Whilst Neville and Marie sat in the comfortable and pleasant surroundings of the country club, Albert sat in the gloomy depressing waiting room of the station at Barnshead. The next train to Eastbridge should have been in an hour and a half but the sign said there would be a delay of an hour due to technical difficulties. He overheard someone say that only a few moments earlier the delay was shown as thirty minutes so he was not confident the hours delay was accurate and his confinement in the waiting room might be longer. The waiting room had no windows, only a half glazed door at one end. The only light was from a series of ceiling lights but most had no bulb or were so dirty very little light reached the corners of the room which were so dark anyone sitting there would have only be noticed by any sound they made.
The wall opposite the door had an open fire but there was no evidence the staff had lit it for a long time. The weight of despair and depression that pervaded the room suggested that any attempt to light a match would prove to be unsuccessful.
Albert had sat in the cafe for a while and had a cup of weak warm tea. He still needed to think and the hustle and bustle of the passengers using the cafe disturbed his thoughts so he had moved to the waiting room, which was much quieter apart from the sound of the non-stop trains speeding through the station. The vibrations seemed to create odd movements of shadows and a waft of cold air that he assumed were ghosts of passengers whose trains had never arrived.
The walk back towards the town had been a long one. However, he did not mind this as the solitude and exercise had provided the opportunity to think about the meeting with his brother James. The steady rhythm of his stride seemed to regulate his thinking and stopped his mind racing ahead. His initial reaction had been anger and rage directed against his brother, but perhaps because of the steady walk, a strange calmness and clarity of thought had replaced these emotions. There was a realisation, probably for the first time in the life he could remember, things and events made sense. He had lived with a jumble of jigsaw pieces in his head that did not agree with the picture on the box. Now for the first time the two elements matched. He still did not know how to fit them together and some pieces were missing, possibly lost forever, but there was light where previously there had only been darkness.
His brother had described a family with serious faults and complex relationships. A grandfather who had committed suicide. A father who had kept the family in poverty, despite having access to an inherited fortune. His father, loved by many, ridiculed by others and hated by his son; a son that wished his father and brother were dead. Was this the family Albert wished to be a part of? Strangely and surprisingly Albert knew the answer was yes. The women who portrayed herself as his mother, he knew now, created his view of family life. Mrs Hughes had conjured up a world of sugar and spice, where summers were long and hot and children played in the water’s edge of a pure white sandy beach. A beach with no sharp stones or pebbles, where children did not suffer injury or anxiety and all the sand castles perfectly formed. The children did not cry or argue in this blissful world, a world he now knew was a Utopian creation of a woman who, despite knowing she had lost her son, longed to be with him during the final days of her terminal illness. She had created a theatre where Albert was the lead character playing the part of her son, not knowing the play was never to end, until now. The curtain had finally come down on this fairy tale and Albert knew he had a new role to play in the real world of the Waterson family.
Albert remembered the time at the end of the war, when the military demobbed the forces, and the members of his regiment returned to their families. He remembered lying when asked about his family and his plans for the future, not wanting to reveal that he was not returning. He did not know what he was to do or where to go and returned to Deerson House as if drawn by some invisible force, rather than part of some grand plan. Over the years he had often wondered why he had not sought out the woman he knew as his mother. Had he always known this was not his real mother? He had liked her but he realised there was no sense of love or bond one would expect between mother and son. He had walked away from this fictitious life, was he now also to walk away from a world that included hate between brothers, but a world where he had once lived.
Albert looked at the station notice board. The expected departure time of his train to Eastbridge had not changed. He reached into his pocket and found the slip of paper that gave details of the hotel where he was booked for the night. He did not know if he was ready to take on the part of A.J.’s brother but he knew he could not simply return to his life working in the gardens and the bar of the Station Inn. He needed more time to think things through. What had A.J. said, “have a good meal, a night at the hotel and we’ll talk about it again tomorrow.” Albert found a taxi and asked for the Grenadier Hotel.
The Grenadier Hotel was located about five miles outside of the town. A stately two storey Victorian Mansion with eight bedrooms, two dining rooms and a function room used mainly for weddings. Constructed from lightly coloured local stone, with an arched doorway, mullioned windows and tall chimneys rising from a slate tiled roof, the hotel created an image that shouted the original owner’s status and wealth. It provided luxury for his family and hospitality for his guests. The building was set in its own gardens and woodland, the striped terraced lawns leading down to a pond fed by a tributary of the river Barn. The grounds exuded a sense of calm and tranquility.
A single lane road, boarded by an avenue of Poplar trees standing tall and straight like a military guard of honor, provided the access to the hotel. Albert’s taxi stopped in front of the hotel entrance alongside brightly polished expensive saloon and sports cars. Only a few hours earlier Albert would have been overawed and intimidated by such a place but despite his tired looking clothes, and exhausted looking suitcase, his new found confidence gave him a sense of poise and bearing that outshone his outward appearance. He would have also been concerned about the cost of even a one-night stay but any fears were soon allayed when he was informed by the thin faced girl on reception, speaking with a foreign accent, that he was the guest of Meester Waterson and everything was to be booked to Meester Waterson’s account. The receptionist asked if he would be dining that evening. Albert, realising that he had not eaten since breakfast, replied that he would and booked a table for the earliest opportunity. He asked if it was possible to have a pot of tea. The thin faced girl directed him to a comfortable intimate lounge, overlooking the rear gardens, where his tea would be served, whilst the porter took his suitcase to his room.
The tea finished and the tray removed, Albert remained sitting in the lounge enjoying the view of the gardens and the mixed woodland beyond, his mind happily daydreaming, thinking about nothing in particular. He was pleased he had decided to spend a night at the hotel; the peaceful and relaxing surroundings had allowed his mind to wonder with a freedom that would not have been possible if he were back at home or the Station Inn.
“Mr Hughes, I’m sorry to disturb you, is it possible I could join you?”
Albert recognised the male voice and slowly turning his head to see around the wings of his high backed chair, saw the short figure he had met earlier that day.
“Calder. I assume A.J. Waterson sent you, but how did he know I was here?” Albert replied, somewhat annoyed his solitude had been interrupted.
Timothy Calder stood at the side of Albert, his head barely showing above the height of the chair. He had changed the casual trousers and corduroy jacket he had worn when meeting Albert at the station, for a formal grey suit. The trouser belt was still below his stomach, meaning the crotch of his trousers was nearly to his knees. Wrinkled, like a concertina, the bottoms of his trousers were frayed where they reached the floor. His jacket was open revealing a shirt with buttons straining to maintain some sense of dignity.
“Can I sit here?” Calder asked, pointing to the chair opposite Albert, ignoring Albert’s question. His voice was much rounder and deeper than you would have expected from someone of his reduced stature. Even though he did not speak loudly, the tone and projection meant someone sitting the other side of the room could easily have heard him.
Without Albert agreeing Calder sat on the chair he had indicated, legs dangling, his feet unable reach the floor.
“Yes, A.J. did ask if I would call in at the hotel and try to speak to you, and he knew you were here because he instructed the receptionist to call him if you were to arrive.”
Albert slapped the arms of his chair, “that man is amazing,” he said sarcastically, “I find he has been following me around for the last so many years, and even now he has his spies keeping tabs on me.”
Calder wasn’t to be drawn by Albert’s obvious annoyance and calmly, with an even more velvety voice, explained the reason for A.J.’s actions.
“There were so many things that A.J. did not have opportunity to tell you earlier today, he felt you might be more inclined to listen to me. Also there are things I can tell you that might help you understand more about your current situation.”
