option. I folded the paper and handed it back. My hand was shaking, but I still didn’t want to believe it.
‘Cyn. You must have been through hell…’
‘I’ve seen her, Cliff,’ she said. ‘I’ve seen her!’
She wept quietly and I comforted her as best I could. I got another glass of wine and Cyn had mineral water. With an effort she composed herself and told me that she’d caught sight of a particular young woman several times in recent weeks. She was convinced that this woman was watching her. I was still sceptical.
‘You haven’t spoken to her?’
‘No. I’ve never been able to get close enough. She sort of… slips away.’
‘What makes you think she’s… who you think she is? It could be someone, I don’t know, sympathetic but not sure whether to approach you. Or…’
She shook her head. ‘Cliff, she’s the living image of your sister Eve twenty-four years ago. I’m telling you she could be her twin. I know she’s our daughter.’ She scrabbled in her bag and came up with a photograph. It showed Eve in jeans, boots and a sweater smiling into the camera. Short dark hair, thin, beaky nose, wide mouth, my sister was arresting rather than pretty. She was close to 180 centimetres tall and when she was young athletics and surf swimming kept her lean. She’s heavier now which doesn’t hurt her golf. She plays off eight at Moore Park.
‘It’s a copy,’ Cyn said. ‘I had you and me cropped out of it. Don’t know why I still had it. D’you remember where it was taken? A picnic we all went on in Centennial Park.’
‘No. You say this woman resembles Eve?’
‘I’ve only caught glimpses of her. But I’d say she’s identical. Oh, shit!’ Her hand flew up to her face and I saw how thin her wrist was, with the blue veins showing through. ‘Eve doesn’t have a daughter, does she?’
‘No. Two sons.’
‘God. I realise I haven’t thought this through enough. Do you have any children, Cliff? I mean, other children…’
I drank some wine. ‘You didn’t think of that possibility either, did you? Why not?’
You couldn’t keep Cyn on the defensive for long. She drank some of her mineral water and got a fair bit of energy into a snort. ‘You were always a selfish bastard, Cliff. There was only barely enough space in your life for a lover. What with the crims and cops and other low-lifes. There certainly wasn’t enough for a wife. I doubt you’d ever have entertained the idea of having kids. Tell me I’m wrong.’
I had to admit she was right. The only really serious relationships I’d had since Cyn were with Helen Broadway and Glen Withers. Helen had a child and a troubled marriage and in the end she’d opted for the status quo. Glen was a career woman all the way. I’d felt comfortable with arrangements like those.
‘You’re right,’ I said. ‘Maybe you heard from your dad about Hilde Stoner. The tenant I had for a while. She married Frank Parker, who’s -‘
‘A policeman. Yes, I heard. So?’
‘I’m a sort of pagan godfather to their son, Peter. That’s as close as I thought I’d ever get to parenthood.’
‘Ah, you’re admitting the possibility that you’ve fathered a child. Christ, you’re a hard sell, Cliff.’
‘In my business you have to be. Look, Cyn, what d’you think’s going on here?’
‘That’s typical of you. Analysis rather than engagement.’
‘That’s me.’
‘All right. I think she applied for her birth certificate. Adoptees can do that since the act was changed in 1990. Did you read that book by Charmian Clift’s illegitimate daughter?’
‘No. I read My Brother Jack though – her husband’s best book. Sorry, Cyn. Go on.’
‘I think she applied for her original birth certificate and got my name from it.’ She looked directly at me. ‘Don’t worry. There was no name for the father. I didn’t have to give it.’
I think it was at that moment that I started to believe all this might be true.
Cyn went on to say that she asked the appropriate authorities whether her child had applied for her birth certificate or made enquiries about her, but the rules didn’t allow for that information to be given out.
‘That’s right,’ I said. ‘I’ve done a little bit in this line. The idea is to protect the adoptee – in case the parent’s a drunk or a bludger. If you’re right about this, Cyn, why wouldn’t she make herself known to you? You’re obviously affluent and respectable. You live in a big house and drive a flash car. You’ve got a tennis court, I’m told, and isn’t there a boat or two?’
‘Stop it, Cliff. Don’t be such a shit. If she – Jesus, I don’t even know her name – if she got onto me in the last few months she’d have seen a woman wasting away. I spend most of my time going to doctors. I don’t drive any more; I don’t have the strength. I sold the house and the boat after Colin died and put most of the money in trust for the kids. I live in a unit in Crows Nest. It’s nice but nothing special. The thing is, if she’s been keeping an eye on me in that time she’s probably seen me faint twice in public and once…’
She shook her head, took a deep breath and forced the words out. ‘She might have seen me throw up in the gutter.’
The tears came again and I watched helplessly while she dabbed at her eyes. She seemed to have to gather every ounce of her strength to do just that much. I had the feeling that she was just about all through for the day at a bit past noon. It made me forget all the animosities and injuries of the past and want to do anything I could to help her. Or almost anything. Despite the anger and anguish I felt on her behalf, I was still focused on the main game – the possibility that we’d had a child.
Perhaps Cyn was right in thinking selfishness had kept me childless. I preferred to believe it was something else – a recognition that my failure to sustain relationships and my erratic, hazardous, financially chancy lifestyle made me a poor bet as a father. More than once I’d pulled back from involvement with women who seemed primed for motherhood, not wanting to disappoint them. But I’d also worn childlessness as a sort of badge, a flag of independence and self-sufficiency. All that was ingrained by now and I was reluctant to surrender it.
Cyn summoned up strength from somewhere and looked directly at me. Her eye makeup was smudged and she had a blurred, off-centre look that gave everything she said an extra weight. ‘I wouldn’t blame her for holding back. Who would want a broken down woman with no tits who chucks in the street for a mother?’
‘Don’t, Cyn.’
‘Damn you, Cliff Hardy. Don’t you pity me. Don’t you dare pity me. I’ve had a good life. I was a successful architect. There’re buildings in this bloody city that’ll last longer than you and everyone else alive. They prove I was good. I’ve got two wonderful children and a grandchild…” She stopped and stared straight through me as if she was looking into another dimension where faces and walls and pillars didn’t matter. ‘I’ve got a grandchild on the way. It’ll be touch and go whether I’ll live to see it.’
The waitress came to take our plates. I’d eaten most of my meal but Cyn’s was barely touched.
‘Was there something wrong ma’am?’
Cyn shook her head.
‘Will there be anything else, sir?’
‘No, thank you. Nothing else.’
She cleared the table, leaving the dregs of our drinks, and beat a retreat. I knew what she was thinking – a middle-age marriage break up, bad news. She wasn’t to know that she was right in a way, except that the breakup had happened before she was born.
‘I’m not poor,’ Cyn said. ‘I can pay you.’
‘What?’
‘I can pay for your services. That blazer’s seen better days, so has the shirt. You’re obviously not rolling in money.’
That was the old Cyn. On the attack. Somehow, though, it seemed sad and I didn’t rise to the bait as I would have in the old days. I finished the wine. It tasted sour.
‘What d’you want me to do?’
‘I want you to keep a watch on me for a few days. What do you call it? A surveillance. And when she appears I want to meet her. I want to talk to her. I want to find out about her. Help her if she needs it, be happy if she doesn’t. I want to meet our child, Cliff. Before I die.’
