Heather waves at the driver to tell him to wait, then reaches into her handbag and pulls out what looks like an old Polaroid.
‘My stepmum sent me a box of stuff about a year ago. She was clearing out Dad’s things and she thought I would want them. Just dumb photos. Old wine books. His watch. That sort of thing. And there was an old wine-cellar diary and, tucked in the back, under the flap, was this photo. I don’t know if he meant for me to find it or forgot it was there, but I found it.’
She fiddles with the small picture.
‘And I think this woman in the photo might be my aunt,’ she says, her voice wavering. ‘I have this memory of Mum talking about her sister. You know how you hear things when you’re little? I didn’t really think much about it for years. Then one day I asked my dad outright, and he said there was no one. Only him. So I thought I’d imagined it. But I didn’t, Birdy. I know I didn’t.’ The rain is heavier now and her voice rises with it.
I realize I’ve not responded, but I’m confused. ‘An aunt?’
‘And, if I’m right, she has a kid too, so I might have a cousin. Dad never told me, and I have no idea why. Why wouldn’t he fucking tell me my mum had a sister? I was worried there was a terrible reason – like they don’t want to know me, or whatever – so I got scared. But while I was in Italy I realised Ihaveto know.’
I turn the photo to the light and study it. I recognize Heather’s mother from other old photos I’ve seen, and her dad in the middle. But the woman standing on the other side of Heather’s dad: it’sIrene. A young Irene. With dark, dead-straight hair, not the grey hair she has today – it was her. I look between Heather’s mum and Irene. They were so alike.So alike.
‘When I tracked her down, I thought if I took a job at Loch Dorn I could check her out and spend time with her, to see. You know? And then as the time came closer, I got scared. What if there was something really terrible that my dad was protecting me from? So when Cristian asked me to go to Italy, I ran.’
‘Hang on,’ I say, grabbing the photo to study it again.
My eyes scan across to Heather’s dad this time, and I feel a sinking in the pit of my stomach. With the wild curls and those sideburns, he is unrecognizable as the man I knew in Plymouth, but heisrecognizable from somewhere else.
Heather’s dad is the same man as the one in the photo in James’s cottage.
Heather’s dad is also James’s dad.
If Heather and James share the same father, that makes them siblings, not cousins.
Which means: what? Heather’s dad had an affair with her mum’ssister? With Irene?
‘Christ!’ I say as my chest tightens, and I feel the air suck out of me.
‘There must be something terrible if my dad kept me away from them. But I have to know. And now you’ve fucking ruined it.’ Heather’s voice turns bitter as a tear rolls down her cheek, and the headlights of a second car pull up, lighting up the full anguish on her face.
‘Uhh …’ I don’t know what to say to her, and now she has her hands up to her face and is crying properly.
My mind races. I hand the photo back to Heather. Why on earth didn’t she tell me about this? She lied to me too! I thought she was my best friend. If I’d known, I’dneverhave done this. I can’t look at it. I want to be sick.
I have to think fast. Should I tell her? Should it come from me?
Just then Bill appears with a large black umbrella, holding it fast against the prevailing winds. ‘Heather?’ he says gently. ‘I’m so sorry, but there are two taxis here for you. Both are for Inverness, so I’m sure you can imagine that I don’t want to send them home without a job, if I don’t have to.’
Heather looks up at him, and for a moment the waves of sick in my stomach turn to dread. This is it. This is the beginning of the end.
‘Ah, hello,’ Bill says, in sudden recognition of the situation. ‘Oh dear.’
Heather, ever polite, shakes the hand he offers.
‘What should I tell the drivers, my dear?’
And then I remember. ‘Um, one is for me.’
Bill nods to me. ‘Are you off too, then?’
I don’t speak, but sort of nod my head. I don’t know what to do. Bill probably thinks it’s best that we both leave now, in case he gets found out too. I’ve done my bit. But what about Heather? I glance across at her and want to hug her, but don’t dare. She looks like she’s in a daze.
‘Bill, can you give us a moment? Tell the taxi I’ll be there,’ I say sharply.
‘Yes,’ he replies, before handing me the umbrella and slipping away.
‘Can we get out of the rain?’ I open the umbrella above us. We’re both soaked through.
