Loving Susie: The Heartlands series

by Harper, Jenny

‘Based in Edinburgh?’ Callum asks.

  Jon nods. ‘Yeah. It’s exactly what I want.’

  ‘What’s the job?’

  ‘Graphic design assistant.’ Jon smiles. It’s been too long since he’s been carefree and happy, Mannie thinks, not since his graduation. ‘I ’spect it means tea-maker in chief, but I don’t care.’

  ‘Well, good luck, mate. You deserve a break.’

  Mannie demolishes the apple sponge but rejects the offer of custard with an indignant ‘Yeugh!’ They’re winding her up, everyone knows how much she hates the stuff. When their plates are clear, she can contain herself no longer.

  ‘Mum,’ she says, pushing her dessert plate away from her and her chair back a few inches from the table, ‘What’s wrong? You didn’t look yourself on “Newsnight”. I was quite worried.’

  There is silence. Everyone is looking at her mother and her mother is looking nowhere. Mannie panics. I shouldn’t have asked, she thinks, whatever it is, it’s private. She feels tension in the atmosphere and senses a twisting of a thread between her parents.

  ‘Listen, I—’ she starts, but her mother is speaking again.

  ‘You’re right, Mannie. I’ve become distracted. It’s very foolish and I’m going to have to concentrate to get through. I’m going to tell them, Archie.’ She looks at her father as if she’s made a difficult decision and needs support but isn’t sure she’ll get it.

  That’s new. Mannie is used to a completeness in understanding between her parents, now she senses – what? Some slight fracturing, perhaps, although her father says nothing, merely tips his head an inch in her direction.

  ‘The other day, Mannie, at the Parliament, I had a visitor, a former neighbour of my parents, back in Helensburgh. Remember, I told you? From her I learned something about myself, something I never knew.’ She pauses, looks from face to face, skipping lightly over Callum’s, examining those of her family. ‘She told me I was adopted.’

  Jonno is the first to speak. ‘Adopted? Wow, that’s news.’

  Mannie can’t take it in. ‘I don’t understand,’ she says. ‘How can you be adopted?’

  Her mother goes on. ‘At first I thought it was something I could just ignore. What difference does it make? But I find I can’t. There are—’ she hesitates and again there’s that slightest of glances at her father, ‘—aspects I find troubling. But I need to get through this and I’m going to need your support and understanding.’

  Jonno says, ‘Well, it all happened a long time ago. What does it matter? Like you said, Mum, what difference does it make?’

  A bubble is growing inside Mannie. A hundred questions need to be answered, myriad emotions have to be addressed. ‘You’re wrong, Jonno,’ she cries, staring at her mother as if she has never seen her before, ‘You’re absolutely wrong. Don’t you see? This changes everything.’

  Chapter Eight

  More emotion around the subject of her adoption is the last thing Susie needs. Jumping up from the table, she heads for the kitchen, juggling with a badly stacked pyramid of dishes. A plate slides sideways from the middle of the tower and crashes onto the slate floor. Mannie, following her in, stares at it horrified, but recovers in time to rescue the rest of the teetering pile. She slides past Susie to get to the broom cupboard. ‘I’ll get a brush and shovel.’

  Susie is still motionless. ‘It’s not the plate I mind about,’ she says in a dull voice, ‘in itself. It’s just that it was my mother’s. And then when I saw it lying there, I remembered that she wasn’t my mother at all.’ She lifts her head and stares at Mannie. ‘So now I can’t decide whether I care that it’s been smashed or not. Do you understand what I mean, Mannie?’

  Shards of ceramic have to come first because of Prince, so Mannie bends and deals with the task, checking with care to ensure that no jaggy fragments remain that can slice into the dog’s soft paws. She closes the lid of the bin and returns the brush to the cupboard, then puts her arms around her mother and says gently, ‘It’s a plate, Mum.’

  In the silent world of the hug, the voices of the three men can be heard from the dining room. They’re talking, Susie realises, not about adoption – but about Archie’s new album.

  ‘—five tracks pretty much there now—’

  ‘—release date?—’

  ‘—possibly a tour in the States—’

  Mannie says, ‘Right, Mum. Tell me what you know,’ and busies herself with stacking the dishwasher. Prince benefits from a bowl of scraps and demonstrates his gratitude by farting again. Susie grimaces at Mannie and they laugh. If the laughter feels a little forced, they don’t acknowledge it.

