The Secret Mother

by Victoria Delderfield

  “With my life.”

  Manager He breathed a visible sigh of relief. I thought he was going to wrap his arms around me and hug me tenderly, like a lover should. Instead, he reached over and pushed his desk drawer shut.

  I reached for him. “Hold me, I’ve missed you.”

  He held me so tight, I could barely move. If I hadn’t loved him I would have found it unbearable, I would have wanted to push him away and run. But I did love him and so I stayed there until he let go and when he did, when his arms dropped to his side, I felt weightless, like a kite caught in a pocket of air. I remembered Ren, so high above the world and free, riding on that ferris wheel, the way I would always remember her.

  Nancy expected to see a yellow haze of pollution as the plane nudged its way through the cumulus. But that had been sixteen years ago. The Beijing air now was crystalline, and the tops of buildings sparkled against a stratospheric-blue dawn.

  They took a high-speed train from the airport into the city. Iain and Ricki were in their own world, taking pictures. Jen was quiet. Already her daughters looked more at home in China than they did in white, suburban Altrincham. Nancy worried that a stranger would not guess they belonged to her. That old familiar dread of losing them clutched at her stomach. She fanned herself with a copy of The Times.

  She’d read about China’s olympian attempts to clean up the air: banning half of the city’s three million cars from the roads on any given day, closing down factories, relocating entire industries. There were to be 50,000 bikes available to rent. Their efforts had not been in vain, thought Nancy, as she breathed in humid, unpolluted air.

  Their room was on the twenty-first floor; worth every penny of the measly pay-off money Nancy had been given for her redundancy. They took a stroll before dark. Billboards were awash with the Olympic slogan; One world, one dream, translated into English, French, Spanish and even Greek. Chinese flags hung proudly from almost every store on the torch relay-route. A small sign of the unrest over Tibet were a few students wearing Anti-Riot & Explore the Truth T-shirts. Otherwise, the atmosphere was one of exuberant, well-controlled patriotism. Still, Nancy held tightly to her handbag which contained almost £500 contingency funds in RMB.

  They bought burgers from McDonald’s and ate in a square near the Olympic Village. Barely a minute had passed, when a volunteer asked if Iain needed assistance. Her English was so slick it verged on robotic.

  “No thank you, we’ve just stopped for a bite to eat.”

  She pointed to an undefined distance. “A bite to eat, very well, sir, enjoy your meal over there, please.”

  It wasn’t worth arguing the case for liberty. “Come on girls, let’s find somewhere else,” Nancy said.

  They joined the crowds taking photos around the perimeter of the Bird’s Nest. The stadium was a jaw-dropping feat of engineering, an iconic building, created with the same indomitable optimism as those who built The Great Wall. Nancy imagined the thousands of construction workers who’d toiled for five years to assemble its vast steel structure. Imagined, too, the local women, older than her, made homeless in order that China might appear ready to welcome the world.

  Nancy scanned the passing faces. May was the street vendor selling Olympic headbands, the young Chinese woman pushing a stroller, the suited woman rushing home as she talked business on her mobile phone. There was no turning back from her country, her street, her sky, her face. They had come to find out about May and she was everywhere. But had May ever been to Beijing? Or walked its streets? What did she know of China’s Olympic fervour, their campaign to win the most gold medals and the single-minded way they went about bringing honour to their nation? May said she was part of a new generation of Chinese that could afford foreign travel and wanted to see beyond her national borders. That’s what brought her to England. She also said she was from a small village in Hunan and had won a scholarship to study engineering in Nanchang – truth or lie? Maybe Beijing was her birthplace? Maybe her family had lived in this very district before it was bulldozed to make way for the 10 million tourists and athletes and global media?

  There was only one person who would know. She smoothed the piece of paper on which she’d written the name of his hospital.

  The next day, Nancy scrutinised her daughters for signs of ‘emotional trauma’, as the social worker called it. She guessed Ricki might retreat into herself or wander off alone, but in fact her daughter appeared relaxed, happy even, to be away from Manchester.

