‘I’ve always loved you,’ Anna says. ‘I’ve always thought of you, and I’ve always loved you.’
‘Well then I’m extra lucky,’ I say, ‘because I’ve had two mothers loving me.’
SEPTEMBER 1976 Lausanne, Switzerland
SYLVIA
‘Anna?’
She and Jim were about to go home. After five days in hospital, Jessica had been given the all clear, so later that day they would start the long journey back to London by train and ferry, given Sylvia couldn’t fly so soon after the C-section. Her bags were packed, she’d said goodbye to Evelyne, thanked the nurses. But now here was Anna, crying on her own in front of the mirror in the ladies’ room – not the animal cry of a few days ago, but a desperately sad, resigned weeping that tore Sylvia’s heart out. She’d thought Anna would be feeling happier now since her baby was due to come out of intensive care later that day. Evelyne had told her she’d be able to go home soon too.
Sylvia walked up to Anna and pulled her into a hug, absorbing the girl’s sobs into her dress, feeling her body shudder. They stood like that for several minutes, Anna’s face buried in Sylvia’s shoulder, Sylvia regarding them both in the mirror, wondering how someone so clueless as she about motherhood could bring any comfort to someone else.
Gradually, Anna’s sobs became less frequent, her shudders eased. She stepped back, and Sylvia wiped the remaining tears from her face. ‘It’s going to be all right,’ she said. ‘Daniel and Evelyne will help you. And I know you can do this. You’ve coped with so much already; you can cope with this too.’
She didn’t know if that was true, and she knew Anna hadn’t understood a word she was saying, but she hoped something came across in her tone of voice, something that would help her feel brave enough to tackle the road ahead.
‘Hedi,’ Anna said suddenly, pulling out of Sylvia’s arms.
Sylvia cocked her head. ‘Your baby?’ She made a rocking motion with her arms.
‘Ja. Hedi. Meine Tochter.’ My daughter.
They left later that day, Jessica in a painfully expensive new baby carrier Jim had picked up in a Lausanne department store. Sylvia went over to Anna and kissed her goodbye, leaving her with a carrier bag filled with muslin cloths and bottles and nappies.
‘Some things I can’t carry on the train,’ she said. ‘Für dich.’
They walked towards the door, Jim carrying their daughter in a basket. Sylvia turned back and waved, her heart aching to see tears once again streaming down the girl’s face. And just like that, they were gone.
AUGUST 2016 Lutry, Switzerland
JESS
We walk in silence towards the other end of the promenade. From time to time Anna glances at me, a tentative smile on her face. Part of me wants to smile back, to pull her into a hug and tell her it’s okay, I understand. But the other part of me isn’t sure I can, just yet. It’s all too much to take in. I’m still trying to process the fact that this is my birth mother, in the flesh, walking beside me. I try to imagine her back then, so young, so scared, so neglected by those who should have cared.
We pass the ice-cream stall at the end of the promenade and walk on past the sailboats in the harbour to the children’s playground, where two toddlers are fighting over a swing. I could have played here, with her. She could have pushed me on that swing, while Mum and Dad pushed another little girl in another life that I had instead of her.
‘Who is she?’ I ask, surprised I haven’t already. But then again, there are so many things I need to ask I think it’s going to take a lifetime. ‘My parents’ biological daughter, the baby you brought up?’
Anna pauses, looks at me. ‘Hedi,’ she says.
Hedi. I swill the name around in my mouth. The name that should have been mine. It’s alien to me. I’m not a Hedi.
‘She doesn’t know,’ she says.
I stop on the path.
‘We never told her. We decided it was for the best. We didn’t want to disrupt her life, didn’t want to cause her pain.’
My head spins. ‘We?’ I say. ‘You mean Daniel knew all along, too?’
‘He’s known for a long time, but not at first.’ She gestures to a bench and we sit down next to each other, looking, I imagine, like any other mother and daughter out for a walk on a sunny late summer afternoon. But I’m aware how young she is to have a thirty-nine-year-old daughter. Her face is plump, with only a few lines around her eyes; her hair is still thick. Sixteen, she was. And here I am pushing forty, having not yet managed to have children. How different our lives have been.
