Separation

  Separation

  by

  Louise Lyons

  COPYRIGHT

  Separation © 2017 Louise Lyons

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission.

  This is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or business establishments, events or locales is coincidental.

  WARNING

  This book contains material that is intended for a mature, adult audience. It contains graphic language, explicit sexual content, and adult situations.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  More Books by Louise

  Chapter One

  Matthew

  “Matthew! Time to get up!”

  I groaned and buried my head under the pillow at the sound of my mother's voice outside the door. It had to be ridiculously early—my parents always wanted to share breakfast with me on my birthday, and Dad left for work at seven. They made a big thing of birthdays, and as an only child brought up in a well-off household, I was spoiled rotten. I'd watched a small number of friends grow up in poorer homes, with parents struggling to make ends meet while doing the best they could for their kids, while I got everything I wanted and a whole lot I didn't care whether I had or not. Consequently, I expected everything to appear when I wanted it without having to make an effort to earn it. Only the fact that my parents hadn't always had money made me realize I was lucky.

  “Mattie! Come on, it's your birthday!”

  “I'm coming!” I called out. Sighing, I threw back the bedcovers. “I'm up,” I mumbled, to ensure my mother would go away and leave me in peace.

  By the time I'd wasted half an hour dragging out my preparations for the day, my mother was back at the door, announcing that my breakfast would go cold if I didn't hurry, and Dad didn't want to go to work before he'd seen me.

  I took one last look in the mirror and grimaced at what I saw. Still-damp brown hair fell into my boring gray-blue eyes, and my usually full lips set in a thin line of discontent. Another birthday wouldn't make things better. My life was empty, and it wasn't all my own fault. Something had always been missing. I just didn’t know what.

  “Mattie!”

  “Yeah!” I strode to the door and yanked it open. “I'm ready.”

  My elegantly dressed mother with her perfect hair arrangement smiled gently at me. “Happy birthday, love.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Try to look enthusiastic. You only get your twenty-first birthday once. Your dad and I have something special for you.”

  “I don't need anything.” I made my way down the stairs ahead of her, pretending not to hear her exasperated sigh. My father waited in the kitchen, a huge array of breakfast items laid out on the counter.

  “Happy twenty-first, son.”

  “Thanks, Dad.” I let him shake my hand and give me one of his awkward hugs, then helped myself to a plateful of food. We sat together at the bar to eat. The dining room was reserved for dinners. I ate in silence, listening to my parents talk about how excited they'd been when they had their twenty-first birthdays.

  My gift was a car, just as I expected. I already had a car—a Mini I'd been given as a reward for passing my driving test almost four years earlier. I opened the small parcel and pinned a delighted smile to my face as I took out the Volvo key and went to the window to see my new pride and joy. Dad told me in detail how he'd chosen it for its safety features and robust build, while I stared at the sleek black C30 and reasoned that it could have been worse. It wasn't what I'd call “cool,” but at least it wasn't an old man's car.

  “You can take it out for a spin later,” Dad said. “First we have something to tell you.”

  “Okay.” I returned to the bar and helped myself to a coffee refill. My mother frowned disapprovingly at my double caffeine intake, but said nothing. The pair of them sat in silence for a long moment, staring at me with curiously worried expressions. “What?” I prompted.

  “Matthew, we never made any secret of the fact that you're adopted,” Dad began. I sat up straight, my interest sparked for once.

  “You're very special to us,” Mum added. “We couldn't have asked for a better son, and we've always thought of you as our own. I hope you've felt that you are.”

  “Yeah.” I nodded and shrugged at the same time. My pulse quickened and I clasped my hand tighter around my coffee mug. For some reason, I got the impression they were about to tell me something that would change my life. I glanced from one to the other and licked my lips. “So now I've turned twenty-one, you're kicking me out?” I laughed to show it was a joke.

  “Of course not. Don't be silly.” Mum reached for my free hand and slid hers into it.

  “We wanted to tell you before, but it was a condition of the adoption that we wait until now.” Dad rested his elbows on the counter and steepled his fingers together—what he always did when he had something serious to say. "I appreciate this won't be easy for you."

  “Just tell me.” I leaned away from the bar and folded my arms. What the hell were they going to say? I had some unusual disease and was going to drop dead before my next birthday?

  “You have a brother. A twin, actually.” Dad paused and waited for my reaction. My jaw dropped and the rushing sound in my ears drowned whatever Mum said. My heart hammered, each beat vibrating through my chest and stomach like a drum. My upper arms stung where I'd dug my nails into them, and I struggled to breathe. A twin? Twenty-one years and now they told me I had a twin? I couldn't find the words to express what I felt at that moment. All my life something had been missing; a strange ache inside had told me part of me had been taken away, and I'd never been able to understand it. Now I did. The other part of me was living somewhere, maybe feeling the same sense of disconnect that I did. Perhaps at this precise moment he was being told he had a twin, too.

