Florence

"I called aunt Martha this morning. She's always happy to talk. I was three weeks late, actually - not preterm at all."

"Wow. Okay."

"Is that good or bad?"

"Well, it would explain everything, you know - if I'm right, that is. You know what it means?"

Florence looked at him uncomprehending. "No," she said. "What does it mean?"

"You see," Andrew said, "what worried me in all you told me, was that your mother's attitude towards you didn't make sense. I mean, she was so absolutely into this Robert that you'd expect her to be only too happy to have his daughter, right?"

Florence nodded, a little hesitantly. "Yes, but -"

"Now the diary says that Robert was out of the country for some time. He was away for almost six months, to be exact. When he returns the entry in the diary is absolutely jubilant."

"I noticed that. I thought it was disgraceful."

"Yes, but that made you miss the implication. You see, Robert returned six months to the day before you were born."

Florence looked at Andrew. The meaning of his words slowly sank in. It made her hair stand on end. "But that means..."

"Yes. It would mean your father really was your father after all. It would mean he committed suicide because someone maliciously told him you were Robert's, and it would explain why your mother didn't want you from the first. It would solve all incongruities. Is there any relative of your father's left?"

"I think there is. Why?

"Well, if I were you, I'd want to be certain. You'll have to have a genetic test done."

"Compare DNA?"

"Exactly. I do hope I'm right, you know."

Florence sat stock-still, thinking and revolving the idea in her head. Some shock! If this were true... If this were true it would mean that someone had hated her father so much as to wilfully causing him extreme unhappiness - if not driving him to suicide. If this were true her father was her father after all - and then her mother had been even more of a monster than she already thought. If this were true she was not who she'd thought she was, ever since the day she tucked into her mother's diary...

She looked at Andrew and she felt her hands were shaking. "I'm sorry," she said, "but I do have to be alone with this for some time. I must try and get accustomed to the idea - and I'll have to call my aunt and ask if she has any information on relatives of my father's - if he really is my father, that is."

"I understand," Andrew said. "I was expecting it would be an earthquake - but I couldn't refrain from finding out. Having this idea without acting on it would make me feel guilty to you and very uncomfortable in your company." He heaved a deep sigh. "I'll walk you home, okay?"

Florence nodded. "Ok," she said. "But I'm afraid I may not turn up in the pub before long."

Andrew nodded. "It was to be expected," he said, with a deep sigh. "But some time, later..." He looked suddenly very tired, and he gave her a wistful smile. She noticed. She thought she understood - but she couldn't but go home and get herself back onto the rails first.

Andrew didn't finish his sentence. He went to pick up Florence's coat; when he had helped her on with it he put on his own. Then he handed her a plastic bag with the diary inside. "I've attached post-its to the relevant pages," he said.

He offered her his arm but she didn't take it; instead she walked by his side in silence, shaking her head now and then. She felt like crying, and it seemed that somehow now the whole foundation of her existence had been shovelled from under her feet.

When they reached her house she shook his hand. "Thank you, Andrew," she said. Then she turned around and hurried inside; she didn't want him to see her tears.

"I'll keep my fingers crossed, Florence!" he said as she closed the door. He shook his head. It was rather a hard pill to swallow for her. Maybe he should give her some time - but he was damned if he'd leave it at this. He decided to go and write her a letter first.

Florence leant back against it because her legs seemed to give way. When she'd steadied herself she hung up her coat and went into the living room with the little plastic bag. James looked at her from his picture frame on the wall, and she went up to it to have a close look. She shook her head at him. "Maybe!" she said.

She sat down and opened the diary. She first read the pages that Andrew had singled out. She saw exactly what he meant, and that if the diary were right she couldn't be Robert's. Then she began at the beginning and read the entire diary, straight up to the end, thinking of herself as Robert's offspring. It seemed all awry. When she'd finished she read it once more, with as a reading premise the idea that she was indeed James's daughter, and this time it did make sense. She wondered how she could have missed it. But then, she wasn't too analytical a reader.

It was half past ten when she stopped reading. She wondered for a moment if it were too late to call aunt Martha; but she decided she would burst if she didn't.

