Page 42 of Deep Blue Lies
“Well, that is how it works.” She flashes a grin, which fades as she waits for me to carry on.
“Only there were…lots of men. Different men. I couldn’t tell which of them was the right one.”
Sophia purses her lips at this.
“Well, that’s not gonna be the easiest of reads.”
I shake my head in agreement. “But that’s not it. The diary goes right up to when I was supposed to be born, only she doesn’t seem to be pregnant, and then – on the day I actuallywasborn, there’s nothing, she just complains about stuff. Says she looks good in a bikini.”
Sophia thinks about this. “So it doesn’tsayyou’re adopted? You just figured it out?”
I nod. But my mind flares, screams in protest, and I have this need now for her to understand.
“Except I still don’t really know for sure, because this one time – when I was younger – she told me this thing on my birthday, that it wasn’t actually my birthday, it was just the day ‘they’d’ chosen to celebrate it on. Like what the hell does that mean?”
Her smile has disappeared. Now she just looks confused.
“Maybe you need something stronger than water?” She takes my empty glass and disappears inside, while I just wait. A few moments later she comes back with it refilled, heavy with ice. She sets it down, then crosses the garden to a small tree. I didn’t notice, but now I see it’s laden with yellow fruits, huge lemons. Around it are roses, white and red. It’s really pretty. She twists off a lemon, sits back down and carves two slices with a pocket knife. She drops one into my glass, the other into hers.
“Gin and tonic,” she says. “Hope that’s OK, it’s all we’ve got.”
I nod, then take a sip. The fizz, the acid, the bite of the gin. It helps.A bit.
“Can you talk to your mother?” Sophia says, moments later. “Ask her what it’s all about?”
I blink at her. Trying to imagine that. I tip my head back, really trying to see if that would work. What would it mean to ask her, what would she say? I know she’d be angry. Humiliated that I read her diary. Maybe justifiable. She’s angry already, she never even replied to my text. I find myself shaking my head.
“We don’t really have that sort of a relationship,” I tell her, then give a crooked smile, as if I know how strange that sounds.
“So this was all in a diary?” Sophia says again, sipping her drink. I sense she’s about to ask where I got it, but she doesn’t. I reach into my shoulder bag and hand it to her. “Here.”
She hesitates, like she isn’t sure if she ought to look at it, but I press it towards her, and sit back while she flicks through.
I nurse the drink while she reads. I just surrender to the place, the fragrance of the roses. The buzz from the gin. I don’t know how much she gets through, but she looks up.
“So, what…” Sophia looks confused still.
“I was born on 20 May. Or I thought I was. The second year that she was working at the resort. Except obviously I wasn’t.”
“You should speak to her,” Sophia tells me again. “You have to speak to her. I mean, even if she isn’t your mother, she’s still yourmother, right? She brought you up? And whatever happened, it doesn’t change that. The important thing is you have someone who loves you.”
I blink at her again. The words don’t connect.
“The important thing is you have someone who’shonestwith you,” Sophia goes on, and this time I burst out laughing. A mirthless laugh.
“OK.” Sophia presses her fingers to her temples. “Wow, this is super heavy. I mean, could there be other explanations? Sometimes women don’t know they’re pregnant, not until super late. Could that explain it?”
“I don’t see how. I never heard of someone not knowing they were pregnant until four weeks after the baby was born.”
Sophia grins again at this. “No. Fair point. I guess not. Well what about this date thing? What do you think she meant by that?”
“I don’t know.” I’ve thought about it for years, and I have no idea.
We both fall silent.
“So what are you going to do?” Sophia asks next.
FORTY-FIVE
