Chapter 73 – Part 2
How unexpected life can be...
Even if we feel we are travellers on a road as smooth and straight as the line we draw with a ruler
Even if we feel we reached the end of a long winding road and the tiredness is wearing us down
We are always not far away from turning a corner,
Always unaware of what may find us on the other side.
Terry came into the cottage, soaked to the bone, with the clothes sticking on his body like dripping wet rags and the tempest raging inside his turquoise eyes. He walked with wide strides towards the dining table, leaving a trail of water on the dark slate floor. He picked up the scrunched piece of paper.
Perhaps it was the damp cold he felt gripping his flesh, perhaps it was the fever of finding the contents of that letter, whatever the reason, he tried hard to quiet down the tremble of his fingers as they unfolded the envelope and took the wrinkled letter out. He took a deep breath and started reading-
Mr. Blake,
I hope you can forgive me for not letting you in my home at Rottingdean. Please believe me when I say that I never thought I would see you standing in front of my door.
I panicked.
Once you left however, I realised that you showing up so unexpectedly on that Saturday afternoon was a sign from God. A chance to redeem myself even if such redemption can only cover a fraction of the pain I caused with my action.
I know what you are looking for, for I was there, on the day of your birth. I was one of the two midwives assisting Dr. Gardner who delivered you and your brother.
Yes, you do have a brother too, .
Both you and him born on the 28th of January , the year of our Lord 1897, at the Old Vicarage, in Grantchester. Your twin brother was the first born and you was born after. With the cord wrapped round your little neck, you came to the world feet first, blue-skinned and nearly dead . Dr. Gardner was the one who jolted you to life, and you took your first breaths.
I think you must know, or have heard already who Dr. Gardner was. I heard he since has passed away. You weren't supposed to be taken away. It was all a last moment decision, replacing a baby that was supposed to be given to the Blakes and never happened.
You, Mr. Blake, took the place of that baby. I carried you away, with your mother exhausted and barely conscious under the effect of chloroform, given by the Doctor for the birthing pains.
Pretending you did not survive, I left with you in my arms, covered inside a blanket, in time before your real father arrived, for he wasn't there when you were born. Just before I left your mother's room, I took the handkerchief from her dressing table and tucked it in, a token from your real family to be with you. You see, I knew already I shouldn't have taken you and yet...
Your real mother, I know I have stolen from you the chance to have known her, but I'll try to describe her as best as my memory serves me.
She was this very beautiful, young woman. I recall the soft, elegant tone in her voice. Her long blonde hair, gentle green eyes, very beautiful indeed. Like those actresses of the moving pictures, she was. She wasn't British, but rather her accent must had been American.
Her name was Eleanor Graham.
I have seen my punishment through, the one imposed by the Crown but what I did that day, I carry with me since. It will never go away and I can never correct the wrong I have done to you and your real family. When the time comes, I will face God, fully knowing the judgment that will be put upon me. What I do hope and pray every day is for forgiveness from you, from your family. That is what this letter is for.
With kind regards
Abigail Fowler
He reached the end of the letter. Lifted his head up. Candy was standing there in a pool of water trickling down her body, with the door closed behind her. Tears flooded her green eyes.
"What is this? How did this letter come to you?"
"Terry... I wanted to tell you."
He sounded suspicious, yet utterly serious, business like. His entire life had turned on its head and he desperately sought something, anything, even a small seed that could turn into a legitimate doubt. He wanted so much to doubt this letter. He wished it it was not true. That it was a lie. A pure fabrication, a misunderstanding. It could have been talking of someone else. Not him.
"The woman who wrote it, gave it to me." She crossed her arms tight on her chest, shivering.
He raised his brows. "When? How?" He returned his stare to the letter. He started reading it once more.
Yes, you do have a brother too, .
Your real mother,
Her name was Eleanor Graham.
"Last Sunday, after Audrey's party... I spent the night at Christian's place. In the morning, he had left, and-"
You spent that night at Christian's place, Freckles...
He didn't like this admission from Candy. He chose not to say it out in the open. She mentioned it, without thinking, not realising...
That particular night especially had become the catalyst for what took place the next day. The ghosts of his actions on that day followed him since then. His breaking down, his near assault of her, his reporting of Christian at the police, his suicidal meeting with MacDonald... all of them.
