A Corner of My Heart

by Mark Seaman

  Elizabeth burst through the front door as I reached the bottom of the stairs. She ran straight to me, arms open wide in her usual excited greeting and desperate to tell me about the adventures of her day. Mrs Taylor followed closely behind and, taking off her coat, laughed at the two of us. “Someone is certainly pleased to see you, Ruth; she’s been talking about you all the way home.” As I held her close Mr Taylor entered the hallway from his study. “Hello you two, have you had a nice time?”

  “Very nice thank you, dear, how has your day been?”

  He looked at his wife and daughter and smiled. “Oh you know just the usual. And what about you young lady, have you been a good girl for your mummy?”

  “Yes I have, haven’t I, Mummy?” Mrs Taylor laughed again. “Well, for most of the time yes.” Elizabeth grinned at her father but chose to stay in my embrace; an act of mutual affection that offered me a fleeting sense of power over him and one I hoped would let him know he wasn’t going win the struggle for power being played out between us easily.

  “I’ll see you both at tea time,” he said, smiling broadly at his daughter and as if dismissing my efforts to hold sway in our battle of wills. My heart sank a little as he turned and walked self-assuredly into the sitting room closing the door behind him. Elizabeth, oblivious to anything but her own existence asked if we could go upstairs and play with her dolls house until it was time for tea.

  “Go on then off you go, but don’t tire poor Ruth out.”

  With that Elizabeth took hold of my hand and pulled me across the hallway. “I think we should make a new bedroom in my doll’s house,” she declared, bounding up the stairs as she spoke. “I was thinking that as Mummy is going to have a new baby then perhaps my dolly might have a new baby as well and she will need a bedroom for it. What do you think, Ruth?”

  “That’s a very good idea.” Even with my heavy heart I couldn’t help but smile at this bundle of life and energy running ahead of me.

  I envied Elizabeth her innocence as we climbed the stairs together, remembering briefly my own years as a small child when life had also appeared so simple and exciting; the realities of adulthood along with how dark the world would become for me still far away. I squeezed her little hand as we reached the playroom, determined to protect her as best I could, at least for now, from the sometimes brutal truth of what she would come to discover for herself in the years ahead, perhaps even from her own father. Elizabeth smiled up at me as she sat on the floor surrounded by her toys.

  “I do love you, Ruth, and I love playing with you as well. You are my very best friend in all the world.”

  I felt tears of affection sting my eyes. “I love you too sweetheart.” I knelt down beside her and allowed the little girl’s fantasy world to encompass my thoughts over the next half an hour, moving away from the challenges and exigent conversation that would face me tomorrow.

  Seventeen

  Those first few years spent with Jenny hold a special place in my memory, with Mum and I becoming ever closer as we discovered together the joy of bringing up a child that truly belonged to each of us from day one. She and Dad had always considered me their daughter and now with the arrival of a granddaughter our family circle was complete.

  Mum and I would go shopping together and playfully argue as to whose turn it was to push Jenny in her pram.

  “I’m her grandmother.”

  “Maybe, but I’m her mother and so I get to push her first.”

  “Yes but if we hadn’t brought you up as our daughter then she wouldn’t be here.”

  We often teased each other in this way and on most occasions would happily accede to the other’s playful demands. I know all parents like to think their child is the cutest or has the best looks, but in truth Jenny was a beautiful baby. And it was only on the odd occasion when someone remarked how pretty she was or looked like her mother that Carol would become quiet and take a back seat in the conversation. She knew that Jenny had both my eyes and slightly rounded face, but was also aware that she was never going to grow to look like her or Dad with no immediate blood line between them. Even so Jenny still completed us as a family in so many other ways. Dad took endless photos of her in those first couple of years and I became afraid she might develop a phobia about cameras or in having her picture taken. He even bought a Polaroid camera so he could take new photos of her into work and show his colleagues how “his granddaughter” was growing and changing with every passing day, although I’m not sure they were as keen in thumbing through the ever expanding album of Jenny’s development as he was!

  “Just one more, she won’t stay like this forever you know. She’ll soon grow and then we’ll forget how little she was.”

  “I don’t mind you taking pictures of her, Dad, but do we really need so many? Honestly we’ll need a photo album a week at this rate.”

  “You’ll thank me in the years to come. I just wish I’d taken more of you when you were little. You can’t get those years or memories back you know.”

  Mum would tease him as well. “I bet David Bailey doesn’t take as many pictures as you do.”

  “That’s because he doesn’t have the same three beautiful girls to model for him like I do.”

  Mum and I would smile and raise our eyes in mock derision at his attempt of flattery whilst acknowledging, at the same time, nothing we could say or do would detract him from his photographic pursuits. Although I wouldn’t admit it publicly I did feel a huge sense of pride that my little girl meant so much to him, to both of them.

