Summer Secrets (14 page)

My legs are shaking slightly when we disembark. By the baggage claim there are a couple of people with signs, although he wouldn’t need a sign, surely, having seen pictures of me, both of us emailing back and forth these past few weeks.

There is no sign of him inside, and my heart sinks. He definitely said he’d come pick me up. I grab the handle of my suitcase and make my way outside, wondering if I should find a taxi. It’s a small island, I have his address. Worst-case scenario I’ll just show up at his house.

I can’t miss him.

Parked outside is a big old blue car, with wooden sides, and getting out of it, looking exactly as he did in the photographs he sent me, is Brooks. My father.

I stand still. He turns and sees me, and his mouth drops open, instantly creasing in a smile that overtakes his entire face. He opens his arms, and seconds later I find myself completely enfolded. It is every bit as wonderful as I had fantasized; I’m held tightly in his arms, am laughing even as the tears stream down my cheeks, and when I pull back for him to hold me at arm’s length and look at me properly, I see that he is doing exactly the same.

For once in my life, it all came true. Exactly as I hoped.

“Look at you!” he says, wiping the tears off his face, then my own, before clasping me back in his arms. “Look at you!”

And I say nothing, so happy to be held like this, so grateful to finally have the dad I always wanted.

So grateful this father seems to want me too.

*   *   *

“Ellie is on her way back to the island today,” he explains, as I study him in the car. He must have been a handsome man; although his cheeks are ruddy, his age shows. His hair is slightly wild, curling over the collar of his shirt, mostly grey, a sprinkling of dark. He looks like he has lived hard. I don’t know if this is a bad thing. He looks utterly familiar, which is unexpectedly poignant, and I find myself blinking back tears every few minutes.

“She had a function in the city last night, so she took the girls, but they should all be back by now. They took the ferry over earlier. And Julia’s back at the house with Aidan. It’s his night off at the restaurant, so the two of them are cooking for us, lucky us!”

I smile, my body half turned in the seat so I can keep looking at him. Everything I never felt with my father, the man I thought was my father, I feel looking at this man. An absolute recognition of who he is and where I came from. I have his nose, his chin. When he smiles at me, as he does repeatedly, reaching out a hand and squeezing my knee, I see my own smile. His salt-and-pepper hair, sprinklings of gold.

“How do they feel about me coming?”

“I think they’re excited.”

Think? What does that mean?

He hesitates before speaking. “It has been a lot for them, suddenly discovering they have a new sister. Not that it hasn’t been a lot for all of us. Julia’s fine with it, she’s easygoing, but Ellie’s finding it a little … harder. You mustn’t worry. It’s all going to be fine. Ellie’s just a harder sell.” He turns his head and looks at me. “You look so like them.” He shakes his head. “It’s extraordinary. Your mother’s eyes, though, but the rest of it? Well, there’s certainly no doubt.”

We ramble along the main road, detouring slightly so he can show me the town, which is exactly, but exactly, like something out of a picture book; the pretty shops, the boats, the tanned, gorgeous people in shorts and flip-flops, the blue hydrangeas spilling out of window boxes and flower beds.

He points out the lay of the land as we head to the house, pulling up in front of a faded grey-shingle building on a narrow street, roses scrambling over the picket fence and up the walls, geraniums spilling out of the window boxes.

Beyond the house is another, smaller house at the back of what must be the garden.

“Welcome home,” he says, and I get out of the car and just stand, smelling the salt in the air, unable to believe what a storybook existence this is, unable to believe that this is now my storybook existence too.

“It’s so beautiful.” I turn to Brooks, my dad. I still have absolutely no idea what to call him. “The flowers!”

“Nothing to do with me, I’m afraid. My former wife was the gardener, and now Kim, who cleans for us a couple of times a week, looks after the plants. I’m afraid I’d turn everything to dust. I never had much of a green thumb. I’m putting you in the guest cottage.” He gestures to the smaller house at the back. “Do you want to freshen up first, before coming in to meet Julia?”

I nod meekly, relieved that I can get a few minutes to myself to digest everything. Brooks goes in front of me, carrying my suitcase, which is embarrassingly heavy as I had no idea what to pack, so brought everything, just in case, and leads me to a tiny cottage, more roses, a white wooden chair on the little porch outside, and a bottle of champagne on the table.

