The Home

by Karen Osman

  In that moment, Angela knew that something was very, very wrong.

  3

  Wednesday 5 February 1969

  Dear Diary,

  I am so cold. It will be time for lights out soon – Nasty Nora says at St Matthew’s Children’s Home we always have to follow the rules. I stole this notebook, but I don’t feel guilty. I’m writing in it under the covers in bed. It was in the cupboard under the stairs and I found it when Nasty Nora sent me to scrub the staircase again even though I did it already. I hate her. I’m going to write all my secrets in this diary. I don’t have very many but I do have some. Like I know that Mary and Peter kissed. I had to keep watch. I hope Mary doesn’t go to hell. When I told her she might, she just looked at me and said it was all a load of rubbish. Mary’s much older than me – she’s 13! I can’t wait to be 13.

  A.

  Friday 7 March 1969

  Dear Diary,

  Today Nasty Nora was ill. No one calls her Matron unless it’s to her face. Fat Franny wasn’t happy because she had to look after her as well as us, and stupid Baby Carole threw her food at the wall – what a waste. Everyone was shouting, and Carole was crying a lot. But she should be thankful she’s a baby and will be adopted soon – all the babies are – they never stay long. In January, I was 8 years old. Now I am 8 years old and one month. Fat Franny told me it’s unlikely I will be adopted, and I can leave when I’m a grown up and have finished school but that’s a long way away. I asked her why my mummy would leave me at St Matthew’s and then I asked her why I wasn’t adopted when I was a baby. Fat Franny told me I asked too many questions, and if I asked any more, she would give me another clip round the ear. Fat Franny isn’t as quick as Nasty Nora, but she’s been here a long time at the home. She said we all give her a headache. How? We’re only allowed to speak when spoken to and never at mealtimes.

  A.

  Friday 21 March 1969

  Dear Diary,

  Everybody is teasing me. Yesterday, stupid Peter told everyone I had nits and they all believed him, even Fat Franny, who dragged me into the bath and washed my hair with some disgusting shampoo while everyone watched and laughed. He told everyone at school about it. I hate him. I will get Peter back soon and he will be sorry.

  A.

  Sunday 23 March 1969

  Dear Diary,

  Sundays are the worst. Even school is better than spending the whole day inside at the home. We have to be silent from morning to night – no talking, no playing. Just church. It’s also bath day. When Nasty Nora is on duty, she scrubs really hard with the brush and it hurts. She said she has to wash all our sins away. When I asked, what sins? I got a clip round the ear, so I stopped asking. It’s also the worst day for food. Sometimes I save things up during the week, to stop me getting hungry on Sundays. This week I managed to save an apple – the dinner lady at school gave it to me. She told the other dinner lady that the poor mite looks half-starved. I don’t know what a mite is. I will ask Mary.

  A.

  Monday 24 March 1969

  Dear Diary,

  I had to swap half of my apple with Mary to get her to answer my question and then when I handed it over she laughed and told me a mite was an insect. I asked her why the dinner lady would say I was an insect and Mary stopped laughing then. She grabbed me by the shoulders and told me that us orphans are worth less than insects. My shoulders hurt – I wish I hadn’t given her half my apple now.

  A.

  Tuesday 1 April 1969

  Dear Diary,

  The best day ever! I got Peter back for April Fool’s and even made him cry! That will teach him to spread lies about me having nits. It was talking about insects with Mary that gave me the idea. I collected a lot of insects in a jar – flies, spiders, beetles, and I even stole a stick insect from school – and I woke him up by tipping all of them over his head! I got such a thrashing from Nasty Nora but seeing Peter cry like Baby Carole was worth it.

  A.

  Wednesday 18 June 1969

  Dear Diary,

  When we got back from school today, a new girl had arrived. Fat Franny said her name was Nelly. She has red hair and a gap between her two front teeth. Fat Franny said I had to look after her and show her how we do the chores. Maureen said it wasn’t fair that I got help with my chores from the new girl. Maureen is always whining. I told her to shut her face and then Fat Franny told us all to belt up otherwise there would be trouble. We knew what that meant so we all shut up and did our chores.