‘He didn’t know until Hedi was – you both were – about twelve.’ She shakes her head. ‘He loved Hedi – adored her – but as she grew up, things deteriorated between us because he suspected Hedi wasn’t his.’ She pauses. A hard line has formed between her eyes. ‘She didn’t look like either of us, you see. And though he wouldn’t even have considered she wasn’t mine, he thought that I… He thought I’d been with another man, perhaps with a seasonal worker at the farm. He even asked if someone had forced himself on me. I wondered if he thought…’
‘What?’
‘It doesn’t matter.’ She waves her hand briefly, as if brushing away a bad memory. ‘You know, it wasn’t easy, our life together, back then. We had so much to deal with. For the first few years I was constantly scared the authorities would catch up with me, especially after those unpaid hospital bills, and I was very… upset about everything. Now they’d probably give it a name.’
‘Depression?’
She nods. ‘I think the only thing that got me through that was Hedi, my darling girl. I had to be okay for her.’ She looks at me. ‘I know what I said, that I thought it wouldn’t hurt as much if they took her from me – but I soon realised that wasn’t true. I’ve always loved her as my own and tried to do the very best for her.’
I meet her eyes and see that’s true.
‘But we did make progress,’ she continues. ‘Evelyne did what she could to help us financially, and Marta, the widow next door who became my friend, helped us fend off questions from other neighbours. When I was old enough, we got married, and I became a nanny, looking after another woman’s child as well as Hedi. Daniel was able to give up the bakery and start veterinary studies at night school. I finally went back to visit the village I grew up in and an old family friend helped me find my sister, Cornelia, who’d returned there after she got out of the terrible detention centre they’d put her in because she’d refused to obey her foster parents. Seeing her again was so wonderful, so healing, even though I never got the chance to see our mother again. She’d died, you see, several years previously.’
She pauses, looks down at the path, and I wait for her to go on.
‘But things were okay, I felt I’d got my life on a good path, and I had some hope for the future. Maybe we would have made it through the hard years, Daniel and I, but he kept pressuring me about Hedi, kept pushing and pushing. I always wondered if it was because he regretted it all, regretted breaking contact with his parents and taking on a pregnant girlfriend at such a young age. I don’t know,’ she sighs. ‘But the secret weighed so heavily on me all that time, that in the end I gave in and told him what I did. And then he left.’
I see the tears rolling down her face but I don’t go to comfort her. I can’t tell her it’s all okay, because it isn’t, and now I know things haven’t been all right for her for a very long time. She’s paid for that crazy decision in the hospital.
‘But you didn’t tell Hedi?’
She shakes her head. ‘We agreed it would be best not to – for her, and for us. I was scared of messing up her life – I’d done that once already; I didn’t want to do it again. And we were both frightened that if she wanted to find Sylvia, we’d lose her. So we told her we were splitting up because we didn’t love each other anymore. Hedi stayed with me, but she’s always had a good relationship with her father. He never loved her any less for knowing.’
I remember Daniel’s long radio sil
ence, and my intuition that he knew more than he was saying. ‘When I contacted him initially, he didn’t admit he even knew you. He didn’t tell me he knew what I was talking about, even though he must have guessed who I was.’
‘He called me,’ she said. ‘After you emailed him the first time. He called me and said he thought it was you, even though we didn’t recognise your surname. Faul-ken-er, is that right?’ She stumbles over my surname – Patrick’s surname – and I suddenly think how much I now want to change it back, to be Tallis-Millson again, the name my parents gave me.
‘My married name,’ I say, and she nods.
‘But because you asked for Brigitte Mela, we knew it must be you because that’s the name I gave to the hospital back then, when I was petrified of bills and social services and the government.’ She shakes her head, breathes out a long breath. ‘It was the first time we’d spoken about what happened in more than twenty-five years, since we divorced. You can’t imagine how it felt to know you were looking for me. I couldn’t believe it. But Daniel was scared of opening up all that history, of what it would mean for Hedi.’
‘So you won’t tell her now? Now I’ve found you?’
‘I don’t know. Should we?’
