One Day in May - Catherine Alliott [141]
‘Why didn’t he say?’ My voice, from somewhere small and remote.
Hal shrugged. ‘You’d kept it a secret from him for fourteen years. Why shouldn’t he keep it secret from you? Actually, I think he was so angry he thought he’d exact some revenge. But then, more recently, as we talked – at length – I hope he understood a bit more. I think he was just very sad, Hattie.’
Many things struck me about this: Hal and Seffy knew each other well. Had investigated DNA together, had talked at length. Jesus. All this had existed, perhaps been staring at me, whilst I’d been carrying on with my world. The whole of last year was not the way I’d perceived it at all. But ‘very sad’ pierced me most. My boy. The person I loved most in the world. I thought of all the times I’d almost told him, but had lost my nerve: times when I’d sat on the side of my bed, screwing up my courage, hands tightly clasped, knees together, while he was downstairs watching Sky. How I’d reached for my box, in the cupboard, to take it down and show him: talk to him. But had always bottled it. Thought – tomorrow, I’ll do it tomorrow. Or next holidays, when he’s home. And then, the moment had passed. And the box had gone back in the wardrobe. But ridiculously, because I’d almost done it, I felt that was better than not having tried. Told myself I’d passed some sort of honesty test.
Always, always, you see, I’d shrunk from his reaction. Knew his shock and horror at my not telling him earlier, when he was young, would be too much for me to bear. That I’d shrivel in his eyes. Yet I’d already shrivelled. Had been quite desiccated for over a year now. I remembered questioning his appalling behaviour last summer. Remembered his rudeness, coldness: ‘How could you behave like that, Seffy?’ I’d put it all down to teenage hormones. That day he’d thrown the vase across the kitchen, smashed the window. I’d put that down to stress from having been expelled. But he’d known.
‘I think a bit of him was still hoping you’d tell him. That you were maybe waiting until he was sixteen.’
I seized this like a lifebelt. Sixteen. Would I? No. No, the unattractive truth was – I thought I’d got away with it. To my shame, I knew I wouldn’t have told him. Was too cowardly. Loved him too much: no, correction, loved his love too much, which, I now realized, I had been without for some time. He’d withheld it. How hurt he must have been to do that. I doubled up on my stool and pressed the heels of my hands to my eyes. It seemed to me some old wound in my chest had started bleeding.
‘Once I’d started down that road of deception,’ I whispered into my fists, ‘I couldn’t stop. Everyone thought he was adopted. Everyone had believed my story. It was like a rolling stone, gathering more and more moss and becoming enormous. And at the point when I really thought I might tell him, could tell him, a couple of years after Dom died, Letty published the diaries.’
‘And you didn’t want to tarnish Dominic’s memory.’
I jerked upright. ‘How could I suddenly appear with Dominic Forbes’s lovechild? Have the nation turn its eyes on us? At a time when everyone was remembering him again, going all misty-eyed. And how much worse would that have been for Seffy, too? Dominic was a huge political figure – huger still for being blown up by terrorists – a national hero. I couldn’t let the tabloids loose on us, on my son. They’d have had a field day.’
‘Yes, I did tell Seffy that. Said you were protecting him. I’ve explained that.’
‘Oh – have you, Hal?’ I reached out – seized his arm. ‘You’ve explained why I did it?’
‘As much as I could, yes. I’ve always batted for you, Hattie. Always will.’
It hung there in the air: his love for me. A constant reminder. Reproach, even. My hand came back to my lap.
‘But Seffy didn’t see it like