by Kate Hewitt
Chapter Nine
“Miriam, I’m glad you’ve come here.”
Miriam shifted in her seat, unsure whether she should smile or not. What was the protocol for this situation? She had a feeling she had a very odd look on her face, something between a rictus grin and a grimace. Janice, a comfortable-looking woman in her forties, gave her a sympathetic smile in return. “I know this isn’t easy.”
“No.” She took a gulping sort of breath. “And I’m really just here to see. To investigate all my options.”
“Of course.” She probably heard that line every single time. Miriam glanced around the room, at the comfortable but standard-issue chairs and coffee tables, the beauty and fashion magazines that were a few months out of date, the framed posters of innocuous scenes—Lake District views and bowls of lilies.
Everything about this room felt like a mute button, a way to keep things safe and unthreatening. Nothing about it said baby or pregnancy or adoption—no parenting magazines, no pictures of happy families. She could have been anywhere, but she wasn’t. She was in a private adoption agency, and she felt as if she might crawl out of her own skin.
“Sorry,” she blurted. “I’m nervous.”
“Of course.” Janice nodded, clearly unruffled. Miriam suspected her reactions were standard in this scenario. “No decisions have to be made today. It’s important for you to know that you are in control of what happens, Miriam. And you can put a stop to the process whenever you feel you need to.”
“Right.” Although that didn’t seem fair to whatever adoptive couple she might choose. If she backed out at the last minute, she’d crush their hopes of a family. She didn’t want to be that person, and yet… “Perhaps you could walk me through it.”
“Of course.” Another easy smile; Janice was the most chilled person Miriam had ever encountered. “It’s all really quite simple. We have profiles of families wishing to adopt, particularly a newborn. If you decide adoption is the right choice for you, you would look through our profiles and choose a client whom you think would be the best fit.” Miriam nodded, although inwardly she was wondering how on earth she would know that. “Women in your position usually have some idea of what kind of person or couple they’d like to place their baby with,” Janice continued, her tone gentling. “Some things to consider are life situation, geographical location, ethnicity, religion, values…”
“Right.” The word came out shakily. That was a lot to think about. She was playing God, and she didn’t like it. It felt like way too much responsibility.
“Once you’ve chosen a profile, you can begin to have a working relationship,” Janice continued. “Prospective adoptive parents cover all the costs associated with pregnancy and birth.”
“They do?” Miriam blinked in surprise. She hadn’t thought about that.
“Yes, but of course there must be a careful accounting.” Janice smiled. “No one wants to feel as if they’re buying or selling.”
Miriam swallowed hard. Selling her baby. No.
“The important thing is,” Janice said, “if you do choose this route, you will be making a new family very, very happy. But you need to make sure it’s the right thing for you.” She paused delicately. “As for the father…?”
“There is no father.” Janice raised her eyebrows, waiting for more. Miriam realised she’d made herself sound like the Virgin Mary. “I mean, he is not in the picture. At all.”
“Even so, a father has parental rights if—”
“No, I mean he’s… I don’t even know where he is. Who he is, really.” She looked down, certain her cheeks were scarlet. How many times would she have to say this? “We were never in a relationship.”
“All right.” Janice’s voice was pleasant and, Miriam suspected, deliberately without judgement. She probably encountered this exact situation all too often—why else did women come here? “That makes things a bit easier, at any rate.”
At least something was easy. Miriam remembered saying that exact thing to Dan a few days ago, when they’d had dinner. She’d barely seen him since; although she’d worked at the surgery on Monday, he’d been out on an emergency farm visit for most of it, and she’d cracked on with the filing, going home a bit morosely because she realised she’d been looking forward to having a bit of a chat.
Although, upon reflection, perhaps it was better not to see him, because she’d behaved like a complete numpty at the end of their meal, hightailing out of his kitchen, all awkward stammers and blushes. She hoped when she did see him again, it wouldn’t be embarrassing. It shouldn’t be.
“So perhaps you need to have a think?” Janice said with another one of her gentle smiles. “If you like, you can fill out the initial paperwork, and then, when and if you’re ready, you can look through our profiles.”
“All right.” Paperwork wasn’t committing her to anything, Miriam told herself, and looking through some profiles couldn’t hurt. She wouldn’t be getting anyone’s hopes up.
Janice supplied her with a clipboard, a sheaf of papers, and a Biro. “Would you like a cup of tea? I’ll get one while you start filling these out.”
The first questions were easy—name, address, birthdate, medical history. Blah, blah, blah. But then the questions became more personal—what kind of adoption did she prefer? What kind of adoption was there?
Janice explained the terms when she came back with Miriam’s mug of tea. “A closed adoption is how things used to be, when the birth mother and adoptive parent or parents have no contact after the adoption. Nowadays people like things to be more open, and often families have some form of limited or extended contact—exchanging emails and photos, sometimes getting together every few months or on holidays. It’s really up to you.”
Because, Miriam realised, she held all the cards, or at least the trump card. She could specify whatever kind of adoption she wanted, and any prospective couple would probably agree, because the reality was people were desperate for a baby, especially a Caucasian newborn, which seemed so unfair on all the other kids out there needing loving homes.
