Half-truths & White Lies (21 page)

I think that even completely normal families avoid
talking to each other about the things that really matter.
And so it was with us. At the age of twenty-five, some
months after the parents who had brought me up had
died, in my mind I started the gradual journey from
being Andrea Fellows, daughter of Tom and Laura, the
product of a stable and loving family, to becoming
Andrea Churcher, daughter of Peter Churcher and Faye
Albury, whose relationship seemed to see-saw helplessly.
Of course, I didn't consider changing my name by
deed poll. I hadn't even confronted them. Although
there were times when I wanted to demand answers, I
waited and waited for one of them to broach the subject
with me. Not knowing where the conversation would
take us, I wasn't sure that I should be the one to start it.
How could I speak to my aunt who had made it so clear
that she wasn't ready to talk? How could I talk to Uncle
Pete, not knowing if he had spoken to my aunt yet and
how much he knew. It was far easier to talk to Lydia.

'I don't think you can assume that there was one party
who was right and one who was wrong,' she said. 'It
wasn't like it is today. Twenty-five years ago, you were
either marched up the aisle or all choice in the matter
was taken out of your hands. From what you've told me,
the timing would have been just awful. Your grandfather
had just died and your mother and father were
more or less blamed. The whole family was falling
apart, for goodness' sakes! It sounds to me as if your
aunt must have been very strong. Just imagine, you
decide that you're not ready for a child of your own, so
you let your sister take her. How do you think that feels?
Now imagine that you sacrificed a lot of things in your
life to cover up the secret and suddenly it's out in the
open. You think you've been lied to at the moment, but
what if she thinks she's protecting you?'

'I don't need to be protected,' I snapped. 'I need to
know who I
am
.'

Lydia was bullish. 'I know it's all come as a shock, but
you know who you are just fine, missy. Do you think
that Kevin will change overnight if he finds out who his
birth parents are? No! Don't give me that. But what
about your aunt? She spent years pretending to be
someone she's not. And your godfather? Now, if
anyone's been lied to . . .' She shook her head.

'So are you saying that I shouldn't ask them?'

'I think it will all come out in the wash in its own
time. It's complicated. There won't be an easy answer
because there are people and feelings involved. And, of
course, if there was going to be a point when your aunt
thought you should know, the two people who should
have been the ones to tell you would have been your
mum and dad. Because, no matter what, Tom and Laura
will always be your mum and dad. That isn't going to
change. Chin up, love.' She put one chubby hand on
either side of my face and planted a kiss on my forehead.
'You're going to be just fine.'

In a strange reversal of roles, my attitude towards my
aunt and my godfather was one of parental concern. I
began to feel responsible for their feelings.

Uncle Pete (after all these years it is still difficult to
call him by any other name) had started acting
erratically around me. I caught his sideways glances
when he didn't think I was looking. I knew exactly what
he was thinking.
It's been staring me in the face all these
years. How didn't I notice before? She has my chin and her
eyes are spaced exactly the same width apart as mine
. He
was particularly tactile with me, touching my arm,
putting a hand on my shoulder, hugging me before he
left. And he tried to tackle some of the difficult subjects
with me that I would have preferred to avoid. Money.
Work. Wills. Disposal of the house. My feelings. The
future. But more than that, the advice that he gave me
changed dramatically. In the past, I went to Uncle Pete
when I wanted the advice of an older, more experienced
person, but didn't want the advice of a parent. He made
me think about all of my options, both legal and illegal
on some occasions, and warned me about the ramifications
of the various paths, but never in the past had
he told me what he thought I should do.

'I'm your godfather,' he explained when I challenged
him. 'I've always taken that role very seriously. I'm
responsible for your moral welfare, not legal advice.'

'I don't need you to change. Not on top of everything
else.'

'I'm afraid that everything's changed and that probably
includes me. There's only one thing that hasn't,
and that is that I will always love you as if you were my
own daughter.' I had been distracted but now he had
my full attention and I watched as he bit his bottom lip
and drew blood.

'You're bleeding,' I said, hoping that he would say
something more.

He sucked on his bottom lip and seemed surprised to
taste blood. 'So I am.'

'Did you ever want children of your own?' We were so
close that I decided to try and draw him out, but his face
looked so pained that I regretted it the moment the
words were out.

He was distracted by shouts from outside.

'What's that racket?' he asked, striding to the bay
window in the living room that overlooked the street
and pulling back the net curtains. His face was turned
away from me, but I could see that he had kept his hand
close to his mouth.

