Page 103 of The Way We Are Now

‘Right,’ he says, googling like mad. ‘One day turn-around for a test. Here, look…’

‘But it’s nearly Christmas. It’s Saturday.’ I shake my head. ‘They’re going to be closing for the holiday soon.’

‘Right, is he still here?’

‘Is who still here?’

‘You know perfectly well who, Mum. You’ve just come back from there. Let’s go round now. I want to meet him. See if I’m anything like him.’

‘Granny’s here. I can’t just abandon her.’

‘Yes, you can.’ Mum’s behind us, resting on her stick. She turns to me: ‘Chickens finally come home to roost, have they?’

‘Chickens? What bloody chickens?’ Noah turns on his granny who he usually has a lot of patience with. ‘Is this some other daft Yorkshire saying of yours?’

‘I don’t think it’s particularly Yorkshire, Noah…’ I start, the other two tutting me into silence.

‘Ring Immi’s dad now,’ Noah commands. ‘Tell him to come round, before he gets the train back.’

‘He’s going back tomorrow,’ I say.

‘Right, where’s your phone?’ And before I can stop him, he’s grabbed my phone from the table and is scrolling through. ‘Theo, is it? Theo Mandeville. Oh, here we go, right at the top.’

‘Noah, no, stop it.’

‘Leave him, lass,’ Mum says and we both still as we listen to Noah’s side of the conversation.

‘He’s coming round,’ Noah says, handing me back the phone. ‘I told him the address.’

‘We heard,’ I say crossly and Mum pats my arm.

‘For the best, love,’ she says. ‘Your dad would have said it was for the best. He allus wondered, you know. After Theo’d reappeared at your fortieth. And then, within a month or two you tell us you’re in the family way. Then Michael disappears from your life. We allus wondered.’

‘I just don’t get it,’ Noah says, pouring himself a whisky from the drinks cabinet and downing it in one. ‘How could you not have done a test from day one?’

‘I’ll have one of those with you, lad,’ Mum says hopefully, going to sit down.

‘God, I hate this stuff,’ Noah says. ‘How can anybody drink it? Right, I’m going to ring Immi…’

‘You are not!’ I shout at him. ‘Absolutely not.’

The three of us sit in silence, waiting for the doorbell to ring. And then, after ten minutes of this, when I’ve poured myself a white wine, Mum a small whisky and lemonade and Noah is refusing anything, I start to tell him how I met Theo, cleaning his apartment with Fliss, how he came back into my life in Rothersley, how he was a brilliant squash player, the hunt ball, the beautiful estate he was always expected – and had – to take over.

Orgreave.

I tell him everything, except what I now know was Theo’s father’s involvement in Fliss’s death. And the main reason I’ve not sought a paternity test to determine Noah’s birth father: I’ve hated the thought that any of Hugh Mandeville’s genes might have been passed down to my son.

I’ve just got to the bit where Theo arrives back in my life at my fortieth birthday party, when the doorbell goes and we all jump and look at each other. I stand, go to the door and let Theo in.

I usher him through to the sitting room, where Mum says, ‘Well, it’s grand to see you again, lad. Come and sit yourself down. There’s a nice fire going – even if there is no coal on it.’

Noah says nothing but stands politely, taking in every aspect of this man who might just turn out to be his biological father.

Theo is doing the same.

‘Hello, Noah.’ Theo holds out his hand and my son takes it.

And as they stand side by side, I see it then, as, from the look on her face, so does Mum. The two men standing in front of us have the same mannerisms, the brown eyes I’ve always assumed to be mine are actually Theo’s, the cleft in Noah’s chin is identical to Theo’s. ‘I hear you’ve met my daughter at Oxford,’ Theo is saying.