Tangled Lives Read Free Page B

but mainly LURV. We could call it Mum Swap , or Family Makeover … what about This Is Your Mum? ’
    ‘Giving your baby up for adoption isn’t funny, Jamie.’
    Jamie looked contrite. ‘No. No, sorry, of course it’snot. But I genuinely think it’d be marvellous to be reunited with a child you gave up. This has been hanging over you for thirty-odd years, Annie, even though you never, ever mention it. Well, now you can finally lay your past to rest and be, well, free.’
    I’ll only be free, she thought, if Tom forgives me. As Jamie said, she didn’t talk about it, but that didn’t mean she hadn’t felt guilt, a lasting regret, since that day. Her life had been good, she had three other beautiful children, but that didn’t negate her feelings about her firstborn.
    As they left the restaurant and walked arm in arm along the icy pavement, Jamie stopped and dragged Annie round to face him.
    ‘I’ve had a thought. Suppose he wants to meet his father too?’
    Her eyes widened.
    ‘I mean, if he’s after his gene pool, you won’t be the whole story, will you?’
    ‘What are you saying?’
    ‘Well, you’ll have to tell him too.’
    ‘So?’ She pretended nonchalance. Tell Charles Carnegie that he has a son? The thought of it made her feel slightly sick. Jamie and Marjory were the only people in the world who knew Tom’s father’s identity, and that included the man himself. Even Richard hadn’t wanted to know who he was.
    ‘Let’s cross that bridge when we come to it,’ she replied.‘You know, I get the feeling you’re enjoying this, Mr Walsh,’ she added, digging her friend hard in the ribs as they began to walk again.
    Annie found her husband in his office. Unlike the rest of the house, she hadn’t been allowed a hand in decorating Richard’s room, and the result was a calm, uncluttered, functional space: a manly mahogany bookshelf neatly filled with accountancy manuals and historical tomes, a black leather desk chair, burgundy curtains, and a large Scottish landscape on the wall opposite the window giving a splash of, albeit muted, colour. Richard was poring over the usual spreadsheets on his screen.
    ‘Where are the children?’
    He looked up, surprised at her tone. ‘Umm … Lucy’s gone out to meet Rosie, I think. The others are slumped in front of the TV downstairs. Why?’
    She sat down on the black padded leather chair beside Richard’s desk as her husband’s eyes slid back to his screen. ‘Richard, something’s happened.’
    Richard, clearly engrossed in a riveting spreadsheet, reluctantly dragged his eyes away from it and waited for her to speak.
    ‘Tom … the baby. He’s contacted me.’
    ‘The baby? What baby? Sorry, not sure what you’re talking about.’ He was still miles away.
    She took a deep breath. ‘Please, this is important, Richard. My baby, the one I gave away.’
    His eyebrows shot up. ‘Oh … Oh, God.’ He looked almost panicked. ‘He’s been in touch? When?’
    ‘This morning. I got a letter from Social Services saying he wants to meet me.’
    Richard stared at her in silence for a moment.
    ‘OK … and will you?’
    ‘Well, yes, I’d like to. But it means telling the children, of course.’
    He frowned. ‘Do you have to tell them at this stage? Couldn’t you just meet him first and see how it goes?’
    ‘I could, but why shouldn’t I tell them now?’
    ‘Oh, I don’t know … just seems a big thing if it’s going nowhere.’
    ‘What do you mean, “going nowhere”?’
    ‘I’ve heard of this before, Annie, and often it doesn’t work out. You know, no connection beyond the DNA.’
    He made it sound so heartless.
    ‘This is my son, Richard. And the children’s half-brother.’
    Richard laid his hand gently on hers. ‘Of course. Sorry. Not sure how to react, that’s all. If you want to tell them now, then you should. Up to you.’
    But do I? she wondered. Do I really want to open this box?
    ‘Maybe I’ll write back and see when he wants to