Familiar Rooms in Darkness by Caro Fraser Page A

right, Robert Colquhoun sitting on the step of the Golden Lion in his tweed coat, smoking, thinking about nothing, waiting for opening time, for that blessed, raw sound of the bolts dragging back and shutters going up, and the first of the day. He could smell the room he and Harry had shared, almost feel beneath his hand the wooden knob on the cupboard where they kept their bread, maybe a lump of cheese wrapped in greaseproof paper. No fridges then. Bottled beer. Sometimes oysters at Wheeler’s when one of them was flush. Sometimes a plate of corned beef and pickles in the pub. What a life. Those years. Here he was, still in this place, still in Soho, alone. People bought you drinks all right, people still talked, but it wasn’t like back then, when you still thought you were going to make something of your life, when the next drink, the next conversation, the next exchange of witty banter, seemed worth living for. The next day, the next drink. Friends. And everyone growing old and thinking time wasn’t paying any attention, with the present turning into a past that some journo was going to write about. And here he still was, sitting in the French, waiting for someone to come and buy him a drink. Someone like Adam.
    â€˜Fucking idiot,’ he muttered. About whom, he wasn’t quite sure.
    Adam walked back down through Chinatown to Leicester Square. It was busier now, the day in full flight. He sat down on a bench in the gardens, and tried to think. He hadn’t a clue what to do. Not a clue. He watched thepigeons stepping in aimless circles. In his heart, he believed every word Meacher had told him. There was the possibility it was a piece of malicious mischief-making, but Adam didn’t think so. Yet he couldn’t possibly put such a thing into print without talking to Harry’s family, without verifying the story. And how was he to do that? Cecile had actually talked about giving birth to Bella and Charlie – he could hardly go back and confront her with Meacher’s story. Or could he?
    He thought about Bella. Maybe she knew. Maybe Charlie did. Maybe Cecile had told them ages ago about the adoption, but for some reason they had all agreed to collude in keeping it secret. Why? Well, why did anyone do anything? Perhaps they simply didn’t see any need for people to know. Yet if he proceeded on the assumption that Bella knew, and asked her about it, there was always the horrible possibility that she
didn’t
know… And then he would be right in it. If Bella and Charlie didn’t know, didn’t they have a right to? Even so, it seemed incredibly presumptuous of him to take it upon himself to tell them.
    Leaving the dilemma of the family aside, he couldn’t help feeling a certain appalled elation. This was exactly the kind of new information about Harry which he’d hoped might turn up. He wondered how much Harry would have welcomed him making the discovery. He’d certainly never once mentioned George Meacher, and that, given that they’d shared a room together for some months, had to amount to some kind of concealment. Adam remembered Harry saying, about a month before he died, ‘It would be interesting to see what you make of my life. A pity I won’t be around to read it. Maybe itwould surprise me.’ And he had smiled in that way Harry had. Was that some sort of challenge to Adam to unearth this kind of secret? A licence to find out the truth…
    He had no idea. He didn’t know where to go from here.

5
    â€˜Does this look all right?’ Megan twisted in front of the mirror, trying to survey the back of the dress she had bought for Jo’s wedding.
    â€˜Fine. Very nice,’ said Adam.
    She turned and surveyed Adam. ‘I wish you’d dress up a bit, sometimes.’
    Adam was wearing his one and only suit. ‘I don’t do dressing up. Come on. We’re going to be late if we don’t go now.’
    They left the flat