Chosen Child

by Linda Huber

  Chosen Child

  Linda Huber

  Chosen Child

  All rights reserved.

  Copyright © 2016 Linda Huber

  The right of Linda Huber to be identified as the Author of this Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  Apart from any use permitted under UK copyright law, this publication may only be reproduced, stored or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, with the prior permission in writing of the author.

  All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Contents

  Chosen Child

  About the Author

  Acknowledgements

  Dedication

  Part One The Waiting

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Part Two The Family

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Part Three Downslide

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Part Four End Game

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Other books by this author

  About the Author

  Linda Huber grew up in Glasgow, Scotland, where she trained as a physiotherapist. She spent ten years working with neurological patients, firstly in Glasgow and then in Switzerland. During this time she learned that different people have different ways of dealing with stress in their lives, and this knowledge still helps her today, in her writing.

  Linda now lives in Arbon, Switzerland, where she works as a language teacher on the banks of beautiful Lake Constance. Chosen Child is her fourth novel.

  Visit Linda at http://lindahuber.net/

  Follow her on Twitter @LindaHuber19

  Also by Linda Huber

  The Paradise Trees

  The Cold Cold Sea

  The Attic Room

  Acknowledgements

  Very special thanks yet again to my editor Debi Alper. Her help and encouragement with this book were, as always, invaluable. Thanks also to Julia Gibbs and Yvonne Betancourt for their proofreading and formatting skills, and to Debbie Bright of The Cover Collection for the amazing cover artwork.

  Many thanks to my sons Matthias and Pascal Huber and my nephew Calum Rodger for technical help and information, and to Pascal for his work on my website and book trailers. Thanks, guys – couldn’t manage without you!

  Special thanks go to Eileen Shannon. A chance conversation with her at a wedding gave me the original idea for this book. I still have the paper serviette with scribbled information.

  Yet more thanks to Di Napier, for information and advice on garden plants, and to Bea Davenport for her help with the blurb.

  And to the many, many people who have helped and supported me in so many ways, with this book and my others, both in real life and on social media – thank you SO much!

  Information about adoption and adoption parties (adoption activity days) in the UK can be found at baaf.org.uk

  Dedication

  To Anne, Evelyn, Ann, Fiona and Hilary

  Part One

  The Waiting

  Chapter One

  Saturday 3rd May

  Ella held her breath, squinting at Rick as he inched the Peugeot into the narrow space between a battered Clio and a shiny new BMW. He was nervous – of course he was, she was too – and it didn’t make the manoeuvre any easier. The Peugeot crept forward until Rick yanked the handbrake up, and Ella’s shoulders sagged in relief. A scrape on anyone’s car would have been the worst possible start to their first adoption party.

  ‘I’ll need to get out your side,’ said Rick, glaring at the Clio. ‘What a cattle market. I can’t believe we’re doing this – we’d be much better waiting for Liz to find us a kid the traditional way.’

  Ella opened the passenger seat door. Rick was a planner; he’d never been the kind of person to simply have a go and see how things turned out. She tried to sound encouraging. ‘Liz said these parties were a great place for people to find a child they were – attracted to.’

  It was the wrong choice of words.

  ‘I don’t want to be attracted. You don’t get to pick out an attractive baby when you have one of your own, do you? I don’t care if he’s blonde like you or dark like me, or whatever. All I want is a nice little kid – a boy, preferably, one we can give a good home to and enjoy as he grows up.’ He struggled across the passenger seat and emerged beside Ella in the car park, crammed today with a motley selection of vehicles, including a tandem. People attending adoption parties seemed to be a varied lot.

  Ella took Rick’s arm as they walked towards the entrance. The Majestic was the largest hotel in St Ives, a relic from a slower, more elegant era, its white walls dazzling in the warm spring sunshine. She was conscious of the nervous churning in her stomach – this was the first time they would come face to face with children who were up for adoption. It was the dream of a lifetime for Ella – how very much she wanted to read bedtime stories and mop up tears and be frustrated because they couldn’t find a babysitter. And this afternoon could bring them a huge step closer to doing just that. As of last Thursday, they were panel-approved to adopt, so ‘all’ they needed now was a child.

  Ella was astonished when she learned about the adoption party project. It sounded so lightheaded, like going to a salesroom and picking out a new car.

  Liz, their adoption society worker, had explained. ‘It’s organised as a fun afternoon for the kids, with loads of games and activities. People who’re panel-approved can meet the children in an informal setting. There’ve been several successful events around London, though this one’s the first in our part of the country.’

  Ella wasn’t sure she’d understood. ‘So we have a look and see if there’s a child that might suit us?’

