‘Hello. Er… Carol.’ What was she supposed to call her? Now she was here she didn’t know. She’d bumbled ahead organising this, imagining how she’d be the second she set eyes on her mum but giving no thought to afterwards. To what they would do, say, how she would feel.
Carol pressed Charlotte’s arm. ‘Come on in and have a hot drink. You look scared half to death.’
‘I am, a bit.’
‘Me too.’ Carol shrugged and pulled the door open wider.
After the shock came the rush. Charlotte’s feet seemed to come alive again and she found herself veering towards this petite woman. She was within touching distance and for one moment she looked into those pale-blue eyes and asked her the silent question… may I?
Because I might not let go.
Carol nodded, eyes shimmering with tears, and reached out her hand. It was cold. Ice. And then, next thing she knew, she was in her arms, shaking. Gripping.
Shock, that was all. Shock and fear rolled up into panic. The hug wasn’t like one of Eileen’s – reassuring and comforting and motherly. It was a hug between strangers – tight and taut and trying a little too hard. Charlotte looked for a connection, waited to feel what she’d been waiting to feel all her life. That she belonged with this woman. That they had an unconditional bond; that they didn’t need to choose each other, because they just knew. But it wasn’t there.
They needed time to get to know each other. To learn about each other. To like each other. Would that be possible?
This was so much more than a family-history information-gathering exercise.
‘Come and sit down.’ Carol gestured to cosy pink sofas in the corner of the empty, bright, tidy coffee shop and waved towards a stringy girl behind the counter to come take an order. When she’d done so Carol took the lead again. ‘So, tell me about yourself, Charlotte. Where do you live? What do you do? Did you….’ There was so much concern in Carol’s face that Charlotte’s heart began to ache. Whatever her reasons for giving her baby up, she’d clearly hoped for a good outcome. ‘Have you had a good life?’
So Charlotte told her about her life in Westbourne Grove and her strict but lovely upbringing and the dancing. Oh, the dancing that had been her first and most enduring love. Until Ben. And now he’d fixed a plan so she could keep doing what she loved. ‘We’re getting married in a few weeks…’ She stopped short. Not sure where to go next with that.
Because, first dilemma: having refound your mother, does she automatically qualify for an invite to the most important day of your life?
No. Charlotte’s first and instinctive thought. That would most certainly rock the boat. It wasn’t something she could do on her own, either. She’d have to run the idea past Eileen and Ben and she imagined it would invite a whole load of complication into everyone’s life. Because her two mothers would meet – and how would that go?
Yes… go slowly. Gently.
Her birth mother smiled. ‘Congratulations. A wedding, that’s lovely. Ben sounds nice. You’ve done things all the right way round. Not like me.’
Charlotte didn’t know what that meant but guessed. ‘So, please… if it’s not too intrusive, could you tell me a bit about you?’ She heard herself speaking; so polite, too polite. Too formal. Her mother would have been proud. Eileen, that is. That mother. She shook her head and tried to rephrase. ‘I mean…’
‘Well… this is my place.’ Carol gestured to the café, pride in her eyes. ‘It’s not much, but it’s something, right?’
‘It’s… er… lovely.’ It wasn’t. It was okay. It was fine, unremarkable. Just a café on an estate.
‘That’s why I asked you to meet me here. I don’t get much time off, not at the weekends, anyway. That’s my busiest time.’
‘Are you a trained chef or something?’ So many details missing, so many pieces to fit together and that wasn’t going to happen in just one meeting.
Carol smiled. ‘No. I just like cooking. Baking. Do you?’
‘I’ve never really done much.’ Charlotte sighed, remembering Eileen staying up late rolling and kneading with floury hands, making packed lunches day after day after day. Lunches Charlotte barely noticed or even ate because it was just what happened; she had a mum who provided for her. How bloody ungrateful had she been? She explained to her other mum, the one who’d given her up, the one with whom she had little in common so far apart from physical features, ‘Dancer, you see. I try not to do a lot of carbs. I have to watch what I eat… or at least, I used to. Now, it’s just force of habit.’ Charlotte’s mind flitted to Lissa, for some reason, and the burgers and her hollow legs. Some people just had lucky genes. Some had to work harder.
