Terrified

by Angela Hart

  Vincent and Vicky had exchanged several more letters by now and it had reached the point where Hayley was planning to arrange for a social worker to visit Vincent and his family, with a view to Vicky meeting her father in the early part of 1990. Vicky hadn’t shown me her dad’s last few letters, but she always told me what he said. Vincent had explained that he had married Carol six years previously. Carol worked as a nurse while Matty was doing an engineering apprenticeship at a local college, and Vincent simply described himself as an ‘ex-soldier’, not mentioning whether or not he currently had a job. He had split up from Matty’s mother when their son was two years old and had been in a fairly new relationship with Brenda when she fell pregnant, which tallied with the little Vicky knew on the subject.

  ‘Things didn’t work out between me and your mother,’ Vincent told Vicky in one letter. ‘We didn’t know each other well enough and we found it impossible to live together.’

  Vicky seemed pleased with how things were progressing and was looking forward to meeting her father, though she didn’t seem to be in any rush.

  ‘Well, I’ve waited this long,’ she shrugged when I asked her how she was feeling. ‘I’m kind of nervous too. What if it goes wrong? I want to find out as much as I can, while I can.’

  ‘I think you are being very sensible taking your time like this,’ I said.

  I wanted to add, ‘I’m sure it will all work out fine,’ but I knew better, and so did Vicky. We were both aware that the reunion was not guaranteed to go smoothly. It was such a shame that, at her young age, Vicky had been through enough bad experiences to know disappointment may be around the corner. Most kids her age were still filled with the sort of childhood innocence that made them see the world through rose-tinted glasses, but of course Vicky had had those taken from her many years before. It was a great pity, but if things didn’t work out, at least she may be better equipped to deal with it than other children.

  For our part, Jonathan and I were delighted when we found out through Hayley that Vincent had given his permission for us to take Vicky on holiday, telling Hayley that he hoped it would be possible for us all to meet before the trip. I picked a moment when Vicky had come home with good results from school to tell her about Disney World.

  ‘Look, Angela!’ she said. ‘I’ve got my end of term report, and I’m really pleased with it!’

  ‘Let’s have a look, sweetheart,’ I said, settling down to study it. ‘Goodness me. I see you’ve kept up the A in home economics, and you’ve got a B+ in English! That’s wonderful.’

  The rest of Vicky’s results were a mixed bag, but it was the progression, not the grades, that I was interested in. Vicky had missed a lot of school throughout her childhood, and when she first came to live with us her results were all below average. However, her attendance had improved dramatically and she was now reaping the rewards. Vicky had been working hard at home too, and I was thrilled her efforts were paying off.

  ‘Vicky is an enthusiastic pupil,’ her home economics teacher had written. ‘She is a pleasure to have in the class.’

  The physics teacher was clearly a little less impressed.

  ‘With more focus and a lot less cheek and chatter, Vicky could do very well in the public examination,’ he had written.

  ‘Ha ha!’ Vicky laughed when I read that remark out. ‘He’s such a geek! He expects us all to learn in silence!’

  ‘Vicky!’ I scolded. ‘Now don’t spoil things by being cheeky. On the whole this is a wonderful report. Well done!’

  ‘Thanks, Angela. You know, I’m really enjoying the cookery. I think I’d like to be a chef when I’m older, or do something related to food and catering.’

  ‘Really? I thought you wanted to work in a bird sanctuary?’

  ‘Well, I’d like to do that, but I don’t think there are many jobs around like that. I think I stand more chance of working in catering, and I think I’d be good at it.’

  ‘That sounds sensible,’ I replied. ‘But you should keep your options open. Have you ever visited a bird sanctuary or an aviary at the zoo, by the way? There might be more of them than you think. And I’ve been doing a little bit of thinking . . .’

  I smiled broadly and raised my eyebrows, goading Vicky to ask me what I was up to.

  ‘What? Angela! You’re not taking me to visit an aviary are you? Oh my God, I’d love that!’

  ‘Well, as it happens I do think you deserve a big treat for all your hard work. Jonathan and I were wondering, would you like to come to Disney World with us, at Easter?’