She looks at me as though I can solve her dilemma, but I know I can’t. I think of the heartbreak of receiving the DNA test results. The devastation it has wreaked on my life since. It sends shivers through me to think that Hedi still doesn’t know. She’s the other daughter – and right now she’s like me before this all happened. She likely has a boss, possibly a lover, probably friends and colleagues and gym buddies, all of whom help create her sense of self. And there is no reason for her to doubt that self. There’s no reason for her to think that everything she has known is not how it was meant to be.
‘I can’t decide for you,’ I say. ‘But I won’t track her down and tell her, you don’t have to worry about that. I won’t be the one to inflict that pain on her. That’s for you to do, if anyone.’
She nods, takes my hand and smiles though the tears are streaming down her face. ‘Merci,’ she says. ‘Thank you.’
‘Where is she?’ I ask suddenly. ‘Is she here in Switzerland? Or in Germany?’
Anna shakes her head. ‘No,’ she says quietly, anxiety in her expression. ‘She lives in London.’
My stomach leaps. ‘How long?’
‘Five years now. She married an Englishman she met at work in Zurich.’
I let out a long breath and look out across the lake towards the mountains sketched lightly against the late summer sky. To think she’s been there, all that time. She was breathing the same London air as me when I found out Mum had died, when I went to give blood with Dad eighteen months later, and when I got the DNA results. She was there, shopping on Oxford Street, seeing a show in the West End, commuting to work on the tube. Have I stood next to her? Have I seen her face and not known her?
‘She’s happy?’
‘Yes. She’s done well. She has a good job, a nice husband. Their son is three years old now.’
I watch her face as she says it and see she’s proud, and a gentle swell of jealousy rolls over me like the wake from a paddle steamer on the lake. But it’s not because of the perfect picture of her life that I’ve just built in my head. It’s because Hedi still has her mother here to be proud of her. A mother who clearly loves her so much, even though she’s not her biological daughter.
‘I’m glad,’ I say, and I realise I mean it. I’m glad Hedi has a happy life, that she has parents who love her, just as I’ve had. I think of Dad, at home, not knowing I’m doing this today. Did he ever suspect, just as Daniel did?
‘You said Daniel didn’t love Hedi any less when he found out,’ I start. I’m scared of what I’m asking.
Anna shakes her head, wipes her eyes.
‘Are you sure?’ I turn to look at her as tears burn at the back of my skull. ‘Because I’ve been so worried, since I found out, that maybe Dad would… love me less now. That maybe Mum wouldn’t have… if she’d known.’ My voice breaks.
Anna squeezes my hand tight and stares at the ground below the bench. I suddenly realise she hasn’t told me everything yet, that’s there’s more to know. ‘What?’ I say. ‘What is it?’
She looks up at me. ‘She did,’ she says, and my stomach plunges. ‘She still loved you just as much, and so I know your father will too.’
‘How do you know?’ I whisper.
‘Because she knew. I told Sylvia twenty years ago.’
OCTOBER 1976 London, UK
SYLVIA
Sylvia leapt at the sound of the doorbell and then cast a glance at the Moses basket where her daughter lay sleeping – finally, finally. But Jessica hadn’t woken. She lay still, her hands flung above her head, her face turned slightly to one side, her breath coming in whispered snores. Sylvia let out a long breath and tiptoed to the doorway, stepping over a play mat, a stack of nappies and a pile of unopened cards and presents. She must open them and reply. And she must clear up. Must do the washing. But most of all she must sleep. Yes, she must sleep.
‘How’s the little angel?’ Maggie whispered when she opened the door.
‘Sleeping like a log – for now.’
Maggie followed Sylvia into the front room. ‘Oh my goodness, I love her more each time I see her. Look at those teeny fingernails!’
‘She’s less angelic at three in the morning.’
Maggie laughed. ‘I bet. But still, just look at her!’