Terry realised how little they had talked over those days on the island. They had surrendered body and mind to a love that had remained incomplete for so long. Stopped on a winter night as if cut by a knife. They lived inside a dream for the last couple of days. Satisfied their hungry senses. Drunk from the desire for one another, breathed each's other sighs, tasted each other's flesh, but talk they did not. Afraid, not to break the spell they had surrounded themselves with, they had treaded around sensitive subjects so very carefully.
He pushed his fingers through his hair; buried his head inside his hands, shook it in disbelief.
This could not be happening. It was a nightmare; one he would wake up from soon. He got up, avoiding to look at her. Not wanting for her to see his anguish, he reminisced of that night.
He paced up and down, in a restless state.
Candy followed him around with her eyes having noticed he was not looking back at her. She had to make herself absolutely clear.
"and while I was there, Ms. Fowler came." She continued. "I... I... I wish I hadn't read that letter Terry,
honest to God and hope to die,
but I was on my own, Christian had gone with no saying where he would be, when I would see him, and everything was..."
She cursed her curiosity out loud but now she was privy of the brother bond that existed between the two men and-
She closed her eyes; the anxiety was drowning her.
"That evening...when I came to see you, you knew..." His question made her open her eyes again.
"Yes, Terry, I knew..." She admitted to him.
He approached her. This time he let see inside his eyes the disbelief more than anything else.
"It is a lie, Candy." He raised his voice. " I have read my mother's diary. My brother was born dead. Why should I believe, what's her name... that woman who comes out of nowhere?"
"Terry, I know... I understand how hard it is to believe it."
She tensed her body. Tried to calmed herself down, by slowing down her breathing. It was paramount for both of them to keep it together inside the cottage which was battered at the time from an Atlantic summer storm. Her training back to her nursing days kicked in. She took a one last deep breath, full of purpose, feeling her heart beat quieter.
"Whatever the circumstances, Miss White, nurses must remain calm and can never show what they may feel inside."
The head nurse inside her head, reprimanding her. Even now, after all those years, she could hear Mary Jeans's stern voice as clear as if it was yesterday, when she was teaching them at the nursing college she attended.
She touched his arm with her fingers, before speaking again.
"I do believe it is true, Terry. The day of the party, Christian had driven his motorbike all the way to Brighton to find that woman." She said with a quiet voice. "Don't ask me what prompted him on that day to do this, I do not know."
Candy stopped only for a moment, to gauge if her words were sinking in. Terry remained quiet but attentive. She then continued.
"That woman was one of the midwives. You read her letter. Your mother was not in a state to have known that something like that took place. Did she see your brother before he was taken away? Surely Eleanor writes in her diary about how difficult it was... and how her second son died?"
Indeed she had written about it. Terry brought the moment in his head. It was only a couple of months ago...
Alone at his mother's summer house in Martha's Vineyard, while his fractured ankle was healing, he had spent the days, literally daydreaming about that first meeting with Candy.
A lot were going through his mind. After years of living in an emotional desert, now he was overwhelmed of the emotions he felt just by thinking the journey he was about to embark and all the possibilities that could arise, good and bad. He tried to make peace with the past, on Eleanor's advise.
On a night of unexpected closeness and intimacy between himself and his mother, when both found themselves in an introspective mood, fuelled by a nice dinner and a couple of bottles (or three) of a very good Californian shiraz, or good-old Californian grape juice according to its Prohibition-approved label; it had made him chuckle over his mother's "criminal" activities
"I won't bail you out, you know..." He had joked with her.
She had acted heartbroken but had joined his laughter in the end. He loved seeing his mother laughing, when there used to be a time when he only made her cry...
That night, their hearts spoke. He disclosed painful details from Susanna's diary. Expressed his guilt, for not having been able to fall in love with her. The pretend "engagement" that took place when he returned from Rockstown, just to stop tongues from waging. But then again, an engagement which never led to marriage for ten years nonetheless,
and she-
she never complained, even once.