  She grew so quickly in that first year, achieving many small but equally significant landmarks. I remember the first steps she took. We three adults were watching television with Jenny sitting on the floor happily following the movement on the screen in front of her when a dog appeared and she reached out to touch it. Not being close enough she shuffled her bottom a little closer and, placing her hand on the edge of the coffee table, pulled herself to her feet and took three determined steps towards the television before placing her face on the screen in an effort to kiss the dog. We watched transfixed as she waddled forward and then turned to look at each other as if to say did she really just get up and walk? Mum jumped to her feet and gently pulled Jenny way from the television, fearing she might knock it over and hurt herself in her attempts to get closer to the dog. Jenny didn’t think much of that and cried out in protest.

  “Mum, turn her round to face me, but keep her standing.” Jenny was already reaching out towards me for comfort and so I held out my hands in response urging her to walk the few steps across the floor towards me.

  “Come on, Jen, walk to Mummy, you can do it.” My heart was thumping in my chest as we held our breath and Mum let her go. Jenny wobbled for a moment before breaking into a smile, then after taking one shaky step forward she found her feet and strode confidently towards me as if she had been walking for weeks. That said, just as she got near to me and I leant forward to pick her up and congratulate her on doing so well she stopped. It was as though she had suddenly become aware of what she had done herself. She wobbled again and, reaching out for my hands, lost control of her legs and fell back on her bottom. Almost immediately she began howling, probably as much from hurt pride as any pain she had experienced in meeting with the carpet so abruptly.

  “I wish I’d had my camera then. We’ll never get those first steps again.”

  “For goodness sake, Jim, give it a rest will you,” Mum retorted. “There’ll be plenty of other opportunities to take pictures of her walking.”

  “Yes, but not those very first steps.”

  Mum raised her eyes to the ceiling. “Well when you do take one of her walking just write on the back they were her first steps. We won’t tell anyone it’s not true and I’m sure she won’t mind, or care either.”

  Jenny was by now howling with pained indignation. Mum and I joined her with tears of our own, but ours were tears of pr
ide in what we had just witnessed our little girl achieve. Dad put his arms around Mum and I. “Jenny will experience far greater falls from grace than that in life, but we’ll always be there to help and encourage her, just as we have now. We’ll pick her up, dust her down and set her on her way again,”

  Almost every day in those first couple of years of Jenny’s life we seemed to witness some new achievement as she grew, both in size and confidence. I remember the first time she said, Mummy, and the feeling of pride it instilled in me. It was about the only time I consciously thought of Gerry, and although I didn’t regret for a moment he wasn’t involved with her upbringing, I was still sad for Jenny that there wasn’t a man in her life to call daddy.

  Dad was determined of course, as the only male in a family of girls, that Jenny should learn to say granddad as soon as possible. So the first time she mumbled something directly at him through her ever present smile he was convinced his genius of a granddaughter had just uttered the magic word, the one he had been attempting to teach her for the past couple of weeks.

  “Did you hear that?” he exclaimed. “She said it, she said granddad.” Mum and I were not so sure, reasoning that whatever it was Jenny may have attempted to voice had been totally unintelligible, partly because of a mouthful of cereal, and more likely associated with her breaking wind at the same time. This was demonstrated by her bright red face and bulging eyes.

  “I think she’s more interested in filling her nappy than in talking to you,” Mum laughed. “Although you may well have proved the inspiration she needed with your endless attempts to get her to say granddad.”

  “That’s nice, isn’t it, Jenny? Your nasty granny and mummy are saying horrid things about us, but we don’t care, do we, precious?” Jenny stared at Dad, her face now almost puce. Mum and I looked at each other and laughed.

  “There’s your answer, Dad, I think she’s making it very clear as to what she thinks of you and your attempts to get her to speak, especially as she has more pressing matters on her mind.”

  The three of us enjoyed so many happy times watching Jenny’s development as the months passed by. I look back on them all with fondness, not only for her but for each of us as a family.

  I think that’s part of the reason I struggled at times in deciding whether to meet Ruth or not and to allow her back into my life, and more especially into Jenny’s. I have often wondered what things might have been like had she not chosen to give me away, and how we might have got on as mother and daughter? If she had brought me up how would she have reacted to my becoming pregnant? Would she have been as understanding and gracious as Mum and Dad? Who would have provided the father figure in my life, and would he have cared for me as much as James? All of these differing scenarios played out in my head, only serving to confuse me further. Although I had asked myself these questions a hundred times in the past I had never really given them any proper credence, accepting as I did they were only flights of fancy in my thinking. I assumed I could never truly gain any answers to them, nor did I really want to, at least at that time. I also found it easier and more productive to accept the support and love that Dad and Mum had shown towards me from my earliest memory as the bench mark for family life. Theirs was a gift of love above question and offered unconditionally. They had chosen me alone to be a part of their lives; allowing me to grow safely in their embrace as any traditional set of parents would have done. But now with the very real possibility of Ruth entering my life again I considered once more how different things might have been had I remained her daughter.

  My mind raced backwards and forwards as I battled with these questions and uncertainties. It was becoming increasingly hard for me to ignore them, especially as I now knew she physically existed and wanted to see me. Chris also encouraged me to make further contact with her.

