My mum held her hand to her mouth. ‘Just like us,’ she whispered.
‘Your grandfather, Eric, worked on the railways as a driver and often worked long shifts. He would take night work to help with the financial responsibilities at home and therefore Margaret was Amanda's main caregiver. They had a tight bond, but when Amanda was fourteen years old, her mother became very ill. At first, the test results were inconclusive, but after several more rounds of medical examinations and various specialist opinions, she was found to have a tumour and was diagnosed with cervical cancer. Unfortunately, Margaret lost her fight with the illness and died in 1988 when Amanda was sixteen, three years before you were born.' Abi stopped reading and watched me cautiously. ‘How are you doing, gorgeous?'
‘I'm fine,' I smiled. ‘It's just heartbreaking to think she lost her mum at sixteen. Such a hard time in her life anyway,' I replied, genuinely upset to think of how difficult that time must have been for her.
I continued to read.
Eric found the transition from secondary caregiver to primary caregiver a very difficult one, and the relationship between Eric and his daughter became tumultuous, often leading to intense arguments and periods where Amanda would leave home for days at a time. Eric was struggling with his grief and, at times, admitted he felt resentment towards Amanda that she would be causing him more anxiety and stress at an already difficult time for him through her behaviour and general attitude. He felt that she did not care about her mother's death when, in reality, she was also struggling to accept that her mother would no longer be a physical part of her life.
‘Due to the difficulties the family were experiencing, social care became involved and Amanda was assigned a social worker,' Abi said.
Amanda was desperately hurting and her grief overwhelmed her at times. In records dated December 1988, she described her dread of Christmas because she knew her mother carried on family traditions and ensured the day was a happy, loving time. She didn't believe her father had the energy or the inclination to recreate that, therefore she went missing for three days. After her father had reported her as missing, the police found Amanda in a local park with some other teenagers. She returned home, where life continued along a pattern of Amanda leaving home after arguments and disagreements with her father.
‘That’s so sad. She really struggled, didn’t she?’ I said.
‘I think she was vulnerable after the death of her mother and meeting your birth father came at a time when she needed to feel loved. Maybe we should move on to him. It might help you to see how your story fits together,' Abi replied before continuing to read. ‘Your birth father, Darren Mitchell, was well known to social care and had been in and out of children's homes from the age of thirteen. His mother, Helen, and his father, Jason, were married and lived together with Darren's younger sister, Lou, and his older brother, Toby.'
‘Sounds like he had a tough start,’ Elle said.
‘I have an aunt and uncle,' I said quietly. Both of my adoptive parents were only children, so the idea of having an extended family was strange.
‘Do you know more about them?’ my mum asked.
‘At this stage, I can only give information that's contained within Kate's file.' Abi turned to me. ‘If you decide you want to trace, I can go ahead and access other information.'
The word trace brought me back to the enormity of the decisions that I would have to face after this meeting. Abi must have seen me trying to process it all and came to kneel beside me. ‘We're not going there yet. This is just about giving you more information so that when you have to make decisions, you can be more informed. Don't freak out.'
I sighed, unsure of what to say.
‘Come here.’ Elle wrapped me in a hug; Gem followed. Abi was still on the floor beside me.
‘Do you want me to read through the next paragraph?’ Gem asked as she sat beside me. She smiled as I nodded my head. ‘Darren was described as being a very attractive young man with distinctive brown eyes. Like you,' she said. ‘He usually wore his hair shaved. In his records, it states that he returned to his children's home at the age of fifteen with a tattoo of a phoenix on his arm.' I laughed because I knew what was coming next. ‘He'll get on well with Danny,' Gem smiled.
‘Let me carry on,’ Elle flashed a quick frown at Gem and started reading aloud. ‘Darren was described by his parents as a difficult child. They shared that, at times, he would become aggressive towards his siblings and was very hard to control. There had been numerous reports of incidents with the police, particularly when Darren was a teenager. He was arrested for joyriding and cautioned for possessing cannabis.’