“To welcome you!” He smiles. “We definitely have much to celebrate!” He opens the French doors to reveal a surprisingly large room, the ceilings vaulted into the roof, a pretty bed covered in a white quilt and piled with blue and white cushions at one end, a living room arrangement with a small kitchenette at the other.

“It’s perfect!” I say, walking over to the walls, to the beautiful seascapes there. “Are they yours?”

He nods. “Whatever I don’t sell gets repurposed, either here or given as gifts.”

“They’re beautiful!”

“Thank you. I’ll leave you alone now. When you’re ready, come up to the house!” And with a jaunty wave he lets himself out.

*   *   *

When I’m ready? I’m not sure I’ll ever be ready. I circle the room, looking at everything, before sinking down on the sofa and hugging myself tightly, a huge smile on my face, not sure whether I’m on the brink of laughter or tears.

Perhaps a bit of both. I feel, suddenly, completely overwhelmed. And scared. All of this is unfamiliar, all of it new, and although Brooks couldn’t have been more kind, more welcoming, I am a fish out of water. I have never been anywhere so beautiful, but being here, at his home, makes it real, and suddenly I’m not sure how I fit in, whether I fit in.

I hoist my suitcase onto the bed and start putting things away. Everything I brought seems suddenly far too dressy. My holidays are in the Mediterranean, where we wear strappy colorful sundresses and platform sandals. Don’t think I didn’t notice how casual everyone here was, the dressiest women I saw in tunics and shorts, still with flip-flops on their feet.

I feel wrong. I want to go shopping, to try to blend in, buy shorts and T-shirts just like everyone else. I have always prided myself on my chameleonlike ability to blend in, but there’s nothing I hate more than getting it wrong, and as I pull one dress after another out, it is clear I got it wrong.

I do have one pair of denim capris, so I pull them on with my sneakers and a gauzy purple top. It will have to do. I wash my face, dust on some bronzer and lip gloss, shake out my hair, and it’s about the best I can do right now. I grab the bottle of champagne to take it up to the house, and take a deep breath. Time to meet the rest of the family.

*   *   *

Julia wipes her hands on her apron and walks over to me, a curious smile on her face. I don’t know whether to hug her; it feels completely different than meeting Brooks, not as natural, more reserved, and definitely more frightening. I want her to like me. I so want her to like me. I try to mirror her smile, aware that my heart is pounding.

“Hi.” She stands looking at me curiously as I extend my hand to shake hers. She takes it and grins, her eyes roaming all over my face. “Wow!” She starts to laugh. “This is so weird! You could be my twin!”

It’s true, she and I are almost identical. I’m a little taller, heavier, but our faces are so alike, it is disconcerting. Behind her I see a dark-haired man turn from the kitchen sink and walk over.

“Wow!” He lets out a whistle. “God, the two of you could be sisters!” He has an Irish accent, and he grins at me outrageously, breaking the tension, as I start to laugh.

“I’m Aidan.” He leans forward and shakes hands, and I am instantly at home with him. “Let me take that.” He takes the champagne from my hand. “I like a girl who comes prepared.”

“More than prepared,” I say, reaching into my pocket and handing Julia a bar of Cadburys as her face lights up. Then a clatter of small feet down stairs, and a small blond girl is standing in front of me.

“Hi!” she says, twirling in her pink tutu. “I’m Summer, and I’m four. Do you like my dress?”

“I do.” I crouch down. “I think it might be the most beautiful dress I’ve ever seen.”

“Oh shit!” yells Julia, dashing back to the kitchen. “The onions!”

“Don’t curse in front of Summer,” says a cool voice, and I look up to see a woman coming down the stairs, the picture of elegance in her hippie-ish but clearly ridiculously expensive white tunic, chunky gold jewelry, and gold-streaked hair swept up in a clip.

Ellie. It has to be. Everything Brooks said about her fits. There is an air of imperiousness about her as she glides over to me, although it may also be that I think that because I am still slumped in a crouch, pretending to be admiring her daughter’s tutu, looking up at this vision of ice-princessy loveliness.

She is dark skinned, like both Julia and me, but more refined than either of us. Her nose is tiny, petite, her lips full, prettily parting to reveal large, perfect white teeth. She reminds me of someone, but I can’t think who, until it suddenly comes to me. Of course. Audrey Hepburn. The delicateness, the prettiness, as if someone had Photoshopped me down to a daintiness and size that few people in real life ever attain.

