The Sunflower Cottage Breakfast Club (3 page)

I wondered if her tipsy state would mean she'd tell me what the ‘something important' was from lunch that day. I followed her inside and the gorgeous smell of cooking ensnared my senses. Unless I was very much mistaken, it was my mum's signature spaghetti carbonara.

‘Something smells nice,' I said, hoping the compliment would lead in nicely to some subtle detective work. ‘Listen, I—'

‘Did I tell you Gillian from my book club's been having an affair? Husband caught her in bed with their accountant last week and threw her out. Rumour has it she and the accountant are staying in a hotel somewhere and planning to start a new life in France!'

Mum shot me a serene smile as she bustled into the kitchen. I knew her well enough to read the message behind it:
don't ask me what I wanted to tell you about earlier; you'll get nowhere.

I stood in the doorway to the kitchen while she chatted away happily and dished up dinner onto her favourite china plates. Behind me, I felt a hand on my shoulder: Dad.

‘Back for another one of your mum's “inspirational pep talks” then?' he said with a chuckle. ‘Good luck!'

‘Hey you, any more of your lip and you're not getting dessert!' Mum threw a smile over her shoulder as she sprinkled some Parmesan over the spaghetti. ‘Anyway, dinner's ready.'

As much as I enjoyed tucking into Mum's utterly delicious food, I couldn't help wondering when the bombshell would be dropped. I kept looking for gaps in the conversation where I could bring it up, but they were both making it difficult. One minute, the topic was politics and the next Dad was passing on idle gossip from his mates at the golf club.

Eventually, I decided a direct approach was needed. I set my fork down and pushed my plate away from me.

‘Mum,' I began, dreading the words that were about to come out of my mouth, and what might follow. ‘When we were at lunch today, you said you had something to tell me, but when I asked what it was you said it could wait till later. Well… it's later! Could you just tell me what it is so I'm not worrying myself sick about it?'

Dad sighed and threw his cutlery down. ‘Pamela, you didn't! I thought we'd already decided we weren't going to tell her!'

‘She has a right to know, Simon! It might've been easy for
you
to keep this a secret for twenty-five years, but it hasn't for me. Emily's at an age now where she can make her own decisions—'

I shot up from my seat with such force that the entire table shook. ‘Instead of talking about me like I'm not here, tell me what's going on!'

Silence fell over the table and Mum slowly got up, her face taking on an odd grey pallor. In all the years I'd known her, I'd never once seen her ruffled or flustered.

Until now.

‘Emily, you might not like what you're about to hear, but please don't fly off the handle.'

Dread crept over my skin and my eyes darted over to my dad, trying to get some clue as to what was about to happen from his face. It was set in a hard, stern line that gave nothing away. It was unusual to see him without his trademark carefree smile.

‘What's going on?' I fixed Dad with a hard stare, hoping he'd shed some light on the twenty-five-year-old secret he and Mum had been keeping.

Mum left the room and the silence grew even more uncomfortable. It was such a contrast from the lively buzz of conversation there had been just a few minutes ago. I looked at Dad again, but he didn't meet my gaze.

‘We've always told each other everything in this family,' I said. ‘What's so bad that you and Mum had to keep it from me?'

His head snapped up and I was sure I could see tears in his eyes. ‘You don't understand, Emily… It was a very difficult decision for both of us at the time. Mum didn't want to keep it from you, but I felt it was best…'

Before I could ask him to explain himself, Mum came back with a large shoebox in her arms. Her eyes were rimmed with red, as though she'd been crying, and her skin was paler than ever.

‘Emily, before you open this box… I… I just want you to know that I love you sweetheart. And so does your dad.'

She handed the box over to me, hands trembling and breathing ragged in her chest. I stared down at it, tracing the worn brown cardboard and wondering what lurked underneath. Whatever it was, it was enough to unsettle my usually unflappable mum and make my dad upset.

I pursed my lips and looked up at them. Dad's hands were on Mum's shoulders and they looked as though they were bracing themselves for the dire consequences of my opening the box.

