Bonnie Jack Read online

“What do you mean?” asked Anne.

  “Why can’t he understand? He lived in the house. He had eyes and ears.”

  “And what was Jack supposed to have seen and heard?”

  “The beltings.”

  “Your father beat your mother?”

  “Every Saturday night, like clockwork. He’d come home drunk, and it didn’t matter if she was asleep or hiding, he’d find her and take the strap to her,” Moira said. She looked at Jack. “Don’t tell me you don’t remember. He’d wake us sometimes and make us watch.”

  Jack shook his head. “I don’t remember anything like that. In fact, I remember virtually nothing about my life here or the people in it before the day at the movie house. I can recall names but not faces, and certainly not events like the kind you’re describing.”

  Moira turned back towards the window, her jaw set firmly, the blue veins in her forehead pulsing. The room became uncomfortably silent.

  Anne saw the confusion on her husband’s face and the determination on Moira’s. “Are you saying that your mother left your father because he beat her?” she asked.

  “Aye, of course she did. And who could blame her?”

  “I couldn’t,” Anne said. “But when she left, why didn’t she take Jack with her as well?”

  “She didn’t want our father chasing her. He loved Jack. She was afraid that if she took Jack, he’d come looking for him. She thought if she left Jack with him, he’d leave us alone.”

  “How do you know that?” Anne asked.

  “I remember it because after we left the cinema I asked her where Jack was, and that was what she said. She repeated it over and over, and for days after that she kept going back to it. I had put it out of my mind until I got Jack’s letter, and then it all started to come back to me.”

  “Except our father didn’t want me. I was immediately put into an orphanage,” Jack said. “In fact, I never saw him again.”

  “I didn’t know that.”

  “Did our mother?”

  “She never discussed that kind of thing with me,” Moira said. “You know, maybe the fact that he didn’t want you was a good thing.”

  “What do you mean?” Jack asked.

  “With Mum gone, he might have started belting you,” Moira said. She offered the slightest of smiles. “It seems to have worked out well enough for you. You seem to have made a very good life for yourself in America. If you had stayed here, who knows where you would have ended up.”

  “But didn’t she care? Didn’t she care enough to find out what had happened to me?”

  “She was gone from him. I think that’s all she cared about. You were part of the life she left behind.”

  “Was she really that unfeeling?” Anne asked.

  “She was a hard woman, but then, she’d had a hard life,” Moira said.

  “And how has your life been?”

  “I’m not one to complain.”

  “How did you end up in Irvine?” Jack asked.

  “I left home when I was fifteen and rented a room in a small house owned by a widow lady in the Gorbals. When they tore down that part of the Gorbals, I had to move. A friend told me there was work to be had in Irvine at a knitting mill. I came here for a visit, liked it, and decided to stay after I got a job at the mill. In Glasgow after I left home, I’d been a dishwasher, a scullery worker, in various restaurants. It was nice to get my hands out of hot, greasy water.”

  “Where did our mother go? Did she stay in Glasgow?”

  “She met a new man a few years after leaving our father. They lived in the Gorbals until the year I moved out of the house. Later he bought a place in Govan, on the other side of Glasgow.”

  “Did you stay in touch with her?” Anne asked.

  “We weren’t close.”

  “But you stayed in touch?”

  “I visited her now and then in Glasgow, and she came here two or three times. She wasn’t what you would call maternal, at least not with me.”

  “And even less so with Jack,” Anne said.

  “Like I said, she’d had a hard life,” Moira said, looking across at Jack. “It’s easy to find fault in her, even for me, and I’m a Christian woman. But in the end I think of her as a poor wee woman trying to survive as best she could.”

  “How did she die?” Jack asked.

  “Cancer. She was a smoker.”

  “Was she buried?”

  “She has her own grave with a fine headstone in the grounds behind St. Andrew’s Church in Govan.”

  “Where is Govan?”

  “On the outskirts of Glasgow, south of the Clyde and not far from the Gorbals.”

  “And our father?’

  “Why would I know anything about him?”

  “The National Health Service has no current records for him, which implies that he’s dead.”

  “I hope that’s right,” she said.

  “You hate him that much?”

  “After what he did to our mother, how else could I feel? I know you probably feel the same way about her. Don’t blame me if I don’t.”

  “Moira, I don’t blame you for anything. You were nine years old when all this happened.”

  “We were both wee, and neither of us had any idea what kind of life the grownups in our lives were leading.”

  “That’s true,” Jack said. He noticed that Moira had let go of the hem of her sweater and seemed slightly more at ease. “It’s also one of the reasons I came to Scotland, and why I’m talking to you. I thought I might find out about their lives.”

  “I’ve told you all I know. I hadn’t thought about either of them in years, until you wrote to me. I have my own life to worry about.”

  “And how is your life?” Anne asked. “I mean, are things all right for you?”

  “There’s a library down the street and I have the telly. Some friends from the mill drop in now and then.”