But she is real. And coolly appraising me. I stand up, wishing I were not wearing this purple top from Warehouse that looked incredibly good when I bought it three years ago, but many washes in has clearly seen better days. I wish I weren’t wearing old sneakers that were once white but are now distinctly grey. I wish I had a smaller nose, thinner thighs, slender wrists.

In short, I wish I were exactly like her, because the very perfection of her instantly makes me feel entirely inadequate.

“I’m Cat.” I shake her outstretched hand, hoping for a warm welcome like the one I got from Julia, but I know as soon as I look at her that the chances of that happening are not very likely, and I’m right. She just looks at me.

“I’m Ellie. And this is a surprise,” she says. She smiles then, but the warmth definitely doesn’t reach her eyes. “You met Summer, obviously, and Trudy is upstairs having a nap. You’ll meet her later.”

Julia comes whirling back from the kitchen, her energy instantly lifting the room. “Isn’t it weird, Ellie? Doesn’t she look just like us? Like me?”

“She looks like you,” Ellie says, and it is clear she not only does not think I look like her, but that the very prospect of that would fill her with horror.

“Champagne!” says Aidan, appearing behind Julia with a silver tray filled with full champagne flutes. “Time to celebrate!”

I hesitate only slightly before taking the champagne. Everyone takes a glass. How can I possibly be the only one to decline? How rude! Not to mention that any fears I had have been confirmed by Ellie’s coolness. This isn’t going to be the straightforward perfect family reunion I had hoped for, that much is clear. It’s not like it’s vodka, anyway. It’s champagne, which is completely different. I’m certainly not going to be the one to spoil the fun.

“To family!” says Brooks, raising his glass. “To my newfound daughter, the lovely Cat. How grateful we are that you have now found us. Cheers!”

“Slainte!” murmurs Aidan, standing behind me. I turn and toast him, and he winks. “Don’t worry about Ellie,” he says quietly, leaning forward so I’m the only one who can hear him. “She’s a bitch on wheels. It’s nothing personal.”

“Thank you,” I say with relief. “She’s the one I was terrified of meeting.”

“Everyone’s terrified of her,” he says in his soft Irish brogue. “Drink up. There’s nothing like a bit of champagne to chase the terrors away.” He’s right, I think, so I nod, and I do.

*   *   *

How I love this new family of mine. Instantly and unreservedly. I’m almost sickeningly envious of them growing up here, in this house, although Ellie went to boarding school in Massachusetts. But they got to grow up at the top of a cobbled street that leads to boats bobbing on the water, with a dad who works at home, has a studio next door, was always present, and most of all, loving.

For I can see, even in one night, how loving Brooks is. We were still having cocktails when Summer came in, now out of her tutu and in a proper princess outfit, complete with tiny cowboy boots and cowboy hat, and climbed on his lap with a book. He had been talking to Aidan, and I watched as he immediately focused all his attention on Summer, stroking her hair and talking to her with such sweetness and love, it almost broke my heart.

I watched him read
Goodnight Moon
to her. Every time she stopped him to point out something in the picture, it led to another conversation, and his patience took my breath away.

My father, the man I called my father, only ever read to me if my mother was sick, which was much of the time. I was never allowed to ask questions, or interrupt, or he would start tutting and sighing, putting the book down and saying that as I clearly didn’t want him to actually read the story, he might as well stop. And he would indeed stop and leave the room, and not come back. Seriously. That was the kind of father I had. So I learned to lie in bed as quiet as a mouse, biting my tongue while he sped through the story, not pointing out to him that I knew he was skipping whole pages, huge chunks of the book, in order to get out of there as quickly as possible. Oh, I knew.

How different would it have been to have Brooks as a father. How wonderful it must have been to have someone so patient, so attentive. I look at Julia, through the doorway in the kitchen, as Aidan pulls her to him by the pocket on the front of her apron and kisses her, and I am instantly and horribly envious.

I want to be her. I want to have this father, to have had this upbringing. I want to have a boyfriend who adores me. I want to be a whirlwind of energy. I turn my head and look at Ellie, who has been perfectly polite and pleasant, if not exactly a bundle of warmth and acceptance. I have felt her eyes following me all evening, and I have been on my best behavior.