“Who are you?” Albert asked, still with a sense of annoyance, “and what do you know about my situation?”
Calder slid off his chair and sat on the edge of the one nearest to Albert. He was acutely aware that his voice tended to carry and, although the room was currently only occupied by the two of them, what he was about to say should not be overheard by anyone entering the room.
“As you know my name is Timothy Calder, you thought that perhaps I was A.J.’s driver but in fact I am his solicitor and I like to think his closest friend. You might not believe it just yet, but A.J. is the kindest most generous man I know and I am proud to be associated with him in business and in private. He wasn’t always the man that I know today, he’s changed, something happened in his life, you need to ask him about that, but he is the best of men, a rare breed. And I know your real name is George Waterson and you are his brother.”
Albert had not met many solicitors and certainly, the man now sat next to him, was not the image that immediately sprang to mind. His clothes and general appearance did not suggest a man with an ordered logical mind and his imagination conjured up an image of a solicitor’s office strewn with dusty files and papers.
Calder paused before continuing. He wanted to give Albert time to take in what he had just said and also ensure he had his full attention for what he was about to relate.
“It’s obvious you do not recognise me, but we have met before today, 36 years ago. At that time you knew me as Tim, you and the other men called me Tiny Tim.”
It was 1944 and Timothy Calder was an 18 years old. He knew, because of his stature and withered leg; the forces would never consider him for active service and he sought an opportunity to be of service in some other capacity. At that time he had ambitions to become a doctor and as Deerson House was close to where he lived he volunteered to help in the hospital. He was working at the hospital when they admitted Albert. He was very thin at that age and with a pronounced limp, sometimes needing the aid of stick, the patients nicknamed him Tiny Tim after the Dickens character in Christmas Carol.
“I’m sorry we called you Tiny Tim,” Albert apologised, recalling the small boy with a limp that would willingly help with any jobs that he was physically able to perform. He remembered this same boy spending all his available time talking to the patients, many who had serious brain injuries or mental problems. “What happened to your plans to become a doctor?”
“Oh that’s a long story, perhaps another time. Don’t worry about calling me Tiny Tim, I’ve been called worse. You wouldn’t call me that now,” Calder chuckled rubbing his stomach.
Although Calder was very young the doctors at the hospital recognised that he was bright, intelligent and enthusiastic about medicine. In addition to his office and general duties, they would try to involve him in the care of the patients and explain, whenever possible, the nature of the patient’s injuries or illness and the treatment they were pursuing. When Albert arrived, his loss of memory suggested a brain injury, whilst some doctors suspected shell shock, or even he was faking the condition, to avoid the doctors sending him back to his regiment. The field hospital in France had compiled some case notes. When the doctors discussed the notes, Calder took part in those discussions, giving any information he might have gathered whilst talking to Albert. After contacting Mrs Hughes, her visits resulted in Albert apparently regaining of some of his memory. This seemed to support those who believed he was suffering from shell shock, and that his memory would fully recover over time.
“What I don’t know, and for some reason I never asked at the time, is why I was not wearing my army identification tags that would have confirmed that I was really George Waterson.”
“We received a report from France,” answered Calder, “that explained how you were found and the circumstances of the death of the other members of the patrol. After the artillery shells had killed the others, it was nearly two days before they found you. You were practically naked and they reckon another night and you would have died from hyperthermia.”
“But why was I naked, does anyone know?”
“They could only guess that your uniform must have been covered in the blood, and other things, from the other men and in your complete state of shock you had removed your clothes because you couldn’t bear the site of their blood.”
“So I had taken off the tags as well?” queried Albert.
“No not really, but you must have been totally hysterical and in that state, well we can only guess what you were thinking or trying to do. You had collected the tags of most of the other men and you were wearing these when the medics found you. It wasn’t possible to be sure who you were, or the other men, and initially you were all reported as missing presumed killed.”
“If they weren’t sure who I was why did they presume I was Albert and contact Mrs Hughes?”
“It’s because you were wearing a watch, a wristwatch. When you were finally persuaded to take it off they found an engraving on the back that said, “To our dearest Albert.”
“I’ve still got that watch somewhere,” interjected Albert, “I stumble across it every now and then when I’m clearing out some rubbish. It doesn’t work anymore but I’ve kept it because of that engraving. I assume I must have stolen it from the real Albert’s body,” he said reflectively.
“You were so traumatised by losing all your friends, heaven only knows what was going through your mind. We don’t know how you came by that watch, but it could never be called stealing.” Calder could see that Albert was upset learning about the watch. He knew there was little he could say to reassure him and tried to change the subject to lighten the progressively depressed mood. “Do you remember that chap at the hospital, I don’t recall his name, every time there was a loud noise he thought he was coming under attack and would put the bedpan on his head like a helmet. The number of times the nurses had to clean him up, you didn’t envy their jobs.”
“Oh yes, I’d forgotten all about that,” Albert broke in, “I think his name was, it’ll come to me in a minute, it was Jimmy, we called him Jimmy Riddle for obvious reasons.”
Calder and Albert both started to laugh and went on to reminisce about other people and events at the hospital. Even the saddest of occasions had an amusing side and they reminded themselves that “you had to laugh to keep from going mad.”
Whilst they were laughing and joking they had not noticed that others had entered the lounge and their conversation was no longer private.
“Do you fancy a drink,” suggested Calder, “It’s after 5 o’clock; I make it a rule never to drink before 5. Let’s go into the bar, they have some really nice single malts that I think you will appreciate.”
Albert took a sip of his whiskey and nodded in agreement of Calder’s choice.
“When did you first meet my brother?” Albert asked. He suddenly realised that he had used the word brother without hesitation. “Is there any possibility that A.J. and you have made a mistake; that you have the wrong person. Is there any doubt that we are brothers?”
“None whatsoever. I suspected something was wrong when you were in the hospital, but at that time I never doubted you were Albert Hughes. But, having met your brother and hearing his side of the story, it all fitted into place. There can be no doubt you are his brother.”
“What do you mean you suspected something was wrong in the hospital?” Albert asked quizzically.
Calder explained how it was unclear if Albert had suffered a brain injury that had resulted in his loss of memory, or whether he was suffering from some sort of mental trauma. When his memory seemed to be recovering because of the visits of Mrs Hughes, the doctors confirmed it was trauma related and that his memory would probably fully recover over time. However, Calder was suspicious of the memories Albert apparently remembered. Particularly those from his childhood, they seemed to be events viewed through the eyes of an adult; they were not the things he believed a child would recall from their own experience. Everything was too perfect, too idyllic, and they always included his mother, there were never any memories of times when he was on his own or playing with his friends. He had expressed his doubts to the doctors but they were not interested in the views of an untrained youth. The doctors were seeing and hearing of Albert’s improvement and this is what they wanted to see. Here was a patient on the road to recovery and soon able to rejoin his regiment, to fight for his country, and a testament to the skills of their profession.
Calder went on to describe his first meeting with A.J. It was about eight years ago and Deerson House had been empty and unused for some time. A.J. was investigating the possibility of purchasing the building with the intention of converting it to a hotel or health spa. He needed the services of a local solicitor who knew the area and could help with obtaining any planning permission that might be required. He engaged Calder and they worked together for a few months until A.J. finally withdrew his interest because of the high cost of renovation.