  ‘As I said, Mannie, I only learned about it the other day.’ Susie lifts a saucepan, wipes it with a cloth, and only then realises that it hasn’t been washed. ‘Damn. Look at this.’ Upset, she holds up the tea-towel, smeared with brown. ‘How could I do that?’

  ‘It’s not a problem, Mum. Just stick it in the washing machine. I’ll do the pot in a minute.’

  Susie pulls out a chair and sits down heavily, still clutching the soiled cloth. ‘You can imagine how I felt. I couldn’t believe there was any truth in it.’

  ‘How come you didn’t know? Didn’t Gran and Gramps ever say anything? Didn’t they even leave you a note? Nothing?’

  ‘No, they never told me. And no, they never left me a note.’

  ‘How weird. Why not, do you think?’

  Susie shrugs. ‘I guess I’ll never know the answer to that. Maybe they were ashamed. Maybe they thought it would upset me.’ She stretches out the cloth, pulls a face at the dirt on it, crumples it up again. ‘But they told your father.’

  Mannie whirls round and stares at her mother. ‘They told Dad? So why ... Mum, why didn’t he tell you?’

  Susie shrugs, a small, helpless gesture.

  ‘But—’ Mannie turns back and stabs at a crust in the roasting tin. It shifts suddenly and her brush slips into the water with a soft splash.

  ‘Yes,’ Susie says, ‘but.’ In all of this, it is Archie’s perfidy that hurts her most.

  Mannie’s mind has reverted to the wider implications. ‘Have you thought about this Mum? I mean, have you really thought about what all this means? Gran and Gramps weren’t my grandparents at all. They were just some random people who happened to bring you up.’

  Susie winces. Mannie, perhaps realising how hurtful her choice of words was, tries again, although her voice is thick. ‘I mean, sorry, I didn’t mean that, of course they chose you and I’m sure they wanted you very much, and I know you had a happy childhood so I guess – well, what does it mean to you? I’m trying to think about it—’ she’s gabbling now, almost incoherent, ‘—but there’s so many questions, Mum. I mean, who am I? If they weren’t really my grandparents, well, who were my grandparents? This matters, Mum.’ She abandons the roasting dish and clings instead to the edge of the sink for support.

  Her familiar world, thinks Susie, is shifting around her. Her own hurt forgotten for a moment, she rises quickly, finds a clean towel and gently turns Mannie towards her, folding her wet hands in the soft cloth. ‘Mannie. Leave that, darling. Here. Dry your hands and come and sit down.’

  ‘Mum?’ Mannie’s voice comes out like a wail. She is like a small child who has fallen and grazed her knee and is looking for reassurance. Susie squats by her side, slides her arms around her daughter and hugs her, wordlessly.

  They are still hugging when Jonathan walks in. ‘Any chance of a coffee?’ he starts, then breaks off, seeing them. ‘Oh. Everything okay?’

  The sun streaming through the window falls directly on his head and his resemblance to her is striking. His rich brown hair, opulent with russet highlights, is my hair, Susie thinks. But Mannie? Her daughter’s dark, sleek locks aren’t Archie’s wavy brown or her caramel curls. She looks at Mannie through new eyes and it comes to her, forcefully, that the line to her past has been ruptured and that behind her lies only darkness.

  Jon puts water in the kettle, switches it on
. He joins them at the table. ‘Some news, Mum,’ he says, his voice genial and untroubled. ‘Guess it’s been a bit of a shock, huh?’

  ‘A bit,’ Susie admits with a small smile.

  ‘Does it matter?’ he asks, running his hands through the already rumpled locks. ‘I mean, you’re still Mum.’

  ‘Thank you,’ she says with a touch of irony. ‘I’m relieved to hear it.’

  Mannie bursts out, ‘Jonno! Can’t you see? Mum’s just found out that the people she thought were her parents weren’t her parents at all!’

  Jon shrugs. ‘Yeah, but they were, weren’t they? They wanted her, they loved her, and they gave her everything. And Gran and Gramps were great people. This doesn’t change any of that.’

