A few days after I left Battersea, Timothy travelled to Dan’s home in Altringham and told him the truth about his past. He also told him I’d been trying to trace him and passed on my contact details. A week later Dan sent me an email, saying he wanted to meet but needed time. He said he was finding it hard to process everything he’d just been told. Timothy and I exchanged a number of phone calls. In one call he told me Dan had cut off all contact with him. He was heartbroken and started to cry, saying how much he and Stephano missed having contact with Archie, Dan’s son, and the new baby. Two long months passed. Every morning when I woke up I reached for my phone and checked my emails but there was nothing from Dan. Then, just as I’d convinced myself that it wasn’t going to happen, he got in touch.
I glanced at my watch. He was ten minutes late. Lifting my latte to my lips, I somehow missed my mouth and splashed coffee on my top. Swearing under my breath, I picked up a napkin and rubbed at the stain. Mary had helped me choose my outfit the day before. Jeans tucked into boots, a cream silk top and pale-blue patterned scarf. She was so excited when told her I’d found my brother and was curious to meet him. Joe was happy for me too. He was still living in the flat in Salford then.
In the playground below the window a blonde boy of about ten in school uniform was standing inside a giant hamster wheel, stretching his limbs and attempting a 360-degree turn. A younger boy turned the wheel and fell about laughing as the older boy toppled over again and again. I grinned. The boy inside the wheel had a look of Mikey when he was little. I glanced at the empty chair beside me. What would I have given to have him sitting there with me. A clatter of plates and when I turned my head I saw our brother striding through the café entrance towards me.
Chapter 39
Dan gave a nervous laugh and said, “We mustn’t keep meeting like this.”
I stood up and we hugged awkwardly, his stubble catching my cheek. He smelled of cigarettes. His hair was more auburn than I remembered. He was more angular too, all elbows and sharp edges like a bicycle frame. I’d put him in his late forties when we first met. He was actually fifty-six but he looked good on it.
We stood still and stared at each other for a moment, our arms falling by our sides like we’d forgotten what to do with them. His cheeks were flushed and I was relieved to see he looked as terrified as I felt. He unravelled a mustard scarf and slipped off his burgundy Puffa jacket. Underneath he wore autumnal colours that complemented his hair, a dark yellow-and-green check shirt and burgundy jeans.
As we sat down Tess’s face came to me. It was as clear as day. She was wearing bright-pink lipstick, she’d just had her hair done and a bright smile lit up her face. I suddenly felt overcome. Tears started to pour down my cheeks and I couldn’t speak. It was all too much. I was overwhelmed by the pure and utter joy of my brother’s presence.
I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand. “Sorry,” I said. “I’ve been searching for you for quite a while. It’s been quite a journey.”
He stared down at the table, uneasy at my show of emotion. Composing myself quickly, I asked him about his journey getting here.
“Tram from Altrincham into town then I walked.”
“Altrincham. I can’t believe we’ve been living six miles from each other all these years.”
He shook his head. “Me neither. Seems so cruel.”
He ordered an Americano from a passing waiter and I ordered another latte. We made strained small talk about the café and the gallery and the relative advantages of living in Chorlton and Altrincham.
When our coffees arrived, Dan leant forward and stirred his slowly. “I was devastated when Tim told me about Tess.” He stared down into his cup. “I’ve spent my whole life thinking about her.”
“Did Tim and your father ever mention her at all?”
“Not really. I started to ask about her when I was five or six when I saw all the other kids with their mothers at the school gates. Then one day when I was seven James sat me down and told me that he and my mother were in a relationship but they weren’t married. He said she’d died when I came out of her tummy. After that they never mentioned her again. I was very young and for a long time I thought it was my fault she’d died. To be honest, Carmel, finding out it was all a lie has floored me. I feel robbed, like someone stole my winning lottery ticket and claimed it as theirs.”
I cleared my throat. “How is Timothy now?”
Dan turned sideways in his chair to accommodate his long legs then he rested his hands in his lap. “Fine as far as I know. Ellie talks to him, but I haven’t spoken to him for a while.”
“That’s a shame. Despite everything I can’t help liking him.”
“It’s very complicated.”
His tone was sharp and it felt like a rebuke. I shrank back into my chair and in the brief silence that followed a plate smashed at the far end of the café. We both jumped.
Dan sighed. “Tim was a good father and a wonderful grandfather. But we’re not here to talk about him.” His face suddenly opened up like a flower. “Tell me about Tess. What was she like?”
“Beautiful. Funny. Child-like.”
“Favourite singer?”
“Big Tom. Jim Reeves.”
“Favourite Song?”
“‘I Love You Because’. Dad used to put it on the radiogram and they’d waltz around the living room after a few sherries.”
“Must have been hard for you all when your dad passed.”
“It was. He was from Mayo as well and he adored Tess. They were really happy together.”
“It makes me happy that she was loved. Did she go back to Mayo much?”
“Every year when Dad was alive.” I hesitated. I wasn’t sure I wanted to tell him about all the dark years when she rarely left the house. “She loved driving in Connemara and visiting Ashford Castle in Cong village.”