“At that time I thought he was one of the hardest, most ruthless men I had ever met,” Calder explained, “I wasn’t sorry the project didn’t go ahead. It was worth a lot of money to me, but the thought of working with him, it filled me with dread. He had already been involved in some dodgy deals that sailed pretty close to the wind and had more enemies than friends. It was about three years later when he contacted me again. I thought he had renewed his interest in Deerson House as he asked me some questions about the house around the time of the war. I explained that I had worked there when the house was used as a hospital. He immediately asked if we could meet as he had some questions about a patient at that time. Of course we met and that is how we realised we had someone in common - you. He told me all about your family and the terrible business of the letter from Mrs Hughes. I would not have thought it possible that the man I met the second time was the same man. He was humble, open, and honest, I could not help liking him and that was the start of the friendship we have today.”
“I visited Deerson House around the time it was derelict,” Albert interrupted, “I just wanted to see what it looked like after so many years. It was really upsetting to see it in that state. What do think happened to change my brother so much in those years?”
“I have my theories but you will need to ask him.”
“Mr Hughes would you like to see the menu?” it was the thin faced girl from the reception, “your table will be ready for you in about half an hour.”
“Calder, would you join me for dinner?” Albert asked.
“I would be delighted. I am supposed to be on a diet, but that can wait until tomorrow. A.J. owes me dinner and the food here is excellent. I was supposed to be joining my wife this evening, but this is a far better offer.”
Calder had met his wife Elizabeth when they both were both at university. He was reading law and Lizzy, as he called her, was studying ancient languages. His stunted growth and withered leg was because of a hormonal problem as a child and he was relieved to find that both his children, a boy and a girl, were perfect at birth and grew into normally developed adults. They were both now married and Susan, his daughter, was expecting his first grandchild. When they graduated, Lizzy continued at the university working as a research assistant. Over the years, she had been fortunate to successfully combine her role as a mother and continue her career at the university. Now the children were no longer a restriction she spent more time at her work and Calder was due to accompany Lizzy, that evening, at a symposium on the relevance of Greek myths and legends in modern literature. She had invited him to attend as a guest and he was more than grateful to have the opportunity to decline, at the last minute, due to the meeting with Albert.
“You have saved me from a fate worse than death,” exclaimed Calder as he explained to Albert about the prospects of attending the symposium and socialising with Lizzy’s colleagues after the meeting. “It’s not that I don’t like them,” he went on to explain, “it’s just that I just cannot get that excited or enthusiastic about the subjects that occupy their every waking hour. I find myself making sarcastic comments or jokes, but they are so engrossed in their subject, and expect everyone else to have the same passion, any utterance of mine just passes them by.”
Albert was beginning to warm to this man and wondered if he too would become Calder’s friend, as his brother had before him. For so many years he had avoided intimate conversations, frightened he would reveal details of his past and be forced to admit there was so much of his past he did not know. He had now met two people who knew of his early life and, even though they knew more than he did, surprisingly he found that less threatening as if they were somehow part of his story and they were in control, able to close the previous chapter and open the pages that were to follow.
The dining room was busy, the tables mainly occupied by men dressed in grey suits talking business over their meal and wine. The menu was in French and Calder, realising that Albert had not been able to read it, suggested they both have a rump steak, if Albert agreed. Albert happily agreed to Calder’s suggestion for the red wine. The meal was accompanied by small talk, but as the plates were cleared Calder announced,
“When A.J. called me and asked if I would try to meet you here tonight, he insisted I spoke to you about one particular subject and was equally insistent that I was not to mention another matter. I am my own man, and although I understand A.J.’s motives, I believe there are some things that you should know.”
“Is this like good news, bad news and which do I want to hear first,” inquired Albert.
“No, it’s not quite like that,” responded Calder, “let me start by telling you about the money.”
Calder explained that he and A.J. were aware of Dick Stanley, the old man that Albert would speak to in the gardens, and that Dick had died in a nursing home. Albert made some remark about A.J.’s spies watching his every move. However, his mood had mellowed, perhaps because of the wine, or his acceptance that A.J.’s motives might not be quite as sinister as he had previously thought and his mention of spies was more as an observation, rather than his previous outburst.
“A.J. had been looking for an opportunity and when he heard about Dick Stanley’s death and found out that he had no close friends or relatives, he proposed to use this to carry out his plan.”
“Plan to do what?” questioned Albert, rather apprehensive about where this was leading.
“A.J. did want me to mention this but over the years he had become increasing guilty about what he had done to you and, by keeping secret your survival from the war he inherited the money that should have been yours. He wanted to find a way of giving you some of that money without revealing himself as your brother and your true name. The money you received, which was apparently from Dick Stanley’s will, actually came from A.J.”
“I was going to say I don’t believe it, but nothing seems to surprise me anymore about that man. How did he do it? I received an official solicitor’s letter telling me about the inheritance?”
“Well that was the part I played,” explained Calder, “if you still have that letter you will see it came from my office. I was not entirely happy with the scheme but I went along with it; not forced, more like persuaded.”
“Wasn’t it illegal, couldn’t you be in trouble if anyone found out?”
“Not exactly illegal, more like unethical. The Law Society would probably take a dim view if they were to become aware of what I had done.”
Albert sat in thought, sipping the remainder of his wine. He recalled being astounded by the inheritance, not only because he was simply an acquaintance of Dick’s, but also he assumed that Dick had very little money. The amount he received was sufficient for him to buy a house with some left over to start a savings account. He knew, speaking to people at Dick’s funeral, he did not have any relatives. Receiving the solicitor’s letter suggested that everything was above board and he did not suspect for one moment that anything was untoward.
“That was an awful lot of money,” declared Albert.
“Yes, but your brother is, or rather was, a very wealthy man.
“What do you mean was?” queried Albert.
“I’m sorry, that will have to be something for A.J. to answer. Let’s move to the lounge bar and have another of those fine malts. You go and find us a table and I’ll join you in a few moments.”
Calder made two phone calls. One to arrange for a taxi later that evening; the wine and whiskeys meant he would not be driving again that day; the other to A.J. to confirm he had met Albert and explain that he had told him about the money. Although A.J. had explicitly said not to mention about the scheme to give the money to Albert, he was not unduly annoyed that Calder had ignored him, but in a way relieved that Albert now knew and had not reacted angrily at hearing the news. He asked Calder if they had yet spoken on the other subject, which Calder explained he had not. He had deliberately left it to the end of the evening when he thought Albert would be better able to deal with the news. They had to be aware of the impact on Albert; it was not every day you were informed that you had been living the wrong life for the past 35 years. After the flare-up with A.J. he now appeared relatively calm and in control but he was in danger of being overloaded and the pressure valve might not hold for much longer.
Calder found Albert sat at the rear of the lounge with two tumblers of whiskey on a small round table. Although it was busy with diners having also finished their meal, most were stood at the bar leaving a number of tables free. Albert was deep in thought, looking at his hands, and did not notice Calder limping towards him fighting his way past the crowded bar area. Albert’s hands were strong and tanned with nails in surprisingly good condition considering the manual nature of his work in the gardens. He was recalling the saying, knowing something as well as the back of your hands. He knew these hands, they were the tools of his trade, but he was no longer sure who owned these hands. Was it so difficult to know oneself? By using a different name, had he become a different person? Did the name define the essence of a man, or was this a product of nature and nurture? Did his parents mistreat him as a child? Bullied at school, or was he the bully? If he could not remember these past events did that also mean that any scars had healed and he was reborn anew in 1944 as Albert Hughes?
“I’ve been thinking about my name,” Albert pondered as Calder sat next to him. “Do you think I should be known as George Waterson?”
