One Day In Summer

by Shari Low

  She’d grown up thinking she’d never have answers, had come to terms with that, but the advent of easily available DNA testing had changed everything.

  Now it was a possibility. A chance.

  Click.

  One close match.

  Her yelp had roused a sleeping Maisie from the couch in the lounge and she had charged through, hair wild, eyes blazing, ready to attack. ‘What? What is it?’

  ‘My DNA results,’ Hope had whispered.

  Maisie had immediately sagged, adrenalin dissipating. ‘Holy shit, I thought you were getting mutilated in the kitchen by a masked intruder.’

  ‘Did you fall asleep watching Criminal Minds again?’

  ‘Yep.’

  Just as the ridiculousness of the situation helped Hope’s heartbeat come down from the beat of a speeding train, Maisie had switched on to the gravity of the situation.

  ‘Oh my God, your results. What do they say?’

  Hope had turned the laptop towards Maisie as she crossed the room. ‘Meet my biological link.’

  ‘Oh God. Oh God. Oh God.’ Every word was punctuated by a step towards the screen.

  Hope’s hands were over her mouth as she’d watched Maisie read. There was just a name. Then the word FATHER.

  ‘Click on his profile!’ Maisie had gasped.

  ‘Argh, I didn’t even notice that bit. My brain shut down right about the same time as I screamed.’

  With a shaky hand, Hope had clicked on the blank circle next to his name and was taken to another page, but there were no further details on there. No family tree. No other matches. Nothing. Except…

  ‘There’s a message button.’ Hope was staring at it as if it had the potential to self-detonate.

  Maisie had slid onto the bench at the other side of the table. ‘How are you feeling?’

  Hope had slowly shaken her head. ‘I’ve no idea. Gobsmacked. Happy. Excited. Fricking terrified. Anxious. Did I say gobsmacked?’

  Maisie had nodded. ‘You did. Bugger, why did I have to give up smoking? I could so do with a cig right now. Sod it, Prosecco will have to do.’ In the few minutes it took for Maisie to retrieve a bottle of wine from the fridge, uncork it, pour generous measures into two glasses, and return to the table, Hope had simply stared at the screen in silence.

  Maisie had grimaced a little as the large gulp of wine went down. ‘Right then, what are you going to do?’

  ‘I don’t know. I mean, I know I need to send him a message, but I just don’t know if I’m ready.’

  ‘You are!’

  Hope had rolled her eyes, then settled into a rueful glare. ‘This comes from the woman who won’t even do the test.’

  ‘But I’m a born coward,’ Maisie had conceded. ‘You’re much, much braver than me. That’s why we send you in to get the spiders out of the bath. And, you know, to do medical stuff, like cut people up and fix broken folk. I’m here for entertainment and cocktails – nothing that requires balls of steel.’

  ‘Well, my balls of steel are having a think about this before doing anything rash,’ Hope had admitted, her voice uncertain.

  ‘Nope, do it now. If you put it off, you’ll psyche yourself out. And besides… not to pee on your parade, but you don’t really have a choice, do you?’

  That had focused Hope’s mind. Nope. There was too much riding on this to let it go now. She had to see it through, had to try.

  That’s what she was telling herself now, two weeks later, when she was getting ready to leave for Glasgow Airport, to meet the man whose name was on that DNA match.

  Her fingers shook a little as she tied the laces on her white Samba trainers, then slung a denim jacket over her pale blue sundress. Layers helped add a bit of a shape to her frame.

  Her stomach was rumbling, but she’d been too nervous to eat. His flight was due in just after 10 a.m., and it would take her around twenty minutes to drive to the airport from their Shawlands flat, on the south side of Glasgow, so she’d be there in plenty of time to pop into the Starbucks at the arrivals area for a coffee and something to eat, if she thought she could get anything past the huge lump in her throat.

  She kissed Maisie, hugged her tight. ‘I love you, sis.’

  ‘I love you too. And I’ll be ready to rescue you.’

