The Way We Were_ A Novel - Marcia Willett [38]
Julia shakes her head. ‘Pete will be going into the dockyard every day so I shouldn't worry. To be honest, I wasn't sure whether to ask you about the holiday once we'd heard about your grandmother. I'm not certain if you should be on your own too much at the moment.’
‘I shall be fine. Honestly. Aunt Em will keep an eye on me.’
Julia makes a little face. ‘And I'm sure Angela and Cat would be only too happy to drop in.’
‘No, thanks,’ says Tiggy. ‘I can manage without Angela and Cat.’ She frowns. ‘I wish I knew why I dislike that child so much. It makes me feel so guilty.’
CHAPTER SIX
2004
Zack stared at himself in the glass, turning his head very slightly so as to examine a slight discoloration on his jaw; nothing really. He ran long brown fingers through short dark hair, still wet from the shower, and stared into the light grey eyes. It was a habit he'd got into as a small child; peering at himself, trying to see who he was. Zack Bodrugan: but he wasn't, was he? That was the point. Zack picked up the towel and rubbed his hair vigorously. He knew that it was the prospect of fatherhood that had resurrected these negative emotions; raised doubts and questions. It wasn't insecurity as such; not fear of being unloved or unwanted, or doubt in his abilities – his family had supplied love and encouragement in full measure. It was to do with having no point of reference as to his understanding of himself: no ancestral map from which to chart his own development; no known parents or grandparents, no siblings or aunts and uncles that were truly of his own blood, to whom he could point in recognition and from whom he could claim his genetic inheritance: his determination and a passion for high, lonely places; an ability for lateral thinking and his oddball sense of humour.
Zack hung the towel on the rail above the heater and combed his hair, still staring at his reflection.
‘I met Tom several times,’ Mum had told him once. ‘You're very like him.’
Of course that was much later; long after he'd discovered that he was adopted. He was convinced that it was the way he'd been told that even now had the power to upset him and to lend a terrible resonance to the word. As he'd grown older he'd been able to understand the dilemma; what is the right age to explain to a child that he is adopted? Too young and he can't grasp it; too old and he feels he's been lied to. Zack shrugged. He could imagine the temptation to postpone the moment of truth, especially in his own situation. It might be a little easier to explain the facts to a child who has been specially chosen by a couple who are unable to have children of their own, or to those children claimed by other members of their own families because of some tragedy. His own case was rather different: taken by friends into their already complete family because his parents were dead and had no families.
‘I blame myself,’ Mum had said, much later. ‘But, you see, we couldn't say right from the beginning that it was simply that we'd picked you out because you were special. It was much more crucial than that. Dad and I believed that it was important that you knew about Tiggy and Tom and that meant that you had to be told that they were dead. Explaining death to a small child is very difficult, especially the death of its parents, and we kept waiting for the right moment. It was stupid of us, of course, because there never is a right moment, though we knew we must do it before you went to school. Liv and Andy were old enough to understand and they promised they would never tell, and Charlie was too young to understand. But it should have been I who told you. I shall never forgive myself for that.’
It was inevitable, once the truth was told, that he should imagine himself to be the odd one out. Dispassionately studying his reflection in the glass, it was clear that his tall, muscular frame and dark hair could not be in any way linked genetically to the shorter,