  At Tiananmen Square, Jen and Iain went to buy a souvenir and some postcards, leaving Nancy and Ricki alone to share a pot of green tea.

  Ricki stared into the distance, where Mao’s portrait hung above the gate.

  “How did he get to be so powerful?” she asked. “I mean why do people still come here and take photographs?”

  Nancy didn’t have an answer.

  “Well, I’m not going to take any.”

  This part of her daughter’s history was unreachable, unfathomable, even after Nancy read a stack of books on Chinese culture and history.

  “Are you pleased we came?” asked Nancy.

  Ricki shrugged. “The people are okay. I dunno … I guess I expected to feel more of a connection, a shock or something.”

  “Perhaps when we get to Nanchang you’ll feel differently?”

  “Perhaps. What about you?”

  “I was so excited about meeting you for the first time I didn’t sleep for three nights. I was supercharged.”

  “No, I meant in England. How did you feel being a foreigner there?” said Ricki.

  “Oh, now you’re really making me feel old!”

  “Seriously, did it take long to feel at home in a different country?”

  “I suppose, darling, I was pleased to leave and so I embraced my new life with your dad.”

  “Didn’t you miss America?”

  “I was born there – it’s where I have all my childhood memories. There are certain people I miss.”

  She didn’t want to burden her daughter with talk of her past.

  “Did you leave America because of what happened to Grandma?”

  Nancy fussed with the corner of the tablecloth.

  “Sorry to bring it up. You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”

  Nancy gazed across the square. “It wasn’t only Grandma’s death that made it hard for me to stay in America … There was a boy, Peter.” Nancy set down her cup. “I’ve never talked about him to anyone.”

  “Was he your boyfriend?”

  “When I was fourteen, we took a school trip to Syosset, a camping trip. Your Aunty Lizzie had a nasty virus and stayed at home. Peter was a young man who I met while we were away. He was helping his father in the fields over summer … He was the first person I thought I loved, which you’ll probably laugh at. But the heart can persuade you of anything, I suppose. It’s not always about age, is it darling?”

  “What happened? Did you see him again?”

  “He did come and visit me after the camping trip was over. We hung out on the beach, he met my friends. You can imagine how, in the fifties, sex wasn’t something I felt able to talk to Grandpa about and well … Grandma wasn’t there.”

  “Was he cute?”

  “I thought so. I kept a few photographs of him, right up until the time I met your dad.”

  She paused, remembering the picture of Peter in his Speedos. Nancy had kissed his photo every night. All that was a lifetime away and yet talking to Ricki its rawness made her smart.

  “So what happened to him?”

  Nancy’s eyes flitted back and forth across Tiananmen Square, expecting Iain to arrive back at any minute.

  “Peter and I took things a little too far.”

  “You slept together?”

  “Please, don’t think badly of me. Everything was different back then, I didn’t know anything about contraception. I only wish things had been explained more clearly, but your Grandpa never told me a thing and the rest was just school girl g
ossip.”

  “What are you saying, Mum? That I have an older brother or sister out there somewhere?”

  “No, there was no baby – we decided it was for the best,” said Nancy. “Although sometimes I wish …”

  “What is it, Mum?”

  Nancy blinked back the tears.

  “After we decided to terminate – well, that was the end of everything. I needed to get away. Too many ghosts, Ricki. I needed a fresh start and a few years later my chance came along when I met your dad in New York. I don’t mean to upset you by telling you all this, I don’t even know where it came from …”

  Nancy shifted in her seat and smoothed the tablecloth as she saw Iain and Jen approach.

  Iain shrugged. “We decided not to bother.”

  “It didn’t feel right, buying a postcard of this place. It gives me the creeps,” Jen added. “What have you two been talking about?”

  “Just some history,” Ricki said. “That’s right, isn’t it Mum?”

  “Yes, sweetheart. It really isn’t important anymore.”

  Iain skimmed through the guide book, reading out Fodor’s top ten sights. “How about we go to the markets after tea, Rick? Take a few night shots for Apocalypto.”

