The Wedding Cake Tree (28 page)

I love you my darling girl.

Mum             

X
XX

Chapter Thirty-One

I looked at my watch, surprised to see it was nearly nine. The storm, which was still in furious momentum, had masked the setting sun and made the evening sky darker than usual for the time of year. My hand touched the windowpane and I traced a raindrop to its resting point on the sash.

My thoughts turned to Alasdair.

Why hadn’t he told me the truth about St Christopher’s at the beginning? When I thought of all the banging on I had done about going back home for good, taking over the running of the retreat. What an idiot.

I
grabbed my purse and phone, shot past Alasdair’s door and crept down the stairs. The weather was too ferocious to consider a walk – which is what I desperately wanted to do – so I slouched at a table around the corner of the bar. Distracted from staring at a dirty pint glass yet to be cleared from the table, I turned on my phone. There was a text from Paul:

What? You sang? And at his friend’s wedding? Why would you do that? Take note of all the question marks and phone me.

I was just about to call him when Barbara appeared. She had a drink in each hand.

‘
Hey, looks like you could do with one of these,’ she said.

Before I h
ad time to fend her off, she put the two sloshing wine glasses down on the table and disappeared only to return a few seconds later with a chair with a cushioned seat pad. There would be no getting rid of her now.

‘
You two had a fight?’

‘
No, of course not, everything’s fine. Alasdair’s doing some work, that’s all.’

She
leant towards me and whispered, ‘Sorry honey, but that sad face of yours is a bit of a giveaway.’

I shrugged my shoulders.

‘It’s nothing, I’ve just read a letter from my mum that’s all. It was a bit upsetting.’

‘
Why, what’s she done? Run off with the milkman?’

‘
Hardly likely Barbara, she’s dead.’

‘
Oh, how …?’

I looked up from the glass.

‘How did I receive a letter from a dead woman?’

Barbara nodded.

‘Now that is a very,
very
, long story.’ I took a drink.

‘
So? We’ve got all night, and I’m a good listener.’

‘
I wouldn’t know where to start.

She folded
her arms across the table. Part of me wanted to apologise and walk away but, unexpectedly, it was a relief to talk.

‘
When Mum died I thought I would inherit her house. I’ve always, and I mean
always
, intended to go home forever one day, but it turns out she never owned it, so, no house for Grace.’ As I said the words out loud I felt a like a child, upset to have had her best toy taken away.

‘
And? Anything else?’

‘
There’s the minor fact that, after thirty-one years of never knowing my father, Mum decided to narrow it down to two men. One of them, at least, is dead.’ I put my elbows on the table, covered my face with my hands and suppressed the urge to scream. ‘I just don’t understand why she’s left it till now to tell me everything. She died so suddenly, and yet she knew she was dying, so why didn’t she tell me? I’m starting to wonder if we ever truly know anyone.’

‘Do you have any children?’

I shook my head.

‘Well
, I do honey, and if I was sick, I don’t know how I’d find the words to tell my kids goodbye.’ She shook her head at the very idea of it.

‘That’s sort
of what she said in one of her letters.’

‘It sounds like she was trying to protect you, but maybe a little too much
.’

‘I know what you’re sayi
ng Barbara, but Mum should have allowed me to spend those last few months with her, look after her.’ I shook my head in wonder. ‘And why didn’t I realise how ill she was? I saw her only a couple of months before she died and believed her story about being a bit under the weather. I feel so selfish; like I wasn’t paying enough attention to her.’

She took my hand and squeezed it.

‘It sounds to me like she didn’t have the strength to cope with the emotion of seeing you, of telling you the truth. Grace, listen to me honey, they were
her
final months.
She
was the one having to cope with knowing she was going to die. Can you even imagine how that must feel?’ Barbara shuddered. ‘The poor, poor soul. Maybe you need to just respect her decision and accept it.’

Tears spilled down my face.

‘You’re right.’

‘So
,’ she said brightly, ‘what’s the story with that lovely young man of yours?’              

I dabbed my tears with her napkin.
‘Oh, he’s known about the house all along and never told me.’

‘
He seems to be a decent guy. And honey, he is to die for in the handsome stakes.’ I smiled and nodded in agreement. ‘Although,’ she continued with a hint of sarcasm, ‘you never can tell with men, but maybe he had his reasons. Let’s start at the beginning, see if you and I can’t iron this thing out. Your mum’s house, why is it so special? Is it an ancestral seat or something? Worth a lot of money? What’s the deal?’

Barbara’s words hit a chord.
What
was
the deal with me and St Christopher’s? None of my friends expected to inherit their parent’s houses. Then I realised what my obsession with Mum’s cottage was all about – it was my North Star.

