Chapter 26
MARGE
Marge could feel the water, warm on her hands as she stood in the ladies’ washroom with Clara Kelaney.
Sir Lester’s wife was so poised. So serene.
Yet Marge had never been more terrified in her life than when Clara said, ‘If it’s all right with you, I think I’d very much like to speak to you about Estelle. Do you have time to talk now?’
For all the fear though, there was also a strong sensation of the kind of relief that can only come when an imagined scenario that has haunted you for years finally materialises and there’s no other option than to face it.
The time had come for the truth to be told. For her to face what she’d done. And she could confront it or walk away.
Marge raised her chin and forced a calm, receptive smile that bore no connection to the pounding of her heart. ‘Yes. Shall we take a seat outside?’
Over the years, Marge had played out this conversation in the darkest corners of her imagination, and never had she thought that it would actually happen, or that when it did, it would be on a luxuriously over-stuffed, purple sofa in the sumptuous lobby of the St Kentigern Hotel.
The butterflies swooped in to accompany her racing heart as she watched Clara, her hands crossed neatly on her lap, contemplate her words. When she eventually spoke, in a soft, but firm voice, it confirmed that this was indeed a moment she’d always feared.
‘Your daughter, Estelle, is my husband’s daughter too.’
No accusation. No berating. No fury. Just facts. And if nothing else, Marge was a woman whose logical brain did well with facts.
‘Yes, she is.’ There it was. Done. ‘Can I ask how you know that?’
Marge’s eyes briefly flickered to the door, checking that Sir Lester Kelaney wasn’t rushing in there right at that moment looking murderous. No. Just an Italian tour group chatting loudly about dinner plans.
‘Many years ago, I read the letter that you sent him.’
‘Ah. He showed you.’
Marge had always wondered if he’d told his wife.
‘No. It was in his desk, but only for a day or two and then it disappeared. I’m guessing he destroyed the evidence. I didn’t confront him, and I still haven’t told him to this day that I read it. That might seem odd to you.’
‘Strangely, no. It doesn’t at all. Because if you read the letter, then you’ll have seen that I said I’d never mention it again, that I’d ignore its existence and that’s what I did too.’
Clara took that in. ‘I was never sure if he’d spoken to you. If he’d made some effort to help. To acknowledge his part or his responsibilities.’
Marge shook her head. ‘He didn’t. I continued working for him for some time after that and it was never mentioned, not even once, by either of us.
’ Marge knew how incredible that would probably sound to every other person on earth, except the woman sitting across from her, who had, in effect, done the very same thing.
‘I met and married my husband very shortly after I found out I was pregnant, and at first, Ian wanted me to leave and find work elsewhere, but I loved my job, it was well-paid, and I was pregnant. And, as you can imagine, Lester had no hesitation in giving me extended time off for maternity leave and then flexible hours when I returned. I know that many people wouldn’t understand that, but I used it to my advantage.
I only left when Kenneth set up his own practice a few months later and offered me a position that had all the same perks, but without the daily reminder of what had happened. ’
Clara’s eyes dipped. ‘Lester was a coward. No, Lester is a coward. He always has been. I’m so sorry.’
When Marge had imagined this moment, she’d expected fury, rage, condemnation, but she had never, ever expected an apology. She thought back to what Bernadette had said earlier and saw the wisdom in it, so she repeated it now.
‘No, please don’t. Do not apologise for things that he did or positions he put you in.
This is his responsibility. And mine. I’m so sorry that I…
’ Her toes curled and she felt her whole body cringe as she found the words, ‘…Had an illicit encounter with your husband. I was equally at fault, and I won’t use the excuses that I was young, or drunk, or horribly na?ve, although all of those things are true.
I put myself in that position, but it was once, and as you read in the letter, we never spoke of it again and it was never repeated.
In some ways, it was, of course, the biggest mistake of my life, but it gave me Estelle.
And for that, I’ll always be grateful. Especially as my husband and I unfortunately didn’t go on to have any more children.
But to you, I apologise from the bottom of my heart. ’
‘Thank you.’ Clara accepted that with more grace than Marge could ever have hoped for.
‘But much as it pains me to say it, I can assure you that you were not the first or the last encounter my husband has had over the years, so I think the bulk of the responsibility lies with him. And, as you said, let’s not apologise for the positions he put you in. ’
‘I’m sorry,’ Marge replied, instinctively, then realised what she’d said and felt the need to clarify. ‘Not for him. For you. I’m sorry you’ve had to deal with that.’
She’d never witnessed anything suspicious when she worked for him, but in the years since then, Marge had heard many rumours about Lester Kelaney, so she’d known that their encounter wasn’t an isolated incident.
She’d just always assumed that his wife was in the dark.
Now that she knew different, she felt awful for her.
What a life. Like Bernadette’s marriage to Kenneth.
And yet both women had stayed for decades.
Bernadette had eventually found the strength to leave, but Clara?
‘Can I ask – and please tell me to mind my own business – but why do you stay with him?’
Clara’s answer came with a sad smile. ‘That’s a very complicated question, with a complicated answer. But perhaps you’ll understand when I say there are similarities to the reasons that you continued to work for him after you had your child. At that time, I had three children under three.’
That made Marge feel even worse, but she didn’t have time to drown in self-reproach, because Clara was still speaking.
‘And I wasn’t prepared to uproot their lives, to put them in the middle of a tug-of-war situation that would tear their worlds apart.
Staying with Lester would give them a wonderful start in life and I could never bear to disrupt that.
I knew that he would never leave – image is everything to someone like Lester.
