All My Secrets (3 page)

I take the album, feeling dazed. Gavin is still staring at me.

‘Wow,’ he says. ‘Sorry, but this is totally freaking me out.’

‘Yeah.’ I look up at him. ‘Me too. It’s weird that we’re related, isn’t it?’

‘Sure is.’ Gavin hesitates. ‘So . . . so I don’t get it. I mean, I vaguely knew you existed, but when I came back from travelling your dad had already told my parents
– your grandparents – they weren’t welcome in your life. So they – all of us – we backed off.’

It’s like a punch. ‘My dad told them to stay away from me?
Why?
’

Gavin shrugs. ‘Guess he didn’t want the reminders of Irina.’ He narrows his eyes. ‘How much has he told you about her?’

‘Nothing.’ The word explodes out of me. ‘He won’t talk to me about her at all.’

‘So how do you know about me? In fact, how come you’re here?’

I take a deep breath and launch into an explanation of everything that happened following Mr Treeves’ knock on the door. Gavin listens intently, wide-eyed when I tell him about the
ten-million-pounds and appalled that I’ve been given so little information.

‘I can’t believe Andrew is keeping everything from you, darling,’ he says. ‘I
totally
understand why you felt you had to come here.’

‘Thank you.’ Tears prick at my eyes. ‘I just really want to find out more about Irina. I saw your fan site for her. It’s obvious you and she were really close.’

‘Not so close that she told me she had ten mill to leave anyone,’ Gavin says with a grin. ‘I knew she was a successful ballerina, but not
that
successful. That’s
some inheritance.’

‘I don’t think it was anywhere near that much money to begin with. Mr Treeves said it was a good investment.’

‘I’ll say it was.’ Gavin raises his eyebrows. ‘Look, darling, I’m happy to tell you everything I can about your mother. I’ve tried to keep her memory alive
and I’ve still got a few of her bits and pieces I expect you’d like to take a look at.’

‘Oh yes, please,’ I breathe.

‘Well, why don’t you stay here tonight? I have to go out for a bit, but I’ve got a spare room and I am your uncle after all and . . . well, I’ve got sixteen years of
uncle stuff to make up for.’

I hesitate. In so far as I’d thought about it at all, I’d assumed that I’d have to find a room in a hostel for the night. All I knew was that I couldn’t go home without
finding out more about Irina. But here was Gavin offering me a bed for the night
and
information. It was more than I could have hoped for.

‘Yes,’ I say. ‘Yes, definitely.’

I switch on my phone, send Andrew and Janet another text, reassuring them that I’m fine, then turn it off again. Gavin goes out, leaving me leafing through another photo album. He returns
within the hour, carrying a couple of pizzas. He puts on a DVD of Irina dancing
Giselle
and I watch, transfixed, as my mother skips and pirouettes across the stage on screen.

‘Oh, she was beautiful,’ I gasp.

After the DVD finishes and our pizzas are eaten, Gavin fetches a small, faded canvas bag. ‘Here.’ He offers it to me. ‘I think you should have these.’

Excited, I open the bag and take out two pink ballet shoes. The leather is creased and worn and exquisitely soft.

‘They were Irina’s,’ Gavin says. ‘Her favourite pair. I was going to sell them with some of the other memorabilia, but I’ve never quite been able to bring myself
to.’ His voice grows shaky. I’m suddenly aware that it isn’t just me who has lost someone here. Gavin is all alone, without his parents or his sister.

‘Thank you,’ I say.

Gavin nods. ‘No problemo, darling.’ He shows me to my bedroom, a white-painted room with green furniture which he says once belonged to Irina. It’s old and quirky and I love it
instantly. I get into bed, feeling ridiculously at home. It makes sense, I guess. After all, Gavin and I are family and this room is full of furniture my own mother chose and loved. I just
hadn’t expected to feel like I belonged so quickly.

It crosses my mind that maybe I should send Andrew and Janet another text to let them know where I am and that I’m still OK, but, as soon as the thought arrives, it passes. I lie down,
clutching Irina’s ballet shoes. There’s something comforting about the soft leather. Before I know it, I’m asleep.

I sleep deeply, waking full of excitement for the day ahead. Gavin has promised to take me to the theatre where Irina danced her debut as a prima ballerina. Before that, we
walk to a café where he says she used to go for coffee with her dancer friends. I order mine black with two sugars, like he says she drank it. Gavin has found some more photos overnight
– mostly of Irina at my age, already dancing with a professional troupe. While Gavin answers some texts on his phone, I stare and stare at her, searching for some connection, but
there’s nothing in her heart-shaped face or fine blonde hair or dark blue eyes that resembles me. Plus, she’s much smaller and slighter than I am.