‘
I suppose I never let go of Mum’s house as my proper home because it’s where I feel – I felt – I belong.’

My finger trac
ed circles around the rim of my glass.

‘
It sounds like your mum gave you a pretty special home when you were growing up. But, if you don’t mind me saying so, maybe she made life a little bit too sweet for you.’ She nudged my arm, ‘Shall I pop and get some scissors so we can cut those apron strings?’

I laughed.

‘You’re so right, Barbara. But that’s the bizarre thing. As an adult I’ve hardly been home. I suppose I took the old place for granted, thought it would always be there—’ My voice broke. ‘Thought Mum would always be there.’

‘
So, what’s next on that list of disasters of yours?’ She sat back in her chair. ‘She’s gone and told you who your daddy might be, that’s a tough one. I wonder why she didn’t tell you before?’

Once
again, I knew the answer.

‘
I think it was because everyone concerned was happy.’ Barbara smiled and waited for me to continue. ‘The truth is that I was a very happy child, and I did actually have a wonderful father, a man called Jake. I wouldn’t have wanted anyone else. You know what was so devastating about losing Mum, Barbara?’

‘What was that
?’

‘The fact that she just simply had too
much life in her to die. She was an amazing woman. And now she’s given me an aunt and …’ I smiled and shook my head at the thought of Alasdair.

‘
And what, Grace?’

‘
And she’s given me Alasdair, which is the best gift of all as it turns out.’ I picked away at the frayed edge of a bar mat absently. ‘Even if he is a …’ I struggled to find the words, but not for long. Someone standing at the bar finished my sentence for me.

‘
A stuck-up, arrogant arse?’

I spun around
. Alasdair was smiling at me so tenderly every previous emotion of anger, confusion and disappointment simply melted away.

‘
Are you ever going to let that go?’

‘
Never.’

He stood
from the bar stool and gave his hand to me. Rising from my chair, I fell into his arms and rested my head on the chest that had become so familiar during the past few days. I turned to thank Barbara for the drink and the chat, but she simply raised her hand as I started to speak – winking at Alasdair – then stood and whispered in my ear, ‘Honey, he’s gorgeous, don’t mess it up.’ She sidled down the bar and introduced herself to a man in his fifties.

‘
Do you want to talk?’ Alasdair asked. I shook my head against his chest. One burning question came to mind, however.

‘
This “thing” we have to do at nine tomorrow morning, has it got anything to do with Geoffrey Heywood?’

He nodded.

‘Grimes has arranged for you to meet him. Rosamund wanted to give both of you the opportunity to find out for sure if you wanted to.’

‘A blood test you mean?’

He nodded again. ‘But you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.’

‘
Like you said earlier, let’s see what tomorrow brings.’ I lifted my head from his chest to look at him, ‘I think I’m beginning to understand everything. I suspect you knew the detail of every one of Mum’s letters all along. Am I right?’

‘
More or less, although the Zagreb letter was a little more revealing than I expected.’

I felt overwhelmed by tiredness as he led me up the stairs.
The issue of St Christopher’s no longer seemed relevant. All I needed for the rest of the night was to hold Alasdair close, and I decided to worry about tomorrow, tomorrow.

Chapter Thirty-Two

I woke early and noticed through the gap in the curtains that it was light outside; the sun barely had time to rest its head in Scotland at that time of year. Alasdair slept soundly by my side. I considered turning over in an attempt to lull myself back to sleep, but it was impossible. The details of the previous letter ricocheted in my mind. I crept out of bed, put on Alasdair’s fleece and perched on the window seat.

The boats
moored in the bay were able to rest now the storm had passed and it was a clear, still day – a perfect time for reflection.

M
y thoughts centred on Mum’s revelation that Geoffrey Heywood was possibly my father. Bizarrely, although Sam wouldn’t have been a biological descendent to be proud of, if he had been my father at least I could have drawn a line underneath the whole sorry affair.

Mum
’s life had inspired me up to this point in her story, I was proud of her. But no matter how difficult it would have been for her, no matter how happy we were in Mum’s Devonshire paradise, I should have been given the opportunity to find out who my father was.

And y
et, I simply didn’t want to meet him. Finding out I had an aunt was odd, but in no way harrowing. This was different. Even if we both decided on a blood test and he proved to be my father, how could we possibly start a relationship now? Geoffrey was a stranger to me.

