Page 100 of Pyg

Tucked away at the back of the drawer were two stacks of letters, each tied with red ribbon. I untied the first stack. The coarse yellowed envelopes were addressed to Sylvia and Eleanor in a hand I recognised from the Christmas book —Papa. I retied the stack and picked up the other, noting an untidy handwriting I’d never seen before. I squinted at the envelope, postmarked October 1968 with a foreign stamp, and addressed toGeorge & Bernard Shaw.

My fingers fumbled with the ribbon. In haste, I pulled the top letter out of the envelope and narrowed my eyes at the scrawl on the page.

Dearest George and Bernard,

It’s with the heaviest heart I’m writing this letter to you. I’m truly stricken, and I don’t know where to even begin. I’ve tried to reach you on the telephone, but as yet, I’ve been unsuccessful. I’ll keep trying and do whatever I can to get this news to you as you have a right to know.

Your mother and I were involved in a terrible car accident in Ethiopia. Two days later, she died in hospital from her injuries. I was with her, holding her hand. The last words she said were your names.

This won’t bring your mother back, but I wish it had been me. I wish I could take her place and she were home with you now. But God took her as my punishment.

I’m so sorry. I should’ve been a better man. But that’s just it, I’m weak-willed and flawed. We were going to send for you. We had so many plans.

Please know that I loved her with all my heart, and I love you both too, my sons.

Your father,

Henry Higgins.

Blood rushed in my ears as I scrunched my eyes and glanced at the words again. The inked characters scrawled across the page confirmed what I thought I’d known all along.Higgins was our father. That was obvious.

But our mother had died in Africa, and Grandmother had known. All these years, she’d known and kept it from us. The fucking church knew, too —

“Whoa, Georgie-boy! You’re brave. You ventured into the dragon’s den without me?” Bernard’s voice on the landing snatched me from my thoughts. With shaking hands, I shuffled and shoved the letters back into the drawer.

“Found anything interesting?”

“Oh, just these.” I gestured to the pocket watch and medals. “And there’s some jewellery in here. You think it’s worth anything?”

“Oh nice!” Bernard eyed off the feather brooch and slid one of Grandmother’s rings onto his pinkie finger, holding it up to inspect it in the light. “Do you a deal? You can keep the watch and medals if I can have these bits and pieces?”

“If you’re sure that’s what you want.” I laughed as Bernard pinned the brooch onto his shirt and pouted at his reflection in the mirror.

“I, er, found some old letters too. Do you mind if I take them and have a read?”

Bernard waved his hand in the air. “Sure, you know I can’t be bothered with all that. Right, what delights did the old witch have hidden away in this wardrobe?”

Gulping down my guilt, I retrieved the letters from the drawer and tucked them into my satchel.

“Holy shit! I think this is real fur.” Bernard held a hideous brown coat against his body and twirled around, summoning memories of Mum and the studio and dancing toFrom Me to Youas it blared from the radio.

I will tell him. When the time’s right, I’ll tell him.

18

LITTLE BROTHER

“Inever had the heart to break it to him.” George’s eyes glistened with tears as he fixed his gaze on the tree outside, its budding leaves swaying in the light breeze.

“I can’t believe you lived with the burden of that secret for so long. Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t keep anything from Maggie. She always sees right through me.”

“I shouldn’t have kept it from him. I let Bernard live in false hope. He believed our mum was out there somewhere, living her best life. And I don’t think he ever gave up on the idea of her coming back one day.”

“Wasn’t he angry with her?… I mean, didn’t he feel like she’d abandoned you both?”

George sniffed and shook his head. “Quite the opposite. Bernard worshipped Mum. I think he saw her great escape as something to live up to. I’d say it’s what gave him the courage to leave home at sixteen. Bernard couldn’t have achieved his full potential in the stifling space we’d grown up in, so he left as soon as he could. Joined the bloody circus, of all things.”

“The circus?”

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