‘How do you know all of this?’ I asked.
‘Both sets of grandparents were assessed briefly to see if they would be suitable carers for you. The notes from those sessions were on your file. It was agreed by Eric and the local authority that, because of his age and the impact of the loss of his wife on his mental health, he wouldn’t have been the right person to care for you. Just as it is now, the local authority would look at family members first before any adoption plan would be discussed,’ Abi replied. ‘Obviously, your paternal grandparents were also found to be unsuitable; for many reasons.’
‘Darren was offered support when he was sixteen from the local Child and Adolescent Mental Health Service. Records indicate that he initially used the support well, attending appointments and establishing a good relationship with his worker. Unfortunately, when Darren was seventeen, he stopped attending sessions and failed to return.' Elle blew out a sigh. ‘How many kids do we work with like this?'
‘He left local authority care when he was eighteen. Your paternal grandparents said they had minimal contact with him after he left the care home,' Abi said.
‘How did he meet Amanda?’ Mum asked.
Abi flipped over the report. ‘When Amanda was reported missing in August 1990, she was found with Darren Mitchell. She was described by the police as being incoherent; there was evidence that she had been drinking heavily. Darren became violent and aggressive with the police and was taken to the cells for the night. Amanda returned home to her family address.’
‘May I?’ Mum asked as she picked up her reading glasses. ‘Unfortunately, similar incidents of that nature are recorded throughout Amanda’s file with the police being called either by Amanda herself or neighbours in the adjoining flats. On one occasion, she was found with a bruised eye and a split lip. She alleged that Darren had caused this during a domestic violence incident but later retracted the statement and failed to go through with bringing any charges against him.’
‘Carry on,’ I said. I could already see that she was scanning ahead of the report.
‘In March 1991, Amanda returned to her father's home address after she had left home to live with Darren. When she knocked on the door, her father answered. He described her as clutching at her stomach in pain and was in obvious distress. He did not realise immediately that Amanda was heavily pregnant and was actually in labour with you. Amanda had chosen to keep the pregnancy a secret from her friends and family, essentially cutting herself off from everyone apart from Darren. Social care was informed and further concerns were raised when, during your birth, Amanda was found to have tracks on her arms and admitted to heroin use during the last month of her pregnancy.' Mum held back a sob as she pulled me towards her. ‘Oh, Kate.' She held my face in her hands and studied me like she was looking for any lingering sign of the effects of Amanda's heroin use. ‘How could anybody do that knowing they're carrying a child?' she sobbed.
‘We knew this, Mum. Don't get upset. It's all in the past.' It was in the past but I knew she was thinking about the future, concerned that I would want to have contact with the people that she could only see as monsters because they were the people who had hurt me.
Abi leant across the table and picked up a box of tissues before handing them to my mum. ‘It's hard when it's presented to you like this. You would have been told about Kate's background before
you met her, and although it would have been awful at the time, now she's your daughter, so it hits you again but differently,' Abi said.
‘I just worry,’ Mum whispered as I took her hand.
‘Don’t worry. Please,’ I said.
‘Because of Amanda and Darren's lifestyle, use of drugs and the concerns about their ability to care for you, social care made the decision to remove you from their care and you were placed with foster carers when you were well enough to be released from the hospital.'
‘That soon?’ I asked. ‘I hadn’t realised it was that soon.’
Abi nodded. ‘You stayed with the same foster carers, Mr and Mrs French, until your adoption.’
‘They gave you a good start,’ Mum said, wiping her eyes. ‘They were lovely people.’
‘Darren and Amanda didn’t really have any part in my life except for making me.’ I frowned as it all started to sink in. ‘Did we have any further contact?’
‘Yes. It was arranged for twice a week at a local contact centre. Darren didn’t often attend but Amanda did. The file said she was calm and gentle with you but it was obvious her drug use was growing. There was one final contact that they both attended a month before you were placed with Julie and Alan,’ Abi replied.
