The Years of Riddle

Chapter Sixteen | London, May 1948

Chapter Sixteen

London, May 1948

The air was heavy as Gwyn hesitantly walked down a shady street, nervously pulling at her dress and hat. She'd worn her best clothes, taken much longer than usual to pin and curl her hair, even bought a new lipstick. It was all unnecessary, she knew, but she wanted this man – her father or not – to think well of her.

The address Heather had written down was a tall, white townhouse, with a sturdy black door and trim, with a small but well tended garden. Gwyn tried to slow her breathing as she climbed the steps, but her heart was pounding in her ears and the whole world seemed to disappear.

All she could think about was Wools orphanage, were she had spent so long thinking she was unworthy of parents, of any family, waiting to be adopted, the day never coming. She had spent years waiting for a family, and she had slowly begun making her own, and now – now this.

She ran the bell, holding her breath; the heavy door swung open, revealing a tall, wiry man. A pair of glasses sat a top of his head, pushing back thick, wavy hair the shade of a chestnut. He had eyes like deeply steeped tea, and they stared at Gwyn with wonder.

"Hullo." He breathed, stepping into the opening. "Are you Gwyn?"

"I – yes. I am." She had never been this nervous in her life.

"Please, come in." he made room for her in the small vestibule, and they stood, cramped and close. "Ah – I'm Denis."

"I know." Gwyn wondered why everything coming out of her mouth sounded young and poor and stupid.

"Come into the sitting room, please, just – take a seat, yes there, perfect. I'll..." he stood in the pleasant room, still and confused. "I'll get the tea."

Gwyn sat on a white velvet loveseat, which, along with all the other furniture, was nearly ten years out of date. Everything was in various creams and soft blues, and though old, was in good condition. There was an odd feeling of travelling back in time.

Dennis came back in then, a tray with tea and cakes in hand. He set them down carefully, took a hesitant seat. They assessed each other, and Dennis jumped into speech. "Before you say anything –" he paused, gulped, "You are Poppy Phi's daughter, you're sure of that?"

Gwyn nodded. "I am."

"Then I believe you...well, I think you may be my daughter. I don't know if that's what you want to hear or not, but...I..."

Gwyn's heart seemed to want to burst from her chest. She felt a warm, sunshine feeling pour through her – this man, who seemed very sweet and kind could be her father. "I've been waiting my whole life to hear that." She whispered.

"I've been waiting a long time just to know you were alive, that Poppy...well, to know what happened."

"I don't really know." Confessed Gwyn. "Only that she left Birmingham six months before I was born with no warning, and then gave birth to me in Wools orphanage almost six months after leaving." She shrugged. "All I knew growing up was her name."

"That must have been horrible." Dennis let his head fall in his hands. "I wish...I wish it could have turned out differently. We had plans...Poppy had so many dreams for you."

"She was only eighteen, barely." Gwyn studied the older man's face. "How old were you?"

Dennis looked sheepishly up from his hands. "Almost twenty-two, but we knew each other since childhood, and honestly...I loved her, Gwyn." Tear filled his eyes. "I loved her with everything I had."

"Why did she run away?" this is what Gwyn had wanted to ask, had been wondering for over twenty-one years. "Why...why was she alone that day, at Wools? They came across her in the street, practically giving birth on the pavement – why was she alone?" Gwyn had not meant to sound so harsh.

Tears slipped down Denis' cheeks, and he shook. "I wish I could tell you why she was out there. I used to be a journalist, and I was away for a few days. When I came home, she was gone. Mail from three days before was piled up – no one knew what had happened. Her clothes were still there, a few may have been missing, I'm not sure. Nothing seemed out of place, everything we had prepared for you was still here...I cant tell you what happened."

Gwyn wanted to cry. She had waited so long, to know why her mother had ended up at Wools, why she had been sentenced to a life without family. "So...its possible she was just out for the day, and went into labour, and...and it was just a coincidence?"

"Very possible." Denis toyed with a handkerchief, giving her a longing look.

"If she'd just stayed home...I might not have grown up at Wools." Might not have grown up with Tom.

Dennis nodded. "Maybe." He moved to sit beside her then, took her hands in his. "But maybe if we hadn't run away, it would have been different."

"Why did you, run away I mean?" Gwyn gripped his hands, looked into the eyes that mirrored her own.

"Poppy insisted, she was...ashamed. We weren't married, no one knew of our relationship besides Heather." He smiled, seeing the Poppy he had known in Gwyn's face. "She wanted time, to think about our life. I had a job offer in London, and she decided to come with me. We got married here, before she was showing, and began a life...we were going to tell our parents after you were born. It would have saved face, made it easier – your cuteness was supposed to soften the blow." He was crying again, and Gwyn hugged him tightly.

"I don't blame you." She whispered. "Not in the slightest, do you understand?"

Nodding, Denis pulled away, wiping his eyes. "I'm sorry, its just...I thought I would never have a family again." He reached for a photo on the end table, showing her. A beautiful woman, rosy and fair, sat with two little boys. "This Eveline, and our sons, Oscar and Elias. This was five ears ago."

Gwyn took the frame, looking at the boys. They looked around ten and seven.

"They would be fifteen and twelve now," Denis said softly. "They all died in the Blitz, in '44."

"I'm so sorry." It was one thing to lose family you had never known, but to have the ones you loved die...Gwyn could not imagine it. "That must have been very difficult, I can't...I can't fathom it."

Putting the picture back, he sighed. "I'm glad I had sons. Your mother –" Gwyn had a little thrill at the word " –she was so certain you were a girl. Gwyn was the name we chose together."

That was when Gwyn began to cry. She had always known her mother had named her, in the moments before she slipped away, but the fact that Denis and Poppy had thought about it, discussed it – that at some point she had been loved – was too much. She had been waiting so long. "I'm so happy to have found you." She sobbed, and Denis took her in a hug.

"I am too." He kissed her temple. "Somewhere, I hope that Poppy is happy." Gwyn hoped so too, and began to feel what she hoped was the sense of being complete. 

A/N: You know its exam season when I upload twice in one day.

Question: What do you think of Gwyn's father, and the backstory to Poppy Phi?

Rose