Aunt Martha was a little disgruntled at first. Florence told her what appeared from the diary as succinctly as possible, and at first it remained completely silent at the other end of the line. Eventually she heard her aunt clear her throat.

"My God, Florence," she said hoarsely. "My God. That friend of yours is right. It would explain everything. I never thought of Carrie's behaviour as incongruous - but it was, of course. Oh, my poor, poor James..." She was silent for a moment.

"I'll have to get myself a glass of water," she said. "Hang on, please -"

She was back in a wink. "So what are you going to do now? Do you want me to contact James's siblings? It will be a shock for them, too - they thought, like I did, that you were Robert's. I suppose they will be only too happy to welcome you as their niece."

"I'd like to have some certainty first," Florence said. "Do you think they'd agree to have our DNA compared?"

"They'd better - or I'll pull their ears! I can't see why not."

"Would you arrange that for me, please?"

"You bet. I'll call them first thing in the morning - I think it won't do to call them now; they're of my age, and they'll be asleep. OK?"

"How many siblings are there?"

"Three; two girls and James's twin brother."

"Really? He was one of twins?"

"Yes - but they weren't identical, I'm afraid. And he's been widowed recently. Still, it's a nice idea, isn't it? And there are quite a couple of cousins for you, too - let me see..." She thought for a moment and then said, "There must be at least six of them, I think. How's that for a family?"

"I don't know yet if they are..."

"I'll eat my hat if they aren't. But you are right, I suppose. Oh Florence, I just can't wait!"

VI Family

Aunt Martha called early the next morning - Florence was hardly awake yet.

"Happy New Year, Florence," she said. "I've just had a long talk with Joe, James's twin brother. He's quite excited by the prospect of finding another niece in the family, and he is very willing to take the test with you. He's promised to come to Ipswich as soon as you've arranged things. Perhaps you should go and see your GP; he'll know where to go. Joe was so thrilled - I guess he's calling every single member of the family!"

"Oh, aunt Martha - what if I turn out not to be related?"

"Piffle, Florence - of course you are - it can't miss!"

Florence kept quiet, but she wasn't half sure. There had been so many unpleasant surprises that she wouldn't wonder if there were another one coming. However, she thanked her aunt and agreed to see her GP straight away.

She could come to the surgery at 10.30. She was in the waiting room ten minutes early, and Dr. Stein called her into his room a few minutes later.

"Now what seems to be the problem?" he said.

Florence explained. She'd seldom seen anyone look as baffled as her doctor did just then.

When she'd finished he looked at her open-mouthed. "Well I never," he said. "There were some rumours back then that I'd heard of, but I never believed any of them. Who would have believed that straight-laced old Hilliard could have falsified a death certificate... I can see why you want things done alright. I'll arrange things for you. Just give me some time; I'll call you back, alright?"

Florence nodded. "Please," she said. "It's really important to me."

"Well, you don't have to convince me of that," Stein said. "I'll be as quick as I can, believe you me."

Florence walked home from the surgery with lots of thoughts on her mind. She called her aunt to tell her things were being arranged, and then sat down at the kitchen table waiting for the phone to ring.

It took too long to her liking, but Stein called her back before one o'clock. He'd arranged for her to go to Addenbrooke's in Cambridge in two days' time. "So you will have time enough to have your uncle come over," he said.

"If that's what he is," Florence replied.

"Er, yes, of course. Oh well, I hope your quest for the truth will have the desired effect!"

He rang off, and Florence immediately called her aunt.

"Oh, good," she said. "I'll ensure Joe will be there. I'll collect him tomorrow. It will be nice to talk about old times - bittersweet, but nice. And I'll pick you up the day after, and we can go to Cambridge together. Oh, isn't this exciting!"

Florence though that it was - although the excitement wasn't too comfortable for her, she thought. But aunt Martha was a dear, and she was happy she at least was into the situation heart and soul.

She went to the surgery to collect the necessary papers and returned home. She read the diary once more; this time she did experience a few qualms. Just suppose that it was only what she hoped to read into it she thought she saw last night? Then what?

She felt very uncertain. Very uncertain. But she was determined to find out... She couldn't just go on not knowing, now she'd got this far.

