Chapter 51
Chapter Fifty-One
The train clattered along the tracks, heading north, the sea flashing in and out between clumps of windswept trees and scrappy hedgerows.
Fern sat across from Daniel, who hadn’t said much since she had shared the name of Matilda’s child.
She didn’t push him. ‘This is us,’ he said suddenly, standing up just as the train began to slow.
‘This isn’t our stop.’
‘I know. Come on.’ He didn’t explain or even smile. Just added, ‘Trust me.’
The platform was tiny, the station one of those blink-and-you’ll-miss-it stops.
There wasn’t even a station building, just a shelter with a bench.
Beyond that, a quiet lane wound towards the coast. They walked in silence along the lane for about fifteen minutes until he turned down a narrow track.
At the end of it, nestled between two hills, was a house.
Fern stopped in her tracks. ‘Oh … my … God. Look at that.’
The house looked like something out of a countryside romance film.
Cream-coloured stone walls, ivy climbing all over, pale blue shutters, a front porch with a swing seat gently moving in the breeze, and a roof made of weathered slate tiles.
The garden was wild but beautiful, lavender bushes, tall grasses, and daisies sprouting between the flagstones of the path.
‘Okay, what is this place?’ she asked.
Daniel looked towards the house before meeting her gaze. ‘My family home, and now my home.’
Fern stared at him. ‘This is yours? And you’re living at the antique shop?’
He gave a small, sheepish shrug. ‘Yes, I couldn’t face it.’
‘Daniel … it’s stunning.’
He took her hand. ‘I might need you to hold me up.’
‘I’m here for you,’ she reassured as they headed towards the door.
The inside of the house was somehow even better.
Not fancy or grand, just … warm. The hallway with scuffed wooden floors and a slightly lopsided coat rack showed the house had been lived in.
Had been loved. Photos lined the hallway walls, images of holidays, birthdays, and one of a very serious-looking Daniel in a school blazer and a mullet haircut that should’ve been illegal. Fern pointed then chuckled softly.
‘Don’t laugh. It was the fashion!’
‘Was it though?’ She gently nudged his arm.
They moved into the sitting room, where time felt like it had paused.
Cushions were slightly squashed on the sofa.
A stack of books sat haphazardly on a side table.
A teacup had been left on the windowsill as though someone had meant to come back for it but forgotten.
The fireplace was grand and a bit dusty, with a painting of a lighthouse hanging above it.
Fern turned slowly on the spot. ‘This place feels … alive. Like your parents just popped out to get milk.’
Daniel gave a half-laugh. ‘I lived here with my grandmother after they passed away, but I know what you mean. That’s why I couldn’t deal with it.
It felt like if I came back, everyone would really be gone.
’ He paused. ‘I do know my father knew he was adopted, but it didn’t seem to affect him in any way.
He had a happy life, and my grandmother was just the best mum to him, but now…
Knowing he was the son of Nathaniel Loring?
I’m not sure how he would have reacted to that. ’
‘I can relate to your father.’ Fern wanted to say something that might help, or at least make him feel less alone, and this felt like the right moment to share something she’d never really talked about. ‘I’ve never told anyone this,’ she said, ‘but … I’m adopted, too.’
Daniel looked up, surprise flickering across his face. ‘Really, how do you feel about that?’
‘It’s not something I’ve consciously hidden from people in my life, it’s just…
I never felt like I needed to linger on it or talk about it.
My childhood was amazing. I had the kind of parents who were always in my corner, no matter what.
School play? They were always in the front row.
Big dreams? They backed every single one.
They made everything feel possible. They sat me down at an early age to tell me about my origins, but it didn’t change a thing.
It just made me feel all the more special, the fact that they had chosen me and they loved me.
I don’t feel the need to look for my birth parents, and I’m not angry at them or curious about them.
I’ve never felt like anything was missing from my life. ’
She looked at Daniel now, really looked at him. ‘I’m only telling you this because maybe your dad felt like that too. Maybe he didn’t feel like something was missing, because he was happy, because he had a good life. That’s something to hold on to.’
‘Thank you,’ he said quietly, ‘for telling me.’
He pointed to the door in front of him. ‘This is my dad’s study. Let’s see what we can find,’ he said, his tone upbeat, as though he knew they both needed the reset after such an emotional confession.
It was everything you’d expect from a proper old-school study. Walnut desk, deep armchair, bookshelves bursting at the seams, and one of those globes that opened up to reveal drinks inside. There was a fire grate and a threadbare rug, and even a little brass telescope pointing out the window.
‘This room hasn’t been touched since his passing. I can remember he basically lived in here,’ Daniel said. ‘He often joked that this was where he came to think, but what he meant was to avoid doing the washing-up.’
Fern smiled. ‘Wise man.’
Daniel walked over to the desk and rested his hand on it. ‘Before she passed away, Grandma told me that there was a box in the desk. Full of my dad’s personal stuff.’
He started pulling open the drawers. The first two had the usual desk junk: paperclips, old pens, about four different types of envelopes.
The third was locked. Daniel scanned the bookshelves, then suddenly reached up and took a small brass key from a small plate on one of the shelves.
He unlocked the drawer. Inside was a wooden box.
Daniel didn’t open it right away. He just stared at it.
‘I knew this was here, but I couldn’t bring myself to…’ he began before trailing into a contemplative silence.
Fern gently placed a hand on his shoulder. ‘You don’t have to open it now, if you’re not ready,’ she said. ‘We can do whatever you want. It’s your call.’
‘Now Nathaniel has said the name William Brooks, I need to know. Because my gut feeling is telling me it’s him, that my dad was Matilda’s son.
I’ve got so many things spinning around in my mind.
Matilda said that shop was my destiny – at our very first meeting.
Did she know then who I was? Is that why she took me in and looked out for me? She never told me, if she did know.’
‘I think she could have known who you were, but we may never know for sure.’
‘I think I need to know,’ he said. ‘Especially after today. If there’s anything in this box about who he really was, where he came from, I want to see it.’
Fern nodded. ‘Okay. Then I’m right here with you.’
He sat down at the desk, took a breath and lifted the lid.