Page 101 of Pyg

“Yep. Our grandmother was so apoplectic when she found out, I think she nearly had another stroke.” George chuckled. “My little brother, the clown.”

Alice laughed. “Perhaps it was for the best. You kept the truth from him to protect him. You can’t beat yourself up now. Did Bernard know the priest was your father?”

“He figured that out easily enough. Bernard was the spit of him.”

“And were you too?”

“Bernard, more so. But yeah, me too, a bit. That’s why I grew a beard.”

“Very saintly.”

“You reckon? I was going for rugged wrong’un. The opposite of a priest.”

“Did you ever see him again?”

“No, I was so angry with him. I was afraid of what I’d do. For many years, I blamed him for Mum leaving us, and then for her death.”

“That’s understandable.”

George sighed. “It’s another regret that I’ve lived with. Poor Bernard just followed my lead, so effectively I denied him the chance to grieve for our mother, and the chance to get to know our father.”

Alice reached across and placed a hand on George’s shoulder. “You were trying to protect him. And you were so young yourself, it wasn’t your place to build bridges. He was your father, he should’ve?—”

“Oh, he’d written many times. I found a stack of letters in our Grandmother’s room.”

“She kept them from you?”

George’s hand clenched the paisley material of his pyjama bottoms. “She was a bitter old woman. But it wouldn’t have made a difference, even if she’d passed the letters on I wouldn’t have wanted any contact with him. From what I gathered he never returned from Africa. He was a coward.”

George shook his head. “I don’t know if Higgins ever came clean about us, but if he did, then the church turned a blind eye.”

“Yeah, that seems to be the way, doesn’t it?”

They sat in silence for a thoughtful moment, until George spoke again.

“Thank you, Alice.”

“For what?”

His lips formed a sad smile. “For being so wonderfully curious and letting me get this all off my chest. I can’t make it right with Bernard now, but I feel better having told someone the truth, at least.”

“Do you think maybe you didn’t tell Bernard about your mother’s death because it would’ve made it real?”

“What do you mean?”

“As in, perhaps Bernard’s hope kept a light on for you too? And that light went out when you realised you were losing him last week?”

George frowned as he considered her words.

A small knock came at the door. Alice looked around as Ash pushed into the room, carrying a tea tray.

“Hey, you two,” she said softly. “I made you some tea. And Nurse Reid rustled up some biscuits. She must like you as she’s given you the chocolate ones.”

“Thanks, Ash.” Alice smiled and looked back at George, who was still deep in thought and scratching his beard. “Can I have a word outside?”

Ash nodded and led the way. Alice closed the door behind her, but still spoke in a whisper.

“We were right about the voicemail; it was bad news. George’s brother passed away last week. Heart attack. The same day I found George in the road.”

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