‘She’s a lovely person. Very kind,’ Morton said, receiving a warm smile back from Diane.
‘Who is? The cook?’ Velda laughed. ‘You should try his meatballs—urgh! Every day I have them for breakfast with some other…I don’t know. Just awful.’ She pushed closer to Morton and scrunched up her face. ‘You’re new—I haven’t seen you before. What do you want?’
‘I came to see you,’ Morton said softly.
‘Hmm, I bet you did. Not a bad place I’ve got here, is it?’ Velda gazed happily around the room. ‘Real nice—we bought it…I don’t know…Hey! Missy, when did we buy this place?’
Diane made the pretence of thinking for a moment then shook her head. ‘A long time ago.’
Velda agreed. ‘Yeah, a long time ago. It’s got a television!’
‘Really? What do you like to watch?’ Morton asked.
Velda blew out a puff of air but said nothing.
‘Do you want me to take your photo, Morton?’ Diane asked.
‘Yes, that would be lovely—thank you.’ He handed her his mobile.
‘Smile!’ Diane chirped.
‘I knew you’d come back for me, Jack,’ Velda said. ‘I’m sorry for what I did.’
She thought he was Jack. ‘That’s okay,’ Morton said. He felt like he’d been kicked in the stomach. He looked at Diane, then at Juliette, desperate to ask further questions in the guise of his father. But he just couldn’t do it.
‘Can you get those cars switched off?’ Velda barked at Diane. She turned to Morton with an apologetic shake of her head. ‘I keep asking…can I have a hot chocolate?’
‘I’ll rustle you one up shortly,’ Diane said. ‘Just you keep on chatting to your visitor—he’s come from England.’
‘England?’ Velda exclaimed. ‘I went there once.’ She looked at Morton then laughed. ‘With you! And now you’ve got a car vacuum or something?’ She sagged down in her seat. ‘Always the same. When’s my mother getting here? She’s late again. She would love England. Do you remember Buckingham Palace?’
‘Yes, I do—you’re allowed inside now,’ Morton said.
‘Who is? The cook or my mother? They’re both dead.’ Velda laughed exaggeratedly, then wiped her nose on the back of her hand. ‘I’m about ready for bed. Missy, get rid of this man—I don’t want to talk about vacuums.’
Diane stood up. ‘Okay, I think it’s probably time to let these ladies have a rest now.’
‘Yes,’ Morton said, standing up. He leant down and touched Velda’s hand. He knew it was probably forbidden, but he didn’t care. ‘Goodbye, Velda. It was really lovely to meet you.’
Velda withdrew her hand, a look of disgust on her face. She grunted something and turned away, muttering her displeasure to her friend.
He and Juliette followed Diane from the lounge back out into the corridor. Morton watched Velda through the glass walls until she was out of sight.
‘Thank you so much for that,’ Morton said, his throat tightening with emotion. ‘I really appreciate it.’
‘I know you do, honey. I just wish she were a little more present.’
Morton fished in his pocket for one of his business cards. ‘I know you can’t say too much, but perhaps you could drop me an email every once in a while, to tell me how things are.’
‘No problem—poor Velda don’t get no visitors—so I’m glad someone’s taking an interest in her.’
‘What, no visitors at all?’ Morton asked, slightly appalled.
Diane shook her head. ‘None.’
‘Fits with the way your aunt is,’ Juliette mumbled.
‘Right…’ Morton’s sentence tapered off and he offered Diane his hand to shake.
‘Pleasure to meet you. Follow me,’ she said, leading them back over to the reception desk to sign out.
Morton left the building, overwhelmed by a peculiar concoction of emotions that brought hot, bittersweet tears to his eyes. The great satisfaction at having finally met his grandmother was barbed with her debilitating illness, which had inevitably tarnished the occasion. Any hopes that he had held of her being able to help him find his father were wholly obliterated. Could he even take anything from what she had said about her being sorry for what she’d done?
Then there was the revelation that nobody visited her, which wrenched at his core.
Juliette instinctively pulled him into an embrace, as the tears broke free and coursed down his cheeks.
Chapter Ten
21st November 1950, Cow Hollow, San Francisco, California, USA
Velda woke slowly. For the past two weeks, the transition from sleep to waking had been difficult. Sometimes the unspeakable terrors playing out in her nightmares were eased by the opening of her eyes; other times the agonising process of surfacing from sleep and facing reality was excruciating, as she desperately tried to hold onto the thin, wispy hopes that had been contained in her dreams, as though she were wafting a net around, trying to catch something translucent and ultimately intangible.
Today, the simple natural act of waking up had been like the collision of two great planets. She had dreamed of the bridge again. Her mother was there, standing in the centre on the outer edge, beckoning her over. There was a wind—terribly loud—that snatched her mother’s final words as she spoke them. Velda had moved closer and closer, desperate to hear what she had to say to explain herself. The closer she got to her mother, the noisier the wind became. Her mother’s auburn hair was billowing furiously, as she tried to mouth the words more clearly. The dream ended as it always did: with her mother tumbling backwards, followed by darkness. Just total darkness.
Velda began to sob before she had even opened her eyes. She knew where she was—she was no longer on the bridge; she was in her bed. Alone. She had lost Joseph again, only this time he was irretrievably gone. Two weeks ago, Joseph’s brother David had knocked on her door. She had known from the