The man is spineless, he’s weak and he is deeply flawed, but for the entirety of our marriage, and for the moment, it suits me to stay.
There may be a time when that is no longer the case, and when that comes, I’ll leave. ’
Oh, this one was a dark horse. Marge could sense that there was so much more going on here, but she wasn’t going to probe deeper.
Clara owed her nothing. She was just going to have to be satisfied with knowing that Clara was in control of the situation, and clearly, from her words, her tone, and her spirit, wasn’t there because she had no other option.
She had a choice. She just hadn’t used it yet.
Clara’s body language changed, and Marge saw that she was getting ready to stand up, but she still had one more question.
‘So, Clara, what now? Do you intend to tell Lester about our meeting?’ Marge’s fears had come thundering back.
Would this change everything? Would he want to meet Estelle.
Would this force Marge to tell her daughter the truth?
On that night Ian was ripped from their lives, she’d promised him that they’d tell her, but she’d never had the courage to do it.
How could she take away her father when he was already gone?
‘I’d very much like to know where you stand and where we go from here.
Estelle…’ Marge was cringing again, dreading saying aloud the truth that was never far from her conscience.
‘Estelle doesn’t know. She has always believed that my husband was her father.
It’s something that plays very heavy on my mind.
I haven’t found the strength to be honest with her and I don’t know if I ever will. ’
The silence stretched for a few moments, before Clara said, ‘I think, if it’s agreeable to you, then we’ll keep this just between us for now.
But please know that if you ever decide to tell Estelle or make public your connection to Lester, then I’ll understand and, more than that, I’ll support both you and Estelle.
It’s the least I can do as she’s the half-sister of my daughters.
Lester has had ample opportunity to step up and he has failed you both – I won’t do the same. ’
Marge didn’t think she could be more grateful or more stunned. At least until Clara stood up and reached out her hand.
‘So, shall we go back and join the ladies?’
As Marge accepted her hand, she felt the warm touch… the gentle stroke… heard her voice…
‘Marge? Marge, it’s Clara. I hate to wake you, but I just wanted you to know I was here.’
Marge opened her eyes and saw the lovely face of the woman she’d first spoken to five years ago. True to their agreement, they’d never discussed their connection again. It was almost like it had never happened. Until…
Panic gripped her chest as the rest of the room came into focus. Bernadette was there, standing just behind Clara. And on the other side of the bed…
‘Your friends popped in to visit you, Mum.’
Estelle. Oh God, Estelle.
The picture continued to clear, the details falling into place in her mind.
She’d asked Bernadette to speak to Clara.
To tell her she was ready to share the whole story with her daughter.
But she’d thought Clara would come tomorrow.
Maybe the next day. Because now that her friend was here, Marge knew she wasn’t ready at all.
She couldn’t do it.
Couldn’t break her daughter’s heart.
Couldn’t tell her that her whole life had been a lie.
Couldn’t admit her shame and her weakness.
But yet…
She thought back to this morning, to Wilma, with her new kidney, to her family, to the realisation that once Marge was gone, Estelle would be alone.
And somewhere in that came the strength to do what she had to do. She had to give Estelle the chance to have a tether, to have a connection, a family – even if it was only one of DNA. She had to give her the truth.
‘Estelle…’ Marge whispered, holding out her free hand to her daughter, who leaned forward in her chair and took it.
‘Right here, Mum.’
‘I need to tell you…’
The words got stuck. Jammed. They wouldn’t come out.
She prayed that Bernadette or Clara would step in, but they didn’t, because they both understood that this had to be Marge’s conversation.
She had to decide what to say, how much to reveal.
And if she changed her mind, couldn’t find the courage, she had absolutely no doubt that they would cover for her and her secret would go with her to her grave.
But wasn’t that the problem? It was cruel to let some secrets die.
‘Estelle, I wanted you to meet Clara.’ Her voice was hoarse again, still barely a whisper, and Bernadette immediately jumped up, lifted her water glass and held it to Marge’s lips.
She took a sip, the liquid cooling her throat enough to continue.
‘Estelle, I… Clara… I…’ Damn, the words.
She couldn’t find the order she should place them in.
She took a breath, went back to the start, summoned the kind of strength of voice she’d been unable to find all day.
Estelle’s future depended on it. ‘I need to tell you something I should have shared with you long before now. And I’m so sorry.
I need you to know that before I tell you.
I’m so, so sorry. And please forgive me.
’ Marge felt water slide from the corners of her eyes.
Bernadette helped her drink a little more.
‘When I got married to your dad, I was already expecting you.’
An almost visceral sob wracked her body. She’d said it. She’d done it. Did you hear that, Ian?
‘And Clara…’ A cough rose and Marge gave into it, grateful when Bernadette raised the glass to her lips yet again.
When she could speak again, she turned to Clara…
‘Clara? Please…’ she whispered, giving unspoken permission.
‘I’m so sorry to meet under these circumstances,’ Clara said, in that gentle voice that Marge knew so well.
‘And I’m sorry too – I know this must all be such a shock.
As your mum said, when she got married, she was already pregnant with you.
And the reason I’m here is because your father is my husband, Lester. ’
Marge saw Clara’s gaze return to her, and she mouthed a silent, ‘Thank you,’ before turning back to her daughter, ready to face the consequences of her secrets and her decisions.
She was ready for anger. For disbelief. She wouldn’t blame Estelle if she walked out right now and didn’t return. What she’d done was treacherous. Unforgivable. But when her gaze met Estelle’s…
…all she saw…
…was understanding.
‘Mum, it’s okay, I promise. There’s nothing to forgive. Because I’ve known that for a long time.’