by Karen Osman
Eventually, resigned, Angela looked at the time and forced herself to get up. Catching sight of herself in the mirror, she saw that her eyes were puffy and red. Silently admonishing herself, she grabbed her toilet bag and went for a shower, fighting her tears. She was tougher than this – she had to be for her father’s sake.
Angela thought back to when she’d first been introduced to James Steele all those years ago in Matron’s office. Despite his well-dressed appearance, his large hands were calloused. She just remembered thinking how capable he looked: here was a man who could fix anything. There are those in life who can fill a room with their presence and he was one of them. As they began chatting, she had been startled to feel an immediate affinity, and this had only matured as they got to know each other better. While he had worked a lot during her years in Tetbury, when he was home he had an energy about him that was captivating and contagious. She knew Rosemary fed off it too by the way she would repeatedly look out of the window around the time he was due from work. Angela also felt more interesting when he was around. He never tired of talking to her about school, her friends, her favourite books. He treated her like an adult, genuinely interested in her opinions. He liked to laugh and was forever telling his ‘Dad’ jokes. Rosemary was very kind but a lot more reserved and Angela had grown up understanding there would always be a part of her adoptive mother that was private.
Under the shower, Angela closed her eyes. Where did she go from here? Last night, her parents had reassured her that James would be fine and he was responding well to the chemotherapy, but she was pretty sure they were just trying to protect her.
‘We just feel that now would be a good time to find your birth mother as we’ll both be here to support you and answer any questions. It’s a journey we really want to help you on… we just want to be prepared, just in case…’
Dad’s reassurances from last night echoed in her mind. ‘Just in case’ what? Angela wondered. She knew, of course. Everyone did. The dreaded C-word was so often a death sentence, so why should her dad be any different?
As the water washed away some of the shock, questions attacked her accusingly. How long had he been ill? When was his next chemotherapy session? What else would the doctors suggest? Which hospital did he go to? How much time might he have left? The last one prompted a physical ache. It didn’t make sense: they lived in the countryside with clean air; her father hadn’t smoked for years; things like this didn’t happen to people like them. Angela caught herself – she knew better than anyone how life was so often a game of chance. But they could fight this together – it was the only way – she decided as she dried herself. Her quick mind started to brainstorm ideas and, back in her room, her hand automatically reached for a pen to start jotting down lists and action plans in her diary. She wrote in it most days and often used it as a means of taking back control when she had a problem. The ink marks reassured her with their permanence: she would speak to the doctor herself; she would find every piece of information on cancer that she could – every case study of every person who was in remission – whatever was available, she would find it.
She kept writing until her ideas were spent