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‘But then you saw her later that day and thought it couldn’t have been her after all?’ I prompted.

‘That’s right. She was getting petrol and she looked pale and serious – but then, she always did. There was nothing to show … So anyway, I thought I must have been mistaken.’

She paused and then said slowly, ‘Gloria remembered where she’d seen light green eyes like yours – Liz Collins’ mother had them. Liz didn’t inherit them, hers are blue, but they’re obviously in the family.’

‘Really? That sounds a bit of a clincher,’ I said. ‘I don’t know where the red hair came from, but I got my height from the Giddings side … and frankly, I’m finding all of this a bit much to take in!’

‘I’m not surprised, but I’m glad the Giddingses welcomed you intothe family. We Rhymers are an oddly linked bunch ourselves,’ she said, but didn’t explain in what way.

‘Yes, but we’ll have to keep the relationship as a family secret, because Sheila pointed out that if we went public with it, other people who were around at the time I was conceived might put two and two together and guess who my mother was, too.’

‘Mylips are sealed,’ she said. ‘Are you going to ask Liz Collins outright if she’s your mother?’

I shuddered. ‘I can’t imagine doing that – and she’d probably deny it, or threaten me with legal action for defamation of character, or something. No,’ I finished. ‘I don’t really see how I can, without actual proof, and there isn’t any.’

‘There’s an awful lot of circumstantial evidence, though,’ Em said. ‘I’dask her.’

‘I’ll think about it,’ I said.

I gave the family the gist of all this over Sunday lunch. Nile, of course, thought I ought to let the matter lie now, but the rest of the family were in two minds.

‘If she’s your mother, I’d like to tell her that I’m so sorry Paul didn’t know she was pregnant, because I’m positive that if he had, he wouldn’t have just abandoned her and walked away,’ said Sheila, soft-hearted as ever.

‘I don’t think she’s been brooding about it for the last thirty-six years: in fact, I’d say she put it right out of her head and got on with her life,’ Bel said. ‘She has to know about you being back and opening the teashop, Alice, so she’schosennot to contact you.’

‘It would be good to tie up the last loose ends, even if she doesn’t want to acknowledge you in public,’ suggested Teddy. ‘I’m going to add you to the family tree this afternoon, but I’ll have to leave your maternal side out of things until we do know for certain. There’s a chance some of your maternal relatives might sign up to the DNA database later too, so we can trace her that way.’

‘I think I need time to get used to being part of the Giddings family before I ask her,’ I said.

‘I’d like to telleveryonethat you’re really Alice Giddings!’ said Sheila.

‘Yes, me too,’ Nile agreed, and then favoured me with one of his more enigmatic and unnerving smiles.

After lunch, Nile went over to World’s End Antiques, where his friend Rick had a couple of items for him to look at, while I stayed at Oldstone and went through the family photograph albums with Sheila.

It was amazing to think that this was nowmyfamily too – something I’d never had!

Now we knew about the relationship, my resemblance to some of the ancestors was very obvious and made me feel very strange, but also connected in a way I’d never been before.

Later, as I drove home over the moors to Haworth, despite what I’d said earlier to Teddy, the feeling slowly grew inside me that Icouldn’tjust leave it at that. It didn’t matter if my mother publicly acknowledged me or not: I just wanted toknow.

So the moment I got back to the flat I sat down at my desk to write a letter.

It took several attempts and over an hour before I was satisfied that I’d got the tone right.

Dear Dr Collins,

Having discovered through DNA testing that my father was Paul Giddings of Oldstone Farm, strong circumstantial evidence points to your being my natural mother. Since you didn’t come forward to contact me after the newspaper article, I assume you don’t wish to acknowledge me, but truly I don’t want anything from you, except just the certainty of having this confirmed. Then the matter will be closed and the information will go no further.

I hoped that sounded unthreatening and reasonable.

Then I added my contact details, sealed the letter in an envelope marked ‘Strictly Personal’ and enclosed it inside another addressed to her at the surgery.

It was dark when I let myself out of the teashop door, the letter in my hand … at exactly the wrong moment, because Nile was just emerging from the passage, heading for Small and Perfect.

‘Hello,’ he said, surprised. ‘Where are you off to?’

I might have asked what business it was of his, but instead I replied feebly, ‘I’m going for a walk.’