  “Where is he?” I whispered.

  “We don't know.”

  “What do you mean, you don't know? How can you tell me I have a twin, but you don't know where he is? Do you know anything? Why isn't he with me?” Temper flared and I leaped off my stool. “What happened? Why aren't we together?”

  “All we know is that your birth mother died shortly after you were both born. Your father didn't want to give you up, but he couldn't cope with two babies. He tried for a while and it got too much. So, he gave you up for adoption.” Mum explained in a quiet, sad voice, and I reeled from the information.

  “How could he do that? How could he separate us?” I backed away and gripped the edge of the sink, my legs shaking and threatening to pitch me onto the floor. “Who is he? Do you know? Are there records? Why are you only telling me this now?”

  “Oh, sweetheart…” Mum rushed to my side and wrapped her arms around me, and it was only then I realized I was crying. Tears dripped from my face onto her blouse.

  “How can I find him?” The words came out rough and strangled, and I cleared my throat.

  “The adoption agency has records. They won't tell us where he is, but they'
ll register your interest in searching for him and if he contacts them, then—”

  “If? If he contacts them?” I wrenched free of her arms and paced the room, wringing my hands. “What if he doesn't even know I exist? He might never contact them!” The thought that I may go through the rest of my life never getting the chance to meet the brother I'd only just learned about, sucked the breath out of me. I stopped my pacing, my chest heaving with emotion.

  Nothing much had affected my life before—nothing that made me really feel. Even when my boyfriend ditched me for someone else, I'd moved on in two days. I supposed I hadn't really loved him. He'd been high maintenance and we had hardly anything in common. But what my parents had just told me was huge. What kind of father would separate twins, however difficult it was for him to cope?

  “Mattie…” Mum moved toward me again. I stepped around her and grabbed the key to my new car.

  “Do you even know his name?” I asked.

  “No. I'm sorry. We don't know any more than what we've told you.”

  “How could this happen?” I left my protesting parents and strode out of the room. Shoving my feet into the first pair of shoes I found in the porch, I burst out of the house. I barely heard Dad shouting after me to be careful, and Mum adding that I probably shouldn't drive while I was upset. Moments later the Volvo tore out of the drive, leaving deep tracks in the gravel.

  I had no idea where I was going. The car was full of fuel and I drove aimlessly, clocking up mile after mile as my mind whirled. How would I ever find my brother if he didn't know to look for me? Or worse, he didn't want to look for me.

  After an hour or so I realized I was in the middle of nowhere, hurtling down a narrow lane with little thought for my safety, or anyone else's. I had no idea where I was and I slowed the car, proceeding more cautiously until I reached a signpost. I paused for a moment, considering my options, and eventually retraced my route to St. Albans. When I reached the town, the businesses were open and I could try to find out something about the other part of me whose name I didn't even know.

  * * *

  At nine-fifteen, I walked into a second-floor office and approached the reception desk. The young woman behind it smiled pleasantly. “Good morning. How can I help you?”

  “I'm adopted,” I blurted. “I was told today I have a brother I didn't know about. How can I find him?”

  “Let me take some details. Please sit down.”

  I lowered myself onto the edge of one of the chairs at my side of the desk, and fidgeted while I gave her my name, address, date of birth, and adoptive parents' names. Finally, I produced my driver’s license for photo ID. She tapped away on a computer keyboard and confirmed she'd found my record. Then she lifted her gaze from the screen and met my eyes, giving me a toothy smile. “What do you know about your twin?”

  “Virtually nothing. Only that I have one and his—our dad gave me up.”

  “His name is Tremaine Wheal.”

  Startled, I leaned forward across the desk, trying to peer around the computer to see the screen. “What does it say about him?”

  “He contacted us three years ago, when he turned eighteen. The address we have noted here is the same one his father gave not long after you were both born. It's in Devon.”

  “Devon?” My eyes widened. “So how come you have records here?”

  “Mr. Wheal lived in Hatfield previously. This is the closest adoption agency office. He moved away with Tremaine not long after. The notes here say he had family in the Cornwall and Devon region.”

  “Is Tremaine looking for me?” I whispered.

  “Yes. As I said, he contacted us three years ago. His father must have told him about you.”

  “So why didn't I find out until now? My parents said it was a condition that I couldn't be told until I turned twenty-one.”

  “That's true. I'm afraid I can't tell you why. If a child is put up for adoption, the parent sometimes specifies if or when said child be given various details.”

  “That's ridiculous.” I slumped back in the chair with a sigh. “So, he's wanted to find me for three years and I only find out now. Why wouldn't you give him the details of how to find me?”

  “It's the rules. I'm sorry. You might not have wanted to meet him, or your parents might not have wanted you to know. I'm very sorry, Matthew.”

  “Okay.” I scrunched my eyes shut for a second. “How can I get in touch with him?”