“Home of The Quiet Man.”
“Her favourite film.”
Dan shifted in his chair. “Tim mentioned she had some mental-health issues?”
I swallowed, choosing my words carefully, wanting to do her justice and not paint her in too many dark tones.
“She did but her problems didn’t define her. The times when she was well she sparkled.”
“Was it to do with what happened in the Mother and Baby Home? A PTSD type thing?”
“It’s hard to know. Timothy seems to think she had some issues when she was young. But then he did say he and Tess had quite a violent and uncaring childhood. Tess was never formally diagnosed but I think she was bipolar. She had highs and lows. Who knows if it was nature or nurture? It was probably a mixture. It so often is.”
He chewed on a thumbnail. “I went through a period of depression when I was a teenager. I took drugs to make it go away.”
I nodded slowly. “It’s a monster of a disease.”
He looked at me closely. “You too?”
“One episode. Very recently. I’ve never felt anything like it in my life. I’ve always been a bit anxious but I unravelled for a while. I had a lot going on. Tess and Mikey died, I was looking for you and then I discovered my husband had slept with my best friend.”
“Sorry to hear that.” He frowned. “Your friend. Was she …?”
“The woman with me at the fundraiser? Yes.”
He reddened and looked away.
I sipped my coffee. I’d hardly touched it. “Do you mind if I ask you something, Dan? Do you think what you went through as a teenager was anything to do with not having a mother? It can’t have been easy being brought up by same-sex parents back then. Did you ever feel different and singled out?”
He paused. “Of course. But I’d always known James and Tim were in a relationship and that Tim was my uncle. I’d grown up having two loving parents. I’d always felt loved and wanted and I was cool about it. I wasn’t depressed about not having a mother. The depression seemed to come out of nowhere. Maybe it was hormones. It’s never come back, touch wood. But what you’ve just told me about Te
ss and yourself makes sense. Maybe it’s genetic.”
He shook his hair back off his face and frowned. A thick silence settled over us like a fog and he stared out of the window. I knew that meeting him again was never going to be easy for either of us but I could see he was finding it much harder than me. Gone was the ease and banter of our first meeting. He was clenched shut like a clam, opening up only now and again. Or maybe he simply didn’t like me. I started to wonder if we were going to have any kind of relationship at all.
I tried to steer the conversation in a different direction.
“So have you done much research into the Mother and Baby homes?”
“Loads. I read everything about the mass grave I was supposed to be buried in, about the illegal adoptions and the government commission. Everything.”
It was approaching lunch time. The café was filling with academics from the university nearby and arty types in black and horn-rimmed glasses with copies of the Guardian under their arms. We ordered a club sandwich each though I wasn’t particularly hungry.
When the waitress had gone Dan sat back and folded his arms.
“In some ways I count myself lucky, Carmel. Yes, I was trafficked but at least I ended up with my birth father and my uncle. I think about all those poor sods who were never told the truth about their adoption. Imagine waking up when you’re sixty and finding out that the parents whose names are on your birth certificate are not your birth parents like you thought but complete strangers. How fucking awful is that? Their lives must seem like one big lie.”
“I’m sure many loved their adopted parents and didn’t feel cheated but, yes, you’re right. For many it’s identity theft, plain and simple.” I sighed and finished the last of my coffee. “So are you going to look for redress or anything from the Irish authorities? There are organisations in the Irish community here in Manchester that can help with that kind of thing, you know.”
“I’m not sure. It might implicate Tim and I don’t want that. At the end of the day he was a good father.”
Dan looked down and circled his finger on the rim of his coffee cup. “I’ve come across so many online survivors groups in my research. I can’t believe how many of us there are out there. Tens of thousands all around the world. Victims of the Mother and Baby homes, the Magdalene Laundries, the industrial schools. So many fled Ireland.”
I nodded. “Shame put them on a boat. If you ask me the diaspora is full of brave adventurous types who wanted a liberated life away from the oppression of church and family. But there are also a lot of walking wounded among them, people who are shadows of the people they might have been. And the ones you found are the brave ones who’ve spoken out. So many took their secrets to their graves.”
Our sandwiches arrived. I picked at mine. I thought about what Karen said that day at the library, about not building up my sibling in my mind so he or she didn’t disappoint, like her dad had disappointed her. I’d done everything she said not to. My expectations about Dan had been way too high and now I was coming down, disappointed by his lack of warmth. We chatted awkwardly for a while longer then I remembered the gift bag by my feet.
I picked it up and put it on the table. “I almost forgot. This is for you.”
He lifted a fuchsia scarf from the bag.
“She wore it a lot,” I said. “Pink was her favourite colour.”
“Thank you.” He turned it over in his hands like it was made of precious glass then he put it back in the bag. He took out the photo. It was taken at Josie O’Grady’s wedding in ’96, the week after the Manchester bomb. Tess was wearing the suit we’d bought at Marks and Spencer’s and she had a small plaster on her forehead where she’d been injured. Mikey was sixteen, filling out a grey double-breasted jacket and holding up a pint of Guinness.