Blast. What to do with herself now? Should she go and tell Andrew how far she'd got? He'd probably left by now... And she didn't know. She just didn't know. Better not.

She spent about half an hour discussing the point with herself; eventually she decided that she didn't dare to confront him at this stage. It was a pity, but there it was.

She stayed home for the next thirty-six hours, pacing up and down or doing useless small tasks about the house, waiting the moment to arrive that her aunt would come and pick her up - and that she could meet her possible uncle.

She sat ready in the hall almost an hour before aunt Martha was due. Finally she heard the wheels of the red car crunch up the snow on the drive. As she opened the door two people got out, her aunt and a tall gentleman with a lot of white hair and a friendly face. She walked their way to greet them, and her aunt introduced her to Joe Kingscote, James's twin brother.

He looked at her with a twinkle in his eye. "Very pleased to meet you," he said, "and welcome to the family. I do understand you'll want to be dead sure, but girl, you are the spitting image of one of my nieces - the spitting image! May I hug you?"

To her dismay Florence burst into tears. But she put her arms around Joe, and hugged him tight.

Joe held her close. "Don't worry," he said. "Ok, Martha? Let's go then!"

Florence got in first, folding herself up in the back seat. Martha and Joe got in simultaneously. Joe turned around and smiled at Florence. "Martha told me you have a portrait of James in the living room, right?"

"Yes. I like looking at him."

"He was a dear brother. I wish I knew who drove him to his death - it must have been either Carrie or Robert. At least we've got you now, though."

He turned around again and concentrated on the road while aunt Martha drove off with a swing of the wheel. "Careful, Martha," Joe said. "I want to have this test done!"

"Don't worry, Joe - I'll be very careful with the two of you."

She really kept her eyes on the traffic as they drove down all the way to Cambridge. The hospital was well signposted, and they found it easily. The people in charge took a few cheek swabs from Florence and Joe. "That's all, folks," the lab technologist said. "We'll let you know within a fortnight through Mr Stein. Wish you luck!"

They walked back to the car. The sky had gone grey and the air felt a loss less cold than it had over the past weeks, and Florence briefly wondered if it would rain.

"Couldn't Dr Stein have taken these swabs?" she said.

"Well," Joe said, "now they're at least where they ought to be, labelled and ready for use, with no chance of getting lost in the post or mixed up..."

"Home for tea?" aunt Martha said, "Or do you guys want to have something in town?"

"Tea at my place for me," Florence said.

"Right oh," aunt Martha said as she let in the clutch. She drove back to Florence's house in silence. When they had about twenty miles left to go it did start to rain, and the road quickly got very slippery. They had to slow down and finished the last leg of their drive at a snail's pace.

Aunt Martha turned on the radio; when it was time for the weather forecast the announcer urged his listeners to stay indoors unless it was absolutely necessary to venture out.

"Would you have a place to sleep for us, if this weather lasts?"

"Of course. I'm not going to have you die on me on the road," Florence said with a smile. "It will be nice to talk."

The road got worse and worse, and they were very glad indeed when finally they were safely inside Florence's big kitchen, having the tea the two women had prepared. Joe sat looking around, smiling at Martha and Florence and drinking two large mugs of coffee, before he sighed and put down the mug.

"Strange to be here again," he said. "When James was still alive, I sometimes came here. We'd discussed all changes to the house together - I'm an architect, too, you know - and the plan really worked out well. Your mother always had something to complain about -"

"I never knew her any different," Florence interrupted.

"Yes, she was like that. Poor James, with such a wife. You must have a rotten time, Florence. Do you like the house?"

"I really love it," Florence said. "After mother died I had it redecorated and adapted to my own tastes, but it's basically unchanged. Would you like to have a look?"

Joe nodded. He got up slowly, and they made the round of the house, discussing various small changes. Joe told a little about the old layout, and commented favourably on the changes Florence had made. They ended in the living room. Joe immediately noticed his brother's portrait. "Hi, James," he said and smiled, a little wistfully.

Florence left the old people in there and went back to the kitchen to tidy things up. She returned to hear them discussing the weather and the traffic conditions.

It was decided the drive back was too dangerous. They spent the evening talking. Florence hugely enjoyed all of it. It felt for her as if she'd known Joe for a long, long time; his kind of humour and his demeanour were completely familiar, and he apparently took to her, too.