‘I take it there's not a pair of brand-new Louboutins in here?' I managed a weak chuckle, but it wasn't reciprocated. ‘Guess I'd better open it then…'

I sucked in a huge lungful of air and lifted the lid, half expecting a load of demons to come flying out like Pandora's Box. However, all I found inside was a huge pile of letters.

I frowned, picking one up like it was an unexploded bomb. ‘Oh God, guys, don't tell me these are your old love letters to each other!'

Mum let out a huge, sharp sigh. ‘No, not quite.'

Dad ran a hand across his tired face and looked like he wanted to run out of the room and never come back. ‘I told you this was a bad idea, Pamela.'

‘She deserves to know, Simon! We should've told her years ago!'

I couldn't take their bickering any longer; it wasn't helping anyone. As they sniped back and forth at each other, I reached into the box, took out a letter and ripped it open. The sound of the envelope tearing brought the argument to an abrupt halt and they looked at me as if I'd just unleashed hell.

‘Oh God…' Mum's voice was a ragged, trembling whisper. Dad clutched her hand as sweat began to bead on his forehead.

‘Let's see what all this is about, shall we?' I forced brightness into my voice and smiled, hoping it would lessen the tension in the atmosphere. By the looks on my parents' faces, it hadn't worked.

I wriggled the letter out of the envelope, treating it like it was made of fine china. Whatever was on this page, I said to myself, it wouldn't have the power to change anything. They were just words; why were Mum and Dad so scared of a bunch of words?

Then I read the letter, and that was when all hell broke loose.

Chapter 3

Dear Pam,

Thank you for your letter and the pictures you included from Emily's fifth birthday party. She looked absolutely beautiful in her pink party dress, didn't she?

I know this is yet another special occasion I've missed. I've spent the last five years wondering about her: if she looks like me or if she has any of my personality traits. I know our arrangement is in place for a reason – my marriage to Diane would be ruined if she found out I'd fathered another child – but it still hurts that Emily has to miss out on knowing her real father. Still, I know it's for the best. She has a man to call Daddy and I'm sure he's a wonderful father to her. It's best for everyone if I stay away, live my life and let you all live yours.

I still think about that night, you know. The moonlight on the bay, the look in your eyes, the texture of your skin: it's all so clear to me, even though five years have passed. I do wish things could be different and that we could be together with our beautiful daughter. I have a wonderful life with Diane and out daughter, Nicola – they're the best family I could ever ask for – but I can't quite forget what I had with you. It's just a wish, though, and where does wishing ever get you? I hope you, Simon and Emily are happy in Glasgow; from what you told me, you have a very good life there. I'll always remember my brief time with you with fondness: it gave me some incredible memories that I'll never forget. Hope you and Emily are both well. Perhaps one day in the future, I can meet her. One day.

All my love,

Derek

I read the letter over and over again, hoping that would somehow change the words within it. Each time I looked, though, the message was the same. My world cracked and slipped beneath me as I tried to wrap my head around what I'd just seen.

‘Who's Derek?' My voice came out as a strangled croak because my mouth was so dry. ‘And why were you sending him photos of my birthday party?'

I looked up at my parents, studying their expressions. Both of them looked utterly devastated. Mum had started to cry, while Dad didn't know where to put himself.

‘Come on, guys, who is he?' I'd learnt a long time ago never to ask a question I didn't already know the answer to. I knew exactly who Derek was; there was only one reason Mum would be sending him photographs of me. All I wanted was to hear it from them. Maybe I'd be proven wrong and this nightmare would be over.

It was Mum who spoke first, as usual. She'd regained some of her composure, but not enough to mask how worried she was.

‘Derek is… Emily, he's—'

‘He's your real father.' Dad's voice stabbed the air, none of its usual warmth and humour present. ‘Derek Simpson is your biological father.'

With that, my neat and ordered world slipped and crumbled around me.