Dan stared at it without speaking. “She was very beautiful, wasn’t she? And I assume that’s Mikey? God, he looks like Tim.”
“Doesn’t he? You’d have liked him. Everyone did. He was a lovable rogue. Tess adored him. I think she saw him as your replacement.”
Dan continued to look at the picture. “He died so young.”
I put a hand on his arm. “I’m sure you and Archie will be fine. You’re both being monitored. Mikey didn’t know he had HMC. And your little girl? Has she been tested?”
“She’s got the all-clear.”
He moved his arm away and I sat back.
“Thank God.”
“Tess didn’t look much older than that when I met her that time.”
I frowned and leant forwards. “Sorry?”
“When I met her at another fundraiser at the Lowry Hotel. I told you that night at the Irish Club. Don’t you remember?”
I felt myself redden. “I’m sorry. I was very drunk. I can’t remember much about that night at all.”
“You were with her. It was at the Lowry Hotel. We were queuing to get tickets in the foyer. I was standing in front of you and Tess. You were chatting to someone else and when I heard Tess’s accent I turned round and asked her where she was from. We spoke very briefly about Mayo. I’ve gone over and over those few minutes a million times in the past few months.”
I sat back, my hands flopping by my sides. “My God, you met her.”
“I thought you knew.”
I shook my head in bewilderment. His voice was shaky and I could see he was close to tears. Slipping the photo into his pocket and grabbing his coat and scarf, he said he needed to go outside for a smoke.
When he’d gone I sat still, not knowing whether to laugh or cry. I dug hard into my memory for the encounter at the Lowry but I couldn’t remember a thing. I closed my eyes and I imagined it instead. A few accidental minutes of banter after a lifetime of longing. How cruel life could be, tripping us up with such bittersweet moments.
Sometime later I was making my way to the bathroom through the glass corridor that connected the café to the gallery. I was still thinking about their meeting. I stopped halfway and looked out when I spotted Dan below. He was sitting on a bench in the garden. Enclosed by a cloud-shaped hedge, it had been created as a place of healing and the herbs and plants were tended by vulnerable people from local communities. In the summer it was crowded with peonies and poppies. An installation of coloured neon lights hung overhead on the gallery roof spelling out the words “Gathering of Strangers”. Hunched forwards, elbows on his knees, Dan was holding his head in his hands. Then, as if suddenly remembering he was late for something, he jumped up and hurried towards the exit and out into the street.
Chapter 40
Two weeks after I met Dan at the Whitworth, Joe rang me at home. It was a Friday evening and he wanted to know if a letter had arrived for him from the hospital. Though he’d moved into the Salford Quays flat three months previously, a lot of his mail was still being delivered to the house. He was waiting to hear about an appointment for a cycling injury. He sounded croaky on the phone and said he’d been off work for a couple of days with a bad dose of something. I offered to drive round with the letter. Why wouldn’t I? He’d looked after me when I was unwell the previous summer and we were getting on OK. I didn’t hesitate to return the favour. I put some salad in a Tupperware box, wrapped up the dish of lasagne I’d just taken out of the oven and got in the car.
I shivered as I waited outside the entrance of Joe’s waterfront building for him to buzz me in. It was an icy evening with a thin layer of February frost on the ground. Once former dockyards, Salford Quays was one of the country’s first major examples of urban regeneration. As far back as I could remember the entire area had been one vast building site. Then one by one, the Lowry Theatre and Hotel, the Imperial War Museum and the shopping centre had opened up. More recently the BBC and Media City arrived, bringing jobs for locals, reluctant southerners forced to transfer up from London and celebrity sightings. Nowadays the Quays bustled with young hipsters living in glitzy high-rise residential buildings with names like Grain Wharf, Merchants Quay and Imperial Point.
&nbs
p; “Why the Quays?” I asked Joe when he first told me he was moving there. “It’s full of youngsters.”
“Steady on,” he replied, open-mouthed. “I’m only forty-two.”
“Why not stay in Chorlton where your friends are?”
He stared down at his hands. “Too many memories.”
It was my first visit to the flat. My heart dipped as I entered. Joe’s bike took up most of the narrow hallway and the living room was depressingly pokey. Though he’d been there for months, he still hadn’t unpacked properly. Unopened cardboard boxes, plastic storage containers and holdalls were piled high everywhere. Dirty dishes and plates filled the sink and cans and takeaway cartons lined the worktop in the tiny galley kitchen to the side. Despite the ridiculous rent he was paying, the furniture and fittings looked flimsy and cheap.
He was curled up on the sofa in his tartan dressing gown under a blanket. Used tissues, pill packets and medicine bottles covered a glass coffee table next to him. He didn’t look well at all. His face, slightly jaundiced and hollow, lit up when he saw me.
“It’s very cosy,” I said awkwardly.
He threw me a wry smile and sniffed into a tissue. “I got the short straw when it came to houses.”
The fact that I’d been living in the dream house that Paddy and Peggy had paid for wasn’t lost on me. Joe hadn’t objected so far. But then how could he? He’d slept with my best friend.
My Mother's Children: An Irish family secret and the scars it left behind. Page 20
