‘Are you thinking what I’m thinking?’ Kelsey had noticeably paled.
‘Look, it’s a grainy picture, and all these guys look the same in that ridiculous stage make-up with their floppy wigs, pointy-toed shoes and their codpieces… and there must have beenhundredsof hot male actors passing through town. One guy can’t be responsible for every surprise baby.’ Even as she spoke Mirren was already on her phone, Googling. ‘Let’s see where this guy is now before we jump to conclusions. He’s probably been happily married to his husband for the last twenty years and living in some luvvies’ retirement community. Oh, Jesus!’ She turned the search results to Kelsey. ‘It’s him. John Wagstaff is the barfly from the Yorick. Iknowthis guy.’
‘He lives in town?’ Kelsey gasped.
‘Yeah, and he’s always talking about how he drank champagne from a satin slipper with Dickie Attenborough or danced a conga at Princess Margaret’s birthday party with John Gielgud and Elizabeth Taylor. I always thought he was lying but…’ Mirren paused, struck with sudden understanding.
‘What?’ Kelsey’s eyes bulged.
Mirren’s mind flitted to Adrian. ‘Somebody told me his stories were all true. He’s a proper celeb around here and he was a big star in eighties sci-fi. Your wee brother would definitely know all about him. But how old is Jonathan?’ Her thoughts raced.
‘He’ll be thirty-three this year.’
‘OK, so it’s feasible Wagstaff was still hot as hell and seducing every young actress in town in the late eighties, right? He’d be in his late forties by then…’
‘And in his twenties when he acted alongside Blythe?’
‘You’d think he’d have learned a thing or two about destroying girls’ lives by the time he met Jonathan’s mum though,’ Mirren added, bitterly. Her mind ticked on.It would be easy enough to do a bit of digging and find out more. With the right help from a local, an insider who knew the town and its people… someone like Adrian Armadale.
‘What are you thinking?’ Kelsey’s eyes narrowed suspiciously.
‘Nothing. Do you really think this could be Jonathan’s dad? Youhaveto tell him.’
‘No.No, I don’t. Not without some proof. You can’t spring something like that on a person.’ Kelsey swigged at her wine, her eyes darting as she thought. ‘I can’t possibly ask Blythe if there were other actresses after her… I mean, she did mention girls leaving their jobs at the theatre in the sixties because of unplanned pregnancies; she told me some of them disappeared entirely…’
‘Like Jonathan’s mum going back to Oklahoma?’ Mirren cut in.
Kelsey worried her bottom lip. ‘I could never ask Blythe about any of that. That would be unforgivable.’
‘We have to do something… Jonathan could meet his real dad as early as Christmas! And old Wagstaff’s not exactly getting any younger – the way he can put away those glasses of sack and ale he’s probably approaching his sell-by date—’
Kelsey interrupted, her cutlery now abandoned by her half-eaten meal. ‘His step-father, Art, is his real dad. That’s what Jonathan says. If Wagstaff is his father, and it’s a bigif, he was nothing but the sperm donor.’
‘You said Blythe had a son, and she mentioned having grandsons?’ Mirren’s eyes were aflame now. ‘Jonathan could gain a dadanda half-brotherandnephews…’
Kelsey tamped down Mirren’s excitement, feeling the panic rise in her own chest. ‘No, don’t. We’re getting ahead of ourselves. Jonathan would be devastated if he thought we’d been snooping into his mum’s secrets. She left England to get away from them. Neither of them would appreciate us throwing this in her face… and we’re most likely wrong anyway. I haven’t even met her yet, for goodness’ sake.’ Kelsey mimed a handshake. ‘Pleased to meet you, Mrs Hathaway. Remember that actor who knocked you up in the eighties and abandoned you both, is itthisguy by any chance?’ She held up the book. ‘It’s not exactly the best plan for a meeting-your-boyfriend’s-mum scenario, is it? Besides, maybe some dads aren’t worth finding?’
These last words rocked Mirren like a gunshot near her ear, but she tried to hide the flinching feeling. She took a long drink, trying to swallow the memories of her own dad walking out when she was so tiny, and all the waiting and worrying, watching her mum sinking deeper into the bottle. Yes, maybe some dads weren’t worth looking for. It had been almost two decades since she last saw her own father. He hadn’t even called on her birthday this year, even though she had been careful to always keep the same number and to have her phone charged on the day in case she somehow missed him. Her brain dredged up deeply buried memories of his calls on her childhood birthdays – the dread of the phone ringing, then the stilted conversation with the stranger. He’d always phone so late at night that she’d have to wait all day, the nerves spoiling her appetite for jelly and cake and making her little parties with the neighbourhood kids fraught, unhappy, tearful things. No child should hate their own birthdays.
Mirren’s tone had cooled considerably. ‘OK. I promise I won’t say anything to Jonathan, but if we uncovered the truth, you’dhaveto let him know, right?’
‘He doesn’t want to know or else he’d ask his mum. This is a sleeping dog that really needs to be left well alone.’ Finding she couldn’t sit still any longer, Kelsey scraped the plates into the little kitchen bin, keeping her back turned to Mirren. She didn’t want to admit she simply couldn’t guess how Jonathan might react if she told him their theory; she didn’t know him well enough to be sure, and that irked her. He might be relieved. Maybe his mysterious paternity had been a weight on his mind for a lifetime and now it had become one of those silent sore points he couldn’t discuss at home anymore, too risky to bring up.
Maybe he was just hoping his father would reveal himself to him one day like those adult children you see onLong Lost Familywhere they meet for the first time and fall into each other’s arms? No.Jonathan was too proud and protective of his mother for that, surely? That’s the impression Kelsey had from the few times he’d spoken of her anyway. The only thing Kelsey was certain of was that he could get hurt, and the thought of causing him a moment’s pain nearly winded her.
‘Let’s leave it,’ Kelsey said, meeting Mirren’s upturned face. ‘We need to get rid of that book, make sure he never sees it.’
Mirren picked it up from the bed, slipping it in her jacket pocket. ‘Consider it gone.’
Kelsey tried to focus on the wine and Mirren’s company for the rest of the evening but everything felt burdened and heavy now. Soon they were saying their goodnights and Mirren was telling Kelsey not to let it worry her and promising again she’d keep quiet about the whole thing. Zipping her jacket, she walked out into the chilly darkness for her journey towards her cosy bed in the back of Kelsey’s exhibition barge, planning to read the Wagstaff biography from cover to cover as soon as she climbed aboard. It couldn’t hurt to find out a little more about the old actor, and as a reporter, the mystery was irresistibly attractive, even if she would have to keep any findings to herself, for now.
Chapter Twenty-One
‘At Christmas I no more desire a rose
Than wish a snow in May’s new-fangled mirth;
But like of each thing that in season grows’