Moreover, she thought, Joe and her aunt seemed to revel in each other's company. They positively flirted at times. Florence looked on with a little smile.

Joe noticed. "You know," he said, "that seems to be another positive thing about all this. We knew each other fairly well before James's death, and when I went to Martha yesterday we found we do like each other an awful lot... Don't we?"

Martha smiled at him and nodded. "Mmm, yes," she said. "We do. Florence, how's this Andrew of yours?"

Florence turned red. "I don't know. I've been to busy to think about him. He may have gone back to Glasgow."

"Oh... I got the impression you were in love with him."

"I thought so, too, but then all this blotted out everything. I hardly know if I am who I thought I was."

"Oh - that's very unfortunate. Maybe he should have kept quiet..."

"He said he couldn't because it would make him uncomfortable with me."

"Really? It does speak for him," Joe said. "If he likes you he will feel that your well-being comes first, and that knowing your roots is what counts then."

Florence considered this for a moment. "Yes," she said. "But to the extent of backing out?

"If need be, yes," aunt Martha said. "Although you never know what's best. If I hadn't backed out I might have married James - perhaps - but you wouldn't be there then - you see?"

Florence sighed. "It all seems very complicated," she said. "I wish things weren't."

"There are other fish in the sea," aunt Martha said.

Florence wanted to reply that she didn't want to wait until she was just too old, but she didn't want to be unfriendly and so she kept her tongue. There might be other fish in the sea, but she didn't think she was going to angle for them.

The party broke up around ten-thirty. Florence showed Joe to one of the spare rooms and then accompanied her aunt to the other one.

"I'm sorry about those fish in the sea," she said. "That was unfeeling. I didn't live that way myself, either - and you may well be of the same mould."

"I think I may - who knows; he may have left a message for me at the George."

"I hope so, sweetie. Good night!"

Florence went to bed soon afterwards. She couldn't get to sleep but lay thinking over the things that had happened to her during the last week. She somehow felt she'd mismanaged part of it; but it was too late now and especially at that time of night there wasn't anything she could do.

The next morning the world was green, with a grey sky and a lot of wind. The roads were navigable again. Joe and Martha left immediately after breakfast, leaving Florence to clear away the breakfast things. Joe had given her another big hug, and aunt Martha had kissed her goodbye.

Florence put her house back in order, and then she went out. It was raining, so she hurriedly crossed the green and went into the George. The public bar was completely deserted. Jem was in the lounge, polishing glasses. He greeted Florence enthusiastically. "Never saw you here this early," he said. "What will it be?"

Florence shook her head. "I just wanted to know if Andrew left a message for me," she said.

"Oh," Jem said with a grin. "So that's why you are here. He left a letter, I think. Mary!"

Mary arrived from somewhere inside. "Yes?" she said.

"Could you find the letter Andrew's left for Florence, please?"

"Sure," Mary said. She disappeared again.

Florence exchanged a couple of pleasantries with Jem. There was a letter, just as she'd hoped!

It took rather a long time before Mary re-emerged. "It's not where I thought it should be," she said. "It must have been mislaid."

"Mislaid? Are you sure?" Jem put down the glass he was polishing and went into the back room with Mary.

Florence stood waiting for them in some trepidation. This couldn't be true, could it?

He was even longer in returning. "I'm very sorry, Florence," he said, 'but it seems to have disappeared."

Her heart sank. Oh, no! She felt the tears come into her eyes. "Can you help me to his address?" she said.

Jem looked crestfallen. "I can't - I just entered his passport number into the books," he said.

"Oh," was all Florence managed to utter. Big tears pricked behind her eyes, and the skin of her cheeks felt taut. She shrunk in her coat; and without saying goodbye she walked back into the rain.

She walked home slowly. The day was grey enough as it was, but this disappointment made it look doubly so. When she was home she tried to find Andrew on Facebook - he wasn't there. Googling his name produced two music-related sites on which he was mentioned as the co-author of some song or other, but that was all. No phone number, no address, no nothing.

She gave up. With a little bad luck the DNA test would have negative results as well - and then all the shine would be taken from her life.