Her brow furrowed. ‘It’s different, of course, but I never wanted…’
‘I know,’ he said as her voice faltered. Miranda was adopted, but she’d never attempted to trace her birth mother. She’d once said that she’d never come to terms with the idea of being given up. Her horror of rejection explained a lot. Why her ex-lover’s decision to stay married had hit her so hard, why she was so angry that Tamzin hadn’t hired her simply because of her literary gifts. ‘But what’s the worst that can happen?’
‘She might slam the door in your face.’
‘Fine, at least I’ll know where I stand. I don’t want to upset her. But I’d like to hear his side of the story.’
‘What makes you so sure she’d be willing to tell it?’ Miranda shook her head. ‘You know your trouble, Daniel? You’re too fair, you see two sides to every argument. What’s wrong with a bit of good old-fashioned one-eyed prejudice?’
He laughed. ‘I came across enough of that in Oxford to last a lifetime. Listen, if Cheryl doesn’t want to talk to me, that’s fine.’
‘Yes, but what if she talks and you hate what she has to say?’
The address he had for Cheryl — Cheryl Kind, as he ought to think of her, although he’d never associated her with his own name — was in Oxenholme. Spots of rain were smudging his windscreen as he arrived at his destination, a grey semi-detached at the end of a cul-de-sac crowded with sycamores. Painstakingly striped lawn, a bed of precisely spaced pink and white impatiens on either side of the front path, crisp floral curtains at the bay window. Disappointment stabbed him, although he wasn’t sure why. Perhaps he’d expected a house with more character and found it hard to credit that that his father would have deserted his family for somewhere so utterly devoid of personality.
A ‘for sale’ sign stood next to the front wall. Presumably Cheryl was moving on. Understandable, after a bereavement. She must want somewhere easier to manage. A flat, maybe, although he reminded himself that she was much younger than his father. He’d conjured up unflattering mental images of her a thousand times, but he’d never even seen so much as a photograph of her. His sister reckoned that Cheryl was much younger than their father; she wouldn’t even be close to retirement age. Striding up to the door, he told himself to keep calm. This unknown woman had cast a shadow over his life, but his father had loved her, he had to remember that.
As he pressed the doorbell, someone called to him from next door. ‘You won’t find anybody in!’
A short bespectacled man in his late sixties, clad in a purple cardigan and grubby old corduroy trousers, had bustled out of the back garden of the adjoining semi. Rain had plastered strands of grey hair to his scalp. He had a garden trowel in his hand and he pointed it at Daniel, rather as a sheriff might threaten a snake oil salesman with his revolver.
‘Do you happen to know when Cheryl might be back?’
The neighbour scowled. ‘Said she’d be away for a few days. Left the key with us, asked us to water the plants if there was a dry spell. Fat chance of that in this country. Whatever happened to global warming?’
‘So she’s gone on holiday?’
‘I suppose you could call it that.’ The man’s tone was disapproving, for a reason Daniel could not understand. ‘Why do you want to know?’
‘Her husband was my father.’
The old man coughed; it seemed to be his way of showing astonishment. ‘You’re Ben’s son?’
‘Yes.’
‘Daniel? Good God.’ He stared fiercely. ‘I can see the likeness now. The eyes, anyway. Of course, he was burlier to start with and he did put on a few pounds after he retired. Who would have thought it? He used to talk about you. You’ve had a programme on the television, isn’t that right? Historical stuff, not my cup of tea. Gardening’s my thing. My wife watched it after Ben told us it was on.’
Daniel blinked. Somehow he’d never imagined that his father would have mentioned his name to anyone up here. He’d presumed that Ben Kind would have been determined to keep his first marriage a secret, too ashamed ever to reveal the existence of the family he’d deserted for the hedonistic pleasures of life in Oxenholme.
The rain was drumming against the roofs. The man took off his spectacles and wiped them with his handkerchief. ‘What did I say? Now then, you’d better come inside, have a cup of tea and a scone. You can say hello to Edna, she’ll shoot me if I let you go without introducing you. It isn’t every day that a celebrity turns up on our doorstep.’
‘The only mercy is that is was quick,’ Edna Whiston said. She was a dainty little woman whom Daniel and her husband had interrupted in the middle of knitting a Postman Pat jumper for an infant grandchild. ‘Another scone?’
Daniel put down his tea cup on a coaster depicting a view of the harbour at Whitby. The only word for the Whistons’ living room was cosy. It smelled faintly of roast beef and gravy. Photographs of beaming family members covered the tops of the sideboard and a nest of occasional tables. A magazine rack bulged with copies of The Radio Times and Bella. In the background, the James Last Orchestra blasted out non-stop hits on an aged Bush stereo system.
‘Thanks, but I’d better be going soon. You have been very kind.’
‘Well, as I say, we were very fond of your father and it was a dreadful tragedy when he died. Such an active chap, loved his garden. You can see how carefully he tended it, even though nothing much has been done since he passed away. Cheryl has a man in one afternoon a week, to keep up appearances. Of course, she doesn’t spend much time around here nowadays.’
‘I see that she’s selling the house. Staying in the area?’
‘Moving to Grange-over-Sands, she said.’
Edna pursed her lips, rather as if Cheryl had decided to re-locate to Gomorrah. The Whistons had evidently enjoyed Ben Kind’s company, but it was apparent that they cared less for his second wife. Daniel caught the couple exchanging a look and wondered what it might signify.
‘I should have given her a ring. Perhaps I’ll do that when she’s back.’
George Whiston cleared his throat noisily, like a 1950s father preparing to tell his son the facts of life. ‘Um, it’s none of our business, young man, but you might want to think over whether it’s such a good idea.’
‘You think she won’t want to talk to me? I realise it’s not so long since Dad died, but…’
‘This is a bit difficult for Edna and me, lad. We don’t care to interfere, like. But between you and me, Cheryl has a gentleman friend. He has a house in Grange-over-Sands and that’s where she is now.’
‘Oh, right.’ All was becoming clear. ‘Thanks for telling me, I’ll be discreet. Obviously I don’t begrudge her a new relationship.’
‘Right you are. But there is one thing…’ George Whiston coughed in noisy embarrassment and took a sudden interest in his shoes, ‘…it’s not a new relationship at all.’
‘So your father got a taste of his own medicine?’ Miranda asked.
They were snacking while the cottage echoed to the beat of Status Quo, thanks to the muscular builder who had brought a portable CD player along. At least the music drowned out the rain, which was bouncing off the paving stones outside the kitchen window. This was the fiercest downpour since they had moved in.
‘Sounds like it. According to Edna and George, she’d been having a long-term affair with her boss. They’d seen him call at the house when my father was out. He wouldn’t leave for hours. In the meantime, she drew the bedroom curtains.’
Miranda clicked her tongue. ‘Scandalising the neighbourhood. Not a good idea.’
‘Especially when your neighbours don’t care for you and have a soft spot for the husband you’re cuckolding.’
‘Did they give him any hints about what was happening?’
‘No need. He and George were in the same pub quiz team. One night, after a few pints, he confided in George. He’d had his suspicions for a while and when he confronted her, she didn’t deny it. He gave her an ultimatum, said she had to choose. Her boyfriend was married but his wife had cancer and he wouldn’t leave her, in fact he had retired from work to spend his time caring for her. Cheryl promised Dad that she’d finish with him. It never happened, she couldn’t let go. The boyfriend’s wife died a month before dad. Now Cheryl’s in the process of moving in with him.’