“Let’s look at the map over breakfast and then take a drive.”
They decided they would take a drive round the headland to a place called Old Head and then the beach. They couldn’t go far as they needed to get to the airport. They took the road which followed the cliffs along the sea to Old Head. The scenery was dramatic on the drive there. They drove as far as they could to the peninsula, to the gateway of a golf course. They then got out of the car and walked to the cliffs’ edge.
“Be careful children, it is a very steep fall. Don’t go too close to the edge.”
The grassland gave way to an enormous steep jagged black cliff. The sea below was crashing against the rocks. It was very windy up there. It felt as if they were on the edge of the world, where land meets sea. They took some photos of the children staring out to sea.
“It is beautiful up here.” Rosie said.
They then took the car to the beach below. The tide was out so the sea was a long way from them. Her youngest began to look for shells and pebbles to take back for their bathrooms in Saint Paul. They could smell the salty sea air on their lips as the wind blew off the ocean.
“Time to go.” Rosie said.
They drove to the airport and dumped the hire car at the hire car place. As they entered the airport Orla was waiting for them at the café before departures. Rosie’s children ran up to her and gave her a big hug.
“I’ve got some little Irish mementos for you, some Irish jackets, Irish flute, an Irish doll and a Bridgid’s cross which is meant to protect your house. I didn’t know what else to get you in such a short period of time.”
“Oh Aunty Orla you needn’t have gone to all this trouble.”
“No, I wanted them to take something of Ireland with them.”
“Will you move to Spain do you think?”
“I don’t know. Donald wants to move there and it all depends on whether we sell the house. I do feel my roots are here though.”
She then asked where they had been yesterday and that day. Rosie said that they had stayed in Kinsale, the night before, at a lovely hotel on the port. They had discovered a lovely fish restaurant to have lunch at. She then explained that they had visited Old Head. She was about to ask a question when Orla said.
“Your mother’s ashes were scattered there.”
Rosie’s heart skipped a beat. No one had told her this. It was extraordinary that they had been drawn there. She’d heard of ashes being scattered in the sea in France. It seemed so fitting that she was scattered in the sea and that now she too would be able to look at the ocean and know that she was part of it wherever she might be.
Eventually they had to say their goodbyes, which was a tearful event. Rosie often saw families saying goodbye to loved ones at the airport. She had always envied them. Her adoptive mother had never waved goodbye to her at the airport. They said goodbye, but not in the emotional sense. This goodbye was so touching because they didn’t want to say goodbye. They had only just found each other.
“Stay in touch and come back soon.” She said.
As they boarded the plane Rosie noticed the name of the plane was “St Fidelma”
“It’s a funny old world.”
Many Saints had conspired to make things happen over those last few weeks. Saint Rosalie’s day in the Catholic calendar, her birthday, Saint Paul in France where they had bought their house and now Saint Fidelma, the woman who had brought them all together in the Colombe D’Or in France. If ever Rosie believed in God, she did now. Her prayers had finally been answered before her fortieth birthday. It was the best birthday present she could ever have. Her inner soul was now at peace.
EPILOGUE
THE HARDEST THING about finding her real mum was always going to be telling her adoptive mother. Since her stroke she had been struggling in her apartment in Little Venice with a carer who came in three hours a day to help her. By now she could not walk unaided without a stick or a walking frame. Her flat was on the fifth floor and the lift often broke down. With hindsight she should have bought a garden flat years before, but she had always been so stubborn. Just as she refused to come and live with them in France, so she refused to accept, the stairs and the lift were a liability to her and to others. In some ways her refusal to come to live with Rosie was a blessing as she did not think they would have been able to cope with three small children and a grandparent in tow. The amount of care she needed now was unsustainable.
To make the flat safe after her stroke they had to disconnect the cooker, as there were a number of people that complained about the smell of gas in her apartment. After a series of falls in attempting to get to the toilet a commode was installed in her bedroom. Bath rails and a special toilet seat were installed in her bathroom. An automatic dialing system was installed on the telephone as the sight having gone in one eye made it difficult for her to use. She could only eat cold foods from now on as she did not have the cooker. Her daily meals consisted of cold quiche or cheese and a series of ensure drinks to make sure she put some weight on. There were a whole series of tablets she was meant to take for her bones and constitution which she was often remiss in taking.
Day in day out she lived an existence in her apartment which could only be described as an existence. She rarely went out as it was too dangerous. They’d bought a wheelchair for her, but she refused to go out in it with the carer. Rosie could not understand why she didn’t want to go out and see the sunlight or smell the flowers. She could even have gone to the theatre or the church with a little forethought. Life was for living, not for dying even if your body had given up on you. Her carer was called Bridget and was very caring but her adoptive mother would always complain about her, not doing enough housework for her, or having the television on all the time. Because her adoptive mother was paying for her she wanted to treat her like staff. The joke was that this person was the one person who was giving her her dignity.
