Gordon wanted to reach across to grip her hand, assure her that everything was all right. He understood. But her other hand was clenched tight into her, and with her still caught up in the throes of her confession, her body trembling slightly, his reaching all the way across would have felt like he was imposing, invading her space. He felt frustrated, inadequate. A decade of secrets stripped away between them, and he couldn't reach across to bridge that final gap of the table-top.
Elena shrugged helplessly. ‘But still it wasn't enough. I had to save one of those children myself… so we adopted young Katine. Still something missing, a need there — and the only thing that helped fill it was each child I saw successfully placed with a happy family. Because each one told me that the son I'd given up had probably gone to a good family somewhere: he’d been happy, had had a good life. And I was doing fine…’ Elena smiled crookedly. She was suddenly reminded of a line from an old Bill Cosby LP. ‘I was doin’ fine… only then my eyeballs started bleeding.’ The thought seemed so ridiculously out of place that she burst out with a nervous laugh; but it went awry, became a half-laugh, half-cry, her muttered ‘Until…’ on a fractured breath barely out before her face contorted, the build-up of her emotions finally too much. Her shoulders sagged as if a sack had been laid across them and her head dipped as she sank into uncontrollable sobbing.
That brought Gordon around to hug and console her, though still he felt inadequate: it had taken the final submission of his wife’s tears for him to be able to cross that last distance between them: it wasn’t that noble.
He hugged her a moment more, trying to savour that now, finally, there were no more secrets between them; but apart from the gentle quaking of her body with her crushing emotional distress, it felt no different to all the other times he’d embraced her.
He made fresh coffee for them both — always Gordon’s solution in times of trouble, Elena thought wryly, wiping back her tears: make tea of coffee — poured a Bailey’s for her and a Glenffidich for himself, and she told him the rest: how Ryall with Lorena had finally broken down the wall she’d long built up and set her on her search of the past ten days that now too, like her help mission for Lorena, had hit a dead-end.
‘Until Ryall I’d always told myself that my son was probably in a good home somewhere, happy. And each child I saw successfully placed re-affirmed that. Then with Ryall it hit me that no matter how secure and happy-looking that home might be on the surface, all kinds of horrors can be lurking beneath. And suddenly I had to know. I had to know what kind of life he’d had. Whether he had been happy, or whether I’d abandoned him to a wolves’ den, a living hell.’
Gordon thought of venturing how that might help: if he’d had a bad life, how she’d even begin to make up for it. But that base desire to find a long-lost son he knew rose above all else: rationalising wouldn’t help. And besides, the possibility of ever finding him now looked gone, chapter closed — so in the end all he said was, ‘I understand…’ Then after a moment he shook his head. ‘You know, I should have known… should have at least guessed. All the signs were there.’ The depth of antipathy with her father, the lame story — now in retrospect — of her not being able to have children due to an early horse-riding accident, the aid agency, the adoptions… She’d held up a giant route map in front of his face, and he’d hardly noticed.
‘How could you have known?’ She raised an eyebrow, sensing that he was just saying it to make her feel good, take some of the burden away that she’d held all of this secret throughout their marriage, deceived him. ‘I’d buried it even from myself, so everyone else was a step further removed. They couldn’t get there until I got there first.’ As she saw the acceptance slowly filter through in Gordon’s eyes, she looked away again, fixing blankly, distantly ahead.
Gordon came and snuggled her close again. He felt her breath against the hollow of his neck and slowly closed his eyes. She’d finally got there, and now didn’t know where to head next. The route-map had finished in two dead-ends. And he wished he could think of some bright, snappy answer to buoy her spirits.
Because while the barrier of twelve years of secrets between them had suddenly gone, the son that she would now never be able to find again had as quickly taken its place. While that stayed unresolved, he knew that a part of her would remain distant, out of reach. The barrier would continue, having lifted only briefly for those few moments of her pouring out her heart to him — before crashing back down again. Like some cruel magician’s trick.
FOURTEEN
‘You just don’t seem to grasp the seriousness of this.’ Roman threw his right hand towards Jean-Paul as if he was tossing dice. His hand gestures had become increasingly volatile as their arguing hit fever pitch.
‘Yes, I do.’ Jean-Paul eyes stayed fixed hard on Roman, had only shifted at moments as their voices raised, as if concerned others might hear beyond his office walls. ‘More than obviously you appreciate. But what I don’t want to do is throw everything away, everything we’ve worked long and hard towards these past three years — over a two minute panic.’
‘He could destroy us, Jean-Paul. And yeah, that’s all it takes — two minutes. Two minutes with the wrong thing said. But he was there fucking hours, and he lied to you about it. And that might be just the tip of the iceberg, who knows what else…’
‘Enough… enough!’ Jean-Paul held one hand up. ‘We went through this chapter and verse yesterday. I thought hard on it overnight, and I’ve made my decision. I’m not going to rake over the same ground now.’ Jean-Paul moved the letter-opener used for that morning’s mail to one side. ‘Besides, this isn’t just about you, me and the remnants of our past activities. Georges is practically family. There’s Simone to consider, and our mother too holds great fondness for him. There’d be a lot of people hurt if we made the wrong move on this.’
‘I know.’ Roman looked down, bracing his right hand hard on his thigh as if to forcibly stop it from gesturing wildly. ‘But that could be part of the problem right there. You know, that was always our father’s main worry with you: that when it came to the crunch, you might shy away from strong action. That you going the more reasonable, diplomatic route, would one day not be the right route to go. This could be that crunch time now, Jean-Paul, and you’re too blindsided with Simone and family to be able to make the right move.’
‘That as may be.’ Jean-Paul shrugged: impatience, as if he’d only half-registered the remark or wished to give it scant relevance. ‘We just can’t be sure yet — which is my main point. And why for the moment I think we should-’
‘I mean, if you’ve got a problem with that, you don’t need to say it straight out. The fact that it’s your daughter puts you in a predicament, but not necessarily the rest of us. Just silently nod or close your eyes for a second — and I’ll take it as understood that you just don’t want to know about the problem anymore, and I’ll take care of it. I’ll take it off your hands.’
Jean-Paul visibly jolted with what Roman was suggesting. He blinked heavily for a second, as if he might have picked up the wrong signal. But seeing the intent in Roman’s eyes, his body arched slightly forward, little doubt remained. Jean-Paul contemplated Roman stonily. ‘You know, that’s the other thing father said — that you were far too rash, impulsive, hot-headed. That’s why in the end he left the final decisions with me, not you.’ Jean-Paul’s tone was cutting, acid. ‘And make that decision I will — when the time is right and we have all the facts.’