Hannah’s stomach clenched. She’d just paid off Zane Fox that afternoon, and the reason for that payment was what was troubling Damien. Part of her wanted to scream. Would it never leave her alone? ‘I hadn’t realised you thought about them so much. I thought finding out about their deaths had been a type of closure. After all, you don’t know anything about them.’
Damien sighed. ‘I think that’s the problem. I come from these people who would have had family, friends, jobs, interests, and I know nothing about them. I can’t tell Amy anything about my heritage.’
Hannah frowned; she understood what he meant, but he did still have his adoptive parents.
‘Don’t get me wrong, Edward and Trish have been great parents, and I obviously talk to Amy as if their background is mine, but it isn’t.’
Hannah stared at her husband. Since when did he refer to his parents as Edward and Trish? They’d always been Mum and Dad.
‘Their heritage is yours too.’
He shook his head. ‘Not in the way that matters. They’re not part of my bloodline. I’m a random ring-in to the family. Of course, they’ve never intentionally made me feel like that, but I do. I hate that I know nothing about my genetic make-up. Who knows what illnesses are in the family? What things we should be aware of for both me and Amy?’
‘You might be better off not knowing.’ Damien had no idea how true that statement was. She cleared her throat. ‘You might find out things about your family that you wish you never knew. Once you know the details, you can’t unknow them.’
‘I know. But I’d prefer to learn horrible things than live in ignorance the rest of my life.’
Hannah nodded. She needed to look supportive while at the same time drive him well away from this line of thinking. ‘I guess we could try and do further explorations.’
He shook his head. ‘There’s no point. I think that’s why it feels so hopeless. There isn’t anyone left in the family to talk to. The investigator – something Fox – he made it pretty clear that as far as the bloodline went, it was just me. Although I guess there could be distant cousins around.’
A lump lodged in her throat as she thought of the enormity of what she’d done.
He reached for her hand and kissed it. ‘I’m sorry, I should have told you what I was going through. I’m finding it tough to make sense of what I’m feeling.’
Hannah’s eyes filled with tears.
‘Oh, babe, I didn’t mean to upset you. That’s the last thing I want to do. It’s exactly why I haven’t said anything. No point in us both feeling miserable.’
Hannah shook her head. ‘It’s not that. I’m just gutted that you have to go through this. I wish there was something I could do to make you feel better.’ This was his father’s fault. Why did he have to turn out to be a rapist? She couldn’t imagine any other scenario where she would have had to hide the truth from her husband. And now she was beginning to regret ever doing that. Damien was a mess, Phyllie was ten thousand dollars out of pocket, and there was the very real threat that she hadn’t heard the last of Zane Fox.
Damien stood and held out his hand. ‘I can think of something that might make us both feel better. Come on. It’s been way too long.’
Hannah allowed herself to be led up the stairs to their bedroom. Damien shut the door behind them and pulled her to him. ‘I’m so lucky to have you. You’re always there for me. I really couldn’t ask for anyone more supportive. I love you, Mrs Anderson.’
Hannah melted into his body and his kiss, wishing her mind would switch off and allow her to enjoy the moment, rather than being flooded with guilt.
Chapter Ten
‘Now listen here, housemate, I thought we had a deal.’
Nat turned, her hand still holding the fridge open, and stared at Phyllie. There was a twinkle in her eye, but she looked serious.
‘As much as I love the fact that having you living here gets Hannah off my back about assisted living, we agreed you could stay here while you looked for a new job and were in a position to house-hunt. You’ve been here for two weeks and you’ve hardly left the house. You haven’t even been doing the volunteering I thought you were so passionate about. What on earth’s going on?’
Nat retrieved the milk from the fridge and returned her focus to the coffee she was making. She glanced up at Phyllie briefly. ‘I’ve been doing some work for a friend online.’ Under no circumstances did she plan to tell her what she had really been doing. She’d had this story in the back of her mind just in case Phyllie or anyone else asked.
‘What sort of work? You haven’t been filming yourself and putting it on that blasted internet, have you? There are a lot of weirdos out there.’
Nat laughed. ‘No, of course not. She has an online store selling kids’ swimwear and needed some help with updating the site. They have hundreds of products and have just finished a photo shoot for the new season’s stock. They needed someone to update all the product descriptions.’
‘Oh,’ Phyllie said. ‘That’s good then. You’ll have to show me the site. It sounds fascinating.’
Nat poured the milk into the instant coffee, wishing for the millionth time Phyllie owned a coffee machine.
‘What would I want a coffee machine for?’ Phyllie had asked incredulously when Nat had mentioned it. ‘Can’t stand anything but instant. Those machines make it so strong I have to pour half of it out and add hot water. Can’t think of a bigger waste of money.’
Nat thought of her friend Anita Green. She did run an online swimwear catalogue; that part was true at least. The part that wasn’t was Nat’s employment with her. She hadn’t spoken to Anita in two years. She wondered momentarily how her old school friend was. She hoped Sandy Swimwear was still in business.
Phyllie cleared her throat, reminding Nat they were still having a conversation. She carried the two mugs across to the kitchen table and sat down opposite her grandmother, placing one in front of her. ‘I’ve got at least two more weeks for Anita to do,’ Nat lied. ‘Then I’ll have to get back out there looking for a permanent job. It’s going okay having me living here, isn’t it?’
Phyllie sipped her coffee and nodded slowly. ‘It is, but it’s not healthy being locked up in that room all day. You should be getting out with your friends or doing something else.’
Nat smiled. ‘And I will. I need to get this work done first. Now, more importantly, what do you feel like for dinner?’
‘Nothing for me, love. When I said you were to cook on the nights you were home, I assumed that might be two or three times a week. So far you’ve cooked every night you’ve lived here. That’s not fair on you, and also, I’m getting fat. I’m not used to having proper meals every night. Quite often I’ll have an egg or a tin of soup with some toast. All these plates of pasta, stir-fry and curry are delicious of course, but perhaps we’ll change the rules to you cooking every second or third night that you’re home. I’ll look after myself tonight, and we’ve got Amy’s afternoon tea for her birthday tomorrow, so neither of us will want a proper meal again until Sunday.’