Made him feel like a heartless monster sometimes. The self hatred oozed from his pores... Robert kept a discrete and close eye on Terry, kept him busy with theatre work, even if Terry had not taken the main role in plays, still Robert always gave him things to do, more than any other actor or actress. He took up everything, anything, even if some of those chores were menial, or even of manual nature. He regarded physical tiredness a blessing and worked till he felt exhausted.
Terry disclosed all that to Eleanor that night. The tongues they had hoped of stopping to wag by getting "engaged" to Susanna became even more so judgemental of the fact that an engagement of close to ten years felt worse than no engagement at all.
The cruel irony in the above lied inside Susanna's diary...
In contrast to her saintly approach regarding her relationship to Terry and the lack of complaining which filled him with remorse and self-loathing, her pages were full of anger, frustration, self-pity, unfulfilled want.
Readily he shared on that night. It was as if, his heart had opened for one night
and one night only
to let his mother in, to have a rare glimpse of the pain he endured and kept tormenting him, even after Susanna had died.
In response, since it was time for revelations, Eleanor produced some of her own.
"You had a twin Terry..."
He was taken aback. She gave him her diary to read. While he read her entry of that fateful day, she filled in the gaps.
Having regretted since then, deeply having affected her, not to have insisted to see her son, the one who did not make it, did not live. He had lifted his head to see her, only to find out she couldn't keep the tears down. She patted her eyes quickly.
"I'm sorry, Terry..." She said in a hurry to return to normal. "I know you hate-"
Terry hadn't let her finish. "Don't be..." He had said, sounding unusually tender, "It must have been such a burden for you, to carry this, all those years." He added. "Thank you for sharing it with me, Mother."
The details Eleanor shared that night with Terry, matched those in the woman's letter. He felt as helpless as he had felt that winter night more than ten years ago. The sinking sensation of the reality Terry faced, was one that he could not escape of.
"I also know, Christian has a handkerchief with the Grandchester coat of arms embroidered it..." She said.
Terry's eyes became fixed on her once more.
"I saw it one day by chance as I cleaned his things. I couldn't remember where I had seen it before, until when I read the letter. Then I remembered..."She said and paused, gave space for their memories to flower between them.
That summer in Scotland, when you brought me to your-"
"I remember." He said, without letting her finish.
Unlike her, he did not need a journey down memory lane. It was too painful, at that moment.
"You should have told me all that, Candy." He cleared his throat.
"How could I Terry?" Straight away, she asked him.
"How could I tell you on that day, when you were-"
She may have wiped the tears from her eyes with her fingers, but the worry remained locked inside them.
"Do you think it was easy for me to find out that day?" She defended herself. "That I tried to forget you, to let you go and move on and the man who showed up in my life ten years after, is your brother-
you twin brother, Terry..."
Her words did not seem to make any difference for him. "You left it too late, Candy..." He said quietly. Words he didn't want to be heard out too loud. Words carried his guilt.
"Too late for what?" She asked him.
He didn't respond. He wanted to get out of there.
"Too late for what Terry?" She repeated her question, sounding eager to know.
There was worry in her voice. Of course she was worried. She should be worried. She would always be worried for Christian. His brother, whom now they could never leave behind.
How could this work? Me, her, Christian. The brother I snitched to the police and she does not know.
Questions without answers were born by every word spoken. Thick and fast they appeared like the rain that was pounding the cottage. The lack of answers terrified him.
His future with Candy...
Or a brother's bond with Christian, one he became aware only now.
Could those two coexist?
Candy watched him in silence. Avoiding her, avoiding her question. The dread inside her swelled, like those waves outside. She watched them grow as they were approaching the shore. Breaking with deadly rage on the dark rocks.
She feared of her relationship with Terry, its destiny. She had decided she'd stay and fight for them. But she could not make Terry want to stay with her if he thought otherwise. Whether she should have said something earlier on, now it didn't matter. What was done, was done.
Terry struggled to accept the reality that was unveiled to him in the most sudden and unexpected way. "I don't know Candy! Please, I can't..." His voice came out forced as if something was constricting his throat. How could he explain what "too late" meant for him.
Oh, not that Terry did not have his doubts. Deep down however, he knew they amounted to nothing, apart from him holding on them for his own selfish reasons, mainly his sanity. What there was no doubt about, was that he would be damned if he wouldn't visit Abigail Fowler, when they would get back. Soon, tomorrow even.