  Jack looked at Moira and felt a twinge of pity. What a wreck of a woman, he thought. But the circumstances of her life have nothing to do with me. Their plan, if things went well, had been to ask Moira to join them for lunch. Now all he wanted to do was get out of her house. He stood up. “Well, we’ve taken up enough of your time. I think we should get going now.”

  Anne glanced at him, quickly recognized his mood, and got to her feet.

  Moira nodded and struggled to rise. “I’ll walk you to the door,” she said.

  “Don’t bother,” Jack said.

  He and Anne left the room. Moira followed, then stood back and watched as Anne put on her raincoat. Jack reached for the doorknob.

  “I suppose you’re off to see the others,” Moira said.

  “The others?” Jack asked, his hand freezing.

  “Georgina and Harry.”

  “Georgina and Harry?”

  Moira searched his face as if she didn’t believe him. “You don’t know?”

  “I don’t know what?”

  “Our mother was pregnant when she left our father,” Moira said. “Georgina and Harry are the twins she had.”

  7

  They trailed Moira back into the sitting room. Anne stopped at the door and squeezed Jack’s hand. “I know this is a shock, but it will be all right,” she said.

  “Goddamn it,” he whispered. “Why did she wait until we were at the door to spring that on us?”

  “Stay calm. I know you’re agitated, but it won’t serve any purpose.”

  They took the seats they’d left only a few minutes before, but the mood in the room had shifted. “Why did you wait to tell me about Georgina and Harry?” Jack demanded.

  Moira seemed flustered and looked to Anne as if asking for help.

  “Obviously Moira thought you knew about them,” Anne said to Jack. “Was there any mention of other children when you contacted the health s
ervice?”

  “Nothing.”

  Anne smiled at Moira. “I’m sure you can understand why Jack is so taken aback. He thought he was coming here to meet a long-lost sister, and now he’s just found out that he’s got a brother and a second sister.”

  “How was I to know that he didn’t know?”

  “Exactly. How could you know.” Anne said. “Tell me, Moira, do Georgina and Harry use the family name McPherson?”

  “No, they were raised as Montgomerys, and Georgina’s married name is Malcolm.”

  “That explains it, then,” Anne said to Jack. She turned back to Moira. “Was Montgomery your mother’s maiden name?”

  “No, she took it when she married Davey Montgomery. Georgina and Harry were no more than two or three at the time, so it made sense for them. I stayed a McPherson.”

  “Was that your choice?”

  “Och, it wasn’t a matter of choice. Davey didn’t like me, and I didn’t like him. He never offered me his name and I didn’t want it.”

  Jack had been sitting stiffly beside her, but now Anne began to feel him unwind. He took several deep breaths and leaned towards Moira. “What was this Davey Montgomery like?” he asked.

  “He didn’t belt our mother, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  “I guess, in a roundabout way, that is what I’m asking.”

  “He didn’t. He had a temper, mind, but I never saw him raise a hand to her. He never hit me or the wee bairns either. He left that to our mother.”

  “So he wasn’t bad as a stepfather?” Jack asked.

  “I never thought of him as a father of any kind, although the two young ones did,” Moira said. “He treated them well enough, especially when he found out that my mother couldn’t have more children. He decided they’d be his.”

  “What did he do for a living?” Jack asked.

  “When I lived with them, he was a bookie. He worked for one of the Glasgow gangs, taking bets on the horses and the greyhounds before betting shops became legal. He was good with numbers. He taught Harry and Georgina adding and subtracting, and even multiplication and division. Both of them were smart, and they knew their maths before they even started school.”

  “Did they do well in school?”

  “Well enough. They both ended up at Glasgow University.”

  “Do they still live in Scotland?” Anne asked.

  “Why else would I ask if you were going off to see them?”

  “Sorry, I should have remembered you said that,” Anne said.

  “In which part of the country do they live?” Jack asked.

  “Harry is in Edinburgh. The last I heard, Georgina was in Bearsden, a fancy town just outside of Glasgow.”

  “She has a comfortable life?” he asked.

  “She did have. I don’t know about now.”

  “When was the last time you spoke to her?”

  “Five or six years. I’m not really sure.”

  “And when did you last speak to Harry?”

  “About two years ago.”

  “Are you closer to Harry?”

  “I’m not close to either of them. Harry was in Irvine on some company business and dropped in to see me. As soon as he saw my situation, he scarpered off.”

  “How would I contact them if I wanted to?” Jack asked.

  “I don’t know.”

  “You don’t have any phone numbers or addresses?”

  “No.”

  “What company does Harry work for?”

  “Caledonia Insurance. He’s been there for years. He’s some kind of manager.”

  “Does Georgina work?” Jack asked.

  “Her husband has money.”

  “Do you know her husband’s first name?”

  “I do, but only because it’s odd. He’s an Atholl, like in Blair Atholl. It’s a name you don’t forget once you hear it.”

  “No, I don’t imagine you would,” Jack said. “Would you also happen to remember what Atholl does for a living?”