  The front door clicked as Hope closed it behind her. She stopped, took a breath of warm summer air, let the sun soothe the frown lines between her eyebrows, then she started walking towards her Mini. She had so many questions, so many blanks to fill. And now she was closer than she’d ever been.

  Today was the day Hope McTeer was going to meet her biological father for the first time. And she was praying that he’d be able, and willing, to save her life.

  10 a.m. – Noon

  5

  Agnetha

  Aggs took a long, leisurely shower in the new gloss white en suite bathroom, a conversion of the old cupboard next door to her bedroom that had been home to decades of accumulated junk owned by her grandparents and parents before her. Usually, she’d just blast her hair with the dryer, then pull it up into a messy bun, from which more and more tendrils would escape throughout the day. But not today. Today she was going to make an effort.

  Liberating the box from the bottom of her wardrobe, she took out the huge blow-drying brush that the girls had bought her for Christmas. She’d never tried to use it before, but how hard could it be?

  It took a few false starts and a tangle situation that required five minutes of picking trapped hairs out of the brush using the metal handle of her comb, but eventually she got the hang of it.

  Hair done, not exactly a smooth salon finish, but passable, she reached for the make-up bag. Another first. She wore make-up so infrequently that she was fairly sure she’d bought that Avon plum lipstick in the nineties.

  Five minutes to eleven. She hadn’t taken an hour to get ready since the girls were born. But then, lots of things were changing now. She picked up the phone and looked at the text again.

  Happy birthday gorgeous. Have you told them yet?

  She should reply but… not yet. Soon.

  The butterflies in her stomach were in full force, just like they were on that day a few months ago, when she’d realised that her grief over the loss of her mum and dad wasn’t something she could deal with on her own. It had taken her weeks to pluck up the courage to go to her first meeting with the group that had helped her topple the first domino on the trail that had led her to here and now.

  As soon as she’d walked in the door of the anonymous room that hosted The Wednesday Club in Glasgow Central Hospital, the delight on Yvie’s face had de-escalated her trepidation. ‘Agnetha, you came!’

  ‘I came,’ she’d said needlessly, just to check she could still get words out past the boulder that had yet to dislodge itself from her windpipe.

  ‘Come, come, sit,’ Yvie had beckoned, gesturing to one of the ten or so chairs around a long oak table in the centre of the room. Aggs had realised she’d been watching too many TV shows, where these groups met and sat in a circle of chairs, with no barriers between them and the other participants, an open void in the middle to pour their story into.

  The room was probably like most others in the hospital – white walled, greyish-green rubbery floor and lighting panes inset into the ceiling. There were already six people at the table, their voices a low hum, a couple of them glancing up at her with smiles that sat somewhere between reassuring and sad.

  That made sense.

  A woman at the end of one side of the table had yelped as she pulled a blue mug from her mouth before exclaiming a pained, ‘Jesus, Yvie, you’d need lips made of asbestos to drink that tea. You’re going to be able to suction me to a window by the time I’ve finished it.’

  Yvie had given her a cheeky smile. ‘Then keep going, Val – voluptuous lips are all the fashion these days.’

  The woman – Val, Yvie had called her – had emitted the most deliciously warm laugh, the eyes that were outlined in mug matching
pale blue twinkling as they left Yvie and landed on Aggs.

  ‘Come sit beside me, love. Especially if yer any good at first aid.’

  Val had bumped along one seat to free up hers for Aggs. She took it gratefully, but before she could introduce herself, Yvie had pushed a mug in front of her and poured steaming tea from a large steel teapot.

  ‘I’m so glad you’re here,’ Yvie had whispered, and Aggs could hear the sincerity in every word. Their eyes met for a second of mutual understanding, before Yvie switched up to a lighter, louder tone to address the group. ‘Right, you lovelies, we’ll get started in a few minutes. Let’s just give everyone time to get settled and give a minute for Val to get some ice on her gob.’

  That had raised a roomful of smiles and an eye roll from Val, and Aggs had felt herself relax just a little. She caught a conspiratorial look passing between Yvie and Val and realised this banter was deliberate, a bit of levity to put everyone at ease, to lift the mood before the inevitable.