'It's the tenants from next door. They're moving out
today. Their landlord has told them that he is going to
sell and they've decided to move on before they're
pushed out.'

'No need. They would have been entitled to stay.' His
voice was flat.

'I think they just wanted to be in control of the
situation,' I said, thinking of Lydia's comments about
my aunt's situation.

He scratched his head. 'Who owns the house? Do you
know?'

'Thinking of moving in next door?' I joked.

'That's exactly what I'm thinking.' He turned back
towards me, his face a little red, but otherwise recovered.

'You're kidding!' I was genuinely taken aback.

'I've got an embryo of an idea.' He was suddenly boy-like
in his enthusiasm. 'I haven't thought it through yet,
but hear me out. We're both orphans. I have a house
that I'm kicking around in. You have a house – and I
mean "you" collectively – that you're kicking around in,
while Faye and your grandmother are cooped up in that
flat of hers going stir crazy.'

'But Nana needs looking after. She's only with Faye
until a place can be found for her in a home.'

'There's nothing wrong with your grandmother! I've
known that woman for most of my sorry life and she's
no more senile now than she was at forty. Difficult? Yes.
Manipulative? Yes. But batty? No more than you or I. If
you want to see her go downhill, put her into care. I saw
what it did to my mother in a matter of months and I
wouldn't wish it on anyone. Does she really strike you
as being ill?' he challenged.

'I thought she was behaving strangely, but now I'm
not so sure.'

'She has lost two of the people she loved the most in
the world and been thrown out of her own home. She's
entitled to act a little strangely! God knows, I'd be
climbing the walls if I was in her boat. I know it won't
be easy, but with three of us, we could give her all the
help she needs.'

'You're not suggesting that Aunty Faye moves in as
well?'

'That's exactly what I'm thinking of! She'll have to do
her bit as well. Of course, I'm not suggesting that we all
live on top of each other. Or maybe I am! There would
be enough room to turn the two houses into four flats
if we wanted to. Or to have a bedroom and a sitting
room each at the very least. How do you think she'll
react to the idea?'

'She's going to hate it. Aunty Faye comes and goes as
she pleases. She doesn't like to be tied down.'

'Given the choice, few of us do. But these are unusual
times and we need be a bit creative. I know for a fact
that your grandmother meant to live in this house until
the day she dies. Your parents wouldn't want you to be
turfed out of your home at a time like this. Your grandmother's
will gave permission for your parents to live in
the house for as long as they needed once she was gone,
and they were to hold it in trust for the family. It would
have gone to Faye and eventually to you. But, in the
meanwhile, the lion's share belongs to her. It's her
house and I know Faye thinks she means well, but she's
wrong. Your grandmother should be allowed to come
home.'

'Uncle Pete . . .' I paused, not quite sure how to ask
the question. 'Do you and Aunty Faye actually get on?
At all, I mean.' I thought of Aunty Faye referring to him
as 'that dreadful man', of her suggestion that he had
deliberately excluded her photos from his album as if
he had erased her memory. And that was before we
came to the question of the lies.

'Get on?' He looked stumped for a minute. 'We're
both stubborn and set in our own ways and
we've always fought like cats and dogs. But we have
history.' I watched him flinch. 'We couldn't go our
own ways even if we wanted to. That's almost as important
as getting on. You're all family as far as I'm
concerned.'

That was just it. We would be what was left of the
Churcher family and the Alburys, all living under
one roof. What had once been the roof of my family
home.

'How much will all this cost?' I almost hoped that we
could rule the idea out on the grounds of expense. This
could go one of two ways. It would either be a complete
disaster or the perfect solution. But the risk was too
great.

'To you? Nothing! I have a house to sell. Don't
worry about the money. I just want to know what you
think about the idea.'

I nodded doubtfully. 'It could work.'

'Do you give me permission to try and track down the
owner of the house next door and talk to Faye?'

Could he have a conversation about houses without
talking about families? I wondered. Did this mean that
he was ready for that conversation with my aunt?

'Are you sure it's what you want?' I wanted to be
cautious, concerned that he would change his mind.

'What I want?' He looked as if he would burst. 'I get
to try and do something right for a change.
Opportunities like this are not to be missed.'

