him. I select one at random.
Dearest Adam,
Please, my boy, don’t get involved in things you can’t begin to understand. Just know that I love your father as I love you. Do well in your exams. See you at Easter.
Love,
Mummy
What was she referring to? The letters are all dated, so I select one written by Adam in the month before.
Dear Daddy,
I know what you’ve done and it disgusts me. I will protect Mummy and care for her even if you don’t. If you write to me, I will burn your letter.
Adam
Good heavens! What was he referring to? I flick through the earlier letters, but they all seem perfectly normal, mundane even; letters from a young boy, fairly miserable at boarding school, writing to his parents, telling them about his classes and the grades he got in tests. Their missives back to him, mainly written by his mother, detail what they were doing week by week: his father’s business meetings and his magisterial duties, his mother’s sewing assignments and baking for charity events. There is nothing in any of the letters that explains what Adam’s father supposedly did. And now they are all dead, and I suppose I will never know. Was that the start of the deterioration of his relationship with his father?
I am just about to put everything back in the envelope when I notice I’ve missed something. It’s a compliment slip printed with his parents’ address, handwritten by his father.
‘The will is sorted. Watertight. Nothing for you to worry about. Dad’
Why would Adam have been worried about his father’s will? He never said anything to me, either before his father died or afterwards. It makes no sense.
I only realise I have whiled away the whole morning when Oliver puts his head around the door and announces that Cassie has made lunch.
Mia is in the kitchen. ‘Mum, I want to say something,’ she says before I have the chance to sit down.
‘Of course, darling.’
‘I don’t want you to get married again. I don’t like Patrick much, but as Cassie said, it’s your life and I mustn’t stop you. I was just upset, that’s all.’
I fling my arms around her, although she stays quite rigid. ‘Of course you are upset. It’s perfectly understandable.’ I speak softly, my lips grazing her hair.
‘Right! Sit down, everyone! Grub’s up.’ Cassie places a large bowl of steaming risotto in the centre of the table.
I had wanted a winter wedding the first time around, but Adam thought that was a stupid idea, so we got married in June. Although I won’t have the long white wedding dress and all the extravaganza, I can still fulfil that old dream. The decision whether to go ahead was one of the hardest decisions I have ever had to make. The last thing I want to do is alienate my daughter or cause her more grief than she’s already suffering, but at the same time I want to grab this chance of happiness. I vacillated so much Patrick started to get annoyed. ‘Either you want to marry me or you don’t,’ he snapped one evening. ‘We’re not exactly in the first flush of youth, Lydia, and I don’t want to waste any more time.’
So I agreed to his timescale. We set the date for 28 January, Patrick’s birthday. I knew it would make him happy.
‘I’m not a church kind of person,’ Patrick said.
‘It’s fine. I don’t mind having a registry office marriage,’ I said. I did the full church wedding with Adam and am almost relieved not to have to do it again. ‘But let’s have a party afterwards. I would like to meet your friends and family.’
‘Oh, Lydia,’ he moaned, grasping my hands. ‘I don’t like parties. And I don’t want to share you with lots of people. Let’s make this intimate and special, just for us. There’s nothing worse than having to be on best behaviour for people you hardly know. But most importantly, it probably isn’t appropriate. The last time you will have seen all of your friends and family would have been at Adam’s funeral.’
He didn’t need to say any more. I agreed to keep the celebration small. Tiny, in fact. When I asked him to invite his sister and her family, he shook his head sadly. ‘She’s too sick, Lydia. Of course you will meet her, but not whilst she’s immunosuppressed. It’s too dangerous for her.’
‘In which case, I won’t ask Bea either,’ I said, on the one hand relieved that I wouldn’t have to