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Chapter 40
Abigail parked Penelope in front of the large, imposing red-brick building on the cliff overlooking the sea. She sat there for a moment looking down through the landscaped gardens to the well-maintained Edwardian seafront with its long, wide promenade. Pastel-coloured beach huts along the promenade overlooked the sandy beach and sparkling water beyond.
The last time she’d visited Felixstowe had been on a day trip with Toby several years earlier. It was an hour’s journey from Southwold along the coast. Back then, she’d thought the visit had been worth the drive. Today, as Abigail glanced up at the old house, formerly a grand residence, now a nursing home, she doubted the same would be true. She wasn’t there to walk along the promenade, admire the manicured public gardens, and enjoy reading the different information boards that lined the route with photos of the pleasure gardens and beach during the Edwardian and Victorian era. She was there to see the woman who had adopted Toby and brought him up.
From what Toby’s sister had told her when she phoned to see if a visit could be arranged, Abigail would be surprised if Joyce could give her any coherent information.
Abigail sat for a moment, thinking about the previous week and Joss agreeing to take a DNA test. She’d played the movie reel showing Toby at the birthday party and had told Joss everything, even about the baby, and about his uncle denying that Toby was his son. The results of Joss’s test were imminent.
Abigail checked her mobile phone. Joss was going to text her with the result. If Toby was Albert and Daphne’s son, then the test would show that Joss and Toby were related – were cousins. She had been intending to wait for the result of the test before she paid Joyce a visit. But the result of the test, if it was what she suspected, still wouldn’t explain why Joyce had left the party so suddenly and gone to London. She wanted Joyce to fill in the blanks; to explain what had happened. To tell her that someone had found out who Toby really was. Abigail suspected that was what had happened and why Joyce had felt the need to flee before Daphne’s family took her adopted son away from her.
Abigail put her phone back in her handbag. There was still no text from Joss. She took a deep breath, got out of the car and made her way to the reception desk in the hall of the grand old building. This was the first time she’d visited Joyce in the home.
As she followed the young care assistant along cold, empty corridors, she felt sad that Joyce’s family had only been able to find a suitable place for her here, quite a distance away from where they lived.
The young lady led her into a comfortable lounge with a large bay window overlooking the sea. The scene that greeted her in that room was just what she had expected. Some residents were dozing in chairs, some were at tables doing jigsaw puzzles. There was a radio in the background playing 1940s jazz.
The care assistant pointed to two high-backed chairs by the bay window. Abigail nodded and walked over. She stood for a moment, staring at the lady she barely recognised. Anybody who said Alzheimer’s only affected someone’s mental capacity was wrong – certainly in Joyce’s case. She’d aged considerably since Abigail saw her last, when she was still living at home with her husband and daughter. Her brown bobbed hair, no longer coloured, was grey, and her face was taut and more lined than Abigail remembered. She’d lost weight, which explained her gaunt appearance. The only thing that hadn’t changed was those slate grey eyes.
Abigail glanced at the view from the bay window, out over the Edwardian seafront, before she sat down in the chair opposite. She leaned forward in her seat, hands clasped in front of her. ‘Joyce, it’s Abigail. I’ve come to see you.’ She searched Joyce’s face for a flicker of recognition. ‘Clarissa sends her love.’ Toby’s sister had warned her that this might happen. Abigail could tell that Joyce had no clue who she was.
‘I’m Toby’s wife, Abigail – do you remember?’
Joyce stared at her open-mouthed, before she uttered the word, ‘Toby.’
Abigail smiled. ‘That’s right, Toby, your … son.’
‘Toby,’ Joyce repeated.
Abigail pressed on. ‘Can you tell me who Toby’s biological parents were? Please try to remember. I’m having a baby. I need to know.’
Until the mention of the wordbaby, Joyce’s gaze had kept wandering around the room, and had hardly focused on her visitor.‘Baby,’ she repeated, her gaze fixed intently on Abigail.
Abigail leaned forward in her seat and clasped Joyce’s hands. ‘That’s right, a baby.’
Joyce shook her head, ‘No, there were two babies.’
‘Two babies? What do you mean?’ Abigail noticed she was getting agitated.
‘It was a mistake, the lights went out.’
‘Are you talking about a power cut?’ asked Abigail.
‘Yes, yes, a power cut. I … I made a mistake.’ She suddenly leaned forward and took Abigail by surprise, clutching her hand. ‘It was a mistake. You do believe me – don’t you? I didn’t mean for it to happen.’
‘Joyce, what are you talking about?’
‘The Great Storm.’
‘The Great Storm. Are you talking about the one in October 1987?’
‘Yes, yes. Am I in trouble? Have they found out?’ Eyes wide, they darted around the room until she fixed her gaze once more on Abigail. ‘Am I going to be struck off?’
‘Joyce, I don’t know what you mean.’
‘Please, don’t tell anyone. You mustn’t breathe a word of this. I don’t want to lose my nursing licence.’
‘Tell anyone what, Joyce?’ Abigail stopped abruptly. Staring at her, she said, ‘What did you do, Joyce?’