  ‘What? Really?’ Vicky leaped over and flung her arms around me. ‘Oh wow! That would be awesome!’

  ‘That’s what I was hoping you would say. I’ve done some research, and they have exotic birds at several places near the park in Florida. You can even hand-feed some of them.’

  ‘Oh my God! How awesome would that be! I’d love to come! Thank you so much! Er, does it mean I’ll have Michelle’s ticket?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Oh. It’s a shame she can’t come, isn’t it?’

  ‘I know. I miss her. Do you see her around at school?’

  ‘No, haven’t seen her for ages. If I do I’ll tell her you said hi, shall I?’

  ‘Yes, you do that. But don’t tell her about Disney, mind you! That wouldn’t be fair, would it?’

  ‘No, of course,’ Vicky smiled. ‘But I can tell my friends, can’t I? They’ll be so jealous!’

  After missing the youth club and Saturday disco for several weeks in the aftermath of her mum’s death, Vicky’s busy social life was now back on track, and once her homework was done she was out most evenings, or Izzy and some other friends came to our house to listen to music. Occasionally, I’d catch Vicky nipping into the garden for a cigarette.

  ‘Sorry, Angela,’ she’d say. ‘I’m doing my best, you know.’

  Vicky wasn’t embarrassed, just apologetic, as she knew how disappointed I was on her behalf that she was still smoking. The music concert she wanted to go to, that was meant to be her motivation and reward for quitting, had unfortunately been and gone months earlier.

  ‘I know you’re trying hard,’ I said one time. ‘Perhaps you could make it your New Year’s resolution to stop once and for all?’

  ‘I could,’ she said, ‘that’s if I haven’t stopped before then. You never know.’

  Vicky put on her American accent and gave me a salute. ‘I will make it my mission to succeed, Mrs Hart!’

  ‘Glad to hear it,’ I laughed. ‘You know, I think your physics teacher got you spot on.’

  ‘What d’you mean?’

  ‘With more focus and a lot less cheek and chatter, Vicky could do very well!’

  The following week, when Vicky was helping me with the deliveries, she went very quiet after opening a Christmas card from one of our regular customers. It had a robin on the front, and after staring at it for a while Vicky started to tell me more about why she liked birds.

  ‘My love of birds started with that robin, you know?’ she said wistfully.

  We had climbed back into the van after making the latest delivery and were both struggling to keep warm, as it was freezing cold that day.

  ‘I remember you said robins were your favourites, but was there one particular robin you liked?’

  ‘Yes, there was one who was always there, you see, outside the back door.’

  Vicky was talking quietly and slowly, and it was obvious she was referring to when she lived with her mother.

  ‘He was always outside the back door, at your mum’s?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said, shivering as she spoke. ‘When I was out in the cold, I’d talk to him, and he’d come bobbing up to me and always looked like he was listening.’

  ‘What did you say to him?’

  ‘Probably all kinds of nonsense! Too much chatter and cheek, no doubt!’

  She paused and added thoughtfully, ‘But usually stuff like: “You look pretty with your red breast, Mr Robin.” Then I’d imagine h
e replied to me, “You look pretty too!” and I’d say, “Don’t be silly, Mr Robin! I’m wearing an old nightie! My hair is all messy and red, but it’s not pretty like the red on your chest!”’

  Vicky was staring out of the windscreen now, seemingly drifting away.

  ‘Your hair was red?’

  ‘It was blood. My head hurt a lot when I was little.’

  ‘I’m very sorry to hear that. Do you want to tell me what happened, to make your head hurt?’

  Vicky sighed and shook her head. ‘Do you think they will have robins in Florida, Angela?’

  ‘I don’t know, love. I think they will be mostly tropical birds over there.’

  ‘He was my friend, Mr Robin. You know, sometimes it was just like I only had Izzy and Mr Robin. They were the two people who were always there for me.’

  ‘I really am sorry to hear that, Vicky.’

  ‘Sorry, Angela. You must think I lose the plot sometimes!’

  Vicky laughed half-heartedly and blew hot breath onto her cold hands, turning the air in front of her a cloudy white.

