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‘I realise that. But now my mum’s no longer here, I need to make sense of what’s been going on.’
Morag slowly stirred sugar into her tea. ‘I can understand that. But how can I help you?’
‘I found an old photo, taken shortly after I was born, of you, Mum and me – your name was on the back of it. Mum had hidden the photo away with an old letter she’d received, and I wondered if you could shed any light on why she might have done that?’
‘What sort of letter are we talking about?’
‘A love letter.’
‘From your father?’
Rosie hesitated before shaking her head.
‘Can’t you ask the person who wrote the letter?’
‘It’s not properly signed so there’s no one I can ask apart from you.’
‘I see.’
A carriage clock on the mantelpiece ticked loudly as Morag sipped her tea and Rosie waited. Morag seemed in no hurry to tell her anything.
After the fourth sip, Rosie asked gently: ‘Can you tell me anything about my birth? You probably don’t remember very much about it because you’ve delivered so many babies.’
Morag stopped sipping and stirred another lump of sugar into her tea.
‘Actually, I’ll never forget it! I received a call from your father in the middle of a fierce storm. Sofia’s waters had broken so I drove up that blessed cliff in the wind and rain because she wanted a home birth. I had to abandon my car in the mud halfway up and walk the rest of the way. I wasn’t sure I’d make it but I was determined, and far younger then, of course, so my legs worked properly.’ She chuckled quietly and massaged her knees. ‘Happy days.’
‘It sounds like quite a night.’
‘It was memorable.’
‘Were there any complications with my birth?’
‘I don’t think so. Not that I remember. You were a bonny baby.’
‘Was I premature?’
Morag’s hesitation was slight but it jarred with Rosie, whose nerve endings felt exposed. ‘That I don’t remember. Why do you ask?’
‘Mum told me years ago that I was a honeymoon baby and very small, so I assumed that I came early. She and Dad were married seven months before I was born.’
‘That must be right, then. Would you like a biscuit? I’ve got chocolate digestives here, or pink wafers. The wafers are my favourite.’
‘No, thank you.’
Morag was keeping something back. Rosie was sure of it, but what could she do? Thumbscrews weren’t allowed and she wasn’t a thumbscrews sort of person anyway. She was suddenly overwhelmed by a longing for everything to go back to the way it was, when her mum was alive and Rosie knew nothing about the secrets she’d kept.
Rosie rested her head in her hands for a few moments and, when she looked up, Morag was staring at her intently.
‘Sometimes it’s best to let things lie, especially after a bereavement when everything is up in the air. Couldn’t you speak to your father about this?’
‘Mum and Dad got divorced when I was a child and he died a few years ago. He’d moved away by then and I only saw him every now and again.’
‘Ah, I see. Don’t you have other family who might have known your mother well? I’m not sure I’m the best person to speak to about things that happened so long ago.’
‘There’s no one else.’
‘No one at all?’