  A.

  Wednesday 25 June 1969

  Dear Diary,

  While we cleaned the kitchen, Nelly told me that her last family let her play on a bicycle. I told her she was a liar – no one I know has a bicycle. She said I was just jealous and that they were the nicest foster family she had stayed with. Nelly said two families had fostered her before but they didn’t have any bicycles. I asked her why she was in the home – why didn’t she stay with the bicycle family? She told me that they were coming back to get her soon but she looked sad. To make her feel better, I told her that we didn’t have bicycles, but I would show her the den in the back garden. We had a lot of fun playing hide-and-seek. It’s much better than being indoors and Fat Franny and Nasty Nora are just happy to have us out from under their feet.

  A.

  Thursday 4 September 1969

  Dear Diary,

  The summer holidays are over. Nelly has stopped talking about her bicycle family. She has given up thinking they will come back and adopt her. Instead Nelly will come to school with me. We are in Mrs Thistlethwaite’s class but her nickname is Snapper because she has a ruler that she snaps on the desk to get everyone’s attention. Fat Franny took us to lost property at school to get the left-over school uniforms. Nelly is bigger than me and she found a shirt while we both got ties. Fat Franny grumbled that she would have to buy us skirts. Only one each mind, so we mustn’t get them dirty or get holes in them.

  A.

  Thursday 4 December 1969

  Dear Diary,

  It’s so cold in bed at night that we have pushed all the beds together in our dorm room and curl up to each other to keep warm. Even Fat Franny felt it because she brought us some more blankets. I sleep next to Nelly but I told Maureen to go and sleep somewhere else. She smells.

  A.

  4

  Rosemary

  Damn. Rosemary knew James wouldn’t be able contain himself when it came to Angela. But who could blame him, really? It had been a terrible shock. Still, this wasn’t what they had agreed when they’d discussed it before Angela’s visit. On the contrary, they’d decided to keep the news to themselves for as long as they could. But that was James all over. She knew he was an emotional man when she’d married him. He said what he thought and didn’t give a fig for social convention or etiquette. Rosemary sat back with her sewing and reminded herself it was this that had attracted her to him in the first place. He was a charmer, a talker, and ultimately a salesman. It’s how he’d done so well for himself. He was also highly intelligent. The more academic side had come later, of course, when she’d encouraged him to get his degree at university. While he was slightly older than the majority of other students, he’d done it – First Class with Honours, too.

  Not that it had made any difference to her parents. In Selina and Jonathan Kershaw-Hughes’ opinion, education was just a minor consideration and, anyway, anyone could get into university these days. It was social standing, the family name, and connections that counted. James had none of those – well, none worthwhile in her parents’ eyes – and his East End accent didn’t help either. But at the time Rosemary was so in love she didn’t care.

  She was still very much in love, although she couldn’t help wishing things had turned out differently with her parents. If they were still alive today and saw how well her marriage had turned out, would they have accepted him eventually? She doubted it. Her parents had had serious plans for their only daughter and they didn’t include cavorting with someone
completely unsuitable and unsavoury. Rosemary remembered the conversation well because they’d actually used those words. But despite their best efforts to find her a suitable match, she’d had no interest. She didn’t want to marry just anyone. Her mother would fret, constantly reminding her that she was running out of her best years, but Rosemary was far too focused on her work. She’d gone to university – a personal cause she’d battled for relentlessly until her parents finally agreed in the desperate hope that she would meet someone appropriate there. Yet, the quiet libraries and study halls of New Hall at Cambridge held far more appeal than any social engagement could. It was 1954 and she knew that as soon as she got married and had children, she would have to stay at home. But for now, housekeeping and babies could wait. That was, until she’d met James.

  She had been working in the office of London Transport when she first saw him. She had nipped out for her lunch break and as the weather had been pleasant, she’d decided to eat in a nearby small park. He had offered her a cigarette and that had been that. She didn’t even smoke. But in that moment, she knew that nothing – not her parents, not her hard-earned degree, nor her career – would prevent her from being with him. She’d expected love to be complex and muddled, but when it had arrived it had been simple and effortless. It was only later that it started to get messy.