There was far less time between my return to my home
town and the birth of the baby than we had expected.
Maybe it was the stress of the move from the flat.
Andrea was in familiar surroundings and didn't
question the reason why she was going to stay with
Uncle Pete. It was all an adventure to her. As long as she
had her toys, she was happy. She already considered the
room that we had used as her nursery to be her
bedroom and was no trouble at all. The physical work
involved in packing was one thing. The emotional
wrench was quite another. What to do with those
wedding albums and Tom's things? I put no pressure on
Laura either way.

'You don't have to decide now. Let's just pack everything
and we can put it all in the loft. You can just
unpack what you need.'

Then there was the need to explain the move to her
mother. Laura wanted to have that particular conversation
with Mrs Albury on her own, so I took Andrea to
the park with a bag full of stale crusts to feed the ducks.
Andrea wouldn't eat crusts at that point, so the local
ducks did quite well.

Laura returned tearful and angry. I put Andrea in
front of the television and made Laura some tea as she
sat at the kitchen table.

'What did she say?'

'Exactly what I knew she'd say. That there would be
no going back once I'd made this decision. Why
couldn't I just move in with her so that she could take
care of us both? Did I have to move in with another
man so soon? That I should be thinking about Andrea
as well as myself. That I should be thinking about Tom
before I gave up the flat, because it's his home too. Why
does she have to say these things? She must know that I
wouldn't make a decision like this without thinking
about it!'

'She's your mother. It's what mothers do.'

'Is it? Or is it just what my mother does?'

'She only wants the best for you.'

'Then why can't she just say that? Why does she have
to make it so difficult?'

There was a ring at the doorbell and Laura jumped up
full of anticipation. My heart sank as I saw that she was
hoping even then that Tom had come home. 'Shall I get
that?' I asked as Laura wiped at her eyes.

Andrea was in the hall, keen to find out who the
visitor was.

'Nana!' She took control as I opened the door to Mrs
Albury.

'Have you got a kiss for me?' She bent down to the
level of Andrea's face before straightening up to her full
height and looking me in the eye. 'Peter,' she said
sternly, handing me her coat, and I saw that she was
wearing a housecoat over her dress. 'I've come to help
pack. My daughter shouldn't be doing any heavy work
in her condition.'

'I'm sure she'll appreciate it.' I turned to hang her coat
on the row of pegs in the hall that Tom had made. 'She's
in the kitchen.'

'Mum,' I heard Laura say, simply.

'That's my girl,' Mrs Albury said, as softly as if she was
talking to Andrea, 'My beautiful girl.'

I left them alone.

Laura went into labour three weeks before her due
date. I dropped Andrea off with Mrs Albury and took
her to the hospital. It was made quite clear that Laura
didn't want me to be there for the birth. I felt a mixture
of disappointment and relief.

The doctor was Chinese and seemed to have trouble
understanding me. 'First baby?' he kept asking.

'Second baby,' I told him repeatedly.

I sat. I stood. I paced. I drank tea with powdered milk
from a vending machine. I read and reread the same
article from the
Telegraph
, unable to absorb anything.
Eventually I slept, curled up on three armless chairs.

When I saw the doctor emerge every once in a while,
I asked, 'How is she doing?'

'First baby often long labour.' He smiled. 'Not to
worry. You go home. Sleep. Come back.'

'Second baby,' I told him, pointing to the floor. 'I'll stay.'

He shrugged. 'Maybe long-time. I go sleep.'

'Can I see her?

She was lying on her back, knees raised, moaning
softly. Her eyes were closed and she had a few beads of
sweat on her brow, which the midwife dabbed at with a
damp flannel. Her hair was loose and darkened strands
clung to her face.

'Are you the husband?' the midwife enquired and
Laura asked instantly, 'Tom?'

'Shhh.' I leaned forwards. 'It's me. Pete.'

'Pete. How long has it been now?' She frowned, her
eyes open.

'Eighteen hours.'

'What time is it?'

'Four thirty.'

'Morning or afternoon?'

'Afternoon.' I smiled. 'But it feels as if it could be the
middle of the night. How are you doing?'

'Tired.'

'Do you want anything?'

She shook her head. 'Why don't you go and give
Andrea her tea and tell her I sent you to give her a big
hug from me.'

'Is that what you want me to do?' I stroked her
forehead.

She nodded, closing her eyes and turning them away.
I bent to kiss her. 'I'll be back later.'

Mrs Albury was naturally anxious for news when I
knocked at her door.

'Nothing yet,' I told her. 'They say it could be some time.'