  In the centre of the table there was a large box of tissues. Around it, there were a few red-ringed eyes. The man in his forties opposite her sat hunched over his mug, gaze downwards. Next to him, another guy, perhaps fifties, chatted animatedly to two elderly ladies at the end of the table.

  Aggs didn’t get a chance to really observe any more, because Val’s platinum blonde bob turned to face her. It was a daunting sight. Not a hair of it moved independently and she was immediately transported back to her childhood, watching her mother spray half a can of Elnett on her perm before she left the house.

  ‘I’m Val.’

  ‘Agnetha,’ she’d responded. She could see Val’s brain working, the same effect her name had had on countless people she’d met over the years. Agnetha wasn’t a common moniker in Glasgow. In fact, in all of her forty-five years she’d never met another one. She’d got in first to put Val out of her misery. ‘My mother was a huge Abba fan,’ she’d explained, churning out the all too familiar explanation. ‘She named me after the blonde one.’

  Val’s pencilled eyebrows had raised in obvious admiration. ‘Oh, that’s brilliant. Although, thank Christ she didn’t name you after one of their songs. Waterloo might have caused a bit of a stir in primary school.’

  ‘Right, I think that’s everyone here now,’ Yvie’s voice had interjected and Aggs was immediately grateful. She was fairly sure this wasn’t the place for hilarity and with her nervous anxiety already running high, Val’s comment was in danger of setting her off on a fit of mildly hysterical giggles that was likely to get her expelled on her first day. Yvie had sat down in the empty seat on the other side of Val. ‘Welcome, everyone,’ she’d said, pouring her own mug of tea while she spoke.

  Over months of close contact with Yvie, Aggs had realised that she operated on the high-grade fuel of tea and chocolate Hobnobs, both of which she was always happy to share.

  ‘Thank you all for coming. We have a couple of new faces today,’ she’d said gently, ‘so I think we’ll just run round the table and make some introductions. You can tell us as much or as little as you’re comfortable sharing. No pressure. And if you don’t want to say anything at all, that’s fine too,’ she’d offered, with a caring glance at the hunched man, still staring downwards at the table in front of him.

  ‘I’ll kick things off. I’m Yvie and I started this bereavement group for a few reasons. As you all know, I’m a nurse here in the geriatric ward, so I wanted to create something to help the families of the patients I nursed towards the end of their lives.’ The knowing gazes that passed between Yvie and a few of the people round the table hinted that, like Aggs, that was how they’d first encountered the lovely Senior Charge Nurse, Yvie Danton, too.

  ‘But this is also personal for me. My dad passed away when I was eleven and last year I started having panic attacks. After a while, I realised it was because I’d never really dealt with the loss of my dad or talked it through. So here I am. And although this is for each one of you, it really helps me too. I called it The Wednesday Club to remind everyone what day to be here…’ There were smiles at that. ‘But also because I didn’t want you to feel the hurt of the word “bereavement” every time you talked about coming here.

  ‘You should know that there’s no judgement, no opinions, and we don’t think there’s a right or wrong way to grieve. It’s important that you feel this is a safe space where you can let out whatever feelings or thoughts you’re having. Because no matter whether they feel right, or make sense, they’re your feelings and they’re valid. Sorry if that sounded all a bit too psychobabble touchy-feely,’ she added, with an apologetic grin. ‘I’m trying my best to sound like I know what I’m talking about when really I just want to say we’re here to listen and offer all the support that we can.’

  Lots of nodding. Aggs had started to feel a swirling storm brewing in her stomach and a recurring mantra in her head. Please don’t ask me to say anything. Please don’t. This had just all got very real, very quickly.

  Her eyes had flown to the exits, wondering if she could commando crawl that far.

  ‘Val, why don’t you go next?’ Yvie had suggested.

  Aggs got the feeling that Val was probably the go-to person in this situation as she didn’t flinch, just took a deep breath, her fingers twirling the gold and red wrapper of a Caramel Log.

