Page 113 of The Pearl Sister
‘Right at the enda the meeting, I handed round your photograph.’
‘Did anyone recognise the young guy in it?’
‘Yeah.’ Phil signalled for the waitress to pour him another coffee. ‘Ya could say that.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, I couldn’t understand why all of them were looking at it and pointing, then having a right old laugh.’
‘Why were they?’ I asked, anxious to cut to the chase.
‘Because, Celaeno, the bloke in the photo was present at the meeting. He’s one of the elders. The others were all giving him gyp about the pic.’
I took a deep breath and then a sip of coffee, wondering whether I was going to scream, jump for joy or throw up the enormous breakfast I’d just stuffed down myself. I wasn’t used to this much excitement in the space of twenty-four hours.
‘Right,’ I said, knowing he was waiting to continue.
‘The laughter eventually died down, and the fella who’s in that photograph came to talk ta me afterwards when the others had left.’
‘What did he say?’
‘Want me to be honest?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Well.’ Phil swallowed. ‘I’ve never seen an elder cry before. Last night, I did.’
‘Oh,’ I said, for some reason swallowing a massive lump in my own throat.
‘They’re big, strong men, y’see. Don’t have none of those girly emotions. Put it like this, he knew exactly who you were. And he wants to meet you.’
‘Oh,’ I said again. ‘Er, who does he think he is? I mean . . .’ I shook my head at my crap use of language. ‘Who is he to me?’
‘He thinks he’s your grandfather.’
‘Right.’
This time, I couldn’t stop the tears or I really would have thrown up my breakfast. So I let them pour out of my eyes in front of this man that I didn’t even know. I watched him dig in his pocket and pass me a spotless white handkerchief across the table.
‘Thanks,’ I said as I blew my nose. ‘It’s the shock, I mean . . . I’ve come a long way and I never really expected to find my . . . family.’
‘No, I’m sure.’ He waited patiently until I’d pulled myself together.
‘Sorry,’ I offered and he shook his head.
‘I understand.’
I held his soggy hanky in my hand, reluctant to let it go. ‘So, why does he think that he might be my . . . grandfather?’
‘I think it’s his place to tell you that.’
‘But what if he’s got it wrong?’
‘Then he has,’ Phil shrugged, ‘but I doubt it. These men, they don’t just work on fact, y’see. They have an instinct that goes far beyond what I could even begin to explain ta ya. And Francis, of all the elders, is not one to muck around. If he knows, he knows, and that’s that.’
‘Right.’ The hanky was so wet now that I resorted to wiping the back of my hand across my still dripping nose. ‘When does he want to meet me?’
‘As soon as possible. I said I’d ask you if you’d be able to spare the time ta come back with me to Hermannsburg now?’