‘Is there any further information? Anything about what may have happened to them, or even if I have any siblings?’ I asked.
Siblings. Would I want to trace my siblings?
‘No. Once you were adopted, the file was closed.' Abi put her arm around my shoulder. ‘Take the report. Read it. Reread it. Then…read it again. Get to know every bit of it until it starts to feel like it's written about you because at the moment, this feels like it's about someone else. When it feels like you, we'll talk again.'
I wrapped my arms around her and thanked her for everything she had done. When I put my hands in my pockets, I felt the smooth surface of my phone and pulled it out to discover a text. My smile didn’t go unnoticed.
Danny: ‘How did it go, princess?’
A knock dragged my attention away. Jamie opened the door with his elbow. His eyes immediately sourced Abi. His smile, aimed only at her, could have melted ice and made the liquid bubble and boil. ‘Ladies, I have cake. Thought you might need it. It's extra chocolaty and everything.' Jamie held out a box before dragging himself away from the world of Abi and only Abi. He smiled in my direction. ‘How are you doing? Need to talk? A hug?' He looked over at Mum and held out his arms. ‘A mum hug?'
And then, when I realised how much wonderful I had in my life, Danny, the man who was finally giving me the courage to be myself, Jamie, the manager who brought cake and cuddles because he knew I would be emotionally unstable, my mum, the woman who had raised me, loved me, stood by me through this even though it must have been killing her inside, and my friends, the women who were more like sisters to me. The only family I would ever need, I finally burst into tears.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Abi: I can tell you’re having good sex just from looking at the back of his head…
Me: He’s gorgeous, isn’t he?
Abi: Total clit bait…
I'd introduced Abi to Danny when he came to walk me home from our weekly catch up at the café near work. Gem couldn't make it and Elle had already left to go and visit a possible wedding venue. Being her tactless self, Abi told me she wasn't leaving until she'd seen Danny with her own eyes. He was pleasant and polite, but I still saw the barriers he built when meeting strangers. He built them even higher when the strangers happen to be social workers. Abi took it in her stride and soon had him laughing with her filthy mouth and funny stories. When Jamie called in unexpectedly, we stayed for another round of hot chocolate and coffee. Jamie recognised Danny from the centre, so they spent some time chatting. Danny's assessment of Jamie as a sound bloke as we walked home told me there was potential for a positive friendship between them.
I was more confused than ever before. Danny continued to stay the night whenever we saw each other, but I could still see the fight in his eyes. The usual variation of pushing me away and pulling me back to him was a huge part of our relationship that I had chosen to accept. That was better than challenging him and facing the fact that at any moment, one false move could encourage the end of whatever it was we had. And because of that, my anxiety and need to please were like an anchor weighing me down.
‘You look cute when you first wake up,’ Danny said as he kissed my inner thigh and went through to the bathroom. I couldn’t hide my smile. This felt somewhat normal. Normal for us anyway. Waking up to a gorgeous man who had a hidden talent for making coffee and cooking the best scrambled eggs in the city was becoming a favourite part of my daily routine.
I pulled Danny’s T-shirt over my head and stared down at the tangled mess of bed sheets that were taunting me, telling me to straighten them and get the house perfect again. Another symptom of my it’s all going to end badly unless the things I can control are perfect anxiety. I felt his strong arms circle my waist and his warm lips kiss my shoulder. ‘Let's straighten it out. I can't rest my head until then,' I said. I could feel his shoulders bounce as he tried to hold his laughter.
‘No, princess; lie down in the middle of sexual abandon. Wrap yourself around the bumps and curves of letting yourself go.’
‘You’re cheesy, Mr Sex Instructor.’ I pushed him down on the bed. He squeezed his hands on my breasts, pushing them together and encouraging a smile of lust to form on his lips. ‘What’s the next lesson?’ I asked.
‘Oh fuck, more lessons? I’ve shown you my whole range. Not sure where I go from here,’ he laughed.
‘Really?’ I replied dramatically. ‘Maybe I’m should find a new teacher then.’
