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When Rosie shook her head, Morag frowned. ‘That puts me in a rather difficult position. Are you sure you want to pursue this, Rosie?’
‘Absolutely sure,’ said Rosie, with more conviction than she felt.
‘Very well.’ Morag carefully placed her cup and saucer back on the tray. ‘You weren’t premature. If anything, you were a week or two overdue. It’s true that you were fairly small, but so was your mother and there had been some stresses during the pregnancy.’
‘So I was conceived a couple of months before Mum and Dad got married. So what? It was the late 1980s.’
‘Indeed. The stigma about sex before marriage was long gone, and not before time. Are you quite sure I can’t get you a biscuit?’
‘I’m quite sure.’ Rosie’s stomach flipped. She was treading a dangerous path but couldn’t turn back. Not now. She held the older woman’s gaze. ‘There’s more, Morag, isn’t there?’ When no reply was forthcoming, Rosie leaned forward, hands on her knees. ‘The letter I found is very confusing. I need to know the truth and I think you’re the only person who can help me.’
‘Oh dear.’ Morag picked at a piece of fluff on her lilac jumper and dropped it into the wastepaper basket next to her chair. ‘This is so very awkward, but you’re an adult and, as such, you have a right… everyone has the right…’
She swallowed and placed her hands in her lap, the thin wedding band on her finger catching the light from the window. Her speech was slow and measured, as if she was weighing every word.
‘Your mother came to me during her pregnancy, Rosie. Sofia and her husband… Donald? Daniel?’
‘David.’
‘That’s it, David. They’d just moved into Driftwood House and I was living nearby and working as a community midwife. Your mum was fairly new to the village and was the sort of woman who kept herself to herself. She was a loner, if you like. But over the months that she was my patient, we became friends. I think she needed someone to talk to.
‘At first Sofia was adamant that she’d fallen pregnant on her honeymoon, just like she told you. I heard in the village that she and David had split up and only got back together shortly before they decided to marry. But I could tell that she was further ahead in her pregnancy than she claimed and, just before you were born, she finally told me… are you sure, Rosie, that you want to hear this?’
How could she possibly be sure until Morag told her? And then it would be too late to take anything back. You couldn’t un-know something. Rosie nodded slowly.
‘Very well. I’m so very sorry that you have to hear it from me, but what your mother told me was that David wasn’t your biological father.’
How am I supposed to react?wondered Rosie, as Morag’s words sank in.Is this fizzy feeling in my chest due to shock, or is it resignation because, deep down, I’ve had my suspicions since finding the letter and photo hidden together?
When Rosie stayed silent, Morag looked at her with concern. ‘Are you all right, my dear?’
‘I–I’ve seen my birth certificate and David’s listed as my dad.’
Morag gave the slightest of shrugs. ‘People hide the truth, for all sorts of reasons.’
Another heavy silence spread through the small room. A pregnant silence, thought Rosie, while a totally inappropriate urge to laugh bubbled up inside her.
This was all so surreal, so far from how her life was just a few weeks ago. Back then, she was selling pricey apartments to tourists, helping to run a B&B by the beach, and lying next to Matt at night, listening to cicadas in olive trees. She was blissfully oblivious to the secrets that underpinned her family life.
‘It must be such a shock,’ said Morag, moving from her chair and squeezing Rosie’s shoulder.
Not so much a shock, thought Rosie, as a deep shift within her of what she’d believed from childhood. She’d painted her dad the villain of the family, blaming him for having an affair and leaving. But hehadkept in touch afterwards, albeit intermittently, and he’d always called her his daughter, in spite of knowing the two of them had no biological links whatsoever – if, indeed, he did know. Her mother had taken on the role of blameless victim in Rosie’s mind, but she’d been less than truthful about so many things – Driftwood House, the mysterious J, and how her daughter had been conceived. Had she known her mother at all?
‘Did David know that I wasn’t his baby?’ she asked.
‘I believe so. Are you sure you’re all right?’ Morag’s bony fingers pressed into her flesh. ‘I shouldn’t have told you. I’m sorry.’
Rosie gulped in a deep breath of stuffy air. ‘No, you were right to tell me. I asked you to, and I should know the truth.’
‘Now that you do, I hope it won’t change the way you think about your dad – about David – too much. He was the man who brought you up, after all.’
‘Until I was ten. Until he left.’
At the time, Rosie was convinced he’d gone partly because of her.Of course he didn’t, Rosie Posie. Your dad leaving had absolutely nothing to do with you.But now she feared that her mother had been lying, again.
‘Have more tea.’ A curl of steam wafted into the air when Morag pressed the refilled cup into Rosie’s hands. ‘And a biscuit too. You must have a biscuit.’
Rosie picked up the chocolate digestive placed on her lap and took a bite. The sweetness fizzed on her tongue. ‘I have another question, please, Morag.’
