would work best in the living room.
Mum greeted me at the door, arms outstretched with a large bottle of champagne in one hand.
‘Hiya, darling!’ Her accent was thicker than usual; her vowels were slacker and her tone wasn’t as clipped. She’d obviously had her standard ‘few glasses of wine’. ‘Come away in, dinner’s nearly ready.’
I wondered if her tipsy state would mean she’d tell me what the ‘something important’ was from lunch that day. I followed her inside and the gorgeous smell of cooking ensnared my senses. Unless I was very much mistaken, it was my mum’s signature spaghetti carbonara.
‘Something smells nice,’ I said, hoping the compliment would lead in nicely to some subtle detective work. ‘Listen, I—’
‘Did I tell you Gillian from my book club’s been having an affair? Husband caught her in bed with their accountant last week and threw her out. Rumour has it she and the accountant are staying in a hotel somewhere and planning to start a new life in France!’
Mum shot me a serene smile as she bustled into the kitchen. I knew her well enough to read the message behind it: don’t ask me what I wanted to tell you about earlier; you’ll get nowhere.
I stood in the doorway to the kitchen while she chatted away happily and dished up dinner onto her favourite china plates. Behind me, I felt a hand on my shoulder: Dad.
‘Back for another one of your mum’s “inspirational pep talks” then?’ he said with a chuckle. ‘Good luck!’
‘Hey you, any more of your lip and you’re not getting dessert!’ Mum threw a smile over her shoulder as she sprinkled some Parmesan over the spaghetti. ‘Anyway, dinner’s ready.’
As much as I enjoyed tucking into Mum’s utterly delicious food, I couldn’t help wondering when the bombshell would be dropped. I kept looking for gaps in the conversation where I could bring it up, but they were both making it difficult. One minute, the topic was politics and the next Dad was passing on idle gossip from his mates at the golf club.
Eventually, I decided a direct approach was needed. I set my fork down and pushed my plate away from me.
‘Mum,’ I began, dreading the words that were about to come out of my mouth, and what might follow. ‘When we were at lunch today, you said you had something to tell me, but when I asked what it was you said it could wait till later. Well… it’s later! Could you just tell me what it is so I’m not worrying myself sick about it?’
Dad sighed and threw his cutlery down. ‘Pamela, you didn’t! I thought we’d already decided we weren’t going to tell her!’
‘She has a right to know, Simon! It might’ve been easy for you to keep this a secret for twenty-five years, but it hasn’t for me. Emily’s at an age now where she can make her own decisions—’
I shot up from my seat with such force that the entire table shook. ‘Instead of talking about me like I’m not here, tell me what’s going on!’
Silence fell over the table and Mum slowly got up, her face taking on an odd grey pallor. In all the years I’d known her, I’d never once seen her ruffled or flustered.
Until now.
‘Emily, you might not like what you’re about to hear, but please don’t fly off the handle.’
Dread crept over my skin and my eyes darted over to my dad, trying to get some clue as to what was about to happen from his face. It was set in a hard, stern line that gave nothing away. It was unusual to see him without his trademark carefree smile.
‘What’s going on?’ I fixed Dad with a hard stare, hoping he’d shed some light on the twenty-five-year-old secret he and Mum had been keeping.
Mum left the room and the silence grew even more uncomfortable. It was such a contrast from the lively buzz of conversation there had been just a few minutes ago. I looked at Dad again, but he didn’t meet my gaze.
‘We’ve always told each other everything in this family,’ I said. ‘What’s so bad that you and Mum had to keep it from me?’
His head snapped up and I was sure I could see tears in his eyes. ‘You don’t understand, Emily… It was a very difficult decision for both of us at the time. Mum didn’t want to keep it from you, but I felt it was best…’
Before I could ask him to explain himself, Mum came back with a large shoebox in her arms. Her eyes were rimmed with red, as though she’d been crying, and her skin was paler than ever.
‘Emily, before you open this box… I… I just want you to know that I love you sweetheart. And so does your dad.’
She handed the box over to me, hands trembling and breathing ragged in her chest. I stared down at it, tracing the worn brown cardboard and wondering what lurked underneath. Whatever it was, it was enough to unsettle my usually unflappable mum and make my dad upset.
I pursed my lips and looked up at them. Dad’s hands were on Mum’s shoulders and they looked as though they were bracing themselves for the dire consequences of my opening the box.
‘I take it there’s not a pair of brand-new Louboutins in here?’ I managed a weak chuckle, but it wasn’t reciprocated. ‘Guess I’d better open it then…’
I sucked in a huge lungful of air and lifted the lid, half expecting a load of demons to come flying out like Pandora’s Box. However, all I found inside was a huge pile of letters.
I frowned, picking one up like it was an unexploded bomb. ‘Oh God, guys, don’t tell me these are your old love letters to each other!’
Mum let out a huge, sharp sigh. ‘No, not quite.’
Dad ran a hand across his tired face and looked like he wanted to run out of the room and never come back. ‘I told you this was a bad idea, Pamela.’
‘She deserves to know, Simon! We should’ve told her years ago!’
I couldn’t take their bickering any longer; it wasn’t helping anyone. As they sniped back and forth at each other, I reached into the box, took out a letter and ripped it open. The sound of the envelope tearing brought the argument to an abrupt halt and they looked at me as if I’d just unleashed hell.
‘Oh God…’ Mum’s voice was a ragged, trembling whisper. Dad clutched her hand as sweat began to bead on his forehead.
‘Let’s see what all this is about, shall we?’ I forced brightness into my voice and smiled, hoping it would lessen the tension in the atmosphere. By the looks on my parents’ faces, it hadn’t worked.
I wriggled the letter out of the envelope, treating it like it was made of fine china. Whatever was on this page, I said to myself, it wouldn’t have the power to change anything. They were just words; why were Mum and Dad so scared of a bunch of words?
Then I read the letter, and that was when all hell broke loose.
Dear Pam,
Thank you for your letter and the pictures you included from Emily’s fifth birthday party. She looked absolutely beautiful in her pink party dress, didn’t she?
I know this is yet another special occasion I’ve missed. I’ve spent the last five years wondering about her: if she looks like me or if she has any of my personality traits. I know our arrangement is in place for a reason – my marriage to Diane would be ruined if she found out I’d fathered another child – but it still hurts that Emily has to miss out on knowing her real father. Still, I know it’s for the best. She has a man to call Daddy and I’m sure he’s a wonderful father to her. It’s best for everyone if I stay away, live my life and let you all live yours.
I still think about