that.’
‘You think I’m fat.’
Tessa tried some humour. ‘Well …’ She gave Lauren’s hip a playful squeeze, but Lauren whipped around, sitting up and tucking her knees under her chin, staring at her with a mixture of grief and accusation that Tessa wished she could dispel with a wave of a magic wand. If only she could still evoke the simple faith of the toddler and kiss it better. ‘It’s just puppy fat,’ she said. ‘You’ll soon grow
out of it. But maybe we should plan so you eat more healthily. What do you say?’
‘No one likes me. I’ll never get a boyfriend.’
‘Yes, you will, sweetheart.’
‘People think I’m sad. I have to eat lunch on my own.’
‘Are things Ok at Dad’s? You know you can always talk to me. Is this about Nula?’ Tessa spoke gently, while wishing fervently that it would all come tumbling out – how much her children hated Nula and had been miserable since Sam had taken up with her.
‘No. She’s great. She said I was brilliant at the opening party, and they’d pay me if I want to help out there over the holidays.’
Tessa rose from the bed and busied herself folding a pair of discarded pyjama bottoms. ‘We’ll have to see about that.’
Lauren shot her a look of pure hatred. ‘You think I’m useless!’
Shocked, Tessa tried to backtrack. ‘Of course I don’t, sweetheart. I just think Nula should ask me before promising you things.’ She looked at her watch again. ‘What about your afternoon lessons? You should go back, shouldn’t you?’
‘It’s the swimming gala. Can’t I stay with you? Just once. You can give me a note. We can plan my new diet!’
‘I can’t today, sweetheart. I have to be somewhere.’
‘Where? Can I come with you?’
‘It wouldn’t work out.’ Since Mitch had found about Roy he had maintained a meticulous detachment that Tessa
found intimidating; it made her resist being bounced into telling Lauren.
‘Then I’ll go over to Dad’s. Maybe I can help Nula.’ Lauren’s look of triumph made Tessa’s heart sink. She only wanted the best for her kids, but they seemed determined to thwart and upset her. She longed for the security of the visits room, to be cocooned at a table alone with Roy.
‘Go, then,’ she told Lauren, rising to her feet. ‘I’ll see you later.’
The traffic on the long drive was slow, with caravans heading for the coast and tourists, unsure which turning to take, jamming on their brakes at every junction. At a roundabout Tessa leaned on her horn when the elderly couple she’d been stuck behind for miles missed chance after chance to pull out into the heavy traffic. Her impatience backfired, as the flustered driver dithered even longer. She knew she shouldn’t let herself get so worked up, but she was anxious in case Roy should be offended by her lateness and assume she didn’t care enough to be on time. She had phoned, but doubted the officer to whom she’d spoken would pass on her frantic apology.
She was an hour late when she finally pulled into the car park beside the prison, grabbed her bag and ran across to the Visitors’ Centre. She dreaded the way Roy’s powerlessness would be exposed by her delay and wondered what she could do or say to restore his dignity. She felt outraged at Lauren on his behalf. It must be terrible for all the men in there to be at the mercy of an outside world over which they had no control, to be so cut off
and alone with their wounded feelings. It still unnerved her how little she knew of Roy’s life beyond the guarded door through which the inmates in their drab tracksuits came and went, how helpless she was to reach after him and make amends.