  ‘I don’t. As I’ve always said, you can tell me anything.’

  ‘Yes, but then you have to tell Hayley, don’t you?’

  ‘If I think it’s important to your case, to your wellbeing.’

  ‘Exactly. I can’t be bothered with it. My mum’s dead now, so what’s the point? Anyhow, maybe I won’t need a social worker for much longer. Guess what?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘My dad has said that I might be able to go and live with him, you know, if things work out once we’ve met up and everything!’

  ‘Oh!’ I gasped, taken aback to hear this. It was the first thing I’d heard from Vincent that had worried me. Surely it was too soon to be talking about such a move? As far as I knew the latest plan was for us to visit him in February, a couple of months before our holiday. He had jumped the gun, in my opinion, though I kept very quiet.

  Vicky started to smile, oblivious to my reaction and the effect this may have on my feelings.

  ‘I take it you are pleased about that?’ I said kindly.

  ‘Well yes, obviously! I know he lives a long way away, but he is my dad, isn’t he? He’s family.’

  ‘He is. Did he say anything else?’

  ‘Only about his disability.’

  ‘I didn’t realise he had a disability.’

  ‘Nor did I until his last letter. But you know my mum said he had a disease?’

  ‘Yes, I remember you mentioning that.’

  ‘Well she lied, but that doesn’t surprise me. My dad only has one leg, you see, but that’s because he was injured in the line of duty, serving as a soldier in Northern Ireland. He’s a hero, not a loser.’

  ‘Good heavens! That’s quite a thing to be untruthful about.’

  ‘I know. I told you my mother was evil. Look, Dad’s sent a photo of himself.’

  I took hold of the photograph Vicky had pulled from her coat pocket and had a close look. Vincent had a broad, open smile and blond hair, and in the picture he was giving a thumbs up sign while sitting in his wheelchair, with one leg of his tracksuit bottoms folded beneath him. He was a handsome-looking man, and he had a vague look of Vicky, with grey-blue eyes and a slender nose.

  ‘Well I never!’ I said. ‘How do you feel, seeing his picture?’

  ‘Great, I suppose,’ she shrugged. ‘It feels a bit weird too. I mean, he’s my dad! I never thought I’d meet him, ever. And I thought he was horrible, but he’s not. It’s a shock, but a good shock.’

  15

  ‘I don’t want to talk about it or think about it or ANYTHING!’

  Christmas was low-key but very enjoyable. With the losses we’d all suffered in the previous months, the celebrations were fairly muted. There were no big parties and get-togethers, and all the various branches of mine and Jonathan’s families chose to spend the day with their nearest and dearest. This suited us fine. The shop was always busy right up until Christmas Eve, and I was very happy to have a quiet day at home with Jonathan, Vicky and my mum. Lorraine was going to her father’s for Christmas dinner and had arranged to see Vicky on Boxing Day, when the sisters would swap presents at Lorraine’s flat.

  On Christmas morning Vicky, Jonathan and I all mucked in to peel the vegetables and potatoes, and Vicky insisted on making Yorkshire puddings to go with the turkey, which my mother was quite put out by when she arrived mid-morning.

  ‘You can’t have Yorkshire puddings with Christmas dinner!’ she protested seriously. ‘It’s roast beef and Yorkshire puddings and that’s it – you can’t change tradition.’

  ‘Oh yes you can, Thelma!’ Vicky teased. ‘I’m making them anyway, but you don’t have to have one.’

  ‘Angela, what have you got to say? Surely you agree with me?’

  ‘You know what, Mum, I quite fancy a Yorkshire pudding actually!’

  ‘Well, honestly!’

  When the moment came to serve up, Vicky made a big show of leaving my mother out when she served up her delicious-looking golden Yorkshires.

  ‘Don’t worry, Thelma!’ she teased. ‘I’ll have two. They won’t go to waste.’

  ‘Well they do look rather good, Vicky. Perhaps I’ll have one after all. Just that small one there would be lovely . . .’

  ‘This one?’ Vicky teased, lifting up the one my mother had her eye on. ‘On no! You couldn’t possibly! You can’t change tradition!’

