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‘Oh, well, Dad found out that she’d been calling me and he was absolutely furious. He told me I was free to contact Freda when I was eighteen but not before. While I was living under his roof, I had to pass my exams and get a good job.’ She shrugs. ‘I had none of Freda’s rebellious spirit, so I agreed, to keep the peace. But oh, I regretted it so much as the years passed and we lost touch.’
‘Did you have an address for Freda?’
Gran nods. ‘But by the time I wrote to her years later to tell her I’d saved up to come over for a visit, she was no longer living at the address I had. A really kind former flatmate, who was still staying there, noticed my name and address on the back of the envelope and realised I was Freda’s little sister, and she actually wrote to me to let me know Freda had gone, but she didn’t know where because they hadn’t kept in touch. But she sent me a flyer advertising a musical that had been on at a theatre in Times Square, and my sister was named on the cast list.’
‘Oh, wow. How amazing. Did you ever think about going over there and trying to find her?’
She nods sadly. ‘I did. When I got married, your grandad and I went over to New York, years ago now, and we went to the same theatre and asked around. But we drew a blank. No one knew where Freda had gone, although one person thought she’d gone and trained as a dance teacher.’
‘A dance teacher? Oh, my goodness.’ A funny little shiver runs all the way down my spine. I’m feeling really emotional. ‘I guess there’s no doubt I have Freda’s genes, then.’
Gran smiles, tears glinting in her eyes. ‘You certainly have. That’s why I’ve always been so keen for you to follow your dancing dreams.’
‘You’ve always been so incredibly supportive.’ Tears are rolling down my own cheeks now.
Gran draws me into a tight hug. ‘Well, I wanted you to have the encouragement and support that my poor sister never had,’ she murmurs into my hair.
I draw back, still stunned by Gran’s revelations. ‘How I would love to meet her. Freda.’ And then it hits me like a kick to the stomach. That’s why Gran’s so sad. She’s worried that if the operation goes wrong, she’ll never have the chance to see her sister again...
As if reading my mind, she murmurs, ‘I’ve spent so many years telling myself that one day, I’ll meet up with Freda again. But time’s running out, Clara. She’s ten years older than me and with the operation looming...’ She gulps. ‘I might already be too late.’
I shake my head, a huge lump in my throat. ‘No, I don’t believe that. You’ll see each other again. I’m sure of it, Gran.’
We try to smile, but I can tell Gran is thinking the same as me. It’s just wishful thinking.
Because the chances of Gran being able to hunt Freda down, in the winter of both their lives, are so remote as to be practically impossible...
CHAPTER THIRTY
The atmosphere at home is a lot calmer these days.
I’m not sure if Irene and Lois have had a further heart-to-heart– they’re both a bit squeamish about close emotional encounters– but regardless of that, they are at least speaking to each other now. And fairly cordially, at that. Lois even belly-laughed at a joke made by Irene the other day... so we’re definitely making progress.
When I arrive home after visiting Gran, Irene has gone out to meet an old friend for an early dinner and Bertie is having a sleep-over at Luke’s house, having been collected from school by Jen.
So Lois and I make dinner together.
She’s just had her plaster cast removed, so I suggest we crack open a bottle of wine to celebrate, which Lois is all for, and she proceeds to demolish most of it herself.
We’re both avoiding the topic of Rory– Lois because it’s still too painful for her to talk about him, and me because I’m worried that if I ask questions about him, Lois might guess that my feelings for him are rather less than platonic. I’ve worried about this ever since they got together, but miraculously, I seem to have concealed the truth fairly well, because Lois has never twigged. (If she had, rest assured, I would have known about it immediately.)
After the wine, Lois decides she’d like a brandy, and she hunts out a bottle she bought ages ago, because it was Ronnie’s favourite tipple.
‘Yak!’ She pulls a face after her first swig, making me laugh, but then she proceeds to swallow down the whole glass, by which time her tongue has loosened considerably. And only then does she start talking about Rory.
‘Oh, Clara.’ She heaves a sigh.
‘What is it?’
‘I feel really, really bad that I made him lose the stables,’ she mumbles, staring forlornly into her empty brandy glass.
I look at her in surprise. ‘But haven’t you withdrawn the fake offer you made?’
‘Of course I have.Idon’t want to own some smelly awful stables.’
‘So won’t they accept Rory’s offer now?’
She shook her head. ‘After all the fuss and hassle, they’ve changed their minds about selling. They’re going to keep the stables going themselves for another few years. That’s what I heard, anyway.’