  ‘It can make a difference when you see a child in person. I’ve known several instances of a couple saying beforehand they’d only consider a baby, or they must have a girl – and then they go to a party and fall in love with a completely different child. Of course you still need to go through all the normal channels afterwards.’

  ‘Sounds a bit plastic to me,’ said Rick, and Ella knew by his tone if he hadn’t respected Liz so much he’d have called the idea something a lot worse than plastic.

  And now it was party day and Rick was showing his nerves, so Ella had to be the calm one. She took a deep, steadying breath as they joined the other prospective adopters in the dining room. A woman name-badged Kirsty stood up and went on to tell them everything Liz had already
gone through. Ella could feel Rick twitching beside her. Why was this so hard for him? It wasn’t as if they had to make a decision today.

  ‘And of course, the most important thing about this afternoon is that the children have fun. So on you go and have fun with them,’ said Kirsty, gathering her papers at the end of her talk. ‘The foster carers will be available for questions, and this room can be used if anyone wants a quiet place.’

  Ella squeezed Rick’s hand as they joined the general shuffle towards the door. This was it. The search for their child had begun. The sound of excited young voices floated across the garden, and anticipation fizzed through Ella. Any second now they might come face to face with the little boy who’d be their son.

  ‘It’s well organised, isn’t it?’ Her eyes flitted across the garden, where a bouncy castle, a couple of donkeys, and a clown were already in action. A marquee with games was set up to one side, and the smell of coffee came wafting over the grass.

  ‘Hm. So we find a kid and start talking?’ said Rick, and Ella gave his arm a shake.

  ‘Yes – and give it a proper chance, please,’ she said briskly.

  Rick shot her a hunted look, and Ella felt the tension creeping back into her shoulders. She fought against rising resentment. This was supposed to be a fun day and she wanted to enjoy it. But if Rick went on like this he would ruin it for both of them.

  After a few minutes the procession of adults dispersed around the garden, and the children became more visible. Some were clinging to foster carers, more were playing independently. A lump rose in Ella’s throat – all these children needed a forever home, and all these ‘parents’ wanted a child. Surely some of them would find what they were looking for.

  They stopped by a dark-haired boy of about three and Ella crouched down. ‘Having a good time?’ she asked, patting the plastic tractor the child was riding.

  ‘I’m a farmer,’ said the boy, whose name badge identified him as Joey. He pedalled his tractor over the grass, and Ella smiled as he swung it round and parked beside Rick. This little boy was just what they were looking for – could they have struck gold already?

  A woman with a foster carer’s badge appeared and handed the child an ice cream.

  Ella stepped across and spoke in a low voice. ‘Has Joey been with you long?’

  ‘Eighteen months,’ said the woman, taking Ella a few steps to the side. ‘Lovely kiddie. He has epilepsy but it’s well-controlled.’ She turned to smile at another couple who were hovering.

  ‘Oh,’ said Rick blankly when Ella told him what Joey’s foster carer had said. ‘I’d wondered if we might consider him, but now – no way. I wouldn’t cope with that.’

  Ella nodded. Rick had said right from the start that he didn’t want a child with a disability, and she’d accepted it.

  They stood for a while with a group watching the clown, then moved inside the marquee to help two small boys build a tower with wooden bricks. Disappointment and frustration were gnawing away inside Ella. She’d been imagining the equivalent of love at first sight bowling both her and Rick over – that they would see a child and know immediately ‘that’s the one’. And it wasn’t happening. The little boys jumped up and down on the wooden marquee floor, and the tower swayed elegantly before crashing to the ground amid shrieks of laughter.

  Rick was grinning too as they turned away. ‘Fun, but not quite what we’re looking for.’ He pulled her towards the queue for coffee.

  ‘We’ll probably feel this way when they find us a child on paper,’ said Ella, when they were sitting at a table overlooking the inside play area. ‘It’s normal.’

  ‘When they find us a child the usual way, at least we’ll know he ticks the important boxes. And we’ll be able to get to know him in a quiet place, not in a bloody rabble.’ Rick jerked his head to the corner of the marquee where two small boys and a thin little girl were quarrelling over an electric racing car track. The boys weren’t letting the girl have a turn, and she wasn’t taking it quietly.

  Ella sipped slowly. Rick had given up on the afternoon. Why was he being so defeatist?

  The racing car dispute came to a sudden end when one of the boys ripped up a piece of track and threw it at the girl before running off with his friend. The girl stared after them, blinking hard and pushing long dark hair behind her ears.

  ‘Oops,’ murmured Ella, and went over to the child, who was fitting the track together again, her eyes bleak. ‘Want a hand with that?’

  The girl looked about six or seven. She wasn’t wearing a name badge, which made Ella wonder if she was up for adoption. Not that it mattered; this child ticked none of their boxes. Ella watched as she banged the track into place.