  5

  Evelyn

  Evelyn woke up late the next morning to a quiet flat. Looking around her, she saw the empty vodka bottle on its side – she had only meant to have a few nips, not finish off the bottle, for God’s sake. She blamed Billy – the sight of him in his undies was enough to drive anyone to drink. But this was not the day for a hangover and a lie-in. She needed to be at the dole office in the next forty-five minutes to sign on.

  Groaning at the throbbing in her head, she felt a light puff of the duvet as Charlie jumped on the bed, giving her cheek his usual morning lick before turning his attention to his nether regions. Urgh, thought Evelyn, disgusting animal. But despite his unsightly habits, she loved him more than anyone else in the world.

  She’d found him when he was just a puppy, almost ten years ago. He’d been tied to a pole with a dirty rope on the edge of a construction site. She wouldn’t have seen him if it weren’t for the fact that she’d dropped some coins and was scrabbling around to pick them up. There was a gap between the pavement and the corrugated iron fence and Evelyn came face to face with the saddest eyes she had ever seen. He was almost in a worse state than she was. Too exhausted to move, he lay on his side, his body dotted with what Evelyn guessed were cigarette burns and his breaths were coming in quick pants. Looking around her and seeing nobody, Evelyn untied the rope and gently scooped him up and took him home, stopping off only to buy a tin of dog food. She gave him some water and quickly spooned the food into an old bowl. She watched as the smell roused him and he tentatively investigated before finally tucking in.

  Evelyn didn’t like to think too much about the past. Forcing herself up, she put on yesterday’s clothes and brushed her teeth before picking up her handbag. Then she put Charlie on the lead, and didn’t even bother to look in the mirror before she left, firmly locking the door behind her.

  *

  Evelyn congratulated herself on making it to the dole office on time. She’d had a bit of banter with the other dole-ies, as they called themselves and, to celebrate ‘payday’ Evelyn agreed to stop off at the pub with a few of them on her way home. A quick hair of the dog for medicinal purposes, she justified, and then she needed to go and get some shopping in.

  It was another couple of hours before she made it to the supermarket and as she shopped, she decided to pick up some milk for Doreen, who lived in the flat above her. While still active, Doreen was pushing seventy, and always appreciated the thought. Besides, her neighbour was more than generous with her drinks cabinet. Whistling to herself cheerfully, Evelyn popped in a pack of scones before starting the walk home. Her flat was part of a series of low-rise blocks that made up the grim Harrington council estate and as she walked through the grey concrete buildings, she saw her various neighbours.

  There was Dougie, a giant of a man at over six foot, strolling around with his vicious bulldog, Floyd, named after his owner’s favourite rock band. He was bare-chested, his enormous stomach making the most of the August sunshine. It was always best to stay on Dougie’s good side. He pretty much ruled over the estate and had a mob of sons who never hesitated to use their fists when something displeased a member of their family. Then there was Tara, with a fag hanging out of her mouth, pushing a pram endlessly around, trying to get her screaming baby to sleep. And of course, the usual groups of lads who loitered around doing God-knows-what. Evelyn nodded to all of them. They had all lived on the estate for years and had a grudging respect for each other. Still, Evelyn didn’t linger.

  She pulled Charlie quickly up the stairs, going one floor above her own to the fourth floor to call on Doreen for a gossip and to hand over the scones and milk. While she was at it, she would ask her for a few ideas on how to deal with her noisy neighbours who had already started their bloody racket.

  6

  Angela

  Angela could feel her heart beating faster. What on earth could be wrong that had her dad tearing up?

  ‘Angela,’ started Rosemary, ‘your father and I have something we need to discuss with you. However, before we do that, the one thing I want you to remember during and after this conversation, is that we love you unconditionally and have always loved you like our own. What we’re about to say doesn’t mean we love you any—’

  ‘Oh, Rosemary, she knows all that,’ interrupted Dad. Turning to Angela, he said, ‘We think you should find your birth mother.’

