Page 20 of Love Is: Two Bodies One Soul

The taller of the two girls stopped bouncing first. Turning large green eyes on him, she asked, ‘Do you remember me, Uncle Owen?’

‘Yes, I do. I’m surprised you remember me, though.’

‘That’s easy. Daddy said at breakfast you’d be coming here today. Where’ve you been? Why haven’t you visited?’

Owen squatted to be at eye level with the girls. Making a guess that the taller girl was Georgina, he said. ‘Hello, George.’ Suddenly shy, she smiled at him, and he turned to the other child. ‘And hello Charlie.’

Charlie treated him to a wide smile, delighted with his recognition.

Finding her voice again, Georgina asked, ‘Have you come for a sleepover, Uncle Owen? Will you read us a bedtime story?’

‘I can’t – I’m sorry. I’ve got things to do at home this evening. Where’s your little sister Emma-Jane?’

‘She’s here.’ Sally, the proud grandmother, entered the kitchen, carrying little Emma-Jane.

Owen stood straight. His greeting smile fell from his face, as he saw the boy standing in Sally’s shadow. In every way the kid could have been him at fourteen.

Blood drained to his feet as he raced through some mental arithmetic. Christmas Eve 2001 plus nine months. A baby born then would reach his fourteenth birthday this September. Likely age for Mathew (by the look of him), fourteen. Iesu Grist!

‘Come on, everyone. Sit,’ Millie interrupted Owen’s frantic thoughts. ‘George, will you put Emma-Jane in her highchair? Owen, you sit here on the other side of me.’ She pulled out a chair for him. ‘Mathew, you’re next to Owen with your mum on the other side, and you girls sit between your dad and nana.’

Everyone took their places. Owen tried to resist the temptation to stare at Sally’s boy. Why hadn’t she told him? He looked at Sally, absorbed in conversation with her grandchildren. His eyes slid back to Mathew sitting upright and silent beside him. Long fingers, like his own, curved over the table’s edge. Dark blue eyes, also like his own, shyly watchful. He should try to talk to the boy, but what could he say? Hello, we’ve not met before, but I think it’s likely I’m your dad – Grist!

One night, that’s all it had been. Comfort for both of them – never anything else. Sally, the instigator, but he’d not put up any kind of fight. She’d been taking time out from marriage to a monster, pretending Owen was her first lost love, because as he remembered her saying, he was the image of her first love, the long lost Matthew. He had been breaking the barrier created by his mother’s death – finding a way back to feeling alive in the most physical way.

Owen peeled his eyes away and focused on his lap. Why hadn’t he known? He scraped his mind for memories from 2002 – graduation year. Sally had been at the ceremony. Proud mother of George, and proud friend to him. She’d sent money for his gown and cap with extra for spending on whatever he liked. He remembered her note said, for you to party a bit. Try as he might, he could not be sure what she had been wearing on graduation day. Possibly a summer dress, something floaty, not obviously maternity wear. But would she be showing by then … six months? Yes, she would. Why hadn’t he seen it – felt the bump when they’d hugged after the ceremony?

He picked at a fraying seam on his jeans, pulling so hard at the strands of memory that it felt he might draw blood. Sally, widowed and newly partnered with Henry. Henry at the graduation but they hadn’t talked. Owen always avoided conversation with the man if he could. Then they’d come back to London, all their stuff in the boot of Henry’s big Mercedes. He and George lived together in George’s home. This house. Sally had already moved out to live with Henry. First in his luxury dockside apartment, and then after they married, they’d moved to Kent. Or was it Sussex? Owen couldn’t recall where or when for sure. He’d hardly seen Sally after his graduation.

Getting work had been the priority and his distraction – that plus drinking and girls. To be fair, it was only ever girls in the plural for him. George had already been very much in love and settled with Millie. But Owen remembered he had flitted from one girl to another, never staying long enough with one for it to become serious, keeping himself safely out of the danger zone of love. He couldn’t remember when they’d told him Sally was pregnant, but whenever it was, it couldn’t have worried him – otherwise, he would have spoken to Sally. No matter how difficult it might have been, he would have stood by her and met his responsibilities. But whenever he’d learned she was going to be a mum again, he’d made no connection with the night they slept together. Why not? Had the news been deliberately kept from him and told so late he wouldn’t link the events?

‘Quiche?’ Millie offered him a slice, interrupting his thoughts. ‘Mum made it this morning.’

‘Er, yes … thanks.’ Owen watched the slice of ham and egg pie slide onto his plate, unsure if he could swallow any part of it or anything else from the spread of food in front of him. His head was buzzing from trying to remember when George had told him about Mathew.

Millie dropped salad onto his plate.

He forced a smile. ‘Thanks.’

‘Are you okay, Owen?’ she asked.

‘Yes, fine.’ He tried another smile.

Sally glanced at him over Mathew’s head and said, ‘I know what’s wrong.’

Owen’s stomach lurched at the thought of her declaring Mathew’s parentage in front of everyone.

She pushed her chair back and went to the fridge.

‘Mum.’ George’s tone held a warning note.

‘I don’t care what you say,’ Sally argued. ‘Owen’s not an alcoholic, and this meal is missing wine.’

‘What’s an alcoholic?’ Georgina asked.

‘Someone who drinks too much,’ Mathew said under his breath, still hanging on to the table’s edge.

‘Like daddy, then?’ Georgina suggested.

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