‘Oh. Yes. Right.’ There was a long silence. Carol leaned across the scratched white plastic coffee table between them. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t know anything about that world. Are you… are you famous? Should I know about you? I’m sorry…’
Charlotte laughed and that seemed to break the ice a little. ‘No. Not at all. I danced for a company for a while and we did some touring in Europe, nothing major. And like I said, I teach now. I had a nasty break in my foot a couple of years ago and while I was recuperating I realised I needed a better back-up plan than nothing. So Ben and I sat down and worked out a plan to borrow some money to set up a dance school.’
Ben… how she wished he was here right now, bolstering her up, giving her strength, because this was more difficult than she ever could have imagined.
‘That would be expensive. Especially in Westbourne Grove.’
‘It is.’
‘Well, you obviously got my work gene.’ Carol snapped her mouth closed as her cheeks flamed red. ‘Sorry. I have no right to say that. Your parents brought you up with a good work ethic, obviously. Either that or they were well off enough to help. Lucky you.’
Lucky? Charlotte didn’t know how lucky she felt right now. ‘They both worked hard. Mum’s a teacher and Dad was an accountant. Small-time stuff, you know, local businesses, that kind of thing. I had what I needed and worked for everything else. And do you…? Have you got… a husband? Children?’ The word almost stuck in her throat.
For a few moments Carol examined her nails, then she looked up. ‘No. Long story short, things didn’t work out. I’ve had a few boyfriends… partners… but no kids. No more kids. Not after you.’ There was a brief and wobbly smile.
And Charlotte felt sick, as if she’d been somehow responsible for all that. She mentally shook herself. Of course she wasn’t. None of this had been her fault. ‘I see.’
They sat for a few more minutes, occasionally looking at each other and finding a smile. Or looking over to the door. Charlotte wondered who wanted to leave the most. There were so many things she wanted to ask, but daren’t. It didn’t feel like it was the right time to nosy into the private life of someone she didn’t know. It would have been like asking a stranger at a bus stop intimate questions and expecting an answer. Her mother, Charlotte thought, didn’t really owe her anything, least of all an explanation. ‘Well, it was good to meet you at last. Thank you for answering my email.’
‘It took me a while to pluck up enough courage to, I’ll be honest.’
‘I’m not here to hurt you or anything. I’m not angry. I just…’ Hell, she had to say it. ‘I just want to know a few things about my background. About me and my… family. And I want to know why. You don’t have to answer it all now. You can email me if it’s hard for you.’
‘Why what? Why I gave you up? That’s what you want to know, right?’ Carol coughed. ‘I mean, that’s what I’d want to know if I were you.’
‘Yes, and anything else. But only if you want to talk about it.’ But be gentle. Please.
Carol took a sip of her coffee, placed the cup back onto the saucer. ‘I was fifteen and stupid. I could give you a story about star-crossed lovers, but it wasn’t like that, I’m afraid. Not nearly as romantic. I was a bit of a tearaway in my youth, to be honest. I didn’t come from a good home like you do. It wasn’t
the best, Charlotte. We didn’t have a lot of money and there were always police banging on the door.’ She paused, remembering. ‘It was chaotic and I wanted to escape as quickly as I could. I had a lot of friends on the estate – this was in Stretford, back before it was done up. There were lots of parties and lots of drugs.’ She stopped as if lost in some memory or other. Then, ‘You were the product of all that.’
‘And… my father?’
‘Don’t know, love.’ Carol gave a weary shrug of her shoulders. ‘Sorry.’
So his name had been missing from her birth certificate because she didn’t know which man it was. Or boy, probably, at that age. Not because Carol had been the victim of abuse or some ill-fated Romeo and Juliet story with a guy she’d wanted to keep secret – just unprotected sex. Charlotte’s chest felt hollowed out. Empty.
She imagined how it would have been for her mother. It had been, indeed, a far cry from Charlotte’s own childhood, which had been protected and, while not rich, comfortable. Yes, like most people her age, she’d been around drugs and to wild parties, but maybe she’d been lucky, or just careful. Different lives, that was all.
