paths of the Heath seemed very far off, in another world.
‘Beautiful dog,’ she commented.
‘I … I would like to get to know you and your family,’ Daniel said, looking after the leaping dog, ‘if that’s OK.’ He turned his gaze to her. ‘But everyone’s told me not to expect too much.’
She smiled in agreement. ‘They’ve said the same to me. Relentlessly.’
‘I was told it was quite likely you wouldn’t want to see me … It often happens, apparently.’
She couldn’t answer for a moment, remembering her instinctive response to the letter.
‘Are you an only child?’ he asked.
‘Yes.’ She found it odd that he didn’t know even this about her. ‘And you too?’
Daniel nodded. ‘Dad probably thought Mum wouldn’t cope with two. She was … quite a nervous person.’ He looked uneasy as he spoke, as if he felt disloyal telling her this.
‘I wish I’d had siblings. It would make dealing with my mother so much easier.’
‘Is she that bad?’
‘Oh, worse! Much, much worse. But I shouldn’t be mean. She went through a lot when my father died. Anyway, you’ll meet her one day and you can make up your own mind.’
‘Do I want to?’ he asked, laughing.
‘In for a penny …’
He nodded. ‘I suppose.’
The atmosphere between them relaxed over the afternoon. She found him easier to talk to as they began to unravel their separate histories. As the day wore on, the warmth of the sun disappeared and she was glad of her jacket. Daniel had only a T-shirt on.
‘Aren’t you cold?
He shook his head. ‘But perhaps we ought to get going.’
‘Yes. Oh, I forgot. Before you go …’ Annie pulled the photograph album she had selected out of her bag. It was her own childhood album her father had compiled from holiday snaps, but it also included a few photos of her mother and her father when they themselves were young.
The record came to an abrupt end when her father died; Annie had never seen Eleanor with a camera. She had considered bringing along more recent albums, to show Daniel her other three children and Richard, but that seemed too much like rubbing salt in a wound.
‘Mother … my father.’ Annie pointed to a photo of Eleanor and Ralph, arms linked and looking uncharacteristically happy, on a terrace in the south of France – so the caption, in her father’s flamboyantly cursive script, stated. ‘Them as children … this one’s me …’ She turned the page. ‘That’s Daddy’s mother, Grandmother Westbury … Uncle Terence and his friend Paul – they lived together for nearly thirty-five years, and Mother always referred to Paul as her brother’s “lodger”! But look, can you see?’ She pointed to Terence’s face. ‘Can you see the resemblance to you?’
Daniel peered more closely and nodded uncertainly. ‘I suppose. But it’s always hard to know what you look like to someone else.’
She continued to leaf through the album, stiff and creaky with age, the faces staring out from the black cardboard pages, similar in kind to millions across the globe, yet also entirely specific to herself, and now to her son.
Daniel scrutinised each face with great care, going back and forth through the pages as she talked, asking questions about each one. This was his first proper glimpse, she realised, of his ancestors. There was silence as she closed the book.
‘So do we pass muster?’
Daniel laughed. ‘Definitely. I think I do look a bit like your … well my great-uncle.’ He seemed pleased by this connection. ‘But the others … I have to keep telling myself that these people are my bloodline.’
‘Yours and mine,’ she said with a smile.
‘May I borrow it for a while?’ he asked.
They began to gather up the remains of the food and pack it away in the cool-bag. There was a lot left; she had eaten virtually nothing. As they walked back the way they had come, this time in a companionable silence, Annie enjoyed the evening light, the golden radiance
‘Beautiful dog,’ she commented.
‘I … I would like to get to know you and your family,’ Daniel said, looking after the leaping dog, ‘if that’s OK.’ He turned his gaze to her. ‘But everyone’s told me not to expect too much.’
She smiled in agreement. ‘They’ve said the same to me. Relentlessly.’
‘I was told it was quite likely you wouldn’t want to see me … It often happens, apparently.’
She couldn’t answer for a moment, remembering her instinctive response to the letter.
‘Are you an only child?’ he asked.
‘Yes.’ She found it odd that he didn’t know even this about her. ‘And you too?’
Daniel nodded. ‘Dad probably thought Mum wouldn’t cope with two. She was … quite a nervous person.’ He looked uneasy as he spoke, as if he felt disloyal telling her this.
‘I wish I’d had siblings. It would make dealing with my mother so much easier.’
‘Is she that bad?’
‘Oh, worse! Much, much worse. But I shouldn’t be mean. She went through a lot when my father died. Anyway, you’ll meet her one day and you can make up your own mind.’
‘Do I want to?’ he asked, laughing.
‘In for a penny …’
He nodded. ‘I suppose.’
The atmosphere between them relaxed over the afternoon. She found him easier to talk to as they began to unravel their separate histories. As the day wore on, the warmth of the sun disappeared and she was glad of her jacket. Daniel had only a T-shirt on.
‘Aren’t you cold?
He shook his head. ‘But perhaps we ought to get going.’
‘Yes. Oh, I forgot. Before you go …’ Annie pulled the photograph album she had selected out of her bag. It was her own childhood album her father had compiled from holiday snaps, but it also included a few photos of her mother and her father when they themselves were young.
The record came to an abrupt end when her father died; Annie had never seen Eleanor with a camera. She had considered bringing along more recent albums, to show Daniel her other three children and Richard, but that seemed too much like rubbing salt in a wound.
‘Mother … my father.’ Annie pointed to a photo of Eleanor and Ralph, arms linked and looking uncharacteristically happy, on a terrace in the south of France – so the caption, in her father’s flamboyantly cursive script, stated. ‘Them as children … this one’s me …’ She turned the page. ‘That’s Daddy’s mother, Grandmother Westbury … Uncle Terence and his friend Paul – they lived together for nearly thirty-five years, and Mother always referred to Paul as her brother’s “lodger”! But look, can you see?’ She pointed to Terence’s face. ‘Can you see the resemblance to you?’
Daniel peered more closely and nodded uncertainly. ‘I suppose. But it’s always hard to know what you look like to someone else.’
She continued to leaf through the album, stiff and creaky with age, the faces staring out from the black cardboard pages, similar in kind to millions across the globe, yet also entirely specific to herself, and now to her son.
Daniel scrutinised each face with great care, going back and forth through the pages as she talked, asking questions about each one. This was his first proper glimpse, she realised, of his ancestors. There was silence as she closed the book.
‘So do we pass muster?’
Daniel laughed. ‘Definitely. I think I do look a bit like your … well my great-uncle.’ He seemed pleased by this connection. ‘But the others … I have to keep telling myself that these people are my bloodline.’
‘Yours and mine,’ she said with a smile.
‘May I borrow it for a while?’ he asked.
They began to gather up the remains of the food and pack it away in the cool-bag. There was a lot left; she had eaten virtually nothing. As they walked back the way they had come, this time in a companionable silence, Annie enjoyed the evening light, the golden radiance
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