“Let’s talk about that later, there is something important I want to tell you. Something A.J. wanted to tell you, but did not have the opportunity, it’s about your mother.”
“Mrs Hughes?” Albert asked recalling the woman who had visited him during his stay in the hospital.
“No, I mean your real mother, yours and A.J.’s mother. She’s alive, physically she is very well, in fact fitter than I am, but unfortunately she has severe dementia. It started five or six years ago and very quickly got worse. She seems to have good days and bad days; she’s living in a care home. The staff there are marvelous, she wants for nothing.”
Albert realised he had not considered the possibility of a wider family. His train of thought had stopped at his brother. It seemed that he had to accept fully that A.J. was his brother. Before removing that obstacle, his mind could not move on to the possibility of aunts, uncles, cousins and his mother. A.J. had explained that his father had died but he had not mentioned his mother. Why had he not said that she was still alive? Calder said he did not have the opportunity, is this because Albert had become upset and stormed out before A.J. could talk about it? Or, because he had locked her away, out of sight?
“I suppose she got in the way of his grand schemes and A.J. had her put in a home,” fumed Albert.
“No it wasn’t like that,” Calder replied trying to calm the situation. “There are so many things you need to understand.”
“I understand all right. When I was in his way he got rid of me, and when she was an embarrassment he got her out of the way,” Albert continued. He might have found his brother but even though he was family, he was not the sort of man he wanted to be associated. He had seen the type in the Station Inn, big and brash, lording it over everyone else. The centre of attention, surrounded by people who laughed at their stupid jokes, hung on their every word, nodding and agreeing to the most ridiculous pronouncements, kowtowing to their every whim.
Albert liked Calder and he was sad that the evening was ending this way. He contemplated getting up and leaving but he reminded himself that Calder was just the messenger; he was not the one deserving his anger. He hoped Calder would stay, at least a little longer, so they could part on better terms.
Calder was used to dealing with clients who became angry or emotional. He had not followed his early ambitions to become a doctor, but sometimes he felt like a family GP as people sat in his office expressing their feelings about their non-physical ailments that required a legal solution. He wished sometimes he could just write a prescription for a few pills and the problems would go away, but the legal system required rigor and patience; needing careful explanations and handling when faced with a client about to explode with frustration.
“Why don’t we get ourselves a nightcap?” Calder asked in a calm almost hypnotic voice.
Albert did not reply but picked up his glass and finished the last remaining drops of his malt, seemingly to imply he was ready for another. There were less people standing at the bar and Calder managed to attract the attention of the barman. Shortly two more whiskeys arrived at their table.
Calder took a sip and placing his glass on the table continued in the same calm clear baritone voice.
“You asked me earlier about A.J.’s wealth and I declined to answer. I think I need to explain his current situation; it will help you to understand better the man I know. When I first met him he was hard and uncaring completely obsessed by the need to expand his empire. He trampled on everything and everyone that got in his way. It even destroyed his marriage.” Albert started to interrupt.
“No, let me continue, I know I have not mentioned his wife and son but it’s important you understand what happened. He married a wealthy American woman. I never met her, she had already returned to America by the time I first met your brother. He married her as a business partner and she wanted a husband and family. They had a son and I suppose she thought that would make a difference, they would be a family, but it was never going to work, they were divorced and she went back to America taking his son with her. He’s seen him a few times since then, even suggesting he come to live with him here in England, but she had already poisoned his mind against A.J. and it’s unlikely they will ever be reconciled.
“The second time I met A.J. was shortly after your mother's dementia was diagnosed. I don’t know this as a fact, but I suspect this had something to do with his change of attitude. Something had melted his heart and I don’t know of anything else that happened about that time. It was as if this was the first time in his life he had to consider someone else and he was a changed man. He realised it would not be long before she required extra care and he started looking at the possibilities of a nursing home of some kind. He was appalled to find the lack of provision for people like your mother and decided he needed to do something about it. Since then all his time, effort and money has gone into providing facilities for the elderly, particularly those with memory problems.”
“So once again he saw a business opportunity,” Albert interjected, obviously not convinced of his brother’s “Road to Damascus moment”.
“It’s a business opportunity that is slowly destroying him.” Calder continued, ignoring Albert’s interruption. “He is spending so much money on his care homes, he runs them like a charity, the rest of his business interests can no longer support this level of spending, and he is heading for bankruptcy. Look, I didn’t want to talk about his finances, what is more important is A.J. wants you to meet your mother. I know things haven’t gone well between the two of you, but if you want he will take you to meet your mother. He will be at the hotel at 10 o'clock tomorrow morning. He will park outside, waiting for you, but if you do not want to see him just stay in the hotel and he will just drive off. He will not come looking for you, he will understand if you do not want to meet again.”
Albert recalled the day he left the army. He walked out of the gates of the camp, carrying his kit bag, and stopped at the main road, looking left and right. The left direction would take him towards the only past he thought he knew, to his mother and sister, a turn to the right would take him to an uncertain destination and an uncertain future. Before his mind had made the decision his body had turned to the right and headed for the nearest large town. It was as if the like poles of a magnet had repelled each other and some invisible force had prevented him turning any way other than the direction he walked that day. Like the photographs in an old album the few mental images he had of his family quickly faded over the coming weeks and months, and even his eventual arrival at Deerson House did not rekindle any emotional attraction to the person he had met there posing as his mother.
Albert was screwing up his face, holding his breath; the eyelids closed so tight they forced his eyes back inside his skull. The veins were standing proud on his neck and temples and redness had appeared in his cheeks. He did not realise he was doing this but it was the physical manifestation of his attempts to bring back memories that were lost forever. He had tried so many times to unlock the door to a room he felt sure contained the memories of Albert Hughes that sometimes the physical exertion had resulted in near unconsciousness.
“Are you OK Albert, or should I call you George?” Calder, obviously alarmed by Albert’s apparent seizure, reached over to shake his arm trying to break the connection to the forces that had taken hold of him.
Albert’s face relaxed and looked at Calder, apparently unaware that Calder had roused him from what an observer would describe as a trance.
“What should I call myself?” Albert enquired, seemingly fully recovered.
“Well, officially your name is George, Alfred, Waterson, but, within reason, you can call yourself anything you like. You can change your name to Albert Hughes by deed poll and you can continue to use that name if you wish. It’s a straightforward process, but the difficulty is you have been living under an assumed name of someone that existed and unwittingly inherited any rights that person might have had. I can help you straighten this out if you wish and sort out the deed poll if you decide on another name.”
“Perhaps I should pick a completely different name, the name of somebody famous.” Albert chuckled to himself as he thought of the possibilities.
Calder handed Albert his card and invited him to call at anytime to discuss this further. There was no urgency to clear things up but Calder suggested that Albert needed to carefully consider what he wanted to do and he was more than willing to help, and there would be no fee as he was the brother of his dear friend A.J.
The thin faced girl appeared at the end of the bar and caught Calder’s attention nodding in the direction of the reception. He explained that his taxi had probably arrived and stood up pushing his shirt back into the top of his trousers. Calder and Albert said their goodbyes and Albert said how grateful he was that he had met Calder. Noticing Calder’s pronounced limp, as they walked towards the hotel entrance, he apologizing again for calling him Tiny Tim when they first met all those years ago,
“There’s one last thing you might be able to help me with,” Albert said as they stood at the door looking out at the darkness and the headlights of the taxi. “I know now that I do not have any real memories of my time before the war, so how come I knew I had a brother and his name was James. It certainly nothing that Mrs Hughes would have talked about?”