  ‘I can’t do it anyway,’ she said, her voice trembling. ‘But they should have let me try.’ She slotted a car into place and lifted the hand control to demonstrate she really couldn’t do it.

  Rick crouched down and picked up the second control. ‘I used to have one of these. Wonder if I can still make it go.’

  ‘Who’s that on there?’ said the girl, pointing to the medallion round Rick’s neck.

  Ella laughed. ‘St Christopher. He brings good luck to travellers. Just right for this game, isn’t he?’

  ‘It’s got a bash.’

  ‘That’s because Rick dropped it one day and then drove over it. So maybe it’s not so lucky after all.’ Ella knelt beside the track. ‘Let’s have a race. You and me on the red car, Rick on the yellow one.’

  The girl slid over and together they grasped the red control stick. A whiff of peach shampoo tickled Ella’s nose, and tears welled up in her eyes. Why, why couldn’t she have a child of her own? Life was cruel, and there would be no happy end for them this afternoon. All Rick wanted was to go home and let Liz get on with the task of finding them a little boy. Swallowing her disappointment, Ella held the girl’s hand over the control and tried to keep the car on the track.

  ‘Faster!’ cried the child, pressing harder, and inevitably the red car spun off course.

  Rick swept past with the yellow one and stopped. ‘Have another go. The trick is to slow right down when you go into the curves.’

  The girl gave him a suspicious look, then tried again. The red car crept along the bottom curve, accelerated briefly on the straight, then drove sedately round the top bend and into the garage area.

  One of the foster carers came into the tent, relief on her face as she hurried towards the girl. ‘There you are! Oh – you’re playing cars? Where’s your name badge?’

  ‘I took it off,’ said the girl. ‘Kids were being stupid.’

  Ella almost laughed. The words were so direct, and the woman clearly hadn’t expected to find this child playing cars or anything at all.

  The girl waved the handset towards Ella and Rick. ‘Then they came and he told me how to do it and I drove a round by myself!’ Her voice was positively triumphant. She gazed from Rick to Ella and beamed suddenly, showing a gap where a bottom front tooth should have been.

  Oh my God, thought Ella, her breath catching in her throat. Oh my God.

  Chapter Two

  Friday 9th May

  Butterflies crashing around in her tummy, Amanda Waters picked up the pregnancy test and re-read the instructions. It was pretty straightforward – all you had to do was pee on the stick and wait for three minutes. Then, if a blue line was showing in the window, you were pregnant. Early morning was best, apparently, so she was spot-on there; it was only half past six. She took it through to the bathroom, sighing when the first thing she saw was Gareth’s SOS pendant by the basin. How many times had she told him there was no need to remove it when he showered? One of those days he’d have an accident without it and if anyone tried to give him penicillin they’d make things a whole lot worse – and it would be Gareth’s fault, not hers. There was no point having the stupid thing if he wasn’t going to wear it.

  Now for the test. Amanda smiled wryly as she remembered how she’d found out she was pregnant with Jaden. She
’d fainted in the middle of Marks and Spencer’s food hall, and when she didn’t come round straightaway they called an ambulance. The doctor at A&E asked a few questions, then insisted on doing a pregnancy test. They’d had a big celebration that day, her and Gareth. This time, everything was different.

  Amanda left the test stick on the window ledge and went to make coffee while she waited. Jaden would be up soon and the peace would be shattered, but at least he hadn’t wakened when Gareth left. She hated it when that happened; starting the day at six-fifteen put poor Jaden out of sorts all morning.

  She set the kitchen timer for a full five minutes to be sure and stood watching it, hands clasped under her chin and stomach churning. What would she do if it was positive? Hell, she didn’t even know who the father would be. James was a lot more likely. Gareth had been so involved in looking for a new job he’d barely had time to come home recently, never mind have sex – but she couldn’t be sure, that was the problem. Was it possible to predict to the day when a child was conceived? Somehow, Amanda didn’t think so.

  But thinking about James made her smile in spite of the nerves. It was one of those crazy things. She’d been drafted in to serve coffees at a conference Gareth’s company’d held three months ago, and James came to her aid when she was trying to carry too many empty cups. He swooped up, relieved her of half her armful, and followed her out towards the kitchens.

  The few minutes they’d spent chatting were enough to ignite something that had been missing in Amanda’s marriage for a long time. James was funny in a clever, sarcastic way and he made no secret of the fact that he was attracted. Against her better judgement Amanda agreed to his suggestion of dinner the next evening. She told Gareth she was going out with the girls, then met James in the new Italian restaurant in Hayle where she confessed that she was married and a stay-at-home mum to her eleven-month-old son. Rather to her surprise he didn’t mind.