M
y mind returned to Alasdair. The man I had come to know and love over the past few days was a chameleon. Mum said Alasdair was a special forces soldier, but really, who
was
Alasdair Finn? He obviously had reservations about becoming involved in a serious relationship, and had made it clear that we only had a few days together, but it was difficult to gauge what he really wanted – he made love to me in a manner that said he didn’t want to leave my life in a hurry, and his recent body language contradicted his reticence, and then there was his email to Alex …

I glanced across the room and noticed his journal resting inside the t
op of his bag. It would break any a moral code to take a peek, but Alasdair wasn’t a man who was likely to open up to me in a hurry, and I needed to know – was this time away all Alasdair had to offer me, or was there a glimmer of a chance of more?

28 May, Zagreb, Croatia

Hello Rosamund.

Grace is sleeping. I’m afraid I lost the willpower to be chivalrous, but bearing in mind you set us up, I think I’ve done well to get this far before making a move (I’ve just thought of something disturbing … I hope you aren’t looking down on us from heaven like Grace suggested, because if you are then you REALLY won’t like what I just did to your daughter!)

I’m looking across the room at her in the lamp light; she has her face on the pillow and the duvet is hurled over her shoulder like she’s in the arctic (and it’s boiling in here), and even though she’s dribbling a little bit and has the cutest snore, she still looks like an angel – my angel, but then I thought that the first moment I saw her.

As you know, I haven’t slept well for a very long time – the night terrors were becoming unbearable. But during this holiday I have slept like a baby … how did you know this time away would help? Tonight , though, I doubt I will sleep at all.

Have
I done the right thing, Rosamund? Should I have had the willpower to stay away from Grace? I wish you were here – I might finally talk. I’ve always been so certain, so driven, but all I can think about is how much I’ll hurt her in the future, and for the first time in my life, something – someone – is more important to me than my job.

By the way, it’s looking like I’ll be taking my team away next week. I usually clamp down and focus at this point– it was a side of my personality my ex-wife hated – but I can’t concentrate. All I want to do is have fun with Grace; just run away to the hills and have a laugh and a joke forever. There’s something about her that gives me the same warm feeling I experience when I’m at your house – that feeling of finally letting out a great big sigh and saying, ‘That’s it then, it’s been a long journey but I’ve reached my destination
–
I’m home.’ And yet I also have this overwhelming feeling of doom hanging over me. You won’t be surprised to know that I never expected to make it to forty, yet I’m nearly there. But what if I don’t make it over that final hurdle? What if I promise Grace the world and then I let her down? I’ve pushed my luck to the limit over the years, and I’m sure the old man upstairs must have his eye on me!

I can hear you, by the way. You’re saying, ‘For Christ’s sake, Alasdair, just shut up and go with the flow. Now go and give my daughter a great big hug!’

And you’re right. I need to stop this. Everything will be fine. I’ll try the mindfulness stuff again. Grace can be my new life – I promise I’ll make her happy.

Heaven can wait, after all.

Alasdair.

With my heart breaking at the realisation that, after all this time, he still wrote to Mum, I crossed the room and slid into bed beside my man, who was finally sleeping.

After breakfast we took a walk along the village front, through a small boatyard and down to the end of the jetty. We sat on the decking and allowed the soles of our boots to dangle into the water. I gave Alasdair Mum’s letter to read then explained my reticence towards meeting Geoffrey. Alasdair understood.

‘
You know, at certain points along the way, your mum’s plan has seemed to be pure genius. But at other times it’s been …’ he paused to consider. I finished the sentence for him.

‘
Totally insane?’

We laughed
; there was no other way to describe it.

We s
at in silence staring out to sea. The bay and islands beyond were stunningly beautiful, but I was too anxious to take in any of the detail.

‘
What time is it by the way?’

‘
Eight fifteen.’

I felt nauseous.

‘And he’s expecting us at nine?’ I already knew the answer.

‘
Nine o’clock sharp apparently, and according to Grimes we
are not
to be late.’

There was no easy way to ask the next question.

‘So, I’ve got a favour to ask, and I’ll understand if you say no.’ I kicked the heels of my walking boots against a wooden jetty leg.

‘
Go on.’

‘
Will you go to the house and tell him I don’t want to see him?’ Alasdair kissed me on the nose.

‘
Of course.’

To say I didn’t want to see Geoffrey wasn’t strictly true. No, I didn’t want to meet him, but I did
want to see what he looked like. Alasdair shook his head in disbelief when I asked if there would be a way for me to see the man without actually meeting him. He laughed and said he would ‘sort it’.

Accordin
g to Alasdair’s notes, Geoffrey’s croft was about a mile away on a beach between Arisaig and the neighbouring village of Morar. Grimes had told Alasdair to park in a particular car park and walk down the obvious path through the dunes; we would find Geoffrey’s croft over a stream in front of us as we stepped onto the beach.

We found the car park without difficulty.
I looked at a notice board while Alasdair locked the car.

