All the Little Lies. Chris Curran

you were in your cradle.’ She glanced towards the stairs and her voice dropped. ‘Do come in, but can I ask you to speak quietly? Ben’s having a nap.’

      In the spacious hallway Pamela gestured towards a door. ‘Let’s go and sit down. You look tired.’

      Eve felt very awkward. ‘I’m fine, but I’ve come quite a long way, so would you mind if I used your toilet?’

      ‘It’s just there.’ Pamela pointed to a door at one side of the hall. Next to it was a tiny lift with a glass door. Just large enough for a wheelchair.

      The cloakroom was as big as the bathroom in Eve and Alex’s house and far more luxurious. It was also beautifully warm, and Eve took her time, glad to have a chance to thaw, but also to think.

      When she came out Pamela was standing at the bottom of the elegant white staircase. Eve went to speak, but Pamela placed her finger to her lips, whispering, ‘I’m afraid Ben isn’t up to seeing anyone. But I’m sure I can help.’ She pointed to a nearby door.

      In the long living room, a bow window with sweeping green curtains at one end and tall French windows at the other, Eve perched on a pale leather sofa and tried to relax. Pamela sat opposite, smiling warmly at her.

      ‘How are Jill and David? It’s too long since we’ve seen them.’

      ‘They’re fine, still living in Hastings, and I’m back down there now too.’

      ‘That must be lovely for them.’ Pamela looked as if she was going to say more, but Eve’s movement stopped her and she made a little, go on, gesture.

      ‘I’m sorry if I’ve disturbed you, but I just discovered that my birth mother was Stella Carr.’ Pamela remained expressionless. ‘As you probably know there’s a new exhibition of her work at the Baltic Gallery and I wondered if Ben had contributed any works to it?’

      Pamela’s light blue eyes flickered towards the door. ‘Actually I didn’t know about the Baltic and I don’t think Ben does either. We don’t keep up with the art world nowadays, I’m afraid. It’s a shame really, but we’ve never been collectors. So, no, we didn’t contribute.’

      Eve took a breath. She hadn’t planned to say this to Pamela, but it looked as if she wasn’t going to be able to talk to Ben. ‘Well, I’m trying to get in touch with Stella’s friend, Maggie de Santis. Do you have any idea where she is now?’

      Smoothing her hair, Pamela said, ‘What did you say your mother’s name was?’

      ‘Stella Carr.’

      Pamela looked towards the French windows and the garden where the dark silhouette of a tree was just visible, then turned to Eve, her forehead creased. ‘No, I’m afraid you’ve had a wasted journey. I don’t remember Stella or any of her friends, and I doubt my husband does either.’

      She glanced at her silver watch, and Eve took the hint and stood.

      ‘Well, thank you anyway. Will you ask him about them for me, in case he recalls anything at all?’

      Pamela led the way saying, ‘Of course, but your father is more likely to know something. He organized that young artists’ show. Ben just supported him. And, as David would be the first to admit, I’m afraid the whole thing turned out to be a costly mistake.’

      By now they had reached the front door and as Pamela opened it a gust of cold air blew through the hall. ‘I’m sorry I couldn’t help you, but do give your parents my best wishes. Tell them we must catch up soon.’

      On the steps again Eve stood for a moment, almost certain she could feel someone watching her. She shivered and looked left and right down the street, but there was nobody in sight.

      Ben

      He pushed his wheelchair over to the window. The shock of recognition when he heard that voice amazed him. It was thirty years ago. But then those few weeks were seared into his brain – and his body too.

      Now he thought about it he could see there was something different. No accent. That was it. This girl sounded as if she was from round here. No hint of Stella’s cute northern twang. He smiled remembering how the way she tried to hide it made her even more attractive.

      It couldn’t be her, but when he heard the door open and close and looked down into the street he had that sense, which happened more and more as he grew older, of absolute recognition. Of being back in time. His brain told him it wasn’t Stella, but his eyes said it was.

      It must be her daughter. The baby David and Jill adopted. But as he watched her walk away, red hair blowing in the wind, he could still almost believe it was Stella.

      He shook his head. Ridiculous. If Stella had still been alive she wouldn’t look like that now. And anyway she was dead. He knew that better than anyone.

      Eve

      As she walked slowly along the damp pavement Eve was thinking hard. One thing was certain: Pamela had been lying.

      Eve hadn’t mentioned the young artists’ show, yet Pamela had known Stella and Maggie were part of that. Of course, if her husband had been unfaithful to her with one or both of them she wouldn’t want to be reminded.

      Just ahead was a coffee shop, its lights shining onto the pavement, and Eve was suddenly overwhelmed with exhaustion. It was busy, but she found a table in a warm corner and ordered hot chocolate and a falafel wrap. Her seat was comfortable and she leaned back almost in danger of falling asleep.

      ‘Excuse me, is this place free?’ She nodded absent-mindedly as the man sat opposite. Then she did a double-take. He was almost identical to the early photographs she had seen of Ben. This had to be his son. He gave a little laugh.

      ‘Don’t worry, I’m not trying to pick you up. I’m Simon Houghton and I was at the house to see my dad just now and overheard you talking to Mum. I’m ashamed to say I stayed on the landing and listened.’ Another laugh, soft and pleasant.

      Like Ben he was dark and very good-looking, but this man seemed diffident, even shy, which didn’t fit the image she had formed of his father.

      ‘I was asking about my mother, Stella Carr, and her friend, Maggie de Santis.’

      He regarded her silently for a moment. She knew she was flushing and was glad when the waitress arrived bringing her order. Simon asked for a coffee then turned to Eve again, shaking his head this time.

      ‘I can’t get over how much you resemble her.’

      A heavy thump inside. Not from the baby, but her own heart. ‘You knew my mother?’

      ‘Hardly. I mean I was only fourteen at the time, but I saw her at the gallery because they let me come to that show. And then a few times afterwards. She was so pretty, I suppose I had a crush on her.’

      Eve was glad she could fiddle with her food: pushing in a few bits of salad that poked from the end of the wrap. She knew she had gone pink. It was ridiculous. He was talking about fancying her mother not her and that was when he was a boy.

      ‘Your mother says she can’t remember Stella or Maggie.’

      ‘That’s not surprising. Maggie was one of Dad’s many affairs, which didn’t endear her to Mum.’

      ‘So do you have any idea how I can find her?’

      He shook his head. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t, and it’s not likely Dad will either.’

      ‘I was hoping she could tell me more about my mother.’ She paused for a moment, but his smile told her to go on. ‘Thought she might even know who my father was.’

      He nodded. His eyes looked brighter blue than his mother’s perhaps because of his dark lashes. ‘I could tell you that knowing all about your biological parents isn’t