It gives me theopportunity to scan around the room. This is mother’s world. A place I knowvery little about, but it has been her home for many years now. How cruel thatshe has finally found a place to be at peace but at the same time, thwartedwith such a debilitating illness. This first thing I notice (and it would beimpossible not to notice since there were so many) are all the framed picturesof me when I was a young boy. They adorn the walls and sit proudly on hertable. Curious. There are none of Caroline, Juliet, and James.
This is yet anotherclear indication staring me literally square in the face. It screams at me –they are not real, you have made them up. They are figments of yourimagination. George has been silently watching me take all this in and I cantell he knows what I am thinking but at least he shows some decorum andrefrains from saying so. Janey has also remained silent throughout the visitbut then her reasons are slightly different. She is terrified to knock thestatus quo any further by putting a foot out of line so is instead waiting on acue from me.
We sit like this in silence, alltentatively waiting to see if mother is able to free herself from her fugue butto no avail. After twenty minutes or so I put the other two out of theirmisery. “Come on, let’s leave her in peace.” We rise and I resist the urge toget too close to her still fearful that she might take fright.
George and Janey reach the door before meand it is barely audible but even still, I am sure she said it. As quick as aflash I reposition myself in front of mother, but she is back to beingthoroughly engrossed in rubbing her palms again. Eyes downcast, not wanting toentertain anyone. The other two sense the commotion and want to know what’shappening but I want to give her a little bit more time. Nothing. She is lostin her solitary world. Did I imagine it, or did she really say what I think shesaid?
I wait until we are outside in the carpark. “Look at yourbirth certificate … that’s what she just said to me.” Two blank unbelievingfaces stare back at me. “Well, come on then, what are you both waiting for?Let’s do it! And while we’re at it, I’d like to see if there are any records onCaroline, Juliet, and James.” Neither of them heard her utter a word, but Iheard it. I believe mother was trying to communicate with me, to convey animportant message and it simply cannot be ignored.
CHAPTER 25
W
hen we settle into the car, I waste no time. I type‘births, marriages, and deaths – Isle of Skye’ into a search engine and bingo,a telephone number is produced. Without hesitation, I hit the button to makethe call then end it abruptly before it is answered by the recipient – Georgewas frantically making a gesture for me to cut the call by slicing his handback and forth across his throat.
“What? Why can’t I make the call, George?”
“There is no need for you to arrange anappointment to see anyone. You will only be able to arrange a replacement birthcertificate which will take Lord knows how many weeks to arrive. And in anycase, I have a copy at home in your file.”
“OK perfect! What about checking to see ifmy siblings’ births are registered?”
“Again Thomas, there is no point indiscussing that with a registrar. They cannot divulge confidential information.I think we both know you are not going to find anything anyway. However, if youinsist and if it goes some way towards further cementing in your head that theydo not exist, why don’t you have a look online? There are many websites whereyou can get information on family trees.”
I consider this and decide that it issound advice. I also consider that fact that I haven’t seen hide nor hair ofeither Caroline, Juliet, or James all day. I allow myself to imagine that theydo not exist. Will this help my mental state? Will it help me on the road torecovery from this psychosis I am apparently blighted with? It seemsinconceivable not to have them in my life.
Yet, as I open the internet browser on myphone and select the first website which appears, boasting it is ‘the UK’s No.1go-to website for researching family trees,’ it hits me like a brick. Alongsideasking for their full names, undoubtedly the next question I will be asked isto provide their dates of birth. What are their dates of birth? I do not havean earthly clue. How could I not know my own siblings’ dates of birth?
I involuntarily drop my phone and it hitsthe footwell of the seat with a loud thud, causing George to stir.
“Everything OK back there?”
“You are right, George.”
“Right about what, Thomas?”
“They don’t exist. Caroline, Juliet, andJames – I don’t know their dates of birth! I’d never considered it before, but Idon’t know their dates of birth!”
I collapse into Janey’s arms, sobbinguncontrollably like a small child. She doesn’t say anything, content to hold metightly, patiently waiting until there are no more tears left to cry.
It is almost laughable (well if it didn’thurt so much!). All the evidence I have been presented with since I arrivedhere and all the time I knew the answer myself. The brain is both truly amarvel and a torturous beast at the same time. All the visual interactions Ihave had with my siblings over the years and all of the conversations, theywere so real, so lifelike. To think that my brain conjured all that up isunbelievable.
Obviously, as George said,
