Chapter 28
28
Two days after that conversation, when Finn was finishing a big painting of Stonehenge, which he had set up on an easel in the attic room, he got a call from a Salisbury phone number.
He saw it flash up on the screen and he answered it unthinkingly. He’d opened a new account lately for painting supplies and they’d called him a couple of times to let him know things he was waiting for had arrived.
‘Hi, Finn McTaggart.’ He answered the call as he usually did these days, when he didn’t recognise a number. Brusque and businesslike.
‘Hi, Finn,’ said a woman’s voice. Soft and a little tentative. ‘This is Bridie, your biological mother.’
Everything in the room went still, and Finn knew suddenly what people meant when they said they’d remember a moment forever because it had been freeze-framed in time. The grey stones of the henge on the canvas in front of him were suddenly outlined in sharp contrast to the white creamy sky, and he could hear the drip drip of the leaky tap as water plopped periodically into the hand washbasin on the wall. He could hear his heart too. Thundering as the blood rushed around his veins. The paintbrush he was holding felt clumsy in his fingers.
‘Bridie.’ The word felt like a croak in the back of his throat. Barely there, and also damningly exposing.
‘I’ve shocked you, Finn. I’m sorry. But it’s so good to hear your voice.’ Her voice was husky too. ‘You can’t imagine how long I have prayed for this day.’
He could hear her Irish accent suddenly. So living in England all these years hadn’t changed that then.
‘Finn, say something, please.’
He gathered himself and his shock, worried she might hang up. ‘Thank you for calling.’ That sounded so inane in the circumstances. ‘Was it Thomas who told you I was looking for you?’
‘Aye, it was Thomas. A week or so ago. I’ve been trying to pluck up the courage to call you. How are you? How’s Ray? Does he know you’ve been trying to contact me?’
‘I’m OK. And he does, yeah. He kind of suggested it… Could we – um – could we maybe… meet?’ He’d dropped the paintbrush, he realised. It lay on the threadbare carpet. He’d promised to recarpet this room if he made too much mess up here. Jade had told him not to be daft. The carpet was long past its sell-by date, and she’d never much liked it anyway.
Why on earth was he thinking about carpets?
‘Yes, we could meet. Are you in Arleston, Finn?’
‘Yes, I am.’ Thomas must have told her. ‘Where are you, M…?’ He’d wanted to say Mum, but the word wouldn’t come out. It was too unfamiliar, too old, too much a part of his childhood. Not for now.
‘I’m living on the outskirts of Salisbury.’
Not Southampton then. That was even more of a shock. She was even closer than he’d thought. The word bounced around in his head and each time it landed it shocked him more.
‘What do you mean, you’re in Salisbury?’ he managed finally. ‘How long? I mean, have you always lived there?’
‘No, no. We were in Southampton for a while, but we moved for my husband’s business about ten years back. We’re in Barford St Martin. Just on the other side of Wilton.’
Less than half an hour away, Finn thought, bending to pick up the paintbrush, squeezing it tight between his fingers as he put it back on the table of paints beside him. All this time and she’d lived less than half an hour away from him, from his grandparents’ cottage. It didn’t compute. He couldn’t take it in.
‘Are you still there, Finn?’
‘I’m here. Sorry. It’s a lot to get my head around.’
‘It is.’ She left the words hanging and he knew it was up to him to push it – to see if they could arrange a time and place.
‘When can we meet?’ He tried to get his voice back on to an even keel – act like this was some unimportant business meeting. ‘Are you free in the day? Do you work?’
‘I work for my husband – but he’d probably let me out of an afternoon.’
‘Have you… have you told him about me?’
‘Yes. He knows. It was a long time ago that I told him. Back when I thought – hoped – there was a chance we may get to have regular contact.’ She paused again. ‘I haven’t said you’ve been in touch since Thomas spoke to me. I’d been trying to get used to the idea. Before I said anything, you know?’
Finn knew. Hadn’t he done the same thing?
‘So how about tomorrow morning?’ Afraid that sounded too needy, he added, ‘Or afternoon?’
‘Wednesday afternoon – that could work? Do you know the pub called The Wilton Hare? I think that one’s open all day.’
‘I can find it. What time?’
‘Three would work for me – if that’s OK with you, Finn?’
‘I’ll see you at three.’
‘I’ll be in the lounge bar. Until tomorrow then.’