  “Ordinarily we would contact the other party to let them know you've been in touch, but there are express instructions here that should you make contact, you be given the address and telephone number on the record.” The lady clicked a couple of buttons and a small printer on a nearby table whirred into life. A minute later, she handed me a sheet of paper with the details on it.

  My racing heart hammered still harder as I took it from her. I hadn't expected it to be this easy. In just a few minutes I could be speaking to my brother for the first time.

  Chapter Two

  Matthew

  I returned to the Volvo, pulled my cellphone from my pocket, and keyed in the number I'd been given, trying to decide what to say when he answered. Hi, I'm your brother, Matthew. I hear you’ve been looking for me.

  “The number you have called is not in service.” My heart sank at the automated message, and I stared at the phone as if it could offer an explanation.

  “Shit.” I tried again, carefully tapping in the numbers one at a time and checking it against the sheet of paper before I hit Call.

  “The number you have called is not in service.”

  It had been three years. People changed their numbers. I'd changed mine twice in that time. But if he'd been hoping to hear from me, why would he do that? I couldn't think of any other explanation. The number Tremaine had left was for a cellphone, but perhaps he had a landline number, too. A quick search of Directory Enquiries revealed several Wheals in Devon, but none of them in the town in Tremaine's address. I tried calling the three numbers listed anyway, in the vain hope that he might have moved house, or that one of them was a relative who could help me. One number went unanswered, while the other two were an elderly lady and a young man respectively, neither of whom had heard of Tremaine Wheal. My only other option was to go to the address and hope he still lived there. Salcombe, the seaside town in Devon, was probably at least two hundred miles away, but it didn't occur to me to hesitate or think things through. I fired up the car, set up the route using the built-in satnav, and started to drive.

  I didn't stop once on the journey. My cellphone rang several times as my parents tried to reach me, but I ignored the calls. The Volvo was responsive and comfortable, the only downside being I had no music to listen to. I had the radio on, but I got bored with the constant babble of the presenters in between tunes.

  When I eventually reached Salcombe, I pulled into a service station to use the facilities and top up the car's fuel. I'd used most of the tank after my aimless driving followed by the long journey, and was thankful I'd automatically pocketed my wallet when I dressed. Hunger drove me to grab some sandwiches in the station shop, but I barely noticed what I ate. Excitement and nervousness warred inside me, making my heart pound and my hands shake. I imagined arriving at his door and the pair of us immediately hitting it off like we'd never been apart. At the same time, part of me considered the address might be out of date, the same way the phone number was. He might have moved on. Anything could have happened in three years. He might have left town; left the country; died.

  “Fuck.” I started the car and followed the satnav's instructions along narrow streets bustling with traffic and tourists. Five minutes later I pulled up outside a row of stone terraces, their brightly painted doors adding an array of color to the drab gray. A sign told me only residents with permits could park on the street, but I ignored it and got out of the car. I'd stopped right in front of the door of number eight, and the last thing that concerned me was getting a parking ticket. I knocked on the door before I c
ould think anymore, and waited with my heart in my mouth.

  A couple of minutes passed, and I knocked again. The blue door remained closed, but the red one to the next property opened, and an elderly lady looked out. “Can I help you?”

  “I'm looking for Mr. Wheal.”

  “I'm sorry, he's long gone. Did you know him?”

  “No. I was hoping to.”

  “He died a few years back. My son moved into that house with his family.”

  “Died?” My stomach flipped over and my knees weakened.

  “Cancer. I'm sorry. His boy struggled on for a while, but he couldn't keep up with the rent.”

  “Oh!” I sagged against the wall. “Tremaine's okay?”

  “Oh, yes. Sorry, it was his father who died. Almost three years ago, now.”

  Three years. Mr. Wheal knew he was dying. Maybe that's why he told Tremaine about me when he was eighteen. I rubbed a shaky hand over my face. “Do you know where he went? Tremaine, I mean?”

  “I couldn't tell you where he's staying, but my son's seen him now and then, down on the beach.” She frowned suddenly. “I didn't ask who you are and here I am, gossiping away.”

  “It's all right. I'm… a relative. Thanks for your help.” I got back in the car and wiped sweaty palms on my jeans. The woman knew Tremaine, but she clearly didn't recognize me. Apparently, we weren't identical twins. If only I knew more. If he looked nothing like me, how would I find him? Hunting for one man on the beach at the start of the tourist season wouldn't be easy.

  I drove on, winding my way out of the series of residential streets until I came to the seafront. Signs pointed out several parking areas, and I turned into the first available. After three circuits of the small lot crammed with cars, a woman with two children returned to her vehicle and drove off, leaving a space for me. I parked and headed for the sand. As predicted, even though the weather wasn't yet that warm and it was a weekday, hordes of people walked, paddled, and played. I gazed about me, at a loss. What now? Would I instinctively know him when I saw him, assuming he was even here?