  “Oh, that,” she said, “I’ve scrapped it.”

  “Don’t Afflecks have a unit coming up? I thought that was your theme?”

  “Yeah well, I’m not sure I want to work there. Maybe it’s history, like a lot of stuff.” Ricki scraped back her chair. “Are we going now or what? I’m sick of staring at Mao’s porkie-pie face.”

  “I see what you mean; he does look kind of like the pig on our Chinese calendar,” said Jen.

  “The one you trashed,” Ricki smiled.

  Was Nancy imagining it or was there warmth in her daughter’s smile? Had her confession broken some invisible barrier?

  “Do you need to go back to the hotel for a rest?” Iain asked.

  Nancy counted silently to five; truly she loved him, if only he could be more as he was when they first met.

  “No,” said Nancy, “I want to do whatever you’re all doing. It’s not as though I’m decrepit.”

  “Sorry, I never meant …”

  “Those boutiques you were telling me about, Jen, are they far from here?”

  As soon as they were distracted, Nancy would slip away, buy a phone card and make a call to Yifan.

  The telephone kiosks in the Bird’s Nest were located in the foyers. The phone accepted her card, and she held her breath as she dialled. She had rehearsed this so many times, but when his voice came on the line, she momentarily forgot what to say.

  “Wănshànghăo,” said Yifan.

  She took a deep breath and asked if he could speak English. “My name is Nancy Milne, I am from England. I have something important to talk to you about. Please, don’t hang up.”

  There was a silence.

  “What name?” he said. “You tell me again, more slow this time.”

  Nancy repeated her name. “Thank you, thank you for not hanging up. I’m phoning about May – I believe you knew her as Mai Ling? She perhaps mentioned my name to you before? I want to talk to you about …” She took a deep breath. “I believe you and her were together. Girlfriend and boyfriend? Her name was Mai Ling. Please, tell me if I’m wrong.”

  Was he still there?

  “Yes.”

  “Sir, can you hear me?”

  “I don’t know you.”

  “But, but this is Dr Yifan Meng at God’s Help Hospital?” She checked the address torn from her notebook.

  “My time is low. Please, I ask you not to waste it.”

  Nancy sensed him about to put the phone down. “Wait,” she said, “I have news that you need to hear, sad news. Whatever has passed between you and May, please, at least let me tell you the news. She talked fondly of you.”

  She heard a door click on the other end of the line. “What is this? Why are you calling me? It’s been years …”

  The time had come to tell him his fiancee hung by a thread, if indeed they were engaged.

  “I have been to sit with her every day at the hospital, Dr Meng,” said Nancy. “Before she slipped into her coma, she asked me to tell you…to tell you that she loved you and wanted me to meet you.” Her lie hung in the silence that followed.

  Two days later, Nancy was on the phone to Yifan again.

  “I must apologise,” he said, “Your phone call took me by surprise. I hope you can forgive my rudeness. You must understand, it came as a bad dream.”

  Nancy was alone in the hotel bedroom; Iain believed she was taking a nap on account of her migraine.

  “I understand this must be difficult,” she said.

  “It is not a straightforward situation I find myself in, Mrs Milne.”

  “Pardon?”

  “I cannot say, but since Mai Ling’s departure, my life has taken a different path to the one I once hoped.”

  “Dr Meng, excuse my bluntness, but am I right in thinking you are engaged to be married to May?”

  Yifan cleared his throat. “Your assumption is correct, but only in my heart, a long time ago. The current reality is somewhat different.”

  “But the way she talked about you …”

  “Mai Ling said many things that were not true.”

  “But …”

  “Mrs Milne, it is now time for you to answer some of my questions. I want to know more about you and how you come to know Mai Ling?”

  Nancy propped herself up on the bed. The AC unit whirred noisily above the bedroom door. “I’m sorry,” she said, “this is very confusing for me too. I know May because …”

  He waited.