He lit a cigarette. Snuffed it out after a few drags. This letter was working his way inside him in the most obvious way; the revelation became more real, more inescapable, more solid. He was like a wild animal locked in a cage. He left for the bedroom, wanting to change. He had to leave.
For many reasons...
Candy followed him in the bedroom. "Where are you going?"
Terry did not react. Ηe did not know how. The rushing of the blood in his veins, it was thick and fast and hit him with a hissing sound he could hear inside his ears. The air felt heavy in his lungs.
He walked back in front of her, drowning inside the tormented sea of his feelings. They fought inside his chest, his belly, his heart. Against each other, ripping him apart, like those waves... He began to detest why she had not told him for a whole week. Had kept him in the dark. She had so many chances. In her house, at the train..., even when they touched down here at Barra .
This whole trip was set to fail from the start. It had been something fake, he had played along without him knowing. Had stripped his soul naked; shed his tears with her inside his arms, making love to her, without knowing. He let himself dream of a life together.
While she had been his brother's girlfriend and she knew. She had spent the night at his place, a week ago...
Having clenched his hands into fists and his body tense like a wound up coil ready to be unleashed, he held from the last bit of the strength remaining in him to keep it together. He noticed the tear marks on her flushed cheeks. She stared at him with those big eyes of hers, like green glass they shone.
"Please say something." She begged him.
"I struggle." He said through clenched teeth, his eyes locked with hers, "How can I process this? I can't for the life of me." Words poured out of him.
"Don't you see, what this letter-
this whole new reality is doing to us?
You... when were you going to tell me...?
You had me in the dark for a week, and the more I think of this, I cannot breath... you won't understand, you won't."
His raised his voice, being carried away by the strength of his feelings,
the waves were reaching the shore,
his fingernails were digging inside his palms.
He suddenly turned away from her.
"Help me understand, Terry." She asked him, almost begging him.
" I need to get dressed." He said, without letting any room for objections.
Started taking off the wet clothes. There was a fever driving him, burning him. Was making it unable for him to think. He wanted to bloody think.
Barely kept going. He could break up everything inside the place, turn it upside down, his heart could have been inside his closed fist, the more his tendons flexed, the closer he came to the point he would explode. He stopped at the dresser, half undressed. Lowered his head, hot tears of anger crowded his eyes.
He couldn't believe it what had happened to him,
to them.
And he felt weak. He had stood on the sideline since the moment he stepped on London soil, trying to be the gentleman, to be her friend, and then-
they could not be friends
The rivalry with Christian had worn him down. He had come on this trip to protect Candy, having accepted the instructions of Christian. Deep down, he had to admit it , it had been useless to try hiding behind his finger. That trip was the last chance he was going to give them. He had been a real bastard to her just before. Lost in the haze of the alcohol that run inside his veins that Sunday, he pushed MacDonald, wanting to be killed after what he had done.
Could she had forgiven him? Could they have picked up from where they had left off... that was his baggage when they arrived at Barra.
The existence of this letter revealing Christian as his twin brother, the one Eleanor thought of as being dead, was the last drop inside a glass which had already passed the stage of overflowing by a long shot.
"Terry don't go. I beg of you. Can we start over and just talk about this?"
Candy could not keep calm any much longer. Waves of sobs shook her chest; needed release.
He gritted his teeth. This being the kind of conversation that he didn't want to have.
. .moment.
What could they talk about? What could he say to her? And her? What else was there for her to say...
"Start over?"
A hard smile took shape on his lips.
"Not right now, Candy..." He dismissed her. Ignored her and continued to get dressed.
"Terry, please, look at me! We can talk about this. Don't take it down that road."
She raised her voice, her throat was on fire as she tried to reason with him. She kept looking at his back while he was getting dressed. Candy's words came too little too late for Terry.
Whatever road he could see them taking, he feared of its ending. "Don't take it down that road...Can you hear yourself?!"
His temper was running out. The time was ticking. He had to leave, before he said something he'd regret even more.
"I think we are down that fucking road Candy!"
He stopped at his tracks, turned to look at her. His eyes were lit as if by a full blown lightning storm. He shoved with hurried moves the shirt inside his trousers. He left her standing at the door and walked back in the living room.