‘Until tomorrow.’ It was only when he’d disconnected that he wondered whether he should have asked how he’d recognise her. Would she have changed very much? It had been twenty-six years since he’d seen her and even though her image was burned in his brain, she might not look like that any more.
It was too late now. He wasn’t going to phone her back. He stayed where he was, sitting upright in his chair, trying to process what had just happened. He was going to meet his mother. In less than twenty-four hours. He was galvanised into movement. He had to tell Jade.
In his haste, he missed the last step of the stairs and jolted his back. He cursed softly and headed for the lounge door.
‘You OK?’ Jade glanced up at him, looking concerned. ‘It’s not your wrist playing up, is it?’
‘No, I just missed my footing. I was in too much of a hurry.’ He halted in the doorway. ‘She just called me,’ he explained. ‘Bridie just phoned. We’re going to meet.’
‘Oh my God, Finn. That’s, wow… that’s amazing. How do you feel? What was it like?’
‘It was surreal. And I don’t know how I feel. Weird, I think. Excited. Pretty scared. You’re never going to believe where she lives.’
* * *
The surreal feeling hadn’t properly worn off, Finn thought as he got ready to go out and meet Bridie the next afternoon.
He’d been pulling out stalks of yellow ragwort from the hen field that morning – there wasn’t much but they’d been worried it might seed and spread into the horse paddock. It was poisonous to horses. Then he’d repaired one of the hen coops, but the jobs had taken much longer than usual because he’d been so distracted.
He’d come into the cottage to shower and shave and now he was tugging on his best jeans and one of his few shirts. There wasn’t a lot of call for shirts at Duck Pond Rescue, although he’d resolved to get a new one for the art fair, which was in less than three weeks’ time.
An exhibition of his work and a meeting with his mother in the same month. Must be something in the stars – not that he was superstitious. He hadn’t told Ray yet. He’d decided he would tell him afterwards. He didn’t want to jinx anything. Bridie might get cold feet and not show. He didn’t think he could bear it if that happened.
‘Are you sure you don’t want me to come with you?’ Jade’s voice interrupted his thoughts, and he realised she’d just come into the bedroom. ‘To sit in the car outside and give you moral support, I mean – not to come in.’
‘It’s OK, darling. I’ll be fine.’ If Bridie wasn’t there, he’d be heartbroken. He’d always been good at putting on armour, putting up walls – the metaphorical kind anyway – but he’d dropped his defences since he’d met Jade. He’d had to drop them – love did that to you – but now it felt like he couldn’t get his armour back on. He felt as if he had no skin, as though all his nerve endings were exposed.
‘I’ll call you after we’ve met and let you know how it went. I shouldn’t think we’d be too long chatting.’
‘Finn, what are you like? You’ve got years of catching up to do. You can tell me about it when you get back. There’s no rush.’ She gave him an appraising look. ‘That shirt suits you.’
‘Are you sure? I thought maybe the grey.’
‘The blue’s fine.’
She came to him and put her hands on his shoulders. ‘She’ll love you, and if she doesn’t, tell her she’ll have me to answer to.’ Her voice was fierce – fiercer even than when she was arguing the case for an animal. High praise indeed. Finn smiled at her.
He had never loved her more. ‘I’d better get going,’ he said, glancing at his watch. ‘Or she might think I’m not coming.’
‘She’ll wait,’ Jade said. ‘You’ve waited for her long enough.’
* * *
The Wilton Hare looked like one of those places that catered for the London crowd, Finn thought as he drew into its car park. Recently refurbished, it was too neat for a locals’ country pub, and this impression was heightened as he walked across its pea-gravel car park and opened the black-handled door to reveal a spacious, minimalistic bar with a light faux-wood floor and drop-down grey pendant lights over tall tables with bar stools. Straight lines and tidiness.
There were very few people in it as far as he could see. A lone man with a briefcase on the stool next to him was scrolling on his phone. A couple were sitting at the bar looking through giant plastic menus.
Finn scanned the surroundings.
Crap, he’d been joking about Bridie not turning up, but now it seemed as though the joke was on him. For a few seconds all he could feel was a crushing disappointment. She wasn’t here. And he was ten minutes late.
And then a door marked ‘ladies’ opened on the far side of the room and a woman came through it and looked around her.