  The words fell over each other in his rush to get them out and Angela saw her mum give him a hard, disapproving look. The relief was instant though, and Angela released a long breath, the tension visibly leaving her body.

  ‘Is that what you wanted to tell me?’ asked Angela. ‘I thought it was something serious!’

  She had always known she had been adopted, although she rarely mentioned it to anyone. She had just turned fourteen when James and Rosemary Steele had visited the children’s home. Initially, they had invited her to stay for a few weeks as a trial and then had gone on to adopt her. The Steeles had welcomed her so warmly and made her feel part of a real family. It had been the best thing ever to happen to her. They had given her everything a daughter could want or need, both emotionally and materially, and Angela had called them Mum and Dad pretty much from the very beginning. She thought back to evenings snuggled in front of the TV watching the nature programmes and exciting afternoons shopping for new clothes. She remembered when Dad had taught her how to ski and, after passing her driving test, how to change a wheel on the car. It hadn’t all been smooth sailing and there had been some difficult times, but for the most part James and Rosemary had opened up a whole new world to her – one of class and privilege. No longer did she have to share a dorm with twenty other girls; she had her own room with its pretty lemon bedspread and matching curtains. Nor did she have to endure punishments for the smallest offences, Matron’s slap echoing through the bleak hallways, the sting of her hand felt through young Angela’s entire body. While life with the Steeles was easy, she never forgot her years at the home. If anything, they served as a useful reminder to push harder and be even more successful whenever she felt herself getting complacent.

  Angela was suddenly struck by a thought.

  ‘Why are you suggesting I try and find my birth mother now?’ she asked her parents. Dad looked at Mum, as if to say I told you so. Mum started to speak but Dad held his hand up for silence.

  ‘Angela, from the minute we adopted you, I promised myself that I would answer any questions as truthfully and as honestly as possible.’ He paused, and Angela felt desperate to hear his next words. ‘You’re right, of course,’ he acknowledged. ‘There is a reason we are suggesting you get in touch with your birth mother now,
but I was hoping it could wait until after…’

  James’s voice trailed off and as she waited for him to continue, she looked at him closely – properly – for the first time since she’d got home. She hadn’t noticed before, but his shirt was slightly too big and there were some small bruises on the backs of his hands.

  ‘I’ve not been feeling the best lately, Angel,’ he began tentatively. ‘I’ve had some treatment and still have some more to come, but I didn’t want to tell you until I was given the all clear…’ He trailed off again and didn’t get any further. Unexpectedly, Angela began to tremble. She didn’t need her father to say the unspeakable out loud. Instinctively, she knew he was talking about cancer; she could barely say the word to herself. She felt her father’s arms around her, holding her tightly, and as she sank into his embrace she was aware that it should be she giving the comfort, not the other way around. Still, she continued to shake as the two of them held on to each other waiting for the earthquake to pass.

  Angela was too upset to ask too many questions. Instead, her dad gently led her to her bedroom, leaving her to get into bed while he went to the kitchen and made her hot chocolate. Angela was already under the covers when he returned, mug in hand, the aroma giving rise to adolescent memories. She felt fifteen again as he kissed her good night on the forehead and whispered it would all seem better in the morning. The reassurances worked just as well on her twenty-seven-year-old self as they did during her teenage years, and as the shock gave way to exhaustion, she slept.

  *

  Angela woke up late. She emerged from the haze of sleep, the reality of the night before only giving her a few moments before hitting her hard in the pit of her stomach. She sat up in bed and turned on the lamp. Her teenage bedroom appeared in a blaze of light, unchanged since she had left to study law nine years earlier. Her university scarf, which had ‘Class of 1982’ embroidered on it, still hung on the back of the door. She looked around her in disbelief and, for the first time since hearing the news, cried quietly into her pillow. Then she closed her eyes tightly, her mind frantically trying but failing to make sense of it all.