"Is that it, Terry?! Giving up? Bolt out? Run? Leave the responsibility to the others? Is that it?" Her voice hardened. "Accuse me for the failure of our relationship..."
The muscles on her face tightened. His behaviour angered her. All she had wanted was to be with him, touch him, hug him, make him see how this was tearing her heart apart too. They could talk. Because she knew what she had revealed, was not easy to accept. If only she could make him see what she felt that past week, carrying the burden of the letter inside her, knowing of its contents.
"Our relationship?" He threw her words back to her. His mocking smile felt like a knife to her. He suddenly stopped as if he had a second thought.
"Ok, let's talk, if you so you wish, sweetheart." His proposal carried no relief for Candy. "Because you talk about relationships, because you are accusing me of running, when in fact, the one who always run was YOU."
Terry couldn't hold it any more. Everything in him was being demolished. The storm had crept inside the cottage. The waves had reached them. "You held this secret for a whole week and aside the fact that the mere act of hiding it, just makes me crazy-
How could you carry on these days here... with me, and knowing...
He paced himself. Giving glances to her. He ached through his body.
But let's get to the burning point, Candy."
"You kept it because you did not trust how I would react,
because in your eyes, I'm still that man from last Sunday, who's jealous and insane and can hurt you and that...
THAT-
He paced, as if trying to find the words to continue. Burned with anger.
"Terry..." The tears she had held, she had let run down her cheeks without restraint now.
To the sound of her voice-
"Why don't I just act the way you expect me to act, and be done with this charade, right?"
"I am truly sorry, Terry. I never-"
"STOP FUCKING SAYING YOU'RE SORRY!"
The storm which took place inside Terry, took hold of him; Steered him to sweep with one violent move of his hand everything that stood upon that mantlepiece. Photographs, porcelain figurines, that big vase with the roses that was in the middle, everything flew in random directions, smashing to pieces with a loud cracking noise on the floor.
Candy did not fight back. She stood there, eyes have turning into two green rivers carving their way on her face. Her lack of reaction shook him. He wanted her to fight back, kick him out, cut her ties with him.
He stood in front of her, not knowing what to do, what to say... the fire that the hidden truth had created was still inside him. He put his hand over his burning forehead.
Saying nothing else himself, he rushed to the door. He left Candy behind without giving her a second glance as her legs gave way and she felt on her knees; the remorse she felt and what had happened between her and Terry having broken her heart to pieces.
Nicholas pulled over at the side of the National Gallery, close to where one of the doors for the staff was. When he came out of the car, he wasn't alone. The woman he had been instructed to bring back to London followed him in very close proximity. So close in fact, someone could think they were a couple, as he walked with Alice on his side, with her arms crossed below her chest and his arm kept captive by hers. Nothing looked suspicious on the outside. He actually looked quite chivalrous the way they both approached the door. No one noticed the concealed knife Alice carried hidden between her crossed arms, threatening to stab the poor chap on his side. She definetely wasn't a woman he could argue with, from the moment he entered the cottage; the determination in her eyes to
"Take me to Christian"
as she put it, carried a dangerous glint in her stare. Not to mention the bread knife, she had sprung up at him with, warning him that she would have no hesitation to use it, if he didn't carry her wish.
So there they were. Two hours later, and drenched to the bone with sweat, they entered the National Gallery in a very inconspicuous manner. Given how it was Sunday of course, made it a lot easier. Νo one else was supposed to be there. Nicholas thought to himself that Christian owed him big after this. In any case, in a twisted perverse way, he felt grateful to his friend for making his life all the more exciting. Christian, unlike him, dared.
He led the way to the basement of the Gallery where he had shown Christian of his temporary hide out, a few days before. When he opened the door, he came face to face with his friend. He looked unsettled. Nothing much rattled Christian. At least not at the surface. He always looked as if he was on top of things. Most times, he actually was. His eyes this time however, held a lot of troubles. They were hard, almost steel-like, determined, very determined, for what, Nicholas did not know. He was certain, Christian was not going to divulge his plans. They kept it strictly to need-to-know basis.
"For your sake."
As Christian used to put it.