  “Now you know she’s out there, you’ll never forgive yourself if you decide not to see her or at least hear what she has to say. She may not have been the best mother in the world but she’s the only one you’ve got, if you know what I mean? Just maybe she deserves the chance to tell her side of the story if you can bear to hear it? Either way you’ll know the truth and then be in a position to move forward or to close the door on the relationship forever.”

  Deep down I knew he was right and I did have so many questions I wanted answers to, questions that ultimately only she could answer.

  What would our holidays together have been like? Would she have made the angel’s costume that I wore in the school nativity when I was younger as Carol had done? Would she have watched with glowing pride as I pranced about on stage knocking over the flimsy wooden stable door and tearing off one of my wings in the process? Would she have comforted me and told me nobody had noticed and it didn’t matter that the boy playing Joseph had stamped on my wing in disgust at my ruining his entrance? I knew it was silly even to entertain such thoughts, but those instances were still a part of my growing up, and how Mum and Dad had responded to them and every other seemingly important event in my younger life had all played a role in shaping the person I had become. How could I not think about how different things might have been if those early years of my growth and development had been spent with Ruth?

  I was sure they couldn’t have been better than all I had experienced with James and Carol but, was that because she had let me go and caused me to resent what had never been, or was it because I had no physical knowledge of how things might have unfolded between the two of us? As these and other random thoughts crowded into my brain the one truth I couldn’t escape, no matter how I dressed it up was that it had been me who, after all these years, had made this first attempt at contact between us again. The reasons for doing so hardly mattered anymore, the fact still remained I had opened this Pandora’s box and there was no going back to close the lid on it again, no matter how much I may have wanted to.

  Eighteen

  I managed to avoid any contact with Mr Taylor the following morning before he left for the bank. I busied myself with getting Elizabeth ready for school and in helping Mrs Taylor choose a suitable outfit for her visit later that afternoon to her friends as Mr Taylor had intimated the day before.

  I envied Mrs Taylor her extensive wardrobe and the choices she was able to make, having a different set of clothes available to her for each day of the week and more besides. She also had a number of dresses and jackets made especially for her pregnancy and we spent some time comparing them before making a final decision. She was such a generous woman encouraging me to be involved in many of the day to day decisions about Elizabeth or, as was now the case, in helping her choose a suitable outfit for the day. There were times during our discussions, albeit briefly, that I felt more like a friend than an employee, although of course I never verbalised these feelings directly to her.

  On this particular day I found it hard to concentrate and struggled to demonstrate my usual enthusiasm in helping her to decide what to wear. I was still thinking about what Mr Taylor had said the day before and, although I knew I didn’t want to upset her directly by telling her what had gone on between the two of us, I still found it difficult to conceal my fears and concerns from her.

  “Are you alright Ruth dear, you seem a little preoccupied this morning? Is there something bothering you”?

  I fought desperately to maintain my composure. “I’m sorry. Thank you but I’m fine. I didn’t sleep very well last night and am a bit tired.” Here at least I was telling the truth, because I hadn’t slept at all well, having found it hard to think about anything else as I’d lain in my bed constantly replaying the conversation that had taken place earlier in the afternoon between myself and her husband. I knew, for now at least, I couldn’t say anything to her about that exchange no matter how much I might have liked to have done. I needed both the time and the occasion to be right before I dared speak out about what had happened.

  “Well we’ll put Elizabeth to bed together this evening
so that you can get an early night. You do so much for us, Ruth, and I apologise if we have abused your efforts or goodwill on our behalf of late.”

  “Thank you, but please don’t apologise. I’m fine, truly I am. Just a bad night that’s all. I’m sure I’ll be better tomorrow.” I felt as though I had betrayed her in someway by not telling her the real cause for my restless night. It was as though a wall of lies was beginning to build between us, a wall that would eventually separate me entirely from the one person who really trusted me and whom I also knew would be the most horrified to learn of the truth. Our relationship would be damaged beyond repair should I speak out. I felt trapped but managed a weak smile as I helped her to finish dressing.

  The rest of the morning passed fairly uneventfully as I tidied Elizabeth’s bedroom and tended to my other duties in the house. Nelly and I had lunch together and she also noticed I didn’t appear to be myself.

  “Has Mr T been upsetting you?”

  “What makes you say that?” I replied, in an attempt to sound surprised and so avert her line of questioning.

  “Well you just don’t seem to be yourself and I was wondering if he had given you a hard time over something yesterday that you didn’t tell me about?” She laughed. “Mind, he doesn’t normally order a pot of tea when he’s about to lay down the law.” I hurriedly made the same excuse as I had done with Mrs Taylor earlier about having not slept well in the hope she wouldn’t press me further about my conversation with our employer.

  “So go on then,” Nelly continued, clearly having no intention of letting me off the hook so easily. “What did he want? I know you said it was just the usual stuff but you seemed to be in there for ages?”