She turned around and said, ‘An oldcoastguard’s place. I just brought you along here for the view. Notthat great today, but on a nice day…’
Morton followed her to a low stone walland stared out. Even on a rough day like today, it was beautiful. Tucked cosily around to the right was the village, quiet and undisturbed, as ifit were a miniature model set. Out from the cove rose a rocky,grass-topped headland, and then around to the left was nothing but an expansivetumultuous ocean.
‘That’ll clear your pipes,’ Margaretremarked with a grin, drawing in huge lungfuls of air.
Morton mimicked her and enjoyed thesensation of the chilly air inside him.
‘Spectacular at sunrise and sunset,’Margaret yelled.
‘I can imagine,’ Morton replied. Hehad to bring Juliette here—ideally in better weather.
‘Ready to continue?’ Margaret asked. ‘This coastal path runs around the entire Lizard Peninsular.’
‘Ready when you are.’
They continued along the narrow path insilence, each of them engrossed in their own thoughts. They crossed astile and stepped down into a wide grassy field. Margaret slowed her paceso that Morton drew level with her, then she threaded her arm through his.
Morton smiled. This is it.
‘So, your dad finally told you that I’myour biological mother, then?’ she ventured. There was an unusualseriousness to her tone and she placed a stress on the word biological.
‘Yeah, last year when he was in hospitalat death’s door. He didn’t want to tell me, I practically had—’
‘You don’t have to apologise or justifyit, Morton,’ she interrupted, ‘I would have wanted to know if I’d beenyou. Crikey, I’m surprised you didn’t want to find out sooner.’
‘Well, I did—he just wouldn’t tell me,’Morton said with a wry smile.
‘That’s my brother for you. It’ssilly really; I always knew the truth would out in the end. When I was agirl, your mum and dad promised me that you’d never be told and at the time,that was the way I wanted it. Then your mum passed away and your dad toldyou that you were adopted—I was livid with him. We didn’t actually speakfor quite a while. I just thought he was teasing you by only telling youthe half of it. At that moment, though, I knew you’d eventually find outeverything. I even prepared myself for what I would say to you, if he haddied last year when he had all that heart trouble.’
‘And what was that?’ Morton asked,intrigued to know how she would have handled the situation had the ball been inher court.
Margaret took a deep breath. ‘I wasgoing to sit you down and just tell it to you straight, but that nothing hadchanged. Your mum was still your mum and I’m still your old AuntyMargaret. You must know in your line of work that it takes more than aset of forty-six chromosomes to turn a baby into a man. I know you’ve hadyour differences with your dad, but he and your mum did a fantastic job raisingyou.’
‘I know,’ Morton agreed. Asdifficult as parts of his life had been, he did know that; they had beengood parents to him. It just was not, and could not be the same as ifthey had been his biological mother and father.
Margaret exhaled noisily. ‘As hardas it was for me to give you up, I couldn’t have given you the life they gaveyou. I know the way society viewed such things had moved on a bit bythen, but it still wasn’t the done thing for a sixteen-year-old girl to raise ababy—with or without the father.’
Morton thought of his biological fatherand instantly felt sickened, and yet he couldn’t stop his mind from wonderingabout the man. What did he look like? Where did he comefrom? Did he have any qualities that made him a human being? Of course, they were questions that he might have to take to the grave,never knowing the answers.
The pair walked, arm in arm, through thefield, the only sounds being the incessant wind and rain rustling and creakingthrough the hedgerows.
‘Is the fact that you live down here, sofar away from the rest of the family, anything to do with me?’ Morton asked.
‘At the beginning, yes. I won’tlie—I wanted a fresh start, to be away from the family and reminders of the past. And to escape my dad—he never forgave me for getting pregnant.’
‘But it wasn’t your fault,’ Mortonresponded.
Margaret shrugged. ‘He was aVictorian,’ she answered flatly.
Morton glanced sideways. ‘He wasborn in 1914, though.’
‘His attitudes stemmed from fifty yearsbefore that. That’s probably not very fair—he just struggled raising twochildren by himself after my mum died.’
‘That must have been difficult foreveryone,’ Morton said, only having a vague notion that his grandmother haddied soon after giving birth to Margaret. His grandfather’s apparentaloofness went some way to explaining his own father’s distance towards hischildren.
‘It wasn’t easy, let’s just saythat. Anyway, to answer your question fully, I did want to escape thepast and so came down to Cornwall as a teenager and found a life here. Met Jim, married him, had the girls and here I shall be buried.’
‘Fair enough,’ Morton said.
‘I often wonder if things might have been different if my mum had been alivewhen I was pregnant.’
A long pause followed, as they bothconsidered the different paths their lives might have taken had Margaret’smother survived childbirth.
It was Morton who finally broke thesilence. ‘Could you tell me about my birth?’
Margaret smiled and glanced out tosea. She took her time to answer. ‘As soon as I began to show, Iwas parcelled off from our house in Folkestone to my granny’s house—you know,Nellie—Charles’s wife. She was in her eighties by then but still in goodhealth. She had a lovely cottage outside Canterbury and I stayed therewith her for several weeks. Funnily enough, she was the one who taught mehow to bake. Wonderful cook she was, too. If I could get myfruitcake or wholemeal bread half as good as hers, I’d be happy. Shetaught me about birds, animals and plants—the garden here looks a lot like hergarden did back then. I loved it there. The best thing, though, washow she treated me. She really brought me out of myself. We didn’tspend much time discussing