“I hope I have been able to help you understand some things tonight and I hope to be of assistance in the future, but that is one question I cannot answer.”
“Cannot, or will not?”
“No, no certainly I would tell you if I knew. Perhaps there are other memories, hiding away just waiting to be discovered.”
“Or perhaps not,” Albert sighed and blinked as he walked back into the comparative bright light of the hotel reception.
The wall opposite the door had an open fire but there was no evidence the staff had lit it for a long time. The weight of despair and depression that pervaded the room suggested that any attempt to light a match would prove to be unsuccessful.
Albert had sat in the cafe for a while and had a cup of weak warm tea. He still needed to think and the hustle and bustle of the passengers using the cafe disturbed his thoughts so he had moved to the waiting room, which was much quieter apart from the sound of the non-stop trains speeding through the station. The vibrations seemed to create odd movements of shadows and a waft of cold air that he assumed were ghosts of passengers whose trains had never arrived.
The walk back towards the town had been a long one. However, he did not mind this as the solitude and exercise had provided the opportunity to think about the meeting with his brother James. The steady rhythm of his stride seemed to regulate his thinking and stopped his mind racing ahead. His initial reaction had been anger and rage directed against his brother, but perhaps because of the steady walk, a strange calmness and clarity of thought had replaced these emotions. There was a realisation, probably for the first time in the life he could remember, things and events made sense. He had lived with a jumble of jigsaw pieces in his head that did not agree with the picture on the box. Now for the first time the two elements matched. He still did not know how to fit them together and some pieces were missing, possibly lost forever, but there was light where previously there had only been darkness.
His brother had described a family with serious faults and complex relationships. A grandfather who had committed suicide. A father who had kept the family in poverty, despite having access to an inherited fortune. His father, loved by many, ridiculed by others and hated by his son; a son that wished his father and brother were dead. Was this the family Albert wished to be a part of? Strangely and surprisingly Albert knew the answer was yes. The women who portrayed herself as his mother, he knew now, created his view of family life. Mrs Hughes had conjured up a world of sugar and spice, where summers were long and hot and children played in the water’s edge of a pure white sandy beach. A beach with no sharp stones or pebbles, where children did not suffer injury or anxiety and all the sand castles perfectly formed. The children did not cry or argue in this blissful world, a world he now knew was a Utopian creation of a woman who, despite knowing she had lost her son, longed to be with him during the final days of her terminal illness. She had created a theatre where Albert was the lead character playing the part of her son, not knowing the play was never to end, until now. The curtain had finally come down on this fairy tale and Albert knew he had a new role to play in the real world of the Waterson family.
Albert remembered the time at the end of the war, when the military demobbed the forces, and the members of his regiment returned to their families. He remembered lying when asked about his family and his plans for the future, not wanting to reveal that he was not returning. He did not know what he was to do or where to go and returned to Deerson House as if drawn by some invisible force, rather than part of some grand plan. Over the years he had often wondered why he had not sought out the woman he knew as his mother. Had he always known this was not his real mother? He had liked her but he realised there was no sense of love or bond one would expect between mother and son. He had walked away from this fictitious life, was he now also to walk away from a world that included hate between brothers, but a world where he had once lived.
Albert looked at the station notice board. The expected departure time of his train to Eastbridge had not changed. He reached into his pocket and found the slip of paper that gave details of the hotel where he was booked for the night. He did not know if he was ready to take on the part of A.J.’s brother but he knew he could not simply return to his life working in the gardens and the bar of the Station Inn. He needed more time to think things through. What had A.J. said, “have a good meal, a night at the hotel and we’ll talk about it again tomorrow.” Albert found a taxi and asked for the Grenadier Hotel.
The Grenadier Hotel was located about five miles outside of the town. A stately two storey Victorian Mansion with eight bedrooms, two dining rooms and a function room used mainly for weddings. Constructed from lightly coloured local stone, with an arched doorway, mullioned windows and tall chimneys rising from a slate tiled roof, the hotel created an image that shouted the original owner’s status and wealth. It provided luxury for his family and hospitality for his guests. The building was set in its own gardens and woodland, the striped terraced lawns leading down to a pond fed by a tributary of the river Barn. The grounds exuded a sense of calm and tranquility.
A single lane road, boarded by an avenue of Poplar trees standing tall and straight like a military guard of honor, provided the access to the hotel. Albert’s taxi stopped in front of the hotel entrance alongside brightly polished expensive saloon and sports cars. Only a few hours earlier Albert would have been overawed and intimidated by such a place but despite his tired looking clothes, and exhausted looking suitcase, his new found confidence gave him a sense of poise and bearing that outshone his outward appearance. He would have also been concerned about the cost of even a one-night stay but any fears were soon allayed when he was informed by the thin faced girl on reception, speaking with a foreign accent, that he was the guest of Meester Waterson and everything was to be booked to Meester Waterson’s account. The receptionist asked if he would be dining that evening. Albert, realising that he had not eaten since breakfast, replied that he would and booked a table for the earliest opportunity. He asked if it was possible to have a pot of tea. The thin faced girl directed him to a comfortable intimate lounge, overlooking the rear gardens, where his tea would be served, whilst the porter took his suitcase to his room.
The tea finished and the tray removed, Albert remained sitting in the lounge enjoying the view of the gardens and the mixed woodland beyond, his mind happily daydreaming, thinking about nothing in particular. He was pleased he had decided to spend a night at the hotel; the peaceful and relaxing surroundings had allowed his mind to wonder with a freedom that would not have been possible if he were back at home or the Station Inn.
“Mr Hughes, I’m sorry to disturb you, is it possible I could join you?”
Albert recognised the male voice and slowly turning his head to see around the wings of his high backed chair, saw the short figure he had met earlier that day.
“Calder. I assume A.J. Waterson sent you, but how did he know I was here?” Albert replied, somewhat annoyed his solitude had been interrupted.
Timothy Calder stood at the side of Albert, his head barely showing above the height of the chair. He had changed the casual trousers and corduroy jacket he had worn when meeting Albert at the station, for a formal grey suit. The trouser belt was still below his stomach, meaning the crotch of his trousers was nearly to his knees. Wrinkled, like a concertina, the bottoms of his trousers were frayed where they reached the floor. His jacket was open revealing a shirt with buttons straining to maintain some sense of dignity.
“Can I sit here?” Calder asked, pointing to the chair opposite Albert, ignoring Albert’s question. His voice was much rounder and deeper than you would have expected from someone of his reduced stature. Even though he did not speak loudly, the tone and projection meant someone sitting the other side of the room could easily have heard him.
Without Albert agreeing Calder sat on the chair he had indicated, legs dangling, his feet unable reach the floor.
“Yes, A.J. did ask if I would call in at the hotel and try to speak to you, and he knew you were here because he instructed the receptionist to call him if you were to arrive.”
Albert slapped the arms of his chair, “that man is amazing,” he said sarcastically, “I find he has been following me around for the last so many years, and even now he has his spies keeping tabs on me.”
Calder wasn’t to be drawn by Albert’s obvious annoyance and calmly, with an even more velvety voice, explained the reason for A.J.’s actions.
“There were so many things that A.J. did not have opportunity to tell you earlier today, he felt you might be more inclined to listen to me. Also there are things I can tell you that might help you understand more about your current situation.”
“Who are you?” Albert asked, still with a sense of annoyance, “and what do you know about my situation?”
Calder slid off his chair and sat on the edge of the one nearest to Albert. He was acutely aware that his voice tended to carry and, although the room was currently only occupied by the two of them, what he was about to say should not be overheard by anyone entering the room.