‘When I found out I was pregnant I was too far gone to be able to do anything but have you. To be honest, I probably knew, deep down, all along, but I was too terrified to admit it. But I couldn’t bring a baby up in the middle of all that chaos. My mum was sick so she couldn’t help, my two brothers were only interested in their own lives. I had no choice but to give you away if I was going to get out and make something of myself. I wanted a better life for me and for you.’ Carol’s eyes sparked with defiance – something that screamed don’t judge.
Don’t dare judge.
Never. ‘I can’t even imagine how you must have felt when I was born.’
There were tears in Carol’s eyes and her hands shook a little. ‘Scared, mainly. And sad, very sad. You were so tiny. So beautiful and I wanted to keep you, I did. But it was a relief to know you were going to have better than I had. At least, I hoped so. Thing is, I signed a form saying I didn’t want to know what happened to you. No contact. Closed adoption. Because I didn’t want anything to remind me of what I’d done. But your head does enough remembering anyway. It’s like being haunted. Well… that’s what it feels like. Every birthday. Christmas. I never forgot you. How could I?’
Charlotte felt even more sick. How could she judge? She had no idea how it felt to be fifteen and pregnant, or what she would have done in the circumstances. Would she have been able to hand a baby over to a stranger? Or would she have fought tooth and nail to keep a hold of it and just struggle on?
She just didn’t know. Because doing that took some strength. It wasn’t a cowardly act. But she had to wonder how her life would have been if she’d stayed with Carol. Poorer financially, yes. But would she have felt properly connected to people instead of feeling just that little bit on the outside looking in? Always waiting for her luck to change.
The café door banged open and a group of teenagers bounded in. Loud. Breaking the moment. The stringy girl sidled over, wrapping a black apron over and over her hands. ‘Carol? It’s my finishing time. I’ve got to go. Soz. Can I leave you with that lot?’
Carol took a deep breath and nodded, her face apologetic. ‘I’m sorry, Charlotte… do you want to wait…? I won’t be long… I mean… I hope…’
Did she want to wait? The air was cloying and the café was humid, damp. She wanted to leave but also to stay. She wanted to cram a life of questions into an hour. What about relatives? Did she have cousins? Aunties and uncles? Grandparents? But those questions were difficult with a gaggle of noisy teenagers around. Charlotte sensed it was time to go; they’d explored enough today. Things to think about. ‘No. I have to go, I’m meeting someone. The pub. A friend.’
‘You’ll come again? Or… I could come to you? Or… we could meet in the middle?’ There was hope in Carol’s eyes that made Charlotte’s heart hurt.
One of the teenagers was banging on the counter demanding to be served. Charlotte stood up, suddenly keen to leave. ‘I should go, you’re busy.’
They hadn’t touched on family history. It hadn’t seemed appropriate. There were still questions. The most salient and pressing one being, did she want to forge a connection with this woman?
She brushed Carol’s hand with hers. Squeezed a little. ‘I’ll be in touch, okay?’
But Carol’s eyes filled with tears. ‘Whatever you want to do. It’s your call. You know where I am.’
Chapter Seven
‘So, how was it? Tell me… please… you are a Russian princess and there’s a shitload of Fabergé eggs in your future?’ Lissa was already one wine down when Charlotte met her in the pub. She was scanning through her laptop, Charlotte could see over her friend’s shoulder, at an internet search of the best bars in Amsterdam.
Good old Lissa; she could always be relied on to make damned sure a great time was had.
Which wasn’t going to be hard, to be honest. Because the journey from Carol’s had been a blur of tears and emptiness and Charlotte needed a diversion. Thoughts whirled around her head. If she’d been expecting a fairy tale she’d have been pretty disappointed. As it was, she just felt overwhelmed, and suddenly very tired. And now soaked through, too from a sudden downpour that hadn’t been forecast.
‘My real parentage is pretty dull, really. Just the usual teenage mistake. She didn’t even know who my father was.’ And that was fine. Actually. She was glad it wasn’t anything horrid but the whole meeting had left her more upset than she’d imagined it would. As she put her handbag on the table she realised she was shaking, and it had little to do with getting wet and cold in the rain. ‘I need a drink, though. A bloody big one.’
