Of course, if you would prefer not to pursue this matter then I understand completely. It is your choice and I shall abide by your decision whatever it may be. I shall wait for you at the café and hope that you are prepared to trust that I wish you no ill. In fact, I should very much like to meet you.

Kindest regards,

Imelda Burova

A quick Google search had confirmed Billie’s knee-jerk suspicion that this woman was almost certainly a charlatan. Imelda Burova – aka Madame Burova – was a tarot reader, palmist and clairvoyant who had traded in Brighton for many years. Billie knew that Julia would tell her to keep well away. Annie would probably take it less seriously – go, if you like, it might be quite interesting. But she’s probably just touting for business. And usually Billie would agree with Annie. But this woman – this Madame Burova – had exchanged correspondence with her dad for years and yet Billie knew nothing about her. She’d never heard her name mentioned once. Madame Burova had been her dad’s very well-kept secret. But secret what? Lover? Friend? Relation? And why the silence? Why was she a secret?

Billie scoured the letter for further clues. The notepaper was thick, ivory in colour and obviously expensive. The writing was bordering on flamboyant and the sparse words appeared to have been carefully chosen. The envelope had a Brighton postmark and a first class stamp. Billie’s parents had always been the bedrock of her world and she had never doubted their unconditional love. Now she had to face the fact that not only had they concealed her adoption, but there were other things about her dad she didn’t know. A part of his life that he had kept from her, and possibly from her mum too. Madame Burova. Was keeping such a secret the same as lying, she wondered? Could trust be incremental or was it an absolute that, once licked by a flame of deceit, crumbled like paper into ashes? Billie folded the letter carefully and tucked it back inside its envelope. There were too many questions and not enough answers. It was time to go and have it out with the people who knew the truth. Billie stood up and fetched her coat.

_______________________

The cemetery was a damp disarray of fallen leaves and bedraggled trees flailing in a cantankerous wind. Billie’s mum and dad were buried together, and their grave was marked by a simple white marble headstone. Billie had stopped at a petrol station on the way and bought a bunch of carnations and chrysanthemums as a peace offering, or perhaps as a salve to soothe the guilt that was contaminating her for doubting her parents. But surely she had a right to? She flung the flowers down.

‘I’m not sure you deserve these anyway!’