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“I love you, Audrey Fox.” Our eyes lock, and then he leans forward, presses his forehead against mine. I close my eyes. “Always have, always will.”
34
The next morning, on my way to Daniel’s flat to end it, second thoughts start creeping into my mind. I think about Nick and his son. I think about what Mum and Vicky said about Daniel last night as we cleared up after dinner – he’s a good, decent, bloke, seems to care about me deeply; and whatever it is he wants to tell me about his past, his secret, might be something I can live with.
Okay, assuming that they’re right, that’s all good and well, but what about me and what I’ve done? Will he be able to live with my confession? Because if we’re going to wipe the slate clean, if there’s any future for us at all, then he needs to know about my one-night stand with Ronan.
“Come in, come in,” Daniel says urgently, taking my raincoat. His flat is warm and bright and smells of freshly baked pastries. I didn’t have time for breakfast, as per. My tummy rumbles. “I’ve bought some raspberry brioches from the bakery down the road, you know, those muffin shaped ones you like.” His voice is dry, shaky. “Oh, and that reminds me, I’ve got some croissants warming in the oven too, better check on those.” He limps over to the kitchen. “I thought you might be hungry. I know you’re not big on breakfast. There’s a pot of tea brewing too.”
“What happened to your leg?” I ask, following him to the kitchen area.
“Ah.” His tone is dismissive, “Achilles Tendinitis,” he says, bending down to check on the croissants. “A sports injury.” He straightens up, flushed. “From running.” He seems uncharacteristically on edge, he hasn’t even shaved, very unlike him. Whatever secret he’s about to tell me must be quite a bombshell.
Over breakfast, we talk about Connie and Lily. He tells me that Connie has a talking part on Coronation Street. The gig was an unexpected surprise; she’s travelling up to Manchester this afternoon and staying overnight. I’m impressed. He knows I’m a big fan of the soap. He apologises again for rearranging our date at the very last moment - he was meant to cook dinner for me this evening but called first thing to reschedule because he’ll be child-minding Lily tonight. “Aliki’s in Devon visiting her brother Vas with her mum and won’t be back until tomorrow morning,” he explains, “or she’d have had Lily.” I tell him that I understand that his family comes first, and he smiles at me kindly. It isn’t long before we get onto the subject of my impromptu visit to Aliki’s.
“She’s a very nice person.” I sink my teeth into a raspberry brioche hungrily. The last thing I had to eat was a plate of Mum’s chilli-con-carne last night. “Have they finished decorating yet?”
“Decorating?” He refills my cup from the teapot. “What makes you say that?”
“All that stuff everywhere,” I say wiping a bit of raspberry compote from the corner of my mouth, “she said she…”
“Ah…I see, the mess,” he interjects, tearing off a piece of croissant. “She’s a hoarder, has been for years. But things got a lot worse after we split up.” Christ, her house looked like a car boot sale. I take another bite of brioche. I saw a programme about hoarders not long ago on the telly. Many of them holding onto items they’ll never use again, like old newspapers, clothes, kids’ toys, tins of food. Some of the sufferers had rat infestations too. They even had to climb over boxes to get from one room to the next. Poor Aliki. I had no idea. I wonder if her depression stems from her breakup; because Daniel left her. How could he?
“Is that why you two split up?” I’m not going to beat around the bush anymore. If we’re going to make a go of this I need hard facts. I came here today for answers. “Because of her problem?”
“No,” he says indignantly, “of course not, what do you take me for?” That’s true, Daniel wouldn’t do that, he’s not a callous man. What was I thinking?
“Well, what was it then? Anything to do with that old photograph I came across the other day?” I glance at his bedroom as my phone pings with a text in my bag.
“No,” he sighs, “she knew about that from the start.”
“So you were married before, then?” I root around in my bag for my phone. It’s from Nick. I switch it off, I don’t want any interruptions today.
“Yes,” he confesses, as I hook the strap of my bag over the backrest of my chair. “Yes, I was.” I knew it! “To a lovely woman called Sophie. The lady you saw in the photo.” He inhales deeply through his nose then looks at me gravely. “Connie’s mother.”
“Whaaaat?” I don’t even try to hide my incredulity. “You mean Aliki isn’t…”
Swallowing hard, he runs a hand up and down his thigh nervously, then says, “That’s right. Aliki isn’t Connie’s biological mother. No one knows, except Aliki’s mother and her brother Vas. And now you, of course.”
“Whoa.” As I leap out of my seat, the weight of my bag sends my chair crashing to the ground, but I don’t even give it a glance. “Are you telling me that Connie doesn’t know that Aliki isn’t her real mum?”
He shakes his head, face ashen as he lifts the chair off the floor. “That’s why I freaked out over the My Treasures envelope.” He hands me my bag as he gets to his feet. “I’ve got all my personal documents in there, birth certificates, marriage certificates, the lot. I thought you’d seen them but then Aliki assured me that you hadn’t.”
I start circling the table like a goldfish in a bowl, round and round and round, my mind racing. I wish he hadn’t told me now. I don’t want any part in this. I stop circling. “And so where’s Sophie now?” Silence. “Daniel?”
He swallows hard and stares at the ceiling, fists clenched by his side. “In heaven.” His voice is barely audible. I stare at him, mouth ajar, and my heart breaks a little. “The photo you saw was of me, Sophie and Connie.” His voice cracks. I tell him to stop, that he doesn’t have to tell me anymore. “No, I want you to know everything.” He sits down, stretching his injured leg out, and then gently pats the seat of his 60s-style grey upholstered sofa, very sleek, very Swedish, very Daniel.
“It was a beautiful summer’s day,” he begins. “I was at work, Sophie was out in the garden weeding, she’d secured Connie in her high-chair on the patio with several toys to keep her occupied. A neighbour saw Sophie lying on the grass and called for an ambulance. We don’t know how long she was there.” He shakes his head. “The doctors said she’d had a massive stroke, that even if she survived she’d probably need care for the rest of her life. Anyway, she had another stroke during the night and didn’t make it.”
I clamp a hand over my mouth, the hairs on my arm on end. “But she was so young.”
“I know,” he sighs. “Apparently, it’s quite rare. I found out later that her maternal aunt died of a stroke at the age of thirty-six, maybe that had something to do with it.” I look at him, gobsmacked. “I promised myself that Connie would want for nothing. I swore I’d never remarry or have any more children. I didn’t want to share the paternal love with another child, didn’t want her to ever feel left out. It was going to be just me and her. But then when Connie was just two-and-a-half years old I met Aliki. She was a real tonic, just what I needed. A wonderful person, a beautiful woman, she helped me to heal. She made me realise that I was being selfish, depriving Connie of a mother. After a short romance, we got married. I wanted Connie to have a proper family, you know? Stability. A mum and a dad. Aliki and her family love the bones of her. I couldn’t have wished for more.”
I feel the brioche ascending towards my chest. “I’m so sorry, Daniel.” The words slip through my fingers. We’re both silent for a while. I’m glad he’s being honest with me but now I feel burdened. How will I be able to look Connie in the eye again knowing this secret? Hearing her talk about her mum, her nan, her cousins, her Cypriot genes - which she’s incredibly proud of, by the way - knowing that she hasn’t got a Greek bone in her body. I rub my chin. “I can’t carry this around with me, Daniel, it’s too big.”
“I know. Can you see now why I didn’t want you to find out?”
I nod quickly. “You’ve got to tell Connie.” I’m almost manic.
