Jon McGregor - So Many Ways to Begin

A voice called out from behind her in the house somewhere: Mummy, will you not invite the poor man inside? He heard quick, clipped footsteps, and a woman a few years younger than him appeared, smiling nervously, touching Mary's arm, saying I'm sorry, please, come inside would you?

I've got some things in the car, he said, half turning away, gesturing over his shoulder.

Oh, leave those for now, the younger woman said, get yourself inside and sit down. You must be tired. That's an awful long way to drive. Most people fly these days. She backed away from the door, as though drawing him in. Mary didn't move, looking up at him, squinting slightly, not quite smiling.

Well, he said. We thought we'd make the most of the journey. Enjoy the scenery, you know. He caught himself, and indicated Eleanor, saying sorry, this is my wife, Eleanor. The three of them said hello to each other, Mary's daughter introducing herself as Sarah and asking them again to come inside. Mary backed away, following her daughter into the lounge without actually turning away from him, her smile beginning to broaden. They wiped their feet on the mat and followed her.

There was a table by the window, set out with a spread of sandwiches and cakes, home-made biscuits and shortbread and soda bread, cups and saucers, a jug of milk, a bowl of sugar. He heard the younger woman's voice from somewhere, and saw her silhouette through the frosted glass panels which divided the kitchen from the lounge. Is tea okay for you both? she asked.

Please, he replied, glancing at Eleanor, that'd be great, thanks.

Take a seat there, she said, appearing in the doorway, I'll be right through. He sat at the table, and when he turned to smile at Mary, to perhaps say something, he realised she'd slipped away to the kitchen. He could see her silhouette through the thick glass. Eleanor was still holding the bag of cakes she'd brought in from the car. I, well, I brought these, she said, stepping towards the kitchen, lifting one of the cakes out of the bag. I didn't realise you'd — and she gestured towards the table, so covered with home-baking that there was little room for anything else more than a pot of tea. There was a moment's silence, and he heard Sarah say oh before she caught herself and took the bag from Eleanor. Oh well that's smashing of you, she said; we'll certainly not go hungry now, will we?; laughing a little too loudly and saying thanks again. Eleanor turned to him, pulling a brief embarrassed face, and edged round the table to sit in front of the window, and when he sat down beside her she reached across and squeezed his hand.

It was a large room, made larger by the wide open screen of the window which took up the entire end wall. There was a gas fire set into the redbricked chimney breast, turned on low, a broad mantelpiece crowded with framed photographs and painted china figures. He looked at the photos and wondered how long it might be before he knew who all those faces were, knew their names and their stories, if he would meet them, if he would come to think of them as brothers and sisters and cousins. He wondered if it would come to that at all.

Right then, here we go, said Sarah, carrying a teapot and a place-mat into the room, sorry to keep you waiting there. Mary followed, staying close to her daughter.

Not at all, David said, standing up without really knowing why, this is great, thanks. She looked at him, smiling.

Oh, it's only a pot of tea now, she said, it's not all that much. He smiled, dropping his head, embarrassed. Anyway, she said. Sit yourself down. I'm going to keep quiet now. I'm sure you and Mummy have a lot to be talking about.

Mary looked up at Sarah, and at David and Eleanor, and leant forward to serve the teas. She trickled a little milk into each cup, and then took the pot in both hands to pour out the tea before sliding a cup across the table to each of them. She looked up at David, finally, and smiled. They looked at each other for what felt like a long time, taking in the details of each other's faces, the folds and creases and colours of the skin, the shape of the eyes, the way that the light coloured and shone in the eyes, the cut of the hair, the weight of the hair, the way the hair fell across the other's face or down the sides of the head, the line of the jaw, the shape of the chin, the colour and shape and tiny movements of the mouth and lips.

Well, she said. Now. Here we are then. So.

He smiled. Yes, he said. Here we are. It's been a long time, he said, smiling, and they both tried to laugh.

It has, said Mary, holding his gaze, it has.

Longer for you though, he said, saying it half as a question but knowing it was true. She considered the thought for a moment.

Aye, I suppose so, she said, a few years more at least, in a way. He hesitated and pushed on.

No, a lot longer I'd say, he said. I didn't know until I was an adult. I was twenty-two when I found out. Her eyes widened a little. She put her teacup down and peered at him. Sarah leant forward in her chair.

Is that so? Mary asked. Well, there's a thing. I'd never thought of that. She picked up her teacup again. Well, she said, shaking her head, well, there's something.

Didn't you ever wonder? asked Sarah. Did it never cross your mind? He looked at her. I mean, sorry, she said, it's not really my business, but. She sat back in her chair. I wonder why they waited so long to tell you, she said, I wonder what it was — Mary turned to her, frowning, and Sarah stopped herself. Sorry, she said. Look at me now. It's not my place, I'm sorry. She pulled the collar of her blouse away from her neck and looked towards the gas fire. Are you too warm there? she said, to David and Eleanor, and they both shook their heads.

No, he said, it's okay, I'm fine, thanks. He glanced across at Mary, her face patient and impassive. He was surprised by how calm everything had been so far, how formal. He had thought, on the many many occasions he had imagined this scene in his mind, that by now there would have been tears, garbled explanations, tentative embraces. He realised, already, that this was unlikely.

They didn't tell me, he said, answering Sarah's question but looking at Mary as he spoke. My father died before I found out, I'm not sure that he knew either. As he said the word father he noticed something flicker across Mary's face, some slight pinch of the lips, a turn of the head, and he realised that there was going to be an awkward uncertainty around their use of these words. A friend of my mother's told me, he said. It was an accident. She was getting old, and forgetful, and one day she lost sight of it being a secret at all, and told me as though I'd always known. He was surprised by how easily the words were coming. He had the sense that now he'd started he'd be able to talk until the light failed outside, and on until the sun came up again.

Well now, Mary said. That must have been some surprise. He laughed, nodding, covering his eyes for a moment, clearing his throat. She looked at him, smiling faintly, pleased with her own understatement.

Yes, he said, you could say that. It was something of a surprise. He finished his tea, and she immediately reached over to refill his cup.

And have a cake there, she said, pushing the plate across the table towards him. She refilled her own cup, and the pot trickled empty. She turned to her daughter; would you make us another pot Sarah? she asked. Sarah stood up and moved towards the kitchen, taking the pot with her, keeping her eyes on David as she left the room. Eleanor stood up as well, suddenly, and said I'll give you a hand, touching David's shoulder as she edged back round him and followed Sarah into the kitchen.

Well then, Mary said, here we are. Let me get a look at you, properly. He turned more fully towards her, feeling his face colouring under the fixed attention of her gaze. She sat back in her chair, slowly looking him over, measuring him out as an artist might measure out a life model before setting the pencil against the page. Stand up, she said softly. He stood, moving away from the table, aware of Sarah standing close to the frosted glass. Mary got up from her chair and stepped back a little, looking up at his face, moving around him. He followed her with his eyes, watching her steadily taking him in, and realised with a hard inward jolt what she was doing. The tears came then, at last, hot and stinging at the corners of his eyes, and he did his best to keep them hidden there, blinking them back, biting the inside of his cheeks. He saw that the rims of her eyes were reddening as well, and her small bony hands were curling into red-knuckled fists. I'm just wondering who it is you look like, she said, whispering.