This new determination Nicholas observed inside Christian's stare had killed whatever remnants of a youthful playfulness they used to carry. His friend looked as he grew older by a decade inside a day.
"I'm sorry Christian but I've got someone with me." Nicholas confessed the moment he entered the room and made way for Alice to come in.
To her sight, Christian was not happy. Not happy at all. A deep furrow carved its path between his brows, deep set wrinkles crossed his forehead.
"What the hell are you doing here Alice?" He quickly said and stood up. Nailed Nicholas with his eyes.
"Mate? What's this?"
"It's not his fault, Christian." She said. She took from her bag his paintings of her.
"You left these behind..." She said and threw them on the table inside the coffee room which now, felt very small.
He looked at his sketches...
Then back at her...
He turned to Nicholas. "Can you give us a few minutes, Nicholas, please?" He asked his friend.
Nicholas left them without waiting to hear anything more. He already felt keen to leave them alone, given how charged the air turned between them the moment they saw each other. He craved for excitement in his life but lovers quarrelling -because that's what all this, felt like to him- wasn't something he wished to be part of.
"OK, speak." He ordered her, the moment they were left alone.
By the time Terry left the beachside cottage, the storm was on its way out. The rain had been reduced to a light drizzle, enough for the green valley he was crossing with the bike, to look even more lush and green. Not that he paid any attention to it.
His reaction to the letter Candy kept hidden for a week had been extreme. Still to him, it felt justified. He tried to put his thoughts in order. Compartmentalise them. He had to do this. Otherwise, he'd turn insane trying to find the answers to the questions which sprung out of nowhere in his life that very morning.
Previous scenes of what had taken place the last ten days played in his head over and over, while he approached Castlebay. He stopped by Mrs Burns' house. Poor soul! It was obvious she looked worried, when she saw him standing at her door. He asked her if she knew when the next boat for going back to Oban would be. She asked him if everything was ok, whether something happened? Were they displeased with something?
Was Mrs Graham ok?
He gave her a dry smile. Told her that their trip had come to an end.
Business you see...
they couldn't keep away for too long...
There was a boat early at 7am the next day, she said. She'd come tomorrow then to pick them up...He thanked her, said his goodbyes until 'morrow and turned on her front step, ready to leave. He stood there though still for a moment and then turned back to the woman who hadn't closed the door yet.
"Could I also ask you if I can use your phone Mrs. Burns?"
"I'd be much obliged." He added with a wide smile.
Of course, there was no objection by the kind woman. She let Terry come in and led him to the side table in the hallway where they kept the phone. He picked up the receiver and dry coughed, a gentle reminder for wanting his privacy. Sarah responded immediately.
"I'm sorry." She mumbled. "Please, go ahead. I'll be next room, if you need me for anything."
Five minutes later, Terry asked the operator to connect him with the Highgate police station. Of course, Detective Robert Shaw was absent. This being Sunday.
"Can you please tell Mr. Shaw, that me and my wife are leaving the isle of Barra tomorrow morning with the 7am boat to Oban... As for Mr. Blake, is there any news about his whereabouts?"
The thin line he pressed his lips into revealed the answer.
I am sorry, Mr. Graham, I am not cleared to discuss this matter with you.
"I see... "
Terry paused. He cursed the fact he was so far away. Feeling so helpless. Wanting to correct the fucking mistake he had made.
"Anything else, I can help you with Mr. Graham?" He heard the police officer asking from the other end of the line.
"Yes, yes!" Terry came back to the present. "I have something very important to say to Mr. Shaw. Can he make the best he can, to find Mr. Blake in one piece. It is of the outmost importance!"
Actors were strange creatures and more so this Mr. Graham... Constable Melvin Grable thought to himself. Why on earth, he had phoned on Sunday... Last time, he had seen Terry, was last Sunday again. Seems like, he made it a habit to contact the police station on Sundays, to share important information about Christian Blake.
If they knew where he was, he would have been at the police station already.
Nevertheless, he did promise Terry to pass his message to the Detective.
Terry put the receiver down. Not entirely happy but nevertheless, he had to settle for what he could do from that far away. By that time tomorrow, he'd be on that boat to Oban, together with Candy and they could be in London with a little bit of luck, by Tuesday noon. He thanked once more Mrs. Burns and left.