It hurts that I don’t look more like her and I push away the croissant that Gavin has bought me. I feel his gaze on my face.

‘What’s up, darling?’ he asks.

‘I just don’t look anything like her.’ The truth is out before I mean to say it.

‘Puh-
leese
,’ Gavin says. ‘Your colouring might be darker, but you have the same cheekbones and the same smile.’

‘Really?’ I glance up at him, hopeful.

‘And
that
look is one I saw her give our dad a million times, whenever she wanted anything.’ He pauses. ‘She had him wound round her little finger.’

I sit back and smile.

‘Talking of dads, maybe you should send yours a text if you haven’t already? Let him know exactly where you are, that you’re safe with me.’

I do as he suggests, then switch off my phone as we leave the café. The morning traffic is busy down on the main road. Gavin points to a church just visible on the other side.

‘That way,’ he says.

I glance up and down the street. Nothing’s coming right now. As I step onto the road, I see movement out of the corner of my eye. A car. Coming towards us. In the split second that follows
it seems to speed up until it’s right here, black metal looming into view, and I just have time to step back before it zooms past, so close I could touch it.

I fall back, hard, onto the pavement. In an instant, Gavin is beside me as the car speeds off into the distance.

‘Darling, are you OK?’ He sounds breathless, terrified.

I nod, gasping, as a single thought fills my head: that car was driving fast towards me on purpose; it
meant
to run me over.

Seconds later, I tell myself not to be so stupid. The driver of that car couldn’t possibly have meant to run me down. It was just going too fast. And anyway I was at
fault for stepping out without taking another look.

I push myself up off the pavement. Gavin is chasing after the car, almost out of sight. I can hear his yells, his Scottish accent stronger as he shouts out:

‘You idiot! Hurtling along like that! You could have killed her!’

A few seconds later, he’s back.

‘Are you all right, darling?’ he asks, dusting me down and patting at my arms as if to make sure they’re not broken. ‘Evie? Are you all right?’

‘I’m fine,’ I insist. ‘Not even bruised.’

‘Thank goodness for that.’ Gavin hugs me, his voice full of emotion. ‘I’ve only just found you. I don’t want to lose you again.’

His words fill me with a warm glow. It strikes me that though Gavin has asked about my life, and he’s certainly told me plenty about Irina’s, I don’t really know anything about
him.

‘What do you do for a living?’ I ask.

Gavin shrugs, steering me carefully across the road. ‘Bits and pieces of things.’ He sighs. ‘I’m a journalist of sorts, though not a terribly successful one.
Irina’s death hit me hard. Of course, it was even harder for our parents. And I think not being able to see you made it worse. They were both gone within two years of her passing. And I was
on my own. I struggled to cope, to be honest with you. I mean, I had their money, but what good are material things if you don’t have anyone to share them with?’ He smiles.
‘Remember that when you inherit your ten million.’

‘Do you have a girlfriend?’ I ask timidly. ‘Or a boyfriend?’

‘No one special,’ Gavin admits. ‘Not right now anyway.’

He sounds really lonely. I suddenly feel furious with Andrew and Janet for keeping me away from him all my life.

‘I don’t want to go away again,’ I say. ‘I mean, I’d like to keep in touch with you. And, once I’ve inherited my money, I think maybe I’ll find a course
I could do up here, maybe buy a flat?’

Gavin grins. ‘Sounds fantastic, darling. Will your parents be OK with that?’

I pull a face. I can’t imagine Andrew or Janet liking the idea of me moving away from home for the sixth form. But that’s their problem. Not to mention their fault.

‘They’ll have to be,’ I say. ‘Er, I know it’s a big deal and everything, but . . .’

‘. . . could you stay with me while you sort out a course?’ Gavin grins again. ‘I think that would be brilliant.’

Feeling delighted, I let him show me around the sights of Edinburgh. It’s a sunny morning, though the air has a crisp edge to it. Gavin doesn’t just take me to the theatre where
Irina first danced, but a park where they played as kids and the hotel where their parents – my grandparents – met. I feel so sad that Andrew denied me the opportunity to ever know
them. And even sadder when I consider that the two sets of grandparents I have known – his and Janet’s – must have both been in on the whole secret from the start, lying to me
like Andrew and Janet have done.