“As you know my name is Timothy Calder, you thought that perhaps I was A.J.’s driver but in fact I am his solicitor and I like to think his closest friend. You might not believe it just yet, but A.J. is the kindest most generous man I know and I am proud to be associated with him in business and in private. He wasn’t always the man that I know today, he’s changed, something happened in his life, you need to ask him about that, but he is the best of men, a rare breed. And I know your real name is George Waterson and you are his brother.”
Albert had not met many solicitors and certainly, the man now sat next to him, was not the image that immediately sprang to mind. His clothes and general appearance did not suggest a man with an ordered logical mind and his imagination conjured up an image of a solicitor’s office strewn with dusty files and papers.
Calder paused before continuing. He wanted to give Albert time to take in what he had just said and also ensure he had his full attention for what he was about to relate.
“It’s obvious you do not recognise me, but we have met before today, 36 years ago. At that time you knew me as Tim, you and the other men called me Tiny Tim.”
It was 1944 and Timothy Calder was an 18 years old. He knew, because of his stature and withered leg; the forces would never consider him for active service and he sought an opportunity to be of service in some other capacity. At that time he had ambitions to become a doctor and as Deerson House was close to where he lived he volunteered to help in the hospital. He was working at the hospital when they admitted Albert. He was very thin at that age and with a pronounced limp, sometimes needing the aid of stick, the patients nicknamed him Tiny Tim after the Dickens character in Christmas Carol.
“I’m sorry we called you Tiny Tim,” Albert apologised, recalling the small boy with a limp that would willingly help with any jobs that he was physically able to perform. He remembered this same boy spending all his available time talking to the patients, many who had serious brain injuries or mental problems. “What happened to your plans to become a doctor?”
“Oh that’s a long story, perhaps another time. Don’t worry about calling me Tiny Tim, I’ve been called worse. You wouldn’t call me that now,” Calder chuckled rubbing his stomach.
Although Calder was very young the doctors at the hospital recognised that he was bright, intelligent and enthusiastic about medicine. In addition to his office and general duties, they would try to involve him in the care of the patients and explain, whenever possible, the nature of the patient’s injuries or illness and the treatment they were pursuing. When Albert arrived, his loss of memory suggested a brain injury, whilst some doctors suspected shell shock, or even he was faking the condition, to avoid the doctors sending him back to his regiment. The field hospital in France had compiled some case notes. When the doctors discussed the notes, Calder took part in those discussions, giving any information he might have gathered whilst talking to Albert. After contacting Mrs Hughes, her visits resulted in Albert apparently regaining of some of his memory. This seemed to support those who believed he was suffering from shell shock, and that his memory would fully recover over time.
“What I don’t know, and for some reason I never asked at the time, is why I was not wearing my army identification tags that would have confirmed that I was really George Waterson.”
“We received a report from France,” answered Calder, “that explained how you were found and the circumstances of the death of the other members of the patrol. After the artillery shells had killed the others, it was nearly two days before they found you. You were practically naked and they reckon another night and you would have died from hyperthermia.”
“But why was I naked, does anyone know?”
“They could only guess that your uniform must have been covered in the blood, and other things, from the other men and in your complete state of shock you had removed your clothes because you couldn’t bear the site of their blood.”
“So I had taken off the tags as well?” queried Albert.
“No not really, but you must have been totally hysterical and in that state, well we can only guess what you were thinking or trying to do. You had collected the tags of most of the other men and you were wearing these when the medics found you. It wasn’t possible to be sure who you were, or the other men, and initially you were all reported as missing presumed killed.”
“If they weren’t sure who I was why did they presume I was Albert and contact Mrs Hughes?”
“It’s because you were wearing a watch, a wristwatch. When you were finally persuaded to take it off they found an engraving on the back that said, “To our dearest Albert.”
“I’ve still got that watch somewhere,” interjected Albert, “I stumble across it every now and then when I’m clearing out some rubbish. It doesn’t work anymore but I’ve kept it because of that engraving. I assume I must have stolen it from the real Albert’s body,” he said reflectively.
“You were so traumatised by losing all your friends, heaven only knows what was going through your mind. We don’t know how you came by that watch, but it could never be called stealing.” Calder could see that Albert was upset learning about the watch. He knew there was little he could say to reassure him and tried to change the subject to lighten the progressively depressed mood. “Do you remember that chap at the hospital, I don’t recall his name, every time there was a loud noise he thought he was coming under attack and would put the bedpan on his head like a helmet. The number of times the nurses had to clean him up, you didn’t envy their jobs.”
“Oh yes, I’d forgotten all about that,” Albert broke in, “I think his name was, it’ll come to me in a minute, it was Jimmy, we called him Jimmy Riddle for obvious reasons.”
Calder and Albert both started to laugh and went on to reminisce about other people and events at the hospital. Even the saddest of occasions had an amusing side and they reminded themselves that “you had to laugh to keep from going mad.”
Whilst they were laughing and joking they had not noticed that others had entered the lounge and their conversation was no longer private.
“Do you fancy a drink,” suggested Calder, “It’s after 5 o’clock; I make it a rule never to drink before 5. Let’s go into the bar, they have some really nice single malts that I think you will appreciate.”
Albert took a sip of his whiskey and nodded in agreement of Calder’s choice.
“When did you first meet my brother?” Albert asked. He suddenly realised that he had used the word brother without hesitation. “Is there any possibility that A.J. and you have made a mistake; that you have the wrong person. Is there any doubt that we are brothers?”
“None whatsoever. I suspected something was wrong when you were in the hospital, but at that time I never doubted you were Albert Hughes. But, having met your brother and hearing his side of the story, it all fitted into place. There can be no doubt you are his brother.”
“What do you mean you suspected something was wrong in the hospital?” Albert asked quizzically.
Calder explained how it was unclear if Albert had suffered a brain injury that had resulted in his loss of memory, or whether he was suffering from some sort of mental trauma. When his memory seemed to be recovering because of the visits of Mrs Hughes, the doctors confirmed it was trauma related and that his memory would probably fully recover over time. However, Calder was suspicious of the memories Albert apparently remembered. Particularly those from his childhood, they seemed to be events viewed through the eyes of an adult; they were not the things he believed a child would recall from their own experience. Everything was too perfect, too idyllic, and they always included his mother, there were never any memories of times when he was on his own or playing with his friends. He had expressed his doubts to the doctors but they were not interested in the views of an untrained youth. The doctors were seeing and hearing of Albert’s improvement and this is what they wanted to see. Here was a patient on the road to recovery and soon able to rejoin his regiment, to fight for his country, and a testament to the skills of their profession.
Calder went on to describe his first meeting with A.J. It was about eight years ago and Deerson House had been empty and unused for some time. A.J. was investigating the possibility of purchasing the building with the intention of converting it to a hotel or health spa. He needed the services of a local solicitor who knew the area and could help with obtaining any planning permission that might be required. He engaged Calder and they worked together for a few months until A.J. finally withdrew his interest because of the high cost of renovation.
“At that time I thought he was one of the hardest, most ruthless men I had ever met,” Calder explained, “I wasn’t sorry the project didn’t go ahead. It was worth a lot of money to me, but the thought of working with him, it filled me with dread. He had already been involved in some dodgy deals that sailed pretty close to the wind and had more enemies than friends. It was about three years later when he contacted me again. I thought he had renewed his interest in Deerson House as he asked me some questions about the house around the time of the war. I explained that I had worked there when the house was used as a hospital. He immediately asked if we could meet as he had some questions about a patient at that time. Of course we met and that is how we realised we had someone in common - you. He told me all about your family and the terrible business of the letter from Mrs Hughes. I would not have thought it possible that the man I met the second time was the same man. He was humble, open, and honest, I could not help liking him and that was the start of the friendship we have today.”