‘
Blimey, Alasdair, this is Camusdarach Beach. You know, the one from Mum’s letter. I wonder if Geoffrey’s croft is the one they were supposed to buy together?’

Alasdair looked at his watch.
‘Possibly. Come on, we need to get a move on.’

We
crossed a wooden bridge and followed the path through the dunes. It was a child’s paradise. The path ducked and dived this way and that, while patches of tall grass emerged through the sand and whipped at our legs as we strode on, soaking the bottom of my jeans in the process. After only a couple of minutes the dunes parted one final time and we stepped out onto the beach. It was, without doubt, the most breathtaking beach I had ever seen. The sand was the colour of pure silver and, out to sea, the Small Isles of Rum and Eigg, their iconic silhouettes black against the blue of the Highland sky, climbed monumentally out of the water.

Alasdair po
inted to a cottage across a stream.

‘
According to Grimes’ instructions this is it, this is Geoffrey’s house.’

I shot
behind a dune and crouched down. Alasdair looked down at me.

‘
What are you doing now?’ he asked, a bemused smile on his face.

‘
I don’t want him to see me, do I? Quick! Crouch down, Alasdair,’ I whispered, ‘he might see you talking to me.’

‘
I thought you wanted to see what he looks like.’ He glanced at his watch again.

‘
I do. But he’ll see me if I get any closer.’

‘
Get up daft arse, we can get you a lot closer than this.’

Feeling a little like a c
ommando on a covert mission, I followed on Alasdair’s heels as we crept in the prone position along the base of the dunes, skirting the outside of Geoffrey’s chicken wire boundary fence as we did so. We halted at a decrepit cleft wood gate.

‘
Aren’t you going to cover me in twigs and cover my face with green paint?’ I joked in a whisper. Alasdair glanced back at me with a cheeky wink.

‘
Maybe later, if you’re very lucky.’ He yanked up a patch of grass out of the sand and stuck it behind my ear. We turned our attention to the house and I raised my head above the parapet for a clearer view.

‘
Right then, I’m off.’ Alasdair whispered. ‘I’ll keep him talking at the door. Once you’ve had a good look at him, crawl back round to the side of the house and I’ll meet you at the car.’

‘
Okay.’

He started at a
crawl back down the fence.

‘
What are you doing now?’ I asked, perplexed. ‘I thought you were going in.’ He turned his head and whispered back towards me.

‘
I am. But I can’t just rise up out of the dunes can I? If he’s watching out of the window he’ll be onto us.’

‘
Oh yes, of course.’

He carried on crawling.

‘Alasdair,’ I whispered even louder this time. He glanced back with a ‘what now?’ expression on his face.

‘
Be careful.’

He laughed, shook his head and disappeared behind the dunes.
A minute later he reappeared, walked bold as brass along the beach, dropped a handful of pink sea thrift on my head, hopped over the burn and stepped through the garden gate. I peered through the long grass to achieve a clearer view of the house. The door opened almost as soon as he knocked, but my heart fell to my boots.

The plan
had failed; a woman answered the door.

She
glanced at her watch as she beckoned him into the house. Alasdair shook her hand, wiped his feet on the door mat and closed the door behind him.

Disappointed, I didn’t retreat from my po
sition on the dunes, but knelt up a little higher to take a closer look. There was no denying it was a pretty cottage, but Mum
would have prettied it up even more. She would definitely have painted the front door a warmer colour.

And then I saw it.

A wedding cake tree – significantly smaller than Mum’s – sitting in the corner of the garden. I wondered if Geoffrey had planted it. A figure appeared with his back to the front window; it was Alasdair. His arms were crossed and it looked like he was listening.

This was madness.
My shoulders dropped and I sat back on to the sand. Either I could stride up to the house, walk in and hope to see the man who possibly sired me, or I could walk away. If I chose the latter then there would be no going back.

It hadn’t been what
Mum had wanted perhaps, but I chose the latter.

I
crawled back along the fence line, stood and although it wasn’t an expeditious route, walked a little way along the beach. A boulder with a flat top cried out to be sat on. I lay my sweater across the rock, sat down and, with the warmth of the sun on by back, gazed out to sea.

A
myriad of ‘what if’ scenarios tumbled to the fore. What if Mum had chosen to stay in Scotland rather than return to her colonel? I would have known this man Geoffrey, would have had my childhood in this very spot. I would have run excitedly from the house, flinging the wooden gate open as I went, a dog barking at my feet perhaps, a little fishing net resting over my shoulder, my oversized wellingtons slowing down my progress and squelching in the sand as I ran to the sea. Geoffrey would have lifted me into his arms and cheered when I caught my first crab, taken me on a treasure hunt for driftwood and carried me home on his shoulders.