Apart from during a couple of phone calls, which Gavin wanders away from me to take, we spend the rest of the day out and about, heading back to his flat only after eating an early dinner in
what Gavin tells me was the Italian restaurant his family used to go to on special occasions. I turn on my phone as we reach Rose Street to see if there are any messages from Andrew or Janet.

As the mobile powers on, I look up.

To my horror Andrew is here, pacing up and down in front of Gavin’s apartment building.

‘Oh no, it’s my dad,’ I gasp.

‘Is that Andrew?’ Gavin’s eyes widen. ‘He looks . . . different from in the photos. It must be the hair, or lack of it.’

As we draw closer, Andrew spots me. My guts twist and knot.

‘Oh, Evie.’ He rushes over, pulling me into a bear hug.

I let him hold me, arms stiff at my sides.

Andrew steps back, taking in Gavin, who instantly introduces himself.

‘Oh,’ Andrew says without smiling. ‘I see.’ He turns to me. ‘Mum and I have been so worried. We—’

‘D’you remember Irina talking about Uncle Gavin?’ I interrupt.

‘Er, yes.’ My dad still doesn’t smile. ‘I guess I do.’

Irritated, I cross my arms. ‘Uncle Gavin’s been showing me round Edinburgh.’

‘Well, I’m glad he’s looked after you, but really, Evie, what do you think you’re playing at, running off like that? Mum and I have been out of our minds
with—’

‘She’s
not
my mum though, is she?’ I say. ‘And frankly you don’t deserve to be my dad.’

Andrew looks stunned. Behind him Gavin shuffles awkwardly.

‘Evie . . .’ Andrew begins.

‘No,’ I snap. ‘You both lied to me and then refused to tell me anything so, if I’m here, trying to find things out for myself, it’s your own fault.’

Andrew stares at me. ‘
Please
, Evie, that one factor doesn’t—’

‘I’m not coming home,’ I say. ‘Gavin says it’s OK for me to stay with him and—’

‘This is none of your business.’ Andrew turns on Gavin, who takes a step back, hands raised in a conciliatory gesture. ‘You should have made Evie call us.’

‘Don’t blame him,’ I say. And then, before I can even think, the next words shoot like bullets out of my mouth. ‘I hate you, Dad. I’ll never forgive you for lying
to me and keeping me apart from my family.’

His lips tremble. I can feel my face flushing. Part of me feels bad for saying that. Yet a bigger part is relieved that I’ve finally, properly said how I feel. Andrew’s eyes fill
with misery. I’m suddenly aware of the bustle of the dusty street around us, all sorts of people going about their business, unaware of who we are and what we’re saying and doing.

Gavin clears his throat. ‘Look, I don’t want to get caught in the middle of this,’ he says. ‘I’m thrilled that Evie’s sought me out and I don’t want to
lose touch with her again. But Evie darling, this is your father. It’s understandable he’s been worried about you, that he wants you home.’

‘Please, Evie.’ Andrew looks up and there are tears in his eyes.

Perhaps I should feel sorry for him.

But in my heart there’s only anger.

I go back home with Andrew. After all, what choice do I really have? I don’t have any money of my own yet and, anyway, all my things are still there. But it’s not
the same and it never will be. Andrew and Janet try to talk to me; Andrew even offers a bit more information about Irina. I discover that they met when he was a student at Edinburgh University and
– as I’d more or less gathered anyway – only went on a few dates.

‘I was shocked when she said she was pregnant. To be honest, I didn’t cope with it very well,’ Andrew admits. ‘Irina and I never lived together, not before or after she
got pregnant, but once you were born I saw you every few days and you stayed with me when she went back to dancing, and then, suddenly, the accident happened and she was dead and you needed someone
to look after you.’

‘What happened?’ I ask.

Andrew looks uncomfortable. ‘I told you,’ he says. ‘Hit-and-run, a lorry. The driver was never found.’

I shiver, remembering my own near miss with that car in Edinburgh, and ask what Irina was like as a person and why Andrew had such an issue with my grandparents. But at this Andrew clams up
again and my fury surges back. In the end, I’m barely talking to either him or Janet. I don’t want to see my friends and I can’t be bothered to play with the twins. I spend all my
time in my room, watching Irina’s
Giselle
DVD over and over again, holding her ballet shoes for comfort as I fall asleep every night.