Dating best friend39s widow
Dating best friend39s widow
It had been written as part of the plan, I was now told, made by my parents with Rosie and David over dinner a week before. Over time, that sense of separateness has diminished again. The bond with them began then and has grown steadily. ‘Hello,’ he said, ‘you must be my sister.’David appeared later, hugged me tightly and talked too much and too quickly, kept moving from place to place.
At first Mum determined to go to a clinic to resolve the problem before it became apparent, but at the last moment she couldn’t go through with it. Extraordinarily, he agreed to raise the baby as his own, so long as she kept the secret firmly to herself.And so she had me within her marriage, put a brave face on it, and carried on. Being adopted himself, connections with his genetic offspring felt significantly important.When I was seven, my mother got divorced and remarried. She told her new husband – and David – the truth about me. Even so, my mother refused to let him into my life.‘No, your stepfather is not your natural father either,’ she added, almost by way of apology. I knew who he was to me, and didn’t want that to change. My initial feeling was one of sadness for my mother, for having held on to this weighty secret for so long.My mother handed me an envelope as she told me my father’s name. Inside was a letter in strangely familiar handwriting, handwriting I almost share. But I loved her and I trusted her instincts in all things, even this.Coincidentally, I knew from an early age that I, too, wanted to write.
I was aware of being different from my sisters – they were tall and dark, I was small and blond.
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And photographs, one of a woman, Rosie, holding a small baby, Daisy, aged six months, another of David, my new father, and a third of his son, the handsome nine-year-old Luke, from an earlier marriage. Collectively, we told my sisters – their shock was understandable, but they were generous in their response. I felt immediately comfortable around him, he was good at drawing me out, was interested in me, and we shared similar loves, of art, books, French literature.
David’s letter eloquently introduced this other family to me. Even so, I sensed a wariness in them, a subtle distancing from me. The first time I went to stay with David, I took a train to Paddington and was met by Rosie with Daisy in her arms.
Until then I didn’t know that Daisy and I shared a natural father, the war correspondent David Leitch.