  ‘Of course they were. Of course. I’m not saying that. What I’m trying to say is, well, not only is there a story behind this that needs to be told, but—’ Mannie lapses, uncharacteristically, into silence and is rescued by the kettle, which has come to the boil and is hissing steam. It clicks off and emits a silly little whistle. Jon says cheerfully, ‘Tea or coffee. Dad? Callum?’ he calls out to the room next door, ‘Tea or coffee? Mum?’

  He takes orders, makes both, busies himself finding mugs.

  When he disappears clutching a cafetiere in one hand and three mugs in the other, Susie says quietly, ‘I know what you’re thinking about, Mannie.’ She is still holding Mannie’s hand and now she strokes her fingers softly with her thumb. ‘You need to know more. And we will find out more. One day.’

  ‘One day?’ Mannie looks at her, surprised. ‘You mean you’re not going to find out now?’

  Susie shakes her head. ‘Not yet, Mannie. It’s all too new. I’ve got to think about this. There’s too many questions—’

  Mannie interrupts, fiercely. ‘Yes! That’s why we have to find answers!’

  ‘Possibly. I need to think about it all for a bit.’

  ‘You need to think? What about me?’ It sounds peevish and childish.

  ‘Sweetheart, slow down a bit. I’m just getting used to this whole shock revelation. As I say, there are so many questions, I need to think it all through before I do anything.’

  ‘What is there to think about, Mum?’

  ‘Well, there are practicalities, like how do I go about finding out who I really am?’

  Her voice has a slight tremor, and though she strives to conceal it, Susie’s mind is in turmoil. She releases Mannie’s hand and pours tea.

  ‘From what little I know, I think it could be very difficult finding out who my mother was, or at least, tracking her down. She may not want to be found. She might have died. She might have covered her tracks. Or take another scenario – what if I do track her down and we don’t get on? What if she’s resentful, or frightened, or has her own family and she hasn't told them about me? What if she’s not a very nice person? How do you think I would feel – we all would feel – about that? Shouldn’t we maybe be just thankful that I had such loving parents, who really did want me? What if she has a family, and they are also rather unpleasant? Say she’s very ill and wants to come and live here? Would we be able to take that on? It’s a minefield, Mannie, all of this. I need to think about it very carefully before I do anything.’

  Mannie purses her lips then chews on the lower one. At length she smiles. ‘Well,’ she says, ‘I think the place to start is probably the Register Office. I’ll call tomorrow and find out what the procedure is, will I?’

  ‘Tch!’ Susie laughs and shakes her head resignedly. ‘How did I know you’d say that, my darling, impossibly impatient daughter? Well, just don’t expect me to help you, Mannie, I’ve got enough other problems at the moment.’

  On the way home, Mannie can talk about nothing other than her mother’s news. Cal, who is driving, grunts occasionally but doesn’t otherwise contribute to the one-sided flow of comment.

  ‘Can you believe it, Cal? I mean, I knew she was bothered about something, because I’ve never seen her do so badly on the telly, but adopted! I told her, we’ve got to find out who her mother was and why she was adopted, we have to see if she’s still around.’

  Cal stops at a red light and Mannie pauses momentarily. When the light turns to green, she starts off again.

  ‘I’ve just realised—’ her hand flies to her mouth and she gives a small squeal. Callum inclines his head a fraction towards her, the motion showing enough interest to encourage her to continue. ‘I could have a whole other family! Christ! I could have uncles, aunts, cousins, grandparents—’ she tails off, having run out of relatives to consider.

  As they approach Portobello, where Cal is dropping her back home, she’s still in full flow. ‘So I said to Mum, I’ll do the spade work. I’ve got a few days off soon, I’ll do whatever I have to do. I can start by finding out what steps we have to take. I guess it could be difficult, I mean, if her mother hasn’t left many clues, but on the other hand, you never know, I could get lucky. We could know in a matter of days who—’

  Cal interrupts gently. ‘Mannie, slow down will you?’ He decelerates for a corner and Mannie looks at him, surprised at the interruption to her galloping thoughts. ‘What does your mother say about this?’

  ‘Oh she’s cool.’ She qualifies this assertion. ‘I guess. She just said she hadn’t time to help me.’