  “He’s a businessman of some sort.”

  “What kind of business?”

  “Buying and selling, and don’t ask me what because I don’t know.”

  Jack leaned back against the sofa, closed his eyes, and pursed his lips. Anne knew he was in calculating mode.

  “This has been very helpful. Thank you,” Anne said quietly to Moira.

  “I haven’t done anything,” she said.

  Jack leaned forward again. “Moira, does Georgina or Harry know I exist?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You never discussed me with them?”

  “There was never a need.”

  “And how about our mother? Did she ever mention me to them?”

  Moira looked at Jack in confusion. Then her face sagged in what Anne could only describe as pain. “I don’t know how to answer that question,” she said.

  “Be honest,” Jack said.

  “I don’t know what to say.”

  “Just tell me the truth, as best you can. I’m not going to get angry, no matter what you tell me.”

  Moira’s eyes flitted between Jack and Anne as if asking one of them to tell her it was okay not to answer.

  “Tell me, please,” Jack said.

  “Well, if I didn’t make it clear earlier, let me do so now,” she finally said, her voice trembling. “From about a week after she left the cinema until the day she died, I don’t think your name ever passed our mother’s lips again.”

  8

  They drove in silence until they reached the outskirts of Troon. Anne finally said, as calmly as she could, “I am so sorry it turned out like that.”

  “Which part are you referring to?” Jack asked.

  “All of it, but especially the part about your mother not mentioning your name.”

  “How could that be any more hurtful than what she did to me?”

  “Still, it would have been nice if Moira had been more . . .”

  “Untruthful?”

  “I didn’t mean that.”

  “Then what?”

  “More sensitive. More like you. Not quite so downtrodden.”

  “She’s a poorly educated working-class woman from the Gorbals. What should we have expected? The miracle is that I got out of this country. I might have ended up like her if I’d stayed.”

  “Do you think you’ll ever see her again?”

  He shook his head. “Why would I? She has nothing more to tell me and we have absolutely nothing in common. Truthfully, talking to her was painful.”

  “I hope you aren’t overly disappointed.”

  “I had low expectations, but I won’t deny that part of me was hoping there would be a connection worth sustaining,” he said. “I will send her some money, though, when we get home.”

  “I hope I don’t sound cruel, but if you don’t want to stay connected with her, I’m a bit surprised that you would send her anything.”

  “I feel sorry for her. I had lumped her in with my mother, but when she started talking about the siblings and the second husband, I realized she’d been shunted aside like me. She’s a rather pathetic woman.”

  “I would prefer it if you used the word tragic,” Anne said. “She suffered in her own way from what your mother put you both through, but she wasn’t as fortunate. She didn’t have the Andersons; she had Davey Montgomery.”

  “Your ability to see multiple sides of a story never ceases to amaze me.”

  “I was raised to have an open mind. In some ways it’s a curse, because people think you have no convictions.”

  “I’d never suggest that, not even when I’m desperate for you to take my side.”

  “And which side is that?”

  “I want to understand the woman who was my mother and the man who was my f
ather. I want to keep digging until there’s nothing left to find,” he said. “But I don’t want to do it alone. However difficult it was with Moira, it would have been far worse if you hadn’t been there. You helped build a bridge between us. I’m not much good at that kind of thing.”

  “Are you saying you want to go to Bearsden and Edinburgh, that you want to meet Georgina and Harry?”

  Jack nodded, and she thought he looked slightly anxious. It pleased her that he still seemed to value her approval. “We need to locate them first,” she said.

  “It shouldn’t be that hard. How many Atholl Malcolms could be living in Bearsden? And one phone call to the Caledonia Insurance Company in Edinburgh should unearth Harry Montgomery.”

  “But if we find them, how are you going to approach them? From what Moira said, they probably don’t know you exist.”

  “Just like I didn’t know they existed?”

  “That’s different. You were living on a different continent in a different world. They’ve been here, with the woman who was their mother and your mother. They might not believe it if she never told them about you.”

  “We only have Moira’s story to go on, and it doesn’t exactly sound like she was plugged into the family circle.”

  “Even if she didn’t tell them and you’re the one to break the news, there are a million worse things someone could be told than that Bloody Jack Anderson is their older brother,” she said.

  His head swung towards her. “You know I dislike being called that.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said quickly. “It slipped out.”

  “Does it slip out often?” he said, his voice agitated.

  “Of course not, but every once in a while I hear it from one of the kids,” she said. “And Jack, it’s always said respectfully. Truly, I’ve never understood why it offends you so much.”

  “I dislike it because it implies that I used cutthroat tactics to grow Pilgrim.”

  “I never got that implication, and neither have the children. Mark says you’re admired by his colleagues in Chicago.”

  “As much as I love my son, I’ve never been crazy about his chosen profession. Being admired by a bunch of unethical Chicago traders is not exactly an endorsement.”

  “That’s not fair to Mark,” she said sharply.