Sylvia did, and smiled. The first few weeks had been hard – and they still were, despite the fact she had Jessica in some semblance of a routine now. Her daughter was occupying practically every minute of her day, what with feeding her constantly and changing nappies and attempting to keep up with the pile of dirty washing that grew at an alarming rate, so she at least had something clean to put her in each day. Frankly, she felt being a mother was in some ways as horrific as she had feared. When she did have a moment to herself, all she wanted to do was crawl into bed. The skin under her eyes had turned a surprising shade of purple, her hair was usually unwashed and most of her wardrobe seemed to be stained with baby sick. It was fair to say she wasn’t dealing with motherhood like those well-turned-out mothers she used to see strolling round Hyde Park with state-of-the-art prams. But that didn’t surprise her. None of the practicalities surprised her either – apart from the fact they were possibly even more time-consuming and cumbersome than she had feared. But what did surprise her was how little all of that mattered to her when she looked at Jessica. Perhaps, she considered, she’d focused so much on her fears that she’d never thought about the good things a baby could bring. The joy of her first smiles – ‘Just wind,’ Pamela said, the first time she visited – the shrieks and gurgles that Sylvia found surprisingly delightful, that tiny fist tight around her finger.
‘I’m so sorry I missed the opening,’ Sylvia said.
Maggie followed her into the kitchen. Her hands were covered in dried paint spots, as per usual. She dismissed Sylvia’s apology with a wave. ‘Don’t be silly. You could hardly help it! But you must come and see it when you’re able. The new theatre is amazing, you’d love it. Just tell me when and I’ll babysit.’
‘I’d love that,’ Sylvia said. ‘I need to see your sets – I bet they’re fantastic.’
‘The Guardian actually mentioned them in their review!’ Maggie beamed. ‘I mean, not me personally of course, I’m only an assistant, but I was excited anyway.’
‘Oh Maggie, that’s brilliant. And one day they will mention your name, I know it. You are going places.’
She shrugged. ‘Maybe. Anyway, it’s a good start. And now the show’s opened I have more time on my hands – until we gear up for the next one. So I thought I’d take the opportunity to nip out and visit my favourite new mum and her beautiful bub.’
Sylvia smiled as she poured water into a teapot. ‘We want to ask you something, Jim and I.’ She carried the tea into the sitting room and they
sat down on the sofa, the baby’s Moses basket at their feet. ‘Will you be Jessica’s godmother?’
Maggie put her hands to her mouth. ‘Oh Sylvia, I would love to be! I would be utterly honoured.’ She drew back, and Sylvia saw her eyes were shining. ‘Really, I’m touched. Gosh, me, a godmother. It’s the most important job I’ve ever had, Syl.’
‘You’ll be great at it. Everyone needs a fun godmother to lead them astray when they decide they hate their parents.’
Maggie laughed. ‘And that’s me? The eccentric faux aunty?’ She nodded, resolved. ‘I think I can live up to that stereotype. All I need to do is introduce a teenage Jessica to some of the people at the theatre and I’ll obtain instant legendary status.’
‘You’ll have to stay there a while then.’
She shrugged. ‘It’s the National Theatre, darling! I’ve got the job I always wanted. I’m not going anywhere for a long while, I can tell you that. They’ll probably have to throw me out when I’m so ancient I can’t paint straight anymore.’
Jessica gave a little gurgle in her sleep and Maggie gasped, putting her hands to her mouth. ‘Oh just look at her, she’s so delicious I could eat her up! How have you and Jim produced such an amazingly beautiful baby?’
‘Oh, thanks very much!’ Sylvia said, a mock hurt expression on her face.
‘You know I don’t mean it like that. I just can’t fathom how anyone can create such a perfect thing!’
Neither could Sylvia. She still had trouble comprehending this baby was hers. Something that ate and slept and peed and cried. A tiny little human, made from hers and Jim’s genes. She and Maggie watched as Jessica stirred in her sleep, flinging her tiny arm sideways to rest against a soft toy Sylvia had bought her on their first tentative trip outside the flat: a brown donkey with a red ribbon and a jaunty look in his marble eyes. Spontaneously, she’d bought the same for Anna’s baby, Hedi, and had posted it to Evelyne’s flat for her to pass on. She’d had the impression Anna wouldn’t be able to give very many toys to Hedi. Plus, she liked the idea that the two of them, born on the same day in the same hospital, would have the same furry body to cuddle in their beds as they grew up. Something to link them to their common beginnings, whatever happened in their futures.
The Other Daughter Page 27