“I visited Deerson House around the time it was derelict,” Albert interrupted, “I just wanted to see what it looked like after so many years. It was really upsetting to see it in that state. What do think happened to change my brother so much in those years?”
“I have my theories but you will need to ask him.”
“Mr Hughes would you like to see the menu?” it was the thin faced girl from the reception, “your table will be ready for you in about half an hour.”
“Calder, would you join me for dinner?” Albert asked.
“I would be delighted. I am supposed to be on a diet, but that can wait until tomorrow. A.J. owes me dinner and the food here is excellent. I was supposed to be joining my wife this evening, but this is a far better offer.”
Calder had met his wife Elizabeth when they both were both at university. He was reading law and Lizzy, as he called her, was studying ancient languages. His stunted growth and withered leg was because of a hormonal problem as a child and he was relieved to find that both his children, a boy and a girl, were perfect at birth and grew into normally developed adults. They were both now married and Susan, his daughter, was expecting his first grandchild. When they graduated, Lizzy continued at the university working as a research assistant. Over the years, she had been fortunate to successfully combine her role as a mother and continue her career at the university. Now the children were no longer a restriction she spent more time at her work and Calder was due to accompany Lizzy, that evening, at a symposium on the relevance of Greek myths and legends in modern literature. She had invited him to attend as a guest and he was more than grateful to have the opportunity to decline, at the last minute, due to the meeting with Albert.
“You have saved me from a fate worse than death,” exclaimed Calder as he explained to Albert about the prospects of attending the symposium and socialising with Lizzy’s colleagues after the meeting. “It’s not that I don’t like them,” he went on to explain, “it’s just that I just cannot get that excited or enthusiastic about the subjects that occupy their every waking hour. I find myself making sarcastic comments or jokes, but they are so engrossed in their subject, and expect everyone else to have the same passion, any utterance of mine just passes them by.”
Albert was beginning to warm to this man and wondered if he too would become Calder’s friend, as his brother had before him. For so many years he had avoided intimate conversations, frightened he would reveal details of his past and be forced to admit there was so much of his past he did not know. He had now met two people who knew of his early life and, even though they knew more than he did, surprisingly he found that less threatening as if they were somehow part of his story and they were in control, able to close the previous chapter and open the pages that were to follow.
The dining room was busy, the tables mainly occupied by men dressed in grey suits talking business over their meal and wine. The menu was in French and Calder, realising that Albert had not been able to read it, suggested they both have a rump steak, if Albert agreed. Albert happily agreed to Calder’s suggestion for the red wine. The meal was accompanied by small talk, but as the plates were cleared Calder announced,
“When A.J. called me and asked if I would try to meet you here tonight, he insisted I spoke to you about one particular subject and was equally insistent that I was not to mention another matter. I am my own man, and although I understand A.J.’s motives, I believe there are some things that you should know.”
“Is this like good news, bad news and which do I want to hear first,” inquired Albert.
“No, it’s not quite like that,” responded Calder, “let me start by telling you about the money.”
Calder explained that he and A.J. were aware of Dick Stanley, the old man that Albert would speak to in the gardens, and that Dick had died in a nursing home. Albert made some remark about A.J.’s spies watching his every move. However, his mood had mellowed, perhaps because of the wine, or his acceptance that A.J.’s motives might not be quite as sinister as he had previously thought and his mention of spies was more as an observation, rather than his previous outburst.
“A.J. had been looking for an opportunity and when he heard about Dick Stanley’s death and found out that he had no close friends or relatives, he proposed to use this to carry out his plan.”
“Plan to do what?” questioned Albert, rather apprehensive about where this was leading.
“A.J. did want me to mention this but over the years he had become increasing guilty about what he had done to you and, by keeping secret your survival from the war he inherited the money that should have been yours. He wanted to find a way of giving you some of that money without revealing himself as your brother and your true name. The money you received, which was apparently from Dick Stanley’s will, actually came from A.J.”
“I was going to say I don’t believe it, but nothing seems to surprise me anymore about that man. How did he do it? I received an official solicitor’s letter telling me about the inheritance?”
“Well that was the part I played,” explained Calder, “if you still have that letter you will see it came from my office. I was not entirely happy with the scheme but I went along with it; not forced, more like persuaded.”
“Wasn’t it illegal, couldn’t you be in trouble if anyone found out?”
“Not exactly illegal, more like unethical. The Law Society would probably take a dim view if they were to become aware of what I had done.”
Albert sat in thought, sipping the remainder of his wine. He recalled being astounded by the inheritance, not only because he was simply an acquaintance of Dick’s, but also he assumed that Dick had very little money. The amount he received was sufficient for him to buy a house with some left over to start a savings account. He knew, speaking to people at Dick’s funeral, he did not have any relatives. Receiving the solicitor’s letter suggested that everything was above board and he did not suspect for one moment that anything was untoward.
“That was an awful lot of money,” declared Albert.
“Yes, but your brother is, or rather was, a very wealthy man.
“What do you mean was?” queried Albert.
“I’m sorry, that will have to be something for A.J. to answer. Let’s move to the lounge bar and have another of those fine malts. You go and find us a table and I’ll join you in a few moments.”
Calder made two phone calls. One to arrange for a taxi later that evening; the wine and whiskeys meant he would not be driving again that day; the other to A.J. to confirm he had met Albert and explain that he had told him about the money. Although A.J. had explicitly said not to mention about the scheme to give the money to Albert, he was not unduly annoyed that Calder had ignored him, but in a way relieved that Albert now knew and had not reacted angrily at hearing the news. He asked Calder if they had yet spoken on the other subject, which Calder explained he had not. He had deliberately left it to the end of the evening when he thought Albert would be better able to deal with the news. They had to be aware of the impact on Albert; it was not every day you were informed that you had been living the wrong life for the past 35 years. After the flare-up with A.J. he now appeared relatively calm and in control but he was in danger of being overloaded and the pressure valve might not hold for much longer.
Calder found Albert sat at the rear of the lounge with two tumblers of whiskey on a small round table. Although it was busy with diners having also finished their meal, most were stood at the bar leaving a number of tables free. Albert was deep in thought, looking at his hands, and did not notice Calder limping towards him fighting his way past the crowded bar area. Albert’s hands were strong and tanned with nails in surprisingly good condition considering the manual nature of his work in the gardens. He was recalling the saying, knowing something as well as the back of your hands. He knew these hands, they were the tools of his trade, but he was no longer sure who owned these hands. Was it so difficult to know oneself? By using a different name, had he become a different person? Did the name define the essence of a man, or was this a product of nature and nurture? Did his parents mistreat him as a child? Bullied at school, or was he the bully? If he could not remember these past events did that also mean that any scars had healed and he was reborn anew in 1944 as Albert Hughes?
“I’ve been thinking about my name,” Albert pondered as Calder sat next to him. “Do you think I should be known as George Waterson?”
“Let’s talk about that later, there is something important I want to tell you. Something A.J. wanted to tell you, but did not have the opportunity, it’s about your mother.”
“Mrs Hughes?” Albert asked recalling the woman who had visited him during his stay in the hospital.
