The night before they are due to leave, Marianne is having dinner with Claire and Peter while the others have gone to town to have a drink – Juliette’s first drink since she has been released from hospital.
‘You know, Marianne,’ Claire says to her, ‘it’s as if Callum had been trained for that event. He did everything right: photographed the snake, carried Juliette to the road – which was an amazing feat of strength and endurance. He flagged down the first car and persuaded the driver to take her to the hospital. Remarkable.’
‘What’s more,’ says Peter, ‘Juliette told me that she hadn’t a clue how to get to the nearest road but Callum somehow seemed to know. When I asked him about it he told me that he had been looking at the big Michelin map which we have on the wall. He said that he liked maps.’
‘That’s true,’ says Marianne, ‘and he’s always had an extraordinarily good sense of direction.’
‘All I can say,’ says Peter, ‘is that you don’t need to worry about that boy. Steady under fire – that’s what I’d call it; a pretty useful quality in life.’
It is impossible for Marianne not to feel pride and gratitude that Callum has acquitted himself so well and that the snakebite saga has not turned into the tragedy it could so easily have been. He may not have had a romantic adventure, she thinks, but he has clearly grown in stature this holiday, bathed, as he has been, in the gratitude of Claire’s family.
When the time comes to say goodbye, Juliette gives Callum a long hug and a kiss. ‘If you decide to check out the uni at Edinburgh,’ she says, ‘make sure you come and see me.’
What a pity their ages are not reversed, Marianne thinks. They are really quite well suited.
‘So Leah is coming to stay tomorrow – I must buy food,’ shouted Anna through the open kitchen door.
‘Yes, I’m going to help her revise for her A-levels.’
‘She’s a lucky girl – to have you help her,’ said Anna, bringing a cup of coffee to Marianne’s desk.
Marianne sipped her coffee and thought again about Callum and the snake saga. There had always been something dutiful, almost heroic, about Callum and yet sometimes his response disappointed her. What she had discovered in the diaries about her father – which she had found so extraordinary that she hadn’t known whether to laugh or cry – had not elicited the expected response. A remarkable coincidence, he had acknowledged, though without appearing much interested.
Now that I’ve told Callum I can tell Anna, she thought, and she smiled as she watched Anna carry a plate into the kitchen and then come back to wipe the table. When Anna noticed she was being watched so carefully – almost, it seemed, obsessively – she smiled back, but with a look of puzzlement hovering around her eyes.
‘Sometimes you look at me in strange way.’
‘Do I? It’s just that I’m feeling happy today. You make me happy.’
‘I do? That’s nice – but I don’t know how.’
She had made the discovery a few weeks earlier but had kept it to herself. At first her mother’s diary had seemed to confirm what she had always suspected – that her biological father had been a German soldier. Referred to only as ‘V’, it had seemed a brief but genuine love affair with a young soldier billeted at their house. Then she had come across the critical passages. She checked them, read them again and then sat back and laughed out loud.
‘I have discovered something about my real… my natural father.’
‘You mean in Second World War.’
‘Yes.’
‘He was German, perhaps?’
‘No, not German.’
‘So he was French, like your mother?’
‘No, not French, Anna. Latvian.’
Anna stared at her. Perhaps unsure about what she had heard, she said, ‘Your father was Latvian – like me?’
‘Exactly.’
‘Oh my God! You are serious? My God – Latvian. I can’t believe it. Perhaps we are related?’
‘That might be expecting too much.’
‘I can’t… that’s just… just so fuckin’ amazing – I’m sorry, I shouldn’t say that – but show me where it say this. What was his name?’
‘Sadly she never seems to name him. Only just the letter “V”.’
‘V – could be Vanags, or Vasiljevs or…’
‘I think the V may have been his first name…’
‘Oh, I see…’
Marianne showed Anna the passages where her mother had referred to conversations with V about Latvia – its perilous geography, sandwiched between Soviet Russia and Nazi Germany – and how he had been a reluctant conscript into the German army.
‘That’s right,’ Anna said, suddenly serious, ‘our history in last century was very hard.’ Then, brightening, she said, ‘We need to give him a name. Perhaps Valdis? Or Vilns? Or would you prefer Viktors?’
Marianne laughed. ‘Yes, alright, we’ll call him Viktors,’ and she watched while Anna danced from one foot to another, her eyes shining wet.
‘You are Latvian – it’s like we are related. I can’t believe it – so amazing.’ Then she said, ‘We must celebrate. Stefans works tonight so I will stay and cook you dinner and you can tell me what you know about Viktors and I will tell you about Latvia – and maybe we drink a little wine…’
‘Alright,’ said Marianne, and she found that she too had to blink away the tears.
Leah had been in the house for barely five minutes before Anna broke the news to her.
‘Are you serious?’ said Leah. ‘Gran’s real father was Latvian?’
‘It’s true – Marianne showed me in the old diaries.’
‘Wow – that’s so cool,’ and she gave Anna a long hug. When Marianne confirmed the news to her, Leah said, ‘You’ve got to write a book about all this, Gran.’
Marianne laughed. ‘I suppose that’s what I am trying to do – but first I have to complete the translation.’
‘Dad’s told me about your Russian novels – I’m planning to read them.’
‘Well, you’re very welcome but best wait till after your exams.’
Leah was one of those teenagers who didn’t like to work alone. Marianne had identified this trait on earlier visits, so now she and Leah worked together in her sitting room, swapping from desk to armchair or sometimes sitting at opposite sides of Marianne’s large partners’ desk. On this occasion Leah was occupying the whole of the desk, laptop open and books spread around her. Marianne sat reading in her armchair but would occasionally look up – usually when Leah started muttering to herself, such mutterings being a precursor to a request for help.
‘Oh Lear, Lear, Leah. Beat at this gate – and get my fucking mind to work.’
Marianne looked up from her papers.
‘Sorry, Gran – I just don’t seem able to get my brain into gear today.’
‘I supposed you’ve had some fun with those puns.’
‘Not me, but the kids in my class think it’s hilarious. “Is Leah completely mad, or just a fool?” – that kind of thing.’
‘Have you got a problem?’
‘OK – so why does Cordelia die? It’s so unnecessary.’
Marianne laughed. ‘You’re not the first person to think that. What’s your own view?’
‘Well, our English teacher says that she shows too much pride in not playing along with her father’s game – but I don’t agree.’
‘She is quite brutal, what is it? “… according to my bond; no more nor less.”’