  ‘Don’t you think you should let the whole thing settle for a bit, while you mull it over? You’ve all survived pretty well for, how long, fifty-odd years in your mother’s case, surely you can manage another few weeks while you work out – as a family – what steps you want to take?’

  ‘Oh no, I don’t think so,’ Mannie says. ‘We have to know.’

  Cal spots a parking space outside Mannie’s flat and manoeuvres the car deftly into it.

  ‘Coming up?’

  He switches off the engine, but shakes his head. ‘I don’t think so, love. I’ve still not caught up on washing and ironing and tomorrow’s going to be hectic at work. I’d better get back.’

  She is distracted – momentarily – from her plans by the memory of last night. ‘Cal.’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘When you said we’d get a hot take-away I didn’t realise you meant, like, hot.’ She grins at him and is rewarded by a glint in his eye and a ‘cheeky bitch’ before he reaches across the handbrake and pulls her to him.

  ‘Mannie,’ he says when the kiss ends. He pulls away far enough so that he can focus on her face.

  ‘What is it?’ she asks, her insides still molten.

  ‘Oh —nothing. Just be careful what you wish for, that’s all.’

  Mannie dismisses his caution with an airy, ‘I will be, I promise,’ retrieves her handbag and swings the door closed. She gives it a smart slap with the palm of her hand by way of farewell and bends to wave at him through the passenger window as he starts the engine again and pulls off.

  As she opens the door to the communal stairway she can’t wait to race upstairs.

  Christ, she thinks, just wait till I tell Jen and Myra about this.

  Chapter Nine

  Susie has been an actress all her life, as far back as she can remember. Even before she enlisted the help of Elsie Proudfoot’s son, Jimmy (and later of Karen) she used to line up her teddy bears and dolls on her bed and perform for them. When she was satisfied, she called her parents in and made them sit down to watch.

  ‘I’m doing Cinderella,’ she might say, having borrowed a pair of her mother’s best court shoes for the purpose. Or, ‘I’m Little Red Riding Hood and Daddy, you’re to be the wicked wolf. Mummy can be the grandmother.’

  Where did all that acting come from? Her mother, Mary MacPherson, endlessly patient, was round and rosy cheeked, with bright little currant eyes and dark hair. She always wore a ‘pinnie’, Susie remembers a generous floral affair that tied on over her skirt and blouse. The kitchen was her domain, not the stage. Her baking was legendary – not, sadly a trait Susie has inherited, though her standby biscuits, melting moments, have become a household stapl
e.

  So: no acting gene, no baking gene. No facility with numbers, like her father, no aptitude for crosswords. She doesn’t look like either her mother, small and dumpy, nor her father, pin-neat and big-eared. These aren’t matters Susie has ever stopped to think about. Her way of dealing with life is to fly through it at breakneck speed, fill it with people and entertainment and great causes – and why would you pause to consider something that hasn’t even occurred to you?

  But now everything is different. Her life has turned a cartwheel, done a back flip, ended in a somersault and has left her sprawled on the floor like a clown doing acrobatics, not knowing which way is up.

  ‘Don’t expect me to help you, Mannie,’ she said to her daughter. ‘I’ve got too many other problems.’ But the discouragement has clearly been insufficient to hold Mannie back, because she calls her at the Parliament a few days later.

  ‘I’m really busy, sweetheart,’ Susie says, ‘Can this wait?’

  ‘It’ll only take a minute, Mum. Listen, I’ve spoken to this agency. The first thing you’ve got to do is get hold of your birth certificate, your real one.’

  ‘How do I do that?’ Susie can feel herself being dragged along in the wake of Mannie’s forcefulness.

  ‘You take this abbreviated birth certificate thingie along to the National Records of Scotland and they cross check it against something called the Adopted Children’s Register.’

  ‘Goodness, it sounds daunting.’

  ‘It’s all right, Mum, I’ll come with you.’

  Somehow, the offer doesn’t feel reassuring. ‘Can I think about it for a bit?’

  ‘Mu-um.’ Mannie is wheedling. ‘You don’t need to go any further if you don’t want to, but at least you’ll find out your real mother’s name. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ She is finding the whole situation bewildering.

  ‘Please, Mum? You’ll need to get your adoption certificate from Dad. Do you think you can manage that?’

  ‘I don’t imagine it will be too difficult, Mannie,’ she says, a little acidly.