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‘What?’ I’d been expecting Gran to laugh, to agree that Monica’s strange version of events was all nonsense.
‘Annie didn’t want me to tell you,’ Gran says, making a tutting sound. ‘But I suppose it will all come out now you’re there, talking to them all. It never sat right with me, you not knowing the truth.’
‘What truth?’ I say, standing up to pace the short length of the cabin.
‘Your parents were never married, Laura. They had that summer together, and then you were on the way but,’ she pauses, ‘the relationship didn’t last.’
I rub my fingers across my eyelids, unable to compute what I’m hearing.
‘Everything about that summer is as your mother told you,’ Gran continues, ‘but then she came back to Bristol and, well, you being on the way was a bit of a surprise. Alex wasn’t quite ready to settle down. He visited when he could, but they didn’t make a proper go of it, not together as a family.’
‘Why would she lie and tell me they got married?’
My voice sounds strange and high-pitched. There’s a falling sensation in my stomach, as though the floor has dropped away beneath me.
‘Annie didn’t want you thinking you’d been – an accident.’ Gran says it cautiously, as though even now, the word might upset me. ‘She was always an idealist, she wanted you to think the best of him. When we lost him in the accident, well, she didn’t see any harm in massaging history a little.’
My head feels foggy, so I step out onto the deck for some air. My eyes find Jasper doing a confident front crawl across the water between this rocky island and the next.
‘So, he was never around? He ditched us, just like Aunt Monica said?’
‘He was around, Laura. He visited you when he could – he loved you the second he set eyes on you.’
‘Why didn’t it last? If they were so in love that summer, why couldn’t they make it work?’ I bite the inside of my cheek, not wanting Gran to hear me getting upset.
‘I don’t know, Laurie,’ she says softly, ‘sometimes things aren’t meant to last the long term – flashes of lightning rather than slow-burning coals.’
My mind races. Mum’s story of the proposal in the cave; that wasn’t a fudging of the truth or a ‘massaging of history’ – it was a complete fabrication. How many times did I ask Mum to tell me their love story? Did she invent new details with every telling?
‘Laura, you must understand, your mother’s heart was in the right place,’ Gran says, her voice pleading.
I let the line go silent, unsure what to say, angry at having been lied to for so long. Looking down at my watch – his watch – I wonder if it is Dad who I should be mad at. What must that have been like for Mum, at twenty-five, deciding to raise me all on her own?
‘Did you even know him?’ I ask quietly.
‘Yes, I did. Look – even though he wasn’t up for being a father straight away, he came around. The proposal and the wedding and all the stuff he left you might not have been real, but he wanted to be a father to you, Laura. Once you were born, he asked for photos constantly – he loved you, there’s no doubt about that. If he hadn’t been in that accident, he would have been a big part of your life.’
It takes me a moment to register what she’s just said.
‘Wait, what do you mean, the stuff he left me?’
I hear Gran let out a sound, like a tyre being deflated.
‘What?’ My voice sounds angry now. ‘The watch, the record collection, the books, none of that was his?’
‘Oh Laurie, I’m sorry, I – I shouldn’t have said that. I’m not entirely sure,’ Gran sounds rattled.
‘I just want to know what’s real, Gran. Will you just tell me what’s real?’ My vision is getting watery.
There’s a long sigh on the line, then Gran says, ‘When he died, Annie wanted you to have a way to connect with him. You know how much stock she put on objects as conduits for memory. She didn’t have anything of his, so she collected a few bits that, well, that could have been his.’
‘Did he even read To Kill a Mockingbird? Did he even like to read?’
‘Yes, well, probably – maybe not that specific book, but he did like to read.’ Gran doesn’t sound at all convinced. ‘Look, you have to understand, when her own father left us, she didn’t have anything from him – not one birthday present, not a single memento, nothing to know him by.’
‘Mum bought the LP collection,’ I say, and Gran doesn’t correct me. ‘What about the watch, the one I wear every day?’
Gran sighs in resignation. She knows there’s no point sugaring what’s left of the pill.