  “May is the mother of my children. I adopted her girls from China sixteen years ago. We are here now, in Beijing, we’ve come to try and find out more. Since she fell into a coma so suddenly it has left us with many questions – you understand? The twins want to find out …”

  “You’re telling me she came to England?”

  “Yes. Six years ago.”

  “Six years.”

  “Dr Meng we are flying to Nanchang soon. I want my girls to meet you and know where they come from. You’re the only one who can help us. Please, if you have any affection left for May in your heart then say you’ll meet with us.”

  “It’s not possible.”

  “But she loved you and the twins.”

  “You don’t know how hard it would be for me. What a compromising position you would be putting me in.”

  “An hour of your time, that’s all I ask.”

  “It is impossible. I can’t.”

  She sensed he wanted to meet the girls; that he wouldn’t deny her.

  “Very well, Mrs Milne,” he said, suddenly decisive. “Meet me at the university; have you got a pen? It’s the Mo Building on University Way. I have only one hour to give you and your family.”

  “Xièxiè, thank you so much.”

  “I wait at the university on Friday at three o’ clock in the afternoon. If it rains I am in the foyer.”

  Yifan put the phone down before she had chance to thank him again. She’d done it. Her detective work had paid off. Nancy glanced again at the name of the building where Yifan said to meet.

  What would he look like? Would the twins have his eyes, his nose, perhaps even some of his gestures – they say that’s possible, don’t they? Didn’t her own sister, Lizzie, have that funny way of crossing and uncrossing her legs that she’d inherited from Aunt Valerie in Montreal who they saw maybe twice the whole time they were growing up?

  Then it hit her, hard.

  If Yifan was not her fiancé, as May claimed, there was a distinct possibility he might not be the twins’ biological father. In trying to uncover the stones of the past, had she only succeeded in finding another lurking worm?

  So she’d lived too. Ricki never saw that one coming. You never think your mum, especially a mumsy devoted mum like hers, would have an abortion. Maybe she thought she deserved
not to have kids after getting rid of that baby? But finding out about Peter wasn’t even in the same ball park as discovering May was her birth mother. That lie had cut right into the squidgy tissue of her heart.

  Ricki propped her laptop up against her knees in bed. It was late, but she couldn’t sleep and watched YouTube. She hit play for the third time; Liu Xiang limped hopelessly away from the track – he had been China’s gold favourite. Ricki felt cold – this wasn’t her country, her hero, her disappointment. She couldn’t connect ‘China’ with ‘home’ or ‘May’ with ‘mother’. Her imperfect mum, she realised, was the one she loved.

  It was dusk when they arrived in Nanchang. The sky trembled in the still-strong heat of the day. They took a taxi from the airport, and the Bluewater Hotel was as her mum had described it – down to the plastic palm trees around the lobby. Ricki realised she was stepping into the story of her life: this, the hotel where the welfare institute staff had delivered her and Jen, these the rotating doors, the actual ones she’d passed through into her new life.

  As a kid, Jen had asked the questions Ricki found impossible to ask: “Where did you find us, Mummy? What were we wearing? Did I have a teddy bear with me? Did Ricki have one too?” It was as though Ricki had a snowball in her throat that wouldn’t melt, the ball only got harder and eventually she swallowed it – along with the pain of knowing she’d been abandoned.

  Her mum’s story: “You were sleeping in the fresh air, peacefully, in a very safe place and a kind lady picked you up and cuddled you and offered you some milk to make you grow strong. She found you a new mummy and daddy who would be able to cuddle you and look after you. The lady chose us very carefully because you were such special, important girls.”

  “And when you came for us,” Jen would say, “what happened next?”

  “We held you and you smiled and all the people in Nanchang said what beautiful girls you were; wherever we went people admired you. Then, after a few days, we flew high up into the clouds in a big aeroplane and when we came down you were in England which was your new home. Mummy had painted you a new bedroom and Daddy filled it with teddy bears.”

  Ricki wanted to ask why ‘Tummy Mummy’ left them if they were so special? She wanted to know why her skin didn’t match the other kids? Why couldn’t anyone tell her about the very beginning of her beginning?