Rosie would try and telephone her adoptive mother from France, but it was always a disaster. She wouldn’t hold the earpiece to her ear properly or understand what she was saying. It was different when Rosie saw her. She could have quite lucid conversations with her until she got tired and had to go to sleep. Rosie always dreaded staying with her as it felt like staying in what she used to call “the Morgue”. Even before her stroke the flat had been pretty depressing. Rosie was to soon learn that her mother’s dread of food and nice things stemmed from depression.
When Rosie got home from Ireland her stomach felt sick with anxiety. She knew she had to tell her adoptive mum what happened, but also knew that she wasn’t as cognitive as she had been before her stroke. Would this trigger another stroke perhaps?
Only a month before on one of the many occasions Rosie had phoned her, there had been no answer, so she had to call the police who had broken the door down. Social Services were now worried at the level of care she was getting and now wanted to see Rosie. She couldn’t put off an impending trip any longer.
“Just take a bottle of wine and order a Chinese take away when you go to see her and tell her that you didn’t go looking for your mum, but she found you.” Said her husband.
“You do see why I have to tell her don’t you?”
“Of course I do.”
“I can’t not mention Ireland or the people we met. What if the children come out with it when they see her? I haven’t telephoned her for two weeks because of what has happened which she will find strange in itself as I usually phone every few days. I just didn’t know what to say.”
Rosie booked the flights to go to London. She felt so guilty. She felt as if she’d gone behind her back. It was as if she was finally admitting to her that her real mother mattered. But how could she be jealous when her real mother was dead? It seemed so unfair that all these people who wanted to live, like her husband’s father and her mother had died and yet her adoptive mother who wanted to die was still living.
Rosie did as her husband suggested go to the local Tescos in Clifton Gardens and bought a bottle of
wine.
“Customer number 4 please.”
The supermarkets in England had really moved on since they were in France. The choice of food and the service was unbelievable. She stocked up with a few provisions for her as well and then bought her some flowers from the florist, some beautiful white roses. She proceeded round to her mansion block which was on a very busy road. When she got there, the lift was broken and she had to climb up the five flights of stairs to her apartment. Whilst she was fit even these stairs wore her out.
She rang the doorbell and waited for her adoptive mum to come to the door. She was slow getting to the door using her Zimmer frame.
“Hi mum, how are you?”
“Lovely to see you Love.”
Rosie grabbed her tiny frame and gave her a hug. She was so skinny these days you could feel every bone sticking out of her body.
“I’ve brought you some flowers”
“Oh they are lovely”
“Now sit down whilst I find a vase and open this bottle of wine.” She said waving her hands “No I’ll do this, you just concentrate on sitting yourself down without falling over.”
Rosie went in to the tiny galley kitchen and placed the roses in a vase with some water. She opened the fridge. Nearly everything in there was past its’ sell by date. She took a mental note to remind the carer. Next to the fridge were stacks and stacks of unopened tablets supplied by NHS direct. She fetched two glasses and walked across the creaky hallway to the living room where her adoptive mother was struggling to sit down. She was using all her strength, just to make this simple manoeuver. The carpet was frayed and tatty stuck together with bits of masking tape. The spider plant which Rosie’s original mother gave to her adoptive mother was dead long ago from no watering. She sat down next to her in one of the leather armchairs. They chatted for awhile and sipped their glasses of wine. Her adoptive mother always swigged hers just a little too quickly and Rosie had to be careful not to give her too much to drink or she might fall over.
“I’ll order a take away shall I?”
“Oh yes please.”
She ordered the take away and when it arrived they sat at the table, next to the french doors opening out on to the balcony overlooking Maida Vale. They could hear the roar of the traffic below and the occasional police sirens from Harrow Road Police Station. The mansion block opposite was all lit up and you could just make out the illuminated Post Office Tower in the distance.
“Mummy I’ve got something important to tell you. I’m telling you because I know you sometimes doubt your faith and whether there is really a God out there, but I now know for sure there is. I have never gone in search of my real mother for fear of hurting you. I know you’ve always said that you wouldn’t mind if I went looking for her, but once I got married and had children of my own I gave up looking for her. You must not be hurt by what I am going to tell you because I love you very much and will always love you.”
Rosie paused to check that her adoptive mother was understanding her.
“You know you told me that my mother would always be easy to find with a surname like Sullivan-Cody, well I was in a restaurant in Saint Paul and we met some Irish people and I asked them if they knew of her and they did. They rang me the following week to tell me that unfortunately she died of breast cancer in 1988, aged 45, but that I could still meet some of her friends. So we flew over to Cork last week and met them, and my mother’s sister Orla. I’m telling you all this because the coincidences, every one of them are extraordinary, and if you don’t believe in God then surely you do now”
Her mother paused for awhile. Rosie thought she understood what she had said. She could not gauge whether what she had told her had affected her or not. Eventually after chewing her lip for quite some time she said.
“I’m sorry she is dead darling.”
Rosie hugged her and they carried on talking for a time and then she got tired and she helped put her to bed. She told her again that she still loved her and that nothing had changed, just that she had a wonderful experience in Ireland. She knew in her heart of hearts that if she wanted to look for anyone it would be her real father as she had not grown up with one. That night she telephoned her husband and told him her reaction. He agreed that as her real mother was now dead, she posed no threat to her adoptive mother.