  We played board games after lunch and watched Mary Poppins, which is one of my all-time favourite films. I’d made up a stocking for Vicky that included various items of clothing, some new trainers she’d asked for, a stationery set, a guide book on Florida, two recipe books, a couple of cassettes and a pair of cosy pyjamas with a toucan on the front. She put the pyjamas on in the early evening and curled up on the settee next to me.

  ‘Thanks for a lovely day, Angela,’ she said sleepily. ‘I do love you and Jonathan, you know.’

  My heart leaped. After all that had happened in the last few months, those few words made everything seem right in the world. Jonathan caught my eye, and I gave him a big, satisfied grin. Despite it being incredibly busy in the shop recently, on top of all the extra work at home the run-up to Christmas created, my stress levels had fallen significantly in the last few weeks, and somewhere along the line I realised my muscles and head had stopped aching and hurting as they had done. I felt bathed in peace and goodwill as I sank into the cushions beside Vicky. She had bought me a big box of chocolates, and I opened them up, took one and passed them around.

  ‘I thought you were watching your weight, Angela,’ my mother said, very annoyingly.

  ‘Mum! It’s Christmas Day!’ I said indignantly.

  She raised her eyebrows to the ceiling, and then Vicky said, ‘Life is for the living!’ as she tucked into a strawberry cream as ostentatiously as she could.

  Vicky was right. If this year had proved anything, it was that you never know what is round the corner, and you need to seize at happiness and clutch it tight whenever you get the chance.

  In the new year Jonathan and I had several appointments at the hospital, to try to discover why I had not fallen pregnant in all the time that had passed since we had stopped taking precautions. It was soon established that Jonathan’s fertility was not in question, so therefore the problem lay with me. I was prepared to take whatever news came my way and, once again, I found myself thinking back to the bereavements we’d suffered the previous year and counting my lucky stars. I was alive and I had a good life. If I couldn’t have children I would accept it was not meant to be, and I would not let it spoil all the goodness I had in my world.

  ‘You’re amazing,’ Jonathan said when I told him how I felt. ‘A lot of women would not respond like that, and you’re such a maternal person too.’

  ‘I know, but maybe that’s a blessing. Maybe that’s why we’re fostering. Perhaps that was meant to be, because someone up there knew before I did that I couldn’t have kids and set me on
this path.’

  Jonathan shrugged. We are not churchgoers and neither of us are sure if there’s even a God, so my philosophical speculation didn’t spark much of a discussion.

  ‘Who knows,’ he smiled. ‘The Lord moves in mysterious ways – possibly!’

  I underwent a series of tests that ultimately revealed I had a fairly common condition affecting my ovaries, which meant they weren’t working as effectively as they should.

  ‘Does this mean I will never be able to get pregnant?’ I asked the doctor who delivered this news, fully expecting him to say yes.

  ‘No, not at all,’ he replied. ‘The tests show that your reproductive system is not as efficient as it should be, but there is no reason you can’t get pregnant. Technically, it could happen, but then again it might not, but it is entirely possible.’

  ‘Really?’ I said. ‘Well that’s wonderful. Thank you, doctor. And is there anything at all I can do to improve my chances of conceiving?’

  ‘No, Mrs Hart. Just keep trying. And the very best of luck!’

  It seems so old-fashioned now, but in those days it simply wasn’t the norm to interfere with what Mother Nature intended, and I wasn’t offered any kind of treatment to help increase my odds of falling pregnant.

  ‘Tell me honesty, Angela, how do you feel?’ Jonathan asked afterwards.

  ‘Fine,’ I said. ‘Honestly, I feel exactly the same as I have done all along. If it happens it happens, and I won’t be devastated if it doesn’t. What about you?’

  ‘Relieved,’ he said. ‘I thought the news could have been much worse, and I think that would have been tough. I’d love us to have kids of our own, and I really hope we do. It’s great news.’

  When we got home that afternoon we were both in a really good mood. We’d asked Vicky and my mum to look after the shop for a couple of hours while we were at the hospital, and by the time we got back they’d closed up and were preparing the evening meal together, using one of Vicky’s new recipe books.