‘The fuck you will,’ he replied as he swept his tongue across my nipple.
I smiled across his torso and placed myself near his growing cock. ‘Maybe we’re at the stage where we both need to teach each other.’
‘Maybe.' His eyes were hungry, but there was something more. I could sense emotions that were new to him finally waiting to tumble out until he was able to tame them again.
‘Take me out on your bike,' I whispered into his ear. We had fallen asleep after getting lost in each other again, and now it was a bright Saturday morning. His breathing changed and I knew he was awake. He turned into me and wrapped his arm around my waist.
‘Where do you want to go?' he asked, yawning and rubbing his face.
‘I don’t know. Away. Somewhere to clear my head.’
‘What are you thinking about?’ he asked as he pulled my hair back off my face.
‘My birth parents.' He pulled me towards him so that we were facing each other, nowhere to hide. I pressed my forehead into his chest when the intensity in his eyes became too much. ‘I've read that report so many times now. It's weird because sometimes it doesn't feel like my story. It's like a letter written to someone else.'
‘You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to,’ he replied as I cocooned myself in his warmth.
‘I don't feel a connection. I don't even know if I should. Maybe I have some idealised view of what I should feel, but all I feel is sadness for them but mainly for the baby who was withdrawing in hospital without anyone there to love her.'
I felt his body tense. He took a sharp breath. ‘I'm sorry. I know what it’s like to withdraw. It's fucking agony, Kate. To think of a baby…of you…'
‘It’s OK. Come here,’ I said as I lifted his head to me. ‘I’m fine. Look at me.’ I held his face with my hands. ‘Don’t compare the two or it’ll drive you mad.’
‘You’re so fucking strong,’ he whispered.
‘I'm not strong,' I said, shaking my head. ‘I'm weak. If I were strong, I wouldn't be battling with what to do next.'
‘Don’t put other people’s feelings before your own. Don’t worry about your parents; don’t feel guilty wondering if they’ve been waiting for you to get in touch for the last twenty odd years. Do what feels right to you.’ I let h
is words settle and smiled when they made complete sense. How did he know what I was battling with? How did he always know? ‘Let’s go out and do what helps me when I need to clear my head,’ he smiled.
‘What’s that?’
‘Paint.’
After showering and getting dressed, I found Danny in the kitchen, bread in one hand and a knife in the other. He wasn't a tidy chef. Packets of crisps, fruit, and opened jars were littered on the counter. I watched in amusement as he put together sandwiches with various fillings and stuffed snacks and bottled drinks into his backpack.
We rode in the sun for what seemed like a good couple of hours. Eventually, he pulled over into a small layby. It was part of an old stone bridge surrounded by a stream of crystal clear water and fields as far as the eye could see. He helped me off the bike and laughed when as I tried to smooth down my hair after removing the helmet. He always did that.
‘I should have warned you to wear flats,’ he said, pointing to my heeled sandals. ‘The Peak District is a bit unforgiving,’ he smirked. ‘Hilly…’
‘I didn’t take you for a Saturday afternoon hiker,’ I smiled.
‘I’m a Saturday afternoon painter,’ he said, holding out his hand. ‘Big difference; painters are way sexier.’ As the sun caught his dark hair and his brown eyes burned into me, I couldn’t deny that he was right.
We strolled hand in hand, and every now and then, he threw me over his shoulder, holding me firmly in place by a hand to my arse as I giggled. He talked about the freedom his bike gave him and how as soon as he’d started working for the courier company and was provided with a motorcycle, it opened up the opportunity for escapism. I thought of some of his paintings in the art room. Many were of animals, many of which I could see grazing lazily in the fields I could see around us. Although he didn't paint traditional scenery, he often painted things that he would have seen on his journeys. The shades of orange and red on the imposing tree were inspired by a photo he had taken on his phone of the Derbyshire peaks slipping into autumn. Another painting depicted the rolling tide of a beach on the windy Lincolnshire coast.
Let Me Be Your Truth Page 17
