July 2012
Gerald had been sitting fishing from the bank of the river near Sonning for some time, before he became aware, with a sense of foreboding, that he was being watched.
The stationary figure, dark in a long flowing cloak, was standing on the tow-path on the other side of the river. They were not moving, just watching. Other people were passing by, but it had no effect on how the person stood.
Gerald realised they had been there for some time. He wasn't absolutely sure but felt confident that this had happened before.
Gerald had enjoyed fishing from when he was a young lad, but now at 57 and after the death of his wife, he really came more for the bustle of everyday life. He enjoyed watching people walking or jogging along, with their dogs or families; and on the river, craft of every shape and size floating by. He had always felt relaxed there, but now he had a strange sense of apprehension.
Some days later he realised that whichever part of the river he sat by, the mysterious stranger seemed to find him, and stand motionless, just watching. Yesterday he had noticed the figure leaning on the stone footbridge that crossed the river.
Today Gerald had come down earlier than usual and found a position quite near the bridge but with a good view of both banks.
After a while he had a sensation of unease but he couldn't see anyone. He felt a presence behind him, and turned. There was the stranger, in the long flowing cloak, but this time they moved nearer to him and then sat down.
'Tell me, why did you leave us?'
'I beg your pardon.' said Gerald, feeling unnerved.
'Why did you leave us and not come back?' came the question again, 'How could you just walk out on us with no explanation?'
'I've no idea what you are talking about,' Gerald answered nervously.
'Ten years ago, you just disappeared from our lives.'
'Whose lives? Who are you? Who do you think I am?' asked Gerald completely confused.
'My father' was the whispered reply.
Gerald was stunned. "I have no children, although my wife and I were married for 32 years, we were unable to have children.'
'You were married to someone else? So you and my mother just lived together?'
'What are you on about?' Gerald shouted angrily. 'I loved my wife, we'd known each other all our lives, until she died 6 months ago. How dare you suggest I had an affair with someone else?'
'But the photograph shows quite clearly, you with Mum and the 2 of us . . . John and myself.'
'What photo?' asked Gerald.
The stranger pulled a worn photo out and passed it to Gerald.
'That's us outside our house in Walsall. It's taken me years to track you down.'
'I've never been to Walsall. I've lived here all my life, in the same house as I was born in. When we married my wife and I moved in with my mother.'
There was a silence. Gerald passed the photo back. The stranger stared at it and then at Gerald.
'Your name is Gerry Brightwell?'
'Yes, Gerald Brightwell, but none of this makes sense. I assure you I know nothing about you or your family.'
'But if what you are saying is true, then I don't understand. The man in the photograph is just like you but younger.'
Gerald took the photo back and took a closer look. Yes there was something about it. A resemblance. A look of himself when younger.
'How did you know my name?' he asked.
'It's my name.' The stranger stated.
'How old was your father when he left?' Gerald asked.
'41 I think. My brother was 13 and I was 11. He often was away for weeks at a time, but this time he didn't return.'
'Well I'm 57 now, so would have been 47 then, Gerald suddenly turned to the stranger Walsall . . .near Birmingham?'
'Yes why?"
'Some years ago, we had a letter from a relative to tell us that my cousin Gerry had been killed in a road accident near Birmingham. I'm sure no mention was made of a family. The funeral had already taken place, so we just sent a sympathy card. I hadn't seen Gerry for over 30 years, but as youngsters people did sometimes mix us up. Could it have been him, that was your father?
The stranger looked stunned and very pale. 'Two Gerry Brightwells. How?'
'We were both named after our Great Grandfather. I'm so sorry. I wished we had known. My wife would have loved to have met you and John. Are your mother and John still living in Walsall?'
The stranger's eyes filled with tears 'No . . . I'm afraid they are both dead. John was killed in action with the army when he was 19, and my mother couldn't cope with his death, so she took an overdose. There is just me left, which is why I have been searching for so long. I needed to know . . . why?'
Gerald turned and put his arm around the figure and gave a comforting hug.
'Well I may not be your father, but I can be your Uncle. We could become a family for each other. What do you think?'
'I'd love that; should I call you Uncle or Gerald?'
'Gerald I think, and what shall I call you?"
'Gerry,' came the reply, 'short for Geraldine.'