Page 103 of Book People

‘Yes, that’s what itlookedlike. But that’s not what happened.’

I stare. ‘What happened, then?’

‘If you read the letters, then you’ll know that he had a secret love affair,’ Dad says. ‘With a woman who was married. Her husband was abusive, and she was afraid to leave. When your great-grandfather came back from the war and saw that her shop had closed, he tried to get in contact with her, but she never replied. She had a child by then, and he thought that’s why she stayed.’

I’m very still as he tells me all about H and C. But I know all this already. ‘Yes, yes,’ I say, impatient. ‘And then she disappeared a few years after her husband died.’

‘Her husband’s car went off the road,’ Dad murmurs. ‘And into the river. He drowned.’

I blink. ‘Went off the road?’

‘Yes.’ Dad’s voice is very level. ‘You’ll also note that your great-granddad disappeared not long after her husband died. Then she disappeared too.’

My brain won’t work. ‘Spell it out, Dad.’

‘Tell me, is there a postcard upstairs in that box? A postcard from Sicily? There’s nothing written on it, except an H and a C.’

An old postcard that I put to the side because I didn’t think it was relevant.

I stare at him, unable to speak.

‘Your grandfather received that a year after Kate disappeared. He knew already about the letters, because he found them in Sebastian’s personal effects after he supposedly drowned. He told me that he thought your great-grandfather might have had something to do with Kate’s husband’s death, though he couldn’t be sure. And then maybe, to avoid repercussions, he faked his own death. Dad suspected he spent a couple of years establishing himself abroad, making sure the authorities weren’t able to track him down, then he got Kate to join him. Dad thought your great-grandfather, Sebastian, wanted him to know he and Kate were still alive, hence the postcard.’

I can’t believe it. I don’t believe it. It’s impossible. ‘They . . . were together? In the end?’

Dad nods slowly. ‘Your grandfather thought they were. He was positive. He still never forgave his father for leaving him with the bookshop, I think, or for letting him think he was dead, but, yes, he believed Sebastian and Kate were together.’

I struggle to process what he’s just said. ‘How did you know C was Kate?’ I ask, the first question that comes into my head.

‘Rose, Kate’s daughter, had some unsent letters that she found in her mother’s effects. She spoke to Dad about it and heshowed her the ones Sebastian had kept. She got a postcard too. They both decided no one should ever know about it. Dad only told me just before he died.’

It makes sense, at least that part makes sense. The secrecy of it. The scandal of a married woman, the abuse, and then running away together . . .

I still can’t get my head around it. ‘So, what? That’s why you’re here? To clear up some old family mystery that doesn’t matter?’

Finally, he looks straight at me. ‘Among other things. There’s too much unsaid in our family. Too much that’s hidden. So many stories that haven’t been told, because people have gone to their graves with too many secrets and too many lies.’ His blue eyes, so like mine, glitter in the light. ‘The storiesdomatter, Sebastian, that’s why I’m here. You need to know them. They’re where you came from and they’re part of who you are. You’re part of me, and you’re all I have left of your mother, and . . .’ He lets out a breath. ‘My story isn’t over yet and I want a happy ending. An ending that includes a reconciliation with my son.’

‘What is this?’ My whole body is rigid with tension and shock and anger. ‘One of the steps in your twelve-step programme?’

Dad moves slowly over to where I’m standing. Once, I used to think he was a tree or a giant, he was so tall. Now, I’m taller.

He searches my face. ‘I’m sorry, son. I am so sorry for what happened, especially after your mother died.’

I’m not ready for his words; my hands clench into fists.

‘It wasn’t you,’ Dad continues. ‘The drinking. It was the grief, and I didn’t handle it well, and I regret it. I regret not being there for you.’

He means it, I can see, and yet I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what to do with this feeling inside me, a growing pressure. Anger, shock, pain, grief . . . everything. Then again,I’ve never known what to do with any of my feelings other than to force them away.

‘Mum was going to leave you,’ I tell him, again saying the first thing that comes into my head. Perhaps to hurt him. Perhaps to push him away. ‘She told me she wanted to.’

He doesn’t look hurt and remains unpushed. ‘She wanted to stay in the village and I wanted to go, and we had some difficulties with that, not to mention my drinking. But we were in the process of working our issues out.’

I don’t want to accept that; it puts everything I thought about my childhood into doubt. My mother, the wronged woman who died too young, and my father, the drunk who nearly drove his wife away. That’s the story I told myself, and now he’s telling me it was wrong?

‘She wouldn’t have,’ I say. ‘None of the Blackwood men can keep a woman. They always let them down, always.’

Dad is silent, eyeing me. ‘Is that something that’s actually true?’ he asks. ‘Or something you just want to be true?’

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