‘He’s my father. I won’t stop until I find him—dead or alive.’ He faced Alice. ‘Do you think you would have heard, if he had died?’
‘I guess so…’
‘I’m sure he’s alive,’ Jan added. ‘Just keep looking. What else survived the fire, Ali?’
‘Some ornaments, kitchen bits…’ Alice listed. ‘Nothing family-related.’
Morton turned back to the front of the album and studied the first image again. ‘So, no photos of your parents before 1959?’ he said, shoving a not-very-subtle crowbar into the conversation.
‘Nope—not one,’ Alice replied.
‘What do you know about your mother and father before their marriage?’ he questioned.
‘Well, just before that he was fighting in Korea. He did some heroic thing or other and got sent home. He used to tell us that he was one of the first men to volunteer to fight.’ Alice’s face lightened at the memory. ‘He used to place great emphasis on the volunteered part—and not being drafted. He and Mom married in 1953, then Jack and I came along.’
‘What about before Korea?’ Morton probed.
Alice folded her arms and met his gaze. ‘You’re asking about San Francisco, aren’t you? And the first wife?’
Morton nodded. So she knew.
‘It was Jack who found out—that’s what he was talking about in the letters. Growing up, we had no idea. Mom and Dad had us believe they were from Boston. It drove Jack crazy and he needed to find the truth. And that’s what he did—he found it. You’re a lot like him.’
Morton smiled and she reached out and touched his arm.
‘Come on, let’s go back outside,’ Jan said. ‘Poor Juliette will think we’ve deserted her. She just told me you’re on your honeymoon, Morton! Congratulations. Come and tell us all about how you two met.’
It was almost one o’clock in the morning when Morton and Juliette left. By the end of the evening, three pages of his notepad were filled with snapshots of his father’s life: his favourite movie (The Godfather), favourite food (pizza), favourite colour (green), favourite music (The Beatles)—all of it frozen in time in 1976. But of his whereabouts, Morton had learned absolutely nothing more. He and Juliette hugged Alice and Jan and left the house with smiles and promises to keep in touch.
‘Oh, I almost forgot—we’ve got you a gift to take back to England,’ Jan called, as they began down the path. She scuttled inside and returned with the snow fence painting of a northern cardinal that Morton had picked up on MacMillan Pier.
‘Thank you—I love it,’ he said.
‘It was your dad’s favourite bird,’ Alice revealed.
‘Really?’
‘Yeah, he used to feed them his lunch in the cemetery he worked in,’ Alice remarked with a smile.
‘Wow, thanks.’
The door closed behind them and Morton threaded his arm through Juliette’s, as they made their way back down Commercial Street to their hire car. ‘I’m sure she knows where he is,’ Morton declared.
‘Yes,’ Juliette agreed.
‘You think so, too?’ He had expected her to challenge him on it—needing some kind of proof that he didn’t have, it was just his gut instinct. ‘Some of the things they said just didn’t add up. And Alice slipped into the present tense a couple of times. After what happened I understand that he wants to be left alone.’
‘Yeah, I noticed that.’
‘Did you pick up on anything else? Or is it just your policewoman’s hunch?’
‘This,’ Juliette said, holding her mobile phone in front of his face. It was a close-up picture of a man and a woman grinning at the camera. The man was undoubtedly his father. It was a truly bizarre moment—seeing his biological father having aged in front of his eyes. His hair had flashes of grey and his nose was fractionally off-set.
‘God…’ Morton breathed.
‘How old does he look there? Fifty? Sixty?’
‘Which means it was taken sometime in the last ten years…’ Morton said excitedly. ‘That woman—is she famous…there’s something familiar about her.’
‘Not that I recognise, no.’
‘Where did you find it?’ Morton asked.
‘When Jan went off to see what you and Alice were up to, I took a quick peek at their photos. It was on a bookshelf with some others but was the only one lying face down.’
‘Really?’
‘Yep—they clearly didn’t want us to see it. He’s alive, Morton.’
‘Yes, but does he want to be found?’
Chapter Thirteen
4th December 1950, Cow Hollow, San Francisco, California, USA
Life couldn’t get any more perfect. A winter sun shone through Velda’s bedroom window, engulfing her in a halo of light. She was sitting at her table applying a light dusting of blue eyeshadow. She was no longer taking any medication and she felt amazing. Alive. She smiled at her reflection and headed for the door.
‘Another new dress? Where are you going, all dolled up?’ Beatrice asked when she arrived downstairs.
Velda did a twirl. ‘This old thing?’ she replied coyly. ‘Do you like it?’
Beatrice raised an eyebrow. ‘I’m guessing you’re going to see him?’
Velda flounced. ‘When are you going to start actually using his name?’
‘Okay: I’m guessing you’re going to see Mr Joseph Jacklin, Audrey’s husband?’ Beatrice corrected.
‘Not for much longer—he’s sorted out all the divorce paperwork. His attorney thinks it will all be done and dusted in the New Year. Then he’ll be free to marry again.’
‘I just hope you know what you’re doing, Velda.’
‘I do! I do!’ Velda chimed as she waltzed out of the front door.
‘Well, hi there, Velda,’ Joseph’s father greeted. ‘Come on in. Joseph! You’ve got a visitor.’
‘Thank you, George,’ Velda said, entering the house.
Joseph, with a wide grin on his face, hobbled out from the dining room, which had been converted into his recovery room. He was walking unaided now, but still couldn’t manage steps owing to the pieces of shrapnel lodged in his hip. ‘My, don’t you look swell.’