“No, I mean your real mother, yours and A.J.’s mother. She’s alive, physically she is very well, in fact fitter than I am, but unfortunately she has severe dementia. It started five or six years ago and very quickly got worse. She seems to have good days and bad days; she’s living in a care home. The staff there are marvelous, she wants for nothing.”
Albert realised he had not considered the possibility of a wider family. His train of thought had stopped at his brother. It seemed that he had to accept fully that A.J. was his brother. Before removing that obstacle, his mind could not move on to the possibility of aunts, uncles, cousins and his mother. A.J. had explained that his father had died but he had not mentioned his mother. Why had he not said that she was still alive? Calder said he did not have the opportunity, is this because Albert had become upset and stormed out before A.J. could talk about it? Or, because he had locked her away, out of sight?
“I suppose she got in the way of his grand schemes and A.J. had her put in a home,” fumed Albert.
“No it wasn’t like that,” Calder replied trying to calm the situation. “There are so many things you need to understand.”
“I understand all right. When I was in his way he got rid of me, and when she was an embarrassment he got her out of the way,” Albert continued. He might have found his brother but even though he was family, he was not the sort of man he wanted to be associated. He had seen the type in the Station Inn, big and brash, lording it over everyone else. The centre of attention, surrounded by people who laughed at their stupid jokes, hung on their every word, nodding and agreeing to the most ridiculous pronouncements, kowtowing to their every whim.
Albert liked Calder and he was sad that the evening was ending this way. He contemplated getting up and leaving but he reminded himself that Calder was just the messenger; he was not the one deserving his anger. He hoped Calder would stay, at least a little longer, so they could part on better terms.
Calder was used to dealing with clients who became angry or emotional. He had not followed his early ambitions to become a doctor, but sometimes he felt like a family GP as people sat in his office expressing their feelings about their non-physical ailments that required a legal solution. He wished sometimes he could just write a prescription for a few pills and the problems would go away, but the legal system required rigor and patience; needing careful explanations and handling when faced with a client about to explode with frustration.
“Why don’t we get ourselves a nightcap?” Calder asked in a calm almost hypnotic voice.
Albert did not reply but picked up his glass and finished the last remaining drops of his malt, seemingly to imply he was ready for another. There were less people standing at the bar and Calder managed to attract the attention of the barman. Shortly two more whiskeys arrived at their table.
Calder took a sip and placing his glass on the table continued in the same calm clear baritone voice.
“You asked me earlier about A.J.’s wealth and I declined to answer. I think I need to explain his current situation; it will help you to understand better the man I know. When I first met him he was hard and uncaring completely obsessed by the need to expand his empire. He trampled on everything and everyone that got in his way. It even destroyed his marriage.” Albert started to interrupt.
“No, let me continue, I know I have not mentioned his wife and son but it’s important you understand what happened. He married a wealthy American woman. I never met her, she had already returned to America by the time I first met your brother. He married her as a business partner and she wanted a husband and family. They had a son and I suppose she thought that would make a difference, they would be a family, but it was never going to work, they were divorced and she went back to America taking his son with her. He’s seen him a few times since then, even suggesting he come to live with him here in England, but she had already poisoned his mind against A.J. and it’s unlikely they will ever be reconciled.
“The second time I met A.J. was shortly after your mother's dementia was diagnosed. I don’t know this as a fact, but I suspect this had something to do with his change of attitude. Something had melted his heart and I don’t know of anything else that happened about that time. It was as if this was the first time in his life he had to consider someone else and he was a changed man. He realised it would not be long before she required extra care and he started looking at the possibilities of a nursing home of some kind. He was appalled to find the lack of provision for people like your mother and decided he needed to do something about it. Since then all his time, effort and money has gone into providing facilities for the elderly, particularly those with memory problems.”
“So once again he saw a business opportunity,” Albert interjected, obviously not convinced of his brother’s “Road to Damascus moment”.
“It’s a business opportunity that is slowly destroying him.” Calder continued, ignoring Albert’s interruption. “He is spending so much money on his care homes, he runs them like a charity, the rest of his business interests can no longer support this level of spending, and he is heading for bankruptcy. Look, I didn’t want to talk about his finances, what is more important is A.J. wants you to meet your mother. I know things haven’t gone well between the two of you, but if you want he will take you to meet your mother. He will be at the hotel at 10 o'clock tomorrow morning. He will park outside, waiting for you, but if you do not want to see him just stay in the hotel and he will just drive off. He will not come looking for you, he will understand if you do not want to meet again.”
Albert recalled the day he left the army. He walked out of the gates of the camp, carrying his kit bag, and stopped at the main road, looking left and right. The left direction would take him towards the only past he thought he knew, to his mother and sister, a turn to the right would take him to an uncertain destination and an uncertain future. Before his mind had made the decision his body had turned to the right and headed for the nearest large town. It was as if the like poles of a magnet had repelled each other and some invisible force had prevented him turning any way other than the direction he walked that day. Like the photographs in an old album the few mental images he had of his family quickly faded over the coming weeks and months, and even his eventual arrival at Deerson House did not rekindle any emotional attraction to the person he had met there posing as his mother.
Albert was screwing up his face, holding his breath; the eyelids closed so tight they forced his eyes back inside his skull. The veins were standing proud on his neck and temples and redness had appeared in his cheeks. He did not realise he was doing this but it was the physical manifestation of his attempts to bring back memories that were lost forever. He had tried so many times to unlock the door to a room he felt sure contained the memories of Albert Hughes that sometimes the physical exertion had resulted in near unconsciousness.
“Are you OK Albert, or should I call you George?” Calder, obviously alarmed by Albert’s apparent seizure, reached over to shake his arm trying to break the connection to the forces that had taken hold of him.
Albert’s face relaxed and looked at Calder, apparently unaware that Calder had roused him from what an observer would describe as a trance.
“What should I call myself?” Albert enquired, seemingly fully recovered.
“Well, officially your name is George, Alfred, Waterson, but, within reason, you can call yourself anything you like. You can change your name to Albert Hughes by deed poll and you can continue to use that name if you wish. It’s a straightforward process, but the difficulty is you have been living under an assumed name of someone that existed and unwittingly inherited any rights that person might have had. I can help you straighten this out if you wish and sort out the deed poll if you decide on another name.”
“Perhaps I should pick a completely different name, the name of somebody famous.” Albert chuckled to himself as he thought of the possibilities.
Calder handed Albert his card and invited him to call at anytime to discuss this further. There was no urgency to clear things up but Calder suggested that Albert needed to carefully consider what he wanted to do and he was more than willing to help, and there would be no fee as he was the brother of his dear friend A.J.
The thin faced girl appeared at the end of the bar and caught Calder’s attention nodding in the direction of the reception. He explained that his taxi had probably arrived and stood up pushing his shirt back into the top of his trousers. Calder and Albert said their goodbyes and Albert said how grateful he was that he had met Calder. Noticing Calder’s pronounced limp, as they walked towards the hotel entrance, he apologizing again for calling him Tiny Tim when they first met all those years ago,
“There’s one last thing you might be able to help me with,” Albert said as they stood at the door looking out at the darkness and the headlights of the taxi. “I know now that I do not have any real memories of my time before the war, so how come I knew I had a brother and his name was James. It certainly nothing that Mrs Hughes would have talked about?”
“I hope I have been able to help you understand some things tonight and I hope to be of assistance in the future, but that is one question I cannot answer.”
“Cannot, or will not?”
“No, no certainly I would tell you if I knew. Perhaps there are other memories, hiding away just waiting to be discovered.”
“Or perhaps not,” Albert sighed and blinked as he walked back into the comparative bright light of the hotel reception.