‘Coming right up. Bourbon and coke at the double.’ Lissa waved to a waiter who came over and took the order, because every man did whatever the heck she asked, and then reappeared minutes later with a glass.
The wonderful thing about Lissa was that she didn’t judge. She didn’t ever really tell you what you should or shouldn’t do. After fifteen years of friendship she just accepted. Nodded. Understood. Supported. There was an easy telepathy, no need for explanation. Thank God for girlfriends, Charlotte thought as she finished describing the café, her mum and the story surrounding her conception. Lissa’s hand covered hers and she smiled reassuringly. ‘Well, it’s a lot to take in. What did you think? First impressions?’
There had been a connection, Charlotte was sure of it now. A deeper one than strangers meeting, and different to pen pals who usually had at least shared a whole load of stuff before meeting in the flesh. There was something there and she did want to pursue it, but she wasn’t sure she knew how. Or when. You couldn’t cram a lifetime into one meeting. And… what if, after everything, they didn’t like each other? How would she deal with that? Rejection didn’t seem appropriate, but then again, what was?
Nothing in Charlotte’s life to date had prepared her for this. ‘I think she liked me. I mean… I don’t know. I think she was impressed by everything I’ve done. She seemed nice, just a bit sad.’
‘Well, so she should be, she gave you up. Look at you… you’re amazing.’ Lissa nodded and took a big gulp of her wine. ‘That came out wrong. I mean, she had good reason, and everything. But she’s missed so much, right?’
‘Yes. We both have.’
‘So, have you scratched your itch?’
Had she? ‘I don’t know. We didn’t cover genetics or relatives. It didn’t seem appropriate to ask at first and then we got interrupted, so I didn’t get a chance to find out about any familial skeletons in the closet.’
‘So you need to see her again. Do you want to? How’s that itch for knowledge going?’
‘I said I’d be in touch, but I don’t know what to do now. How long do I wait? I don’t want to seem too eager and needy, but I do want to find out more. I promised myself I’d learn things so I can pass them on to any kids I have.’
Lissa shuddered inv
oluntarily. Allergic to even the mention of kids.
Charlotte grinned. ‘Not something you’ll ever have to worry about, right? But on reflection I’d say, yes, I want more information, so I’m still itching.’
‘There’s a cream for that, I’m sure.’ Lissa twirled a beermat under her fingers. ‘Now, what about Eileen?’
Immediately, the mention of her mother’s name made guilt raise its head, worming through Charlotte’s gut. ‘What about her?’
‘What does she think about all this? Is she bothered? Threatened? She’s sensible, right? She wouldn’t feel bad about this, surely? She knows you love her and all that.’
That guilt kept on squirming. ‘I haven’t told her yet. I never quite found the time or the right words.’
‘This is a big secret to keep from her, Charlie.’ Lissa’s eyebrows rose.
‘It’s not really… well, it is. I’m trying to protect her in case she feels hurt.’
‘But if she finds out somehow, without you saying anything first, she’ll be even more hurt.’
This was true. But she’d only kept silent about it for good reasons. ‘I’ll tell her. I just need to find the right time and that’s harder than you think these days.’
‘I know. You’re very busy. Keeping secrets from me. Your mum.’ Lissa winked, showing she wasn’t hurt by this, but had noticed nevertheless. ‘Whatever next?’
‘Don’t be silly. I’m just digesting things inside and trying to figure stuff out before I blab my mouth off. Isn’t that called growing up?’
Another shudder. ‘Eugh. Who wants to do that?’ Lissa pulled a face and took a drink and Charlotte noticed her friend’s hands were shaking. Very unusual for Miss Uber Confident 2017. It wasn’t particularly cold, just a damp squib of a June day. Looking closer, Charlotte noticed her friend’s eyes were a little sunken too. She didn’t look great.
‘Liss, are you okay?’
Lissa tugged her dark-grey sweatshirt closer across her stomach. ‘Me? Yes. Of course. I’m fine.’
The Other Life of Charlotte Evans Page 9