She put the clipboard down and sipped her tea, her mind whirling.
“Have you finished the paperwork?” Janice asked a little while later, and Miriam started guiltily.
“Oh, er. Yes. Almost done.” She finished the last few questions, nothing too mentally or morally taxing, and handed the clipboard back to Janice. She had a sudden desperate and inexplicable urge to flee from the room.
“Would you like to look at some profiles now?” Janice asked. “Just to see?”
Just to see. Miriam supposed she might as well, since she was already there, even though she had a reluctance to do so. “All right.”
With a smile and a suppressed air of excitement, as if she were retrieving a birthday present, Janice fetched a large binder and handed it to Miriam. “I’ll give you a few moments,” she murmured, and left the room.
Miriam took a deep breath and opened the book. The first profile was a couple in their forties who had been trying IVF for over ten years. Matt and Jenna, they lived in Hexham and had two cats. They hiked on weekends and Matt did fell running; Jenna competed in triathlons.
We would love to make our family complete. We’re really looking forward to having a child to love.
Numbly, her mind spinning too much to process the information, Miriam turned the page. Another couple, just as eager and friendly and desperate. Sarah and Mike; she was a nurse and he ran his own consultancy. They lived outside Windermere. They liked cooking ethnic food and travelling to exotic destinations, and they looked forward to introducing their son or daughter ‘to this exciting world of ours.’
Miriam turned the page, only to realise she couldn’t see it. She felt dizzy and sick, her vision blurring, her heart pounding like a drum. What was going on? What was wrong with her?
The book slid from her lap as she placed her head between her knees, or as close as she could get, considering her bump. Breathe. In. Out. In. Out.
; “Miriam?” Janice’s relaxed tone had taken on an edge of anxiety. “Are you all right, love?”
“Yes. I think so.” She tried to focus on her breathing. In. Out. In. Out. “I just felt dizzy for a sec.” More deep breaths, and then she risked raising her head. The room swam in and out of her vision before she was thankfully able to focus. “Sorry about that.”
“Let me get you a glass of water.” Janice returned a few minutes later with a paper cup of lukewarm tap water, and Miriam sipped it gratefully. She was starting to feel better, as well as a complete idiot for falling apart like that. She’d never experienced anything like it. Her skin still felt a little clammy.
“It looks like you had a panic attack,” Janice said after a moment. “Which is understandable, as this is a lot to process. Perhaps you should take a bit longer to think things through?”
A panic attack? She’d never had one in her life. And yet…Miriam realised Janice was right. That was what she had, and it was so bizarre.
“There’s no rush,” Janice assured her. “Surprisingly.”
But there was, a bit, because she had only three months to go, and either way she wanted it resolved. She needed to know. But not today, perhaps.
“All right,” Miriam said as she rose from her chair, still feeling a bit shaky. “Thanks.”
“Ring me when you’re ready,” Janice said, pressing a card into her hand. “Either way. Remember, Miriam, it’s up to you.”
Which might have been part of the problem, Miriam reflected as she took the bus from Carlisle to Keswick, and then switched for Thornthwaite. At least she’d checked the right schedules this time.
The trouble was, she realised as she settled in her seat for the last leg of the journey, she wanted someone to tell her what to do—someone who was not a sister or someone well meaning. Some disinterested yet kindly third party who could be her voice of reason.
Which made her think of Dan. Except of course she didn’t really want Dan telling her what to do. With a sigh, Miriam wondered when she would stop being so contrary. This was a decision she needed to make on her own. She knew that.
It was dark by the time the bus trundled up Thornthwaite’s high street, and Miriam disembarked outside The Bell, which was doing fairly brisk business for a Tuesday night. She could see the light on in Rachel’s flat; she was moving into her new house over the weekend. Across the bridge, the lights in the vicarage twinkled, and she wondered how Simon was doing. Anna had returned to Manchester on Sunday night, and she was planning on moving back to Thornthwaite in three weeks’ time, to live with Esther and Will until the wedding. Her parents would be back then too, Miriam remembered with a jolt. She had to make a decision by then. Everyone would be asking. Everyone would want to know.
Slowly Miriam started walking towards home, her mind spinning in circles, going nowhere. She felt stuck, and she had no idea how to rev herself out of the rut of inertia she’d got into. Yes, she was making changes in her life. She was making decisions—finding a place to live, holding down two jobs, being proactive. And yet the biggest decision of all still loomed, impossible, unknowable. How could she be a mother?
But she was going to be one, of some description, whether she wanted to or not.
The realisation had her stopping midstride. In her mind adoption had felt like the simple fix, even though she knew in her heart there was nothing simple about it. She’d give this baby to a loving family, and get on with her life. But what if it didn’t work like that? Perhaps it never did. She’d always have a tie to this little life inside her, and what if, when this daughter of hers was eighteen, she wanted to find out about her birth mother?
With a sickening rush of feeling, Miriam imagined that scenario—her daughter, eighteen and confused or even angry, demanding to know why she’d given her up. And what would Miriam say? I just didn’t think I was up for it. I wasn’t in the right place emotionally. Sorry about that.
