‘I know,’ he answered flatly.
‘Think how nervous she’ll be feeling,’ Juliette added.
He had thought about that already and that only made his apprehension worse, asif shouldering some of her burden himself might have made the situationthat he was about to face somehow easier. ‘Do you think we’re doing theright thing in coming down here?’
‘Definitely,’ she said, staring atMorton’s profile. ‘This issue has plagued you since you weresixteen. It’s time you put it to bed.’
‘If only it were that simple,’ hemurmured, briefly turning so that their eyes locked. He had been told byhis father that he was adopted twenty-four years ago, yet it felt like only amatter of weeks had passed since then, and simultaneously like it was somethingthat he had always known. Ever since that day he had had a veritable armyof conflicting thoughts and emotions constantly battling in his head. Sometimes he had wanted to know the truth about his past, other times heresolutely did not. Age and maturity now told him that those occasionswhen he did not want to know his real past were simply defencemechanisms that his spurned brain had created to challenge the reality that hewas unwanted. Last year that particular conflict had come to a resolutionwhen his father had informed Morton that his real mother was actually his AuntyMargaret—his father’s sister. One result from that discovery was thatslowly since that day, Morton had begun to accept and properly assume hissurname, Farrier. It was, after all, his mother’s maiden name—her name atthe point of his birth. It had suddenly become less random like hisChristian name and more sturdy and real; he finally belonged to a family treewith roots creeping and pervading into the depths of history. As aforensic genealogist, he found it a revealing moment to know that he had ancestors—realancestors with stories waiting to be told.
The news that his Aunty Margaret wasactually his mother had been hastily followed by the unpalatable revelationthat she had been raped at the age of sixteen. As hard as he had tried,Morton couldn’t escape the ever-present cloud of knowledge that he owed fiftypercent of his DNA to someone capable of such a heinous crime.
And now, here he was, about to have hisfirst meeting with his Aunty Margaret since she had been made aware that Mortonnow knew of his true parentage.
‘How much further?’ Juliette asked, movinguncomfortably in her seat.
‘About another hour and a half. Whydon’t you try and rest for a bit?’
Juliette muttered her agreement and triedto achieve as close to a foetal position as the seat would allow.
Within a few minutes, Morton could hearthe deep gentle inhalation and exhalation, which signalled that she hadachieved sleep, despite her squashed appearance. Morton tried to shifthis thoughts from the looming meeting. His eyes followed the steady,inevitable stream of traffic that blighted the main arteries into Cornwall oncethe motorway had fizzled out.
After a while, the traffic thinned and thegaps between the houses began to grow. The Mini zipped throughpicturesque rolling green hills lined with low hedges and stone walls, socharacteristic of Cornwall. When the first iconic tin mine tower appearedat the side of the road, in striking red brick and granite, Morton knew that hewas in the heart of Cornwall and fast approaching his biological mother.
A swollen orange sun clung to the distanthorizon, as he pushed further down into the Lizard Peninsular, the roadstwisting, turning and narrowing. High gorse hedges and great swathes ofdecaying brown bracken became a common sight at the side of the road.
Finally, he passed a small white sign witha thin black border and lettering announcing the village name of‘Cadgwith’. Morton couldn’t help but let out a small gasp.
Juliette stirred, rubbed her eyes and satup. ‘What’s the matter?’ she asked, glancing from Morton to the desertedcountry lane, expecting to see something noteworthy.
‘Nothing, sorry. We’re here, isall,’ Morton breathed uneasily. If he had ever felt more nervous than hedid right now, then he couldn’t bring the occasion to mind.
Juliette stretched out and gently pattedhis leg. ‘Jolly good—I’m starving. Wow—look at all thosecottages! They’re stunning.’
Morton knew that she was trying to pacifyhim with joviality and distraction, but it hadn't worked.
He tucked his car into a tight space on aramshackle pea-beach driveway, the Mini’s front bumper resting inches from anumber-plate-style plaque that said ‘SEA VIEW’. Morton switched off theengine and held his breath. The car was silent. The village was silent. It seemed at that moment that all of Cornwall was silent, as if trying toplacate his apprehension.
He exhaled and looked at Juliette. ThankGod you’re here, he thought. He wouldn’t have come alone—he didn’tfeel emotionally strong enough. He knew, for various reasons, that thisbreak to Cornwall would be a significant juncture in his life.
It was time to face the past.
His past.
Morton turned to Juliette. ‘Come on,let’s do it.’
He turned to open his door but she pulledhim back. ‘Morton, try and relax and let things unfold naturally—don’tforce it or it could all go pear-shaped.’
He nodded and kissed her on thelips. She was right. If he went blundering in headfirst, it couldall go horribly wrong and potentially send unbridgeable fault lines through theFarrier family. In his line of work diplomacy and tact were importantskills when dealing with clients. That’s what I need to do, hethought, step back and treat this as a genealogical case. Just thethought of disconnecting himself slightly from the situation gave him a vaguenotion of confidence. He stepped out of the car and hauled their luggagefrom the boot.
Dragging one case each behind them, thepair walked briskly, in defiance of a chilly Atlantic wind. Hand in hand,they strode towards three whitewashed cottages, which had been cut into thehill.
Sea View was the first cottage on thepath. At the height of summer the house embodied all the traits of atraditional English home: a gloriously scented honeysuckle rambled over theporch; vibrant pink roses and orange lilies splayed across the front walls, andan array of cottage garden flowers blossomed in the front garden. Today,in the middle of winter, the flora had been reduced to only the hardiest plantscapable
