All My Secrets Read Free Page A

road, then switch off my mobile again. It’s cooler
here in Edinburgh than it was at home. I tug my jacket around me, wishing I’d worn proper shoes instead of sandals. As I reach Rose Street, it begins to rain. I scuttle past the rows of
sand-coloured buildings, looking for the address given on the website. It’s teeming down by the time I find the old wooden front door and ring on the bell.
    No one answers.
    I stand, feeling the rain trickling down the back of my neck, and press the doorbell again.
    Still no reply.
    For the first time since I left home, I’m forced to face the fact that I may have come on a complete wild goose chase. I huddle closer to the door, trying – and failing – to
keep the rain off me. Surely
someone
must be in.
    I’m about to turn away when the buzzer sounds and a sleepy voice mutters, ‘Second floor, leave it by the door.’ Is that Gavin? My heart is in my mouth as I head inside and
scurry up the stairs. It’s chilly on the stone floor, though the walls with their off-white paint and chrome-framed mirrors have a designer feel. I glance at my reflection. I look a mess, my
hair lank against my face and my mascara smudged. I wipe under my eyes, my pulse racing.
    There’s only one door on each floor and I’m on the second-floor landing in seconds. I don’t let myself stop to think. I hurry over to the door and give it a sharp rap. Then
another.
    After a few seconds. it creaks open.
    ‘I said leave it by the—’ The man who’s speaking stops as he sees me. He’s about Andrew’s age – but much shorter – and pale-faced, similar in
colouring to Irina, at least from the pictures I’ve seen of her. His hair is ruffled as if he’s only just woken up – though it’s almost 2 pm – and he’s dressed
in ripped jeans and a bright orange T-shirt with a diamond stud in each ear. ‘Hello?’ His accent is softly Scottish.
    ‘Hi.’ My throat feels tight. I’ve been planning this moment for two days, but now I’m here everything I’d intended to say flies out of my head.
    ‘Hello?’ he says again.
    I shake my head. ‘I’m Evie . . . Evelina,’ I blurt out. ‘I’m Irina’s daughter.’
    What little colour there is drains from the man’s face. His mouth gapes.
    ‘Are . . . are you Gavin?’
    He nods, still clearly speechless. Then he shakes himself. ‘Where . . .? How . . .?’ He stands back. ‘Come in, darling. Please, come in.’
    I go inside the flat, my heart still beating fast.
    It’s very smart, with polished wood floors and – though I’m no judge – what looks like proper art on the walls and expensive designer furniture in both the hall and the
living room where Gavin leads me.
    We sit down. Gavin stares at me in the same way that Mr Treeves did, like he’s searching for something in my face.
    ‘Are you really . . .?’ he asks.
    I hold out the birth certificate Mr Treeves gave me.
    Gavin reads it and nods. ‘Wow,’ he says. ‘Darling, I had no idea where you were, that you were even alive.’
    ‘But you knew I existed?’ My question comes out more accusatory than I mean it too.
    Gavin looks up quickly. ‘I was abroad when you were born and my sister died. My . . . our . . . parents told me about you, but, well, by that point they weren’t in touch with you or
your father so . . .’
    Now I’m staring at him. ‘Do you know my dad?’ I ask.
    ‘No, though I’ve seen pictures.’ Gavin walks over to a cupboard and takes out a photo album. ‘My parents left loads of these when they passed. I’m sure
there’s a picture of your dad with Irina in here. Have a look, darling.’
    I take the album, feeling dazed. Gavin is still staring at me.
    ‘Wow,’ he says. ‘Sorry, but this is totally freaking me out.’
    ‘Yeah.’ I look up at him. ‘Me too. It’s weird that we’re related, isn’t it?’
    ‘Sure is.’ Gavin hesitates. ‘So . . . so I don’t get it. I mean, I vaguely knew you existed, but when I came back from travelling