‘Quite moving, isn’t it?’ said Aidan.
I nodded. ‘I never realised that you literally have to be standing right in front of these paintings to appreciate them properly.’
Aidan looked at his watch. ‘It’s just gone eleven, you know. We don’t have long.’
I understood. It felt like this would be the last chance for us to speak privately. If I didn’t get the full story now, I might never know how all of this had impacted his decision not to turn up that night.
‘What did the tests show? Do you have the gene?’ I asked gently.
‘No,’ he said.
‘That’s good, right?’ I said, relief rushing through me.
He nodded. ‘But the strangest thing came out of it. When I told my parents about the test, my mum started crying. Balling her eyes out, right there in front of me.’
‘Because she was relieved? Would she have blamed herself?’
‘Well, that’s what I thought, initially. But then came the bombshell. There was something they needed to tell me. Something they’d been meaning to for – well – thirty-one years.’
‘What was it?’ I asked.
‘I’m adopted.’ Aidan laughed hollowly. ‘And they’d decided it was a great idea not to tell me.’
I felt as though the wind had been knocked out of me. Adopted? I remembered how close to his parents he’d been. How affectionately he’d spoken of them and how refreshing that had seemed.
‘Fucking hell,’ I said. This was not panning out to be one of the superficial excuses I thought he’d come up with.
‘Yeah. It was a lot to take in.’
‘And that all happened …?’
‘The afternoon I was meant to meet you to go to that exhibition. It was such a shock. Mum and I had never even fallen out, not really. I’d always thought I was exactly like her: we were both sensitive, and we had a sweet tooth and neither of us slept well and we liked being around people in a way that my dad didn’t. But the stuff you think is in your genes? Turns out that sometimes it isn’t.’
He tried to smile, but I could see from his expression how painful this had been for him.
‘But it is from your mum. In that it’s about the relationship you had. The cues you picked up on, from observing how she was with other people. Which is kind of the same thing, isn’t it?’
‘Maybe,’ he said, as we followed Francesca into the Leonardo da Vinci room.
The light was very low, which Francesca said was done purposely to show his paintings in the best way: meditative and slow. With the stillness of the room, the subdued lighting, it felt like the perfect space for everything to finally fall into place.
London
Two Years Earlier
‘Where are you off to?’ asked Lou, perching on the end of my desk.
‘Some travel photography exhibition. I mean, how “me” does that sound? Beautiful pictures of someone’s travels? Check. Trayfuls of free champagne being handed out? Check.’
Lou looked dubious. ‘That might only happen in films.’
‘True.’
‘I hope you’re not hanging around here much longer?’ said Lou, looking at her watch. ‘Haven’t you officially finished for the day?’
‘Yep,’ I said, tapping away.
I wanted to finish the script for the Balearics show I was helping Tim produce the following day. When I said helping, I basically meant that I was doing all the work so that Tim could take all the credit, again.