'How is she holding up?'

'She's tired. Half asleep.'

She nodded knowingly.

'What's normal for a second baby?' I asked.

'Everyone's different.' She shrugged. 'But the second
one is usually easier than the first. It was certainly that
way for me.'

'I had no idea it could go on this long.'

She looked at me dismissively. 'Why would you?'

'Laura wanted me to give Andrea her tea.'

She sniffed. 'Doesn't she think I'm up to the job?'

'I think she wanted to give me something to do to
stop me making a nuisance of myself.'

'Have you eaten?'

'Not yet.'

'Think you can manage fish fingers, mash and peas
for three?'

'I'll give it a go.'

'Andrea!' she shouted up the stairs. 'Your Uncle
Peter's here.'

I heard the toilet flush and Andrea appeared at the
top of the stairs, still straightening her clothes. I felt
myself smiling, as I always did when I saw her.

'With Mummy?'

'Mummy's fine,' I called up to her. 'She asked me to
come and get you some tea. You're going to stay here
tonight with your nana. Won't that be nice?'

'Wash your hands,' Mrs Albury told her. 'We're having
fish fingers.'

'Fish fingers,' Andrea began to chant. 'Fish fingers and
baked beans. Fish fingers and baked beans. Fish fingers
and baked beans.'

'Do you have any baked beans?' I asked Mrs Albury.

'I think I'd better nip out and get some. Can you hold
the fort? You can make a start on those spuds.'

The baby was born after another eighteen hours, just
after 11.30 a.m. Laura had not slept for the best part of
three days and was exhausted, but her expression was
peaceful at last when I was invited to meet my son for
the first time. He was pink and so long-bodied that it
was difficult to believe he had fitted inside the curve of
Laura's belly. I found the way that he curled up his froglike
legs close to his body almost miraculous. He was so
small and precious that I felt clumsy holding him in my
arms. In his curled position, he was no longer than the
length of my two hands. With his legs stretched, he was
almost the length of my forearm. He was a new life with
ancient and animal-like qualities all at the same time.
He was both ugly and perfect. I was fascinated by every
movement he made; the way he yawned, the slight
twitching of his closed eyes, the way his mouth moved
instinctively before he had even suckled for the first
time. When the midwife took him out of my arms to
place him at his mother's breast, I felt his absence.

Laura smiled. 'You haven't said anything.'

'I'm speechless,' I admitted, sitting down heavily on
the side of the bed. 'I've never felt anything like it
before. Why didn't you warn me?'

'He's going to be a good father, this one.' The midwife
winked at Laura before leaving the room. 'I can tell.
You've got two minutes then I'll be back,' she said to me.
'She needs to rest now.'

'You can't put it in words,' Laura said. 'You wouldn't
have understood.'

'I know it's been really difficult recently but I'm so
glad we got to share this.' I put one hand to her face and
she moved to kiss it. I can honestly say now that it was
the happiest moment of my life. I thought that it
was the beginning of a journey. There is nothing like the
birth of a child to give you hope and make you think of
huge potential. I watched the person I loved the most
look at our boy with such emotion reflected in her eyes.
For a single moment, there were only the three of us in
the world and it was all that mattered. If I had known
what was to follow, I would have asked for five minutes
more when the midwife returned. I would have kept on
asking for an extra five minutes, just like Andrea at that
age when she wanted to stretch each day to its limits.

'I'd better go and tell your mother that she has a
grandson,' I said reluctantly.

'And Andrea that she has a brother.'

'What shall we call him?' I asked.

'What about Derek for your father?' Laura said.

I was so moved by the thought behind the suggestion
that I didn't stop to think if it would be a blessing or a
curse to name a child after a man who had experienced
so little joy in his life.

Laura and Derek stayed in the hospital for ten days.
Because Derek was premature, they wanted to monitor
him and check his weight. Like all new babies, he lost
almost a pound before he started putting on any weight
but, medically, he seemed to be sound. It gave Laura the
chance to regain her strength before she had to think
about the juggling act that lay ahead of her. I returned
to work, keen to be there for her when she and Derek
came home. Andrea had an extended holiday with her
grandmother but I visited her every day. All the talk of
hospitals had confused her but she was perfectly happy
once she had seen that her mother was well. She was
uninterested in the new baby, unable to understand
why another child was needed when her mother already
had her. Her pout asked the question that she didn't
know how to put into words: 'Wasn't I enough?'