His revelation barely registered with her then. But last night it sent her bolt-upright. She switched on the bedside lamp. If Simon had slept with Lynn, could Aubrey be Simon’s son?
‘Mum, Mum!’ Chloe is shaking her arm. ‘You’ve gone into one of your trances. Listen, Mum. I’m really going to work hard today.’
‘Good, darling. Last day before we leave for home so you can get lots done.’
‘That’s my plan. Because basically, yeah, I’m going out later.’
‘Going out? But where can you go around here?’
A faint blush colours Chloe’s face. ‘I’m going for a walk along the Mineral Line.’
‘But you don’t like walking.’
‘I do, Mum, just not boring walks like you and Dad go on. Aubrey is taking me. He’s going to pick me up on his scooter. Could you collect me from the pub when he starts work about six? Will you, Mum?’
The road is long and straight. So it makes sense when Aubrey explains it had once been a track for a tiny train transporting minerals from high in the Brendon hills down to the coast at Watchet. Information that if her father had told her Chloe would have found tedious in the extreme.
But Aubrey has a way of describing things that makes them interesting. He is nothing like the boys she meets at school or at parties, ‘lads’ she calls them. They only talk of sport and spots.
Huge straight-trunked trees grow by the side of road. Plants with giant palmate leaves arch over their heads.
‘Makes me feel like Alice, like I’ve shrunk in size. I’m in Wonderland,’ Chloe whispers.
‘Do you like that book, too? It’s one of my favourites,’ Aubrey whispers back.
They talk about the other books they like and music and the beach in the town where Aubrey was raised and the university she hopes to go to and where they’d like to travel. Then they walk in silence.
After a time, Aubrey says: ‘I’ve decided to give in my notice at the pub. I’ll leave after the weekend.’
‘Really? What about finding your ‘real’ mother?’
‘I’ve got a real mother and she’s back at home with my Dad in Portsmouth. I’ve been living around here for a while and I haven’t found her and I’ve decided I should just get on with my life. Talking to you and your Mum last night, I don’t know, it helped me to see things clearly.’
He is holding Chloe’s hand. Not much taller than she, Aubrey could see all the colours in Chloe’s eyes. ‘It feels right somehow,’ he says, gently letting her hand drop.
‘You sound like you know what you want.’
‘I think I do.’
They start to walk again. After a few minutes, reached the village cricket pitch.
‘Let’s sit here,’ said Aubrey. He clears away the sweet papers left by a previous visitor.
On the other side of the pitch, a steep bank of trees sweeps up to the sky line. Gangs of birds trace the tree tops in flight.
Suddenly Chloe is giddy with happiness. ‘Thanks for taking me on the walk. I liked it. Mum will be shocked by that! She says I’m lazy.’
‘I don’t know about that.’ He sounds serious. ‘Can we stay in touch, Chloe? Would that be okay?’
She was hoping he’d ask. She tugs at his jacket sleeve. She doesn’t mind that it’s made of corduroy. ‘It would lovely. I liked being in Wonderland with you.’
‘Did you? I liked it too. I like being with you.’
They are sitting quite close now, their hands almost touching.
Time seems to have stopped.
He says reluctantly: ‘I suppose I’d better get going. I’ve got to set up the bar for tonight, and to tell the owner what I’ve decided to do and…it’s been…Chloe – good luck in your exams. I’m sure they’ll go well. You’re clever.’
‘Good luck to us both,’ said Chloe.
She leans against him. He turns towards her and his long hair falls over her face. Too bad if anyone sees their kiss.
32
For more than twenty years, Mrs Morle has hoped each day to see an envelope with her daughter’s handwriting lying on the mat. Precious longed-for words from her daughter.
But it’s still a shock when the letter arrives. Mrs Morle’s knees crack like a gun when she bends down to pick up the letter. Gentle fingers slide cherished sheets of Basildon Bond from their envelope, the surfaces upon which her daughter’s breath has fallen and where traces of her fingerprints might linger. Mrs Morle raises the pages to her nose, sniffs long and slow as though her child’s scent lingers in the ink. The words slice.
‘April 1997
Dear Mother,
I hope you will be happy to hear from me. Bob my husband says you will be even though it’s more than 20 years since we last saw each other.
I had to leave you, what else could I do? Giving up my baby broke my heart. I have always hoped that my son found a nice family to love him and look after him. I will never know.
I sometimes wonder if you regret what you did, making me give him away. How much we missed, you and I.
When I ran away from you, I found a job in a hospital, first in the kitchen and then as a cleaner on a ward. One of the nurses persuaded me that I should train. It was a good choice for me because it took me away from everything I knew and everything I had ruined. I did my nursing exams and I passed. I worked my way up and now all these years later, I’m a Senior Staff Nurse. I am in charge of the ward on some shifts.
It was hard for me to live in a town. But I’m glad that I did for that is where I met my husband. Bob is a psychiatric nurse. He did not judge me as though I had fallen as a girl, and I began