  ‘I’m Val,’ she began. ‘And I come here for the cakes.’ The joke had made the corners of several mouths turn upwards, because it was so obviously meant to be a gentle ice breaker. ‘But also because it helps me deal with some of the things that I’ve been through in my life. Several years ago,’ she went on, ‘my daughter, Dee, was killed by a drugged-up driver. She ran into the road to save a little kid who was about to be hit by the scumbag’s out-of-control car and it got her instead.’ There was a discernible anger in her voice as she’d said it and she took a moment to steady herself.

  ‘That’s the kind of lass my Dee was. For a long, long time, I thought I’d never breathe without pain again. But somehow I did.’ She’d paused and Aggs could see that she was determined to hold it together. ‘One of the people who got me through it was my best pal, Josie. Och, she was a cracker, but then, last year, she passed away too. One minute we were drinking champagne and having a right old laugh in a hotel room after a wedding, and then she was gone. And since then… well, our Josie is a big, loud hole to fill. When Dee died, I used to walk the aisles of supermarkets all night long just to have somewhere to go. This time, I come here and talk and listen and it makes me feel a bit less… sore.’

  More nods of recognition and empathy. In the pause after Val had finished, Aggs took a sip of tea, hoping beyond words that it wasn’t her turn to speak.

  ‘Agnetha?’ Yvie had prodded softly.

  Bugger.

  Get it over with. Just say your name. Cut it short.

  ‘I’m… I’m… Ag-Agnetha.’ Damn. First time she’d ever actually stuttered over saying her own name.

  She’d slipped her hands under her thighs so it wouldn’t be obvious to everyone how much she was physically shaking at the prospect of speaking here. Put her in a café and load her up with a Victoria sponge and a tray of brownies and she could talk the socks off anyone. Ask her to get real and bare her soul? No thanks. That involved dealing with emotions, it required the ability to think about herself, to be publicly vulnerable and open and she was way, way out of practice on all counts.

  ‘Most people call me Aggs.’

  Okay, move along. Nothing to see here.

  Silence. Her toes had clenched inside her biker boots as she prayed to the gods of mortification for a bloody big hole to swallow her.

  They were waiting for something more, while she knew without an iota of doubt that she had no more to give without risking a full-scale watershed. How ridiculous was that? It had been months. She knew she should be more together. More composed. But that’s one of the things she’d learned about grief. She could discuss what happened with her family and no longer dissolve in
to pieces. She could talk about it with friends without crumbling. But no one tells you that the first time you break the news to someone new, whether you know them or not, the reality of it can catch you unawares and make it hurt just as much as it did the very first time you ever uttered the words. He’s dead. She’s dead. They’re gone.

  All around her, they were still waiting.

  Aggs had heard Yvie take a breath and realised she was about to jump in to save her and, in that split second, something inside had her compelled her to rip off the plaster.

  ‘I met Yvie when she looked after my dad before he passed away a few years ago. He’d been pretty much bed bound for years after his last stroke. He had three strokes altogether over twenty years or so and each one left its mark.’ Her eyes had caught Yvie’s and she could see the encouragement there. It was enough for her to give just a little bit more. ‘And then we met again when Mum was admitted to the geriatric ward last year before she… she… died. Bowel cancer. She’d been battling it for many years, but still, the shock…’

  As a river of tears had swelled and made their way to her eyes, a triffid of pain had tangled itself around her throat and begun to tighten, slowed only by the touch of Val’s hand, which was now on hers.

  ‘I lived with them and I cared for both of them for the last ten years. So now, I’m forty-five, and both my parents are dead. Taking care of them, and raising my children, took up every minute I had, so now my daughters are adults and my parents are gone, and I’ve no idea how to fill the void that they’ve left. That’s why I’m here. I feel like my life has belonged to other people for over twenty years, and now that I can have it back, I’ve no idea what to do with it.’

  Back in the present, a knock her bedroom door interrupted the memory and snapped her back to the real world. She put the cold coffee down, aware she’d been daydreaming for ages. How far she’d come since that day. Yvie and Val were now two of her closest friends. And as for the others… well, they’d all become a gang of survivors, there for each other through every tear and the bittersweet laughter of the grieving process.