Page 17 of Things We Never Said
The following Saturday, Sean decides to phone Maggie. She has left three messages on his voicemail in the last forty-eight hours and he’s pretty certain that if he doesn’t speak to her soon she’ll appear on the doorstep.
As the house is a mess and the freezer is empty again, and because he finds himself unable to summon up the energy to fix either, he really doesn’t want her checking up on him right now.
The truth of the matter is that he’s been feeling sadder than usual since last Sunday’s tape, perhaps even what people call depressed.
He has only once or twice had doubts about April’s lineage in the past, and nowadays, having parented her since she was born, all logic tells him that it’s immaterial. He loves her, that’s all. He has always loved her and nothing anyone could ever say is going to change that. And yet, and yet ... was it not more comfortable feeling certain that he was her biological parent? Because even though he had doubts from time to time, in the end, this is what he had decided to believe, for the simple reason that believing anything else was unbearable.
But now, unless he does a DNA test, he’ll never know. And what possible point could there be in taking a DNA test at this point? What possible advantage could there be in knowing, other than avoiding this, other than avoiding ever having to think about it again?
So he’s angry at Catherine, too. Not for what she might or might not have done when she was eighteen, but perhaps for not telling him at the time and definitely for deciding to tell him now. It strikes him as cowardly, actually. Yes, waiting until she’s not even there to hear how he feels about it is cowardly.
‘Ah,’ Maggie says, when he finally makes the call. ‘He lives!’
‘Yep,’ Sean says, pretending to be upbeat. ‘He lives! How are you?’
‘Oh, you know ...’ Maggie says.
‘Not really. That’s why I’m asking.’
‘Oh, we’ve been trying to choose where to go on holiday this summer,’ Maggie says. ‘But it seems we can even argue about that.’
Thinking that the more they talk about Maggie and Dave, the less he’ll have to talk about himself, Sean asks, ‘So what are the options?’
‘I want to go to Portugal.’
‘Ooh, nice,’ Sean says. ‘I can’t see why anyone would argue with that.’
‘Well, thank you! Maybe I should just go with you.’
‘So what’s Dave’s objection?’ Sean asks, ignoring that comment.
‘Oh, Dave says the sea’s too cold. On account of it being the Atlantic or something. He says it’ll be boiling hot on the beach, but we won’t be able to dip a toe in the sea without having a heart attack.’
‘Ah,’ Sean says. ‘Well, there might be a little truth in that. This is for when?’
‘June or July.’
‘Then yeah ... the sea could be pretty chilly.’
‘Damn you both,’ Maggie says. ‘It’s cheap as chips. And the hotel’s gorgeous. And there’s a bloody pool anyway. And I don’t want to spend a thousand pounds going to Bali.’
‘Oh, that’s an altogether different proposition,’ Sean comments.
‘Tell me about it.’
‘Very nice! Bali’s stunning, so I hear.’
‘Yes. But it’s a day to get there and a day to get back and it’s way over my budget.’
‘Maybe you could settle for somewhere halfway?’ Sean offers.
‘Maybe,’ Maggie says, doubtfully. ‘Where would that be? I’m rubbish at geography.’
‘Um, Israel, I reckon,’ Sean says. ‘Or Saudi Arabia. Dubai maybe?’
‘Oh, faaabulous,’ Maggie says, sarcastically. ‘I’ll get my burka dry-cleaned.’
‘Israel’s quite trendy at the moment,’ Sean says, ‘surprising as that may seem. A couple of people from the office have been there recently. And no burka necessary.’