*

Of course, I wanted answers. I demanded to be told absolutely everything from start to finish, with no details left out. And, while dessert was being dished up, Mum obliged.

‘Just after I married your dad, I went on holiday to visit a friend who lived in a little village in Yorkshire called Luna Bay. It's a beautiful place, right by the sea. While I was there, I…' She trailed off to take a sideways glance at Dad, tears sparkling in her eyes. ‘I met a man named Derek Simpson. We, er, became friends, I suppose and… Well, one thing led to another and I found out I was pregnant shortly after I came back to Scotland.'

Out the corner of my eye, I could see Dad visibly tense up. It was strange to see him be anything other than carefree and happy. Usually, he was telling Mum to calm down if she was flapping about something, or cracking a joke to lighten the atmosphere.

I rose from my chair and turned to face him. ‘Dad, please tell me this isn't true.'

He blinked back tears and stared down at his hands. ‘I'm sorry, Emily…'

With that, my last shred of hope disappeared. I felt as though I was in some sort of nightmare I couldn't wake up from. I could feel the last twenty-five years unravelling at a rate of knots. The man I'd called Dad my whole life wasn't my dad. I'd apparently been the product of some ill-fated holiday romance with someone Mum had barely known.

‘Emily, you know this doesn't change anything,' said Dad. ‘I've loved you since the day you were born and
nothing
will get in the way of that.'

I nodded, feeling tears welling up inside me. ‘I know, I know… God, I can't bloody believe this!'

My knees gave way and I collapsed back onto my chair, throwing my head into my hands. ‘Why didn't you tell me before? You've kept this from me my whole life; didn't you think I had a right to know who I really am?'

Mum reached over and put a hand on top of mine. ‘You already know who you are; you're Emily Louise Reed and, like your dad said, nothing's going to change that. When I found out I was pregnant, I
knew
who'd be the best father to you and it
certainly
wasn't some man who lived nearly two hundred miles away! It was
this
man sitting right here. I wanted to give you the best possible life I could and that meant cutting Derek out completely. He'd have been no good to you, sweetheart, believe me.'

I drew my hand away. ‘Dad's been amazing and he'll always be my
real
dad, but I still had a right to know about this Derek guy. It should've been up to me whether to include him in my life, instead of you making the decision for me.'

Mum stiffened and pursed her lips. ‘Everything you need to know about that man is in those letters. I may have told him it was best to stay away, but he chose to listen. He could've ignored all that and come to see you anyway, but he didn't. He stayed in Luna Bay to protect the perfect life he had there. That's
all
you need to know about him, Emily.'

I got up from my seat again and grabbed the box, shaking a few letters loose onto the dining table. ‘Well, why don't you let me make my own mind up about that, eh? Just for a change.'

Before anything else could be said, I stormed out of the flat, taking my box of secrets with me.

*

Going through the letters wasn't an easy task. As far as I could tell, Derek had written one every year on my birthday since I was born, then stopped suddenly a few years ago. By the time the sun rose over Glasgow, I'd read most of them and learnt a great deal about the man I now knew to be my biological father. Mum had been right; traces of him permeated each and every one. I knew he loved the village he lived in, played for the local cricket team and ran a café with his wife, Diane. Yet there was still so much I
didn't
know, things that words on a page would never be able to tell me. So, for as much as I'd learnt about Derek Simpson, I still didn't feel like I knew him at all.

I slumped into work ten minutes late, feeling like a zombie and clutching my cup of takeaway coffee for dear life. Frankie's eyes widened with shock when she saw me collapse into my chair.

‘God, I knew Reed family dinners were eventful but this is something else! What happened? Did your dad break out the good champagne or something?' She chuckled good-naturedly but stopped when she saw my scowl. ‘Or not…'

‘You wouldn't believe me if I told you.' I heaved a weary sigh and opened my emails to see if I had any leads to follow up that day. As I tried to look at the screen, the words on it swam in front of me. All I could think about was last night's revelation.

Frankie swung her chair round to face me, her keen eyes burning into the side of my head. ‘Try me.'