Rosie stayed at the flat that night in her old bedroom. It was looking tired now. There was hardly anything of her left in it, just a few old photos, letters and books from her youth. The wheelchair had been stowed behind the curtain, never to be used again. She’d noticed that night that her adoptive mother was getting frailer. Her mind was still there, but her body wasn’t keeping up with her. Rosie pondered that night how she’d spent all those nights in that apartment, growing up in an old existence. How had she managed to grow up “normal”. Despite all her adoptive mother’s mannerisms, she’d still retained her real parents’ genes.
The following morning Social Services paid a visit. Her adoptive mother could no longer afford a private carer and now needed support three times a day, to help her get up in the morning, give her, her lunch and put her to bed. They confirmed that Westminster City Council would pay the majority of these fees with a small contribution from her adoptive mother. It would mean her mother being looked after by various carers, but still in the confines of her flat. Her adoptive mother was always asked if she would consider some form of secure housing, but she always flatly refused. There was nothing anyone could do because her adoptive mother was still capable of making her own decisions.
Over the following months, her adoptive mother continued to have a series of falls, from getting out of her chair or going to the bathroom at night. Eventually after quite a serious fall where she had been immobile for several hours they admitted her again to St Mary’s Hospital Paddington. She was then moved to a rehabilitation unit just off the Harrow Road. This was to be the start of the process of placing her into a nursing home.
“I should have made this decision earlier shouldn’t I?” Her adoptive mother said. “I could have saved you all a lot of bother.”
Rosie couldn’t say that she should have because she knew she wanted to stay in her own place for as long as she could. Who wouldn’t? It was just that they could have made the decision together as to which nursing home would have suited her. They could have looked at the facilities of nursing homes in the country, which were inevitably better than ones in Inner London. Rosie had recently looked at a nursing home in Cheltenham which was better than the one she was now in with glorious views over the Cotswold landscape, but she was too frail now too infirm, and in any event her adoptive mum was not one for beautiful views, beautiful gardens or beautiful houses. Rosie now realized her adoptive mother lost the love for everything beautiful when her husband died.
But one thing Rosie has learnt from this journey is the unconditional love her adoptive mother had for her. It was maybe selfish, but without Rosie she would have had no life. All Rosie’s life she had been embarrassed by her adoptive mother yet she gave her the best start in life. She had been very fortunate, because of her love. She gave her all the tools she needed to enter the real world and help deal with it and people.
This became none so more apparent to her when they were considering what to do with her adoptive mother’s flat when she went in to the nursing home. Her adoptive mother had been in the nursing home for about a year and the flat had always been in trust for Rosie and her half brothers. Her adoptive mother had already sold a large portfolio of shares to help out Rosie and her half brothers. They kept the flat for her, whilst she was in the nursing home, just in case she couldn’t bear the nursing home and wanted to move back to the flat. If Rosie were being honest, having experienced the nursing home, no one wants to go there.
It was like a funny farm with varying degrees of senility. She didn’t know how the staff did it. When she went to see her adoptive mother there, she knew she had no choice but to be there. She needed twenty four hour care which on
ly a nursing home could provide. Rosie’s heart went out to her for agreeing to be in the nursing home in the first place. But it was the only place she know where she was safe and where she would not harm herself.
“Mummy, you know your flat, well at some time in the future we are going to have to sell it, do you understand?”
The lawyers had told Rosie that she would have to get her assessed as to her capability to make this decision as even though they had a power of attorney, if she wanted to return to the flat even if it wasn’t in her best interests, she could. A specialist in Parkinson’s disease went to see her as did many other specialists. These visits were heartbreaking because Rosie would have to fly in and see her mother and know that the precious time she wanted to spend with her was being taken up with these other people. One of the specialists on such a visit, saw her mother’s eyes look at her and said
“She really loves you, you know.”
That comment really touched Rosie. She won’t call her mother, her adoptive mother any more. She is her mother. She needs her love now more than ever. She’s scared of dying, She doesn’t have to say as much. Her body is letting her down but her soul is willing her to live.
She agreed to sell the flat and Rosie returned to France. Then she received an email from the lawyer saying she was quite adamant that she did not want to sell the flat in the current market. Rosie’s mind went in to head spin. Why was she doing this to her? Was she back to the cantankerous mum she knew the one that deliberately wanted to be awkward. The one she had mixed feelings for?
“Your mum probably was just confused because you weren’t with her. Don’t take this personally Rosie. I’m sure she didn’t mean it.” Her husband said.
And she was confused, because when Rosie went to see her again she said.
“Oh I’m sorry, I’ve been saying the wrong things again darling.”
Rosie agreed to be with her next time. You see her mother never trusted anyone except Rosie. She literally was the only person she relied upon. She would never see any good in anyone, because Rosie was to learn, life had not been kind to her. Everywhere she had turned in life she had been met by a brick wall.
Abandoned Love Page 24
