Chapter 5: The Son Nobody Knew About
Arthur didn't speak on the journey home.
He held the birthday card in both hands, as though the paper might disappear if he loosened his grip.
I drove slowly.
Every time I glanced across, I saw his thumb moving over the writing.
Finally, outside his house, he spoke.
"Thomas was supposed to be dead.""
I turned off the engine.
"Who is Thomas?""
Arthur looked at me.
"Emily's brother.""
I stared at him.
"You had a son?""
He nodded.
"Margaret and I had two children.""
I couldn't speak.
For thirty years, I'd believed Arthur and Margaret had never been parents.
I'd attended their anniversary parties. I'd helped Margaret decorate the house for Christmas. I'd sat beside Arthur at the funeral.
Never once had he mentioned a son.
"What happened to him?""
Arthur looked through the windscreen.
"He left.""
"Why?""
He rubbed the silver handle of his cane.
"Because of Emily.""
We sat in silence.
Then Arthur opened the birthday card again.
The handwriting was uneven but unmistakably deliberate.
Dear Emily,
I know you would have been twenty-one this year. I hope wherever you are, you know that I never forgot you.
I haven't forgotten Mum either.
And I'm sorry I wasn't there when Dad needed me.
Your brother, Thomas.
I read it twice.
"Arthur, who gave you this?""
"I don't know.""
"How did it get into the shop?""
He shook his head.
"I don't know, Eunice.""
I helped him inside.
He went straight to the kitchen, opened the cupboard, and stood looking at the tins of cat food.
Then he took down the birthday cards.
There were seventeen of them.
All unopened.
All addressed to Emily.
He placed Thomas's card on the table.
"Margaret would have wanted him to come home.""
I sat opposite him.
"Tell me everything.""
Arthur remained standing.
For several minutes, he seemed to be deciding whether he could bear to open a door he'd kept locked for decades.
Then he began.
Thomas had been born in 1993.
He was four when Emily arrived.
A bright little boy who loved football, hated vegetables, and followed his father everywhere.
When Emily became ill, everything changed.
Margaret spent most of her time at the hospital.
Arthur worked fewer hours.
Thomas was sent to stay with relatives whenever things became difficult.
At first, he understood.
He was only a child, but he knew his sister was sick.
Then came the day Emily asked for her brother.
She wanted him to read her a story.
Thomas had been promised a visit.
But that afternoon, a doctor came into the room and told Arthur and Margaret that Emily's condition had worsened.
They stayed.
Thomas waited.
He waited until the nurses told him the visiting hours were over.
And the following morning, Emily died.
Arthur's voice broke.
"Thomas thought we'd chosen her over him.""
I reached for his hand.
"He was a child.""
"I know.""
"Arthur, you couldn't have known.""
He shook his head.
"After the funeral, he stopped speaking to us. He said we hadn't loved him enough to notice he was still there.""
I felt tears gathering.
"What happened next?""
"Margaret tried to explain. But Thomas wouldn't listen. He went to live with his aunt.""
Arthur walked to the kitchen window.
"Years later, he sent a letter. Margaret kept it in her bedside drawer.""
"Did you answer?""
He nodded.
"Every month, for a while.""
"Did he reply?""
"No.""
"Then?""
Arthur's voice became quieter.
"Margaret received a telephone call in 2005. A man said Thomas had died in a car accident.""
I covered my mouth.
"Who told you?""
"Someone from the hospital. They said they had identified him.""
"Did you see him?""
Arthur looked at me.
"No.""
A chill passed through me.
"Why not?""
"Because the body had already been buried. They said it was complicated.""
I stared at him.
"Arthur, did Margaret believe he was dead?""
He nodded.
"She never recovered from it.""
He went to the cupboard and took down a small wooden box.
Inside were photographs, old letters, and a hospital bracelet.
He handed me a photograph.
A little boy sat on a garden wall beside Emily.
On the back, Margaret had written:
Thomas and Emily. Two hearts, one home.
Arthur took the photograph back.
"Margaret used to say Thomas would come home one day.""
I looked at the birthday card.
"Maybe he has.""
Arthur shook his head.
"He's too late.""
"How can you say that?""
"He's missed everything. Emily's birthday. Margaret's funeral. All of it.""
His voice cracked.
"And now he's sending cards to a girl who died twenty-eight years ago.""
I looked at the handwriting again.
There was something odd about the date.
The card had been written recently.
Very recently.
The ink was fresh.
"Arthur, I think Thomas is alive.""
He didn't answer.
I turned the card over.
There was a return address beneath his signature.
A care home in the next town.
And a telephone number.
I picked up my phone.
Arthur grabbed my wrist.
"Don't.""
"Arthur—"
"Please, Eunice.""
He looked at me with frightened eyes.
"I can't lose him twice.""
I lowered the phone.
Then it rang.
An unknown number.
Arthur stared at it.
I answered.
"Hello?""
A man's voice came through.
"Is this Eunice Palmer?""
"Yes.""
"My name is Daniel Reed. I'm the manager of Willowbrook Care Residence.""
I glanced at Arthur.
"Yes?""
"We've been trying to reach Mr Whitmore.""
"Why?""
There was a pause.
"Because one of our residents has been asking about him.""
"Who?""
The man lowered his voice.
"Thomas Whitmore.""
Arthur's cane slipped from his hand.
It struck the kitchen floor.
The man continued.
"There's something else you should know. Thomas has been refusing food for three days. He keeps saying he won't eat until he finds out whether his father is still alive.""
Arthur stared at me.
May you like
Then, in a voice I barely recognised, he said:
"Tell him I'm coming.""