She could picture her daughter, looking a lot like her own angry teenaged self, rolling her eyes or snorting in disgust at what amounted to excuses.
Or did they? Wasn’t it noble, or at least self-sacrificing, to be willing to give up her child? Why did she have to feel so guilty about it?
With a sound that was half-groan, half-sigh, Miriam turned into Dan’s drive. The lights were on in the downstairs of his house, and her steps slowed instinctively as she walked past the French windows that looked in on the open-plan living area. She caught a glimpse of him stretched out on the leather sofa, ankles crossed on top of the coffee table, going through some paperwork. He wore reading glasses, something she hadn’t known.
Miriam realised she was standing there, staring in the window. Okay, now she was a stalker. Quickly she walked back to the annexe, unlocking the door and breathing a sigh of relief as she closed it behind her. Safe. And lonely.
She’d wanted her own space for so long, it seemed silly to resent it now, but where was Rachel when she needed her, with a tub of ice cream and a new Netflix series to binge on? Or Esther, with her brisk, no-nonsense way that still managed to make Miriam laugh? Or Anna, with her gentle warmth, her quiet, comforting ways? With a jolt, Miriam realised how much she loved her sisters. How much she counted on them. Why did she keep pushing them away, acting as if she was irritated with their good intentions and loving concern?
She was a cow, that was why.
Her phone started trilling with a Skype call, and Miriam scrabbled for it in her bag. It was her mum.
She swiped the call as she sank onto the sofa. “Hey, Mum.”
“Hello, darling.” Ruth’s smile was as warm as ever. “I know we only spoke a few days ago, but I just felt I had to check and see how you were.”
“Oh.” Miriam gazed at her kindly expression with unease. “Why? I mean, I’m okay, Mum.”
“Oh, I know you are, love, of course you are. It’s just…” Ruth nibbled her lip. “When we were all Skyping together, and you said you were having a little girl…” Her voice wobbled a little but then she went on determinedly, “I know it was overwhelming, to have us all over you like that. And it made me think, afterwards, that it wasn’t really fair on you.”
She was going to cry. Again. Miriam drew a shaky breath and then released it. “It’s okay, Mum.”
“I want to be honest with you, Miriam,” Ruth said, and now there was a definite wobble to her voice. “It breaks my heart to think of you giving up that baby, but I understand why you would. I do, truly. And I want you to know, that whatever decision you make, your father and I will support you. Giving a baby up for adoption is a noble, lovely thing to do. It really is.”
Miriam opened her mouth to say something, but found she couldn’t speak past the lump in her throat.
“But I also want you to know, that if you do decide to keep this baby, we’ll support you as best as we can, in whatever way possible. I know it isn’t easy, darling, truly I do. Babies are hard work. Really hard work.” She let out a little, uncertain laugh. “But you’re not alone, Miriam, even if you think you are. I know we can be annoying busybodies and you’ve got three older sisters telling you what to do, but we love you. So much, darling.” Her voice choked a little. “So much.”
“Oh, Mum.” Miriam blinked, and the tears fell, trickling down her cheeks. She felt sad and happy at the same time, as if she’d been split right down the middle. “Thank you for saying all that.”
“I mean every word.”
“I know you do.”
“Well, then.” Ruth gave her a watery smile as she dabbed at her own eyes. “I just needed to get all that out there, when you were by yourself, and your sisters weren’t interfering or interrupting.”
Miriam managed a laugh. “Good point.”
“I’ll see you soon,” Ruth promised. “Just three weeks until we’re back for Christmas and the wedding.”
“Yes.” It seemed hard to believe; it felt as if her parents had been gone forever, and yet also for no time at all. “Thanks, Mum.”
“Love you, Miriam.”
“Love you too, Mum.”
After she’d finished the call, Miriam sat on the sofa, staring into space, trying to figure out how she felt. Her mother had been so lovely to say all that, and Miriam knew she meant it utterly. And yet…where had her father been during that call? And what did he really think? Because Miriam couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling that her father was not as unqualifying in his support as her mum, and the truth was, she couldn’t blame him.
Chapter Ten
“I think that’s the last of it.”
Sam hefted a box onto the table top of Rachel’s new house with a theatrical groan. “What’s in here, Rachel, iron bars?”
“Just books,” Rachel answered. “Surely it’s not too much for you?” She gave him a teasing look as she patted one of his impressive biceps.
“It’s her whole Twilight collection,” Miriam said as she peered into the box. “They’re like doorstops, those books.”
“Twilight? Seriously?” Esther looked disbelievingly at her sister. “How old are you?”
“I like my romance,” Rachel said defensively. “So sue me.”
Miriam glanced around the cosy house as she tuned out her sisters’ loving but slightly querulous banter. Rachel’s house was lovely, tiny but beautifully done up, with a fireplace with a hand-painted tile surround and original woodwork and ornate cornices in the two small downstairs rooms. It oozed Edwardian charm, and Miriam could see her sister being happy there. Bailey certainly was; the puppy loved the handkerchief-sized garden and was racing around it crazily, getting very muddy in the process.