She was smaller than he recalled. Five foot six or seven. Compared to his six foot one, she was petite. Her hair was still fair like he remembered, and she was slim. Well dressed, she reminded him of some of the posh mothers who brought their kids into Duck Pond Rescue during the summer holidays.
He couldn’t take his eyes off her as she walked across the expanse of tiled floor between them, and he could see that she felt the same. Both of them were searching each other’s faces. Searching for something they recognised.
Then, there she was in front of him. Her eyes weren’t grey, like his and Dad’s and Ben’s. They were more of a light hazel colour. He recognised her eyes. They were painfully familiar, even though in his memories of her he’d often had trouble recalling them.
‘Will I shake your hand or hug you, Finn…?’
He wasn’t ready for hugs. Maybe he shrank back a little, because she didn’t move another step towards him, but instead held out her hand politely.
Finn shook it. ‘Hello.’
‘Hey.’ It was her voice he recognised the most. A voice made up of teddy bears and bedtime stories. It hooked his memories down the years. Rolled him back to the six-year-old he’d been the last time he’d seen her. Made him ache for a mother he’d prayed and hoped would come back as he’d lain in bed, night after night, cuddling his pillow, imagining that every soft step on the stairs was hers.
‘Will we grab a seat?’ She looked around her. ‘Not that there’s a shortage. We’ve missed the lunchtime rush.’
She took charge, walking across towards the window, and Finn saw for the first time there were lower coffee tables with couches on either side of them, and this was where Bridie was headed.
A few moments later, they were facing each other across a coffee table. They had a couch each. She scanned what he’d assumed was a wine list in a plastic stand but turned out to be a coffee menu.
‘They do good cake here, Finn. Or would you like something more substantial? They do food all day.’
‘I’ve had my lunch.’
‘Me too, cake then?’
‘Just an Americano, I think. Do you have to go to the bar to order it?’
‘That’s right.’ She started to rise.
‘I’ll get it,’ he said. ‘What would you like to drink? Shall I get you cake?’
‘No, no, it’s fine. An Americano for me too, please, Finn. Maybe we should get a cafetière. Do you need some money?’
‘I have money,’ he said stiffly. How did she think he’d survived all these years? It was weird; if anyone had asked, he’d have said he bore his mother no resentment. But it was in there. Niggling away. Perhaps resentment was too strong a word, but there was definitely a hint of ‘I’ve managed fine all this time without you, and I don’t need you now either.’
He paid for the drinks and the barmaid said she’d bring them over. No need to wait. So Finn went back. Bridie’s phone was on the table, but she wasn’t looking at it, she was staring out of the window. As he sat down, she glanced at him, and he saw that her eyes were glittery. She wasn’t as composed as she seemed then.
‘Finn, I’m so sorry.’
He nodded. He didn’t know what to say so he waited and after a few moments she went on.
‘I was young and stupid, and I didn’t know what to do.’
‘You didn’t consider taking me with you,’ he said, trying not to let his emotions show. There was a tight hard knot in his heart. ‘You didn’t stop and think I might be devastated, not knowing where you’d gone. Wondering every day if you were ever coming back.’
‘I wanted to take you. Of course I did, but I couldn’t have done it to your daddy. He adored you. I knew it would break him enough that I was leaving. It wasn’t his fault, Finn. He’d done nothing wrong. He was a good man. How is he now? Is he OK?’
‘He’s fine.’
Bridie had got a handkerchief out of her bag. She sniffed, dabbed at her face, then twirled it in her hands. ‘And you, yourself? You look grand. Just as I imagined you’d look. You’ve grown into a fine man.’
It was hard to know how to answer that. He hadn’t expected it to be like this. The two of them sitting here like strangers and him with the biggest ache in his throat. A mass of unshed emotion. He hadn’t expected it to be as though nothing had changed though either. Not when so many years had gone by. Not when so much water had gone under the bridge. God, that was such an awful expression, because water meant time, stuff happening that could never be altered. Regrets.
He cleared his throat. ‘Dad said you were pregnant when you left him.’
She nodded, met his eyes fleetingly, then lowered her gaze. ‘That’s right. I was pregnant with your brother.’
‘So you were having an affair.’
‘Yes, and no. I was seeing Christopher again. We were childhood sweethearts in Ireland, but we’d lost touch.’ She broke off. ‘It’s a long story. You don’t want to hear all that.’
‘I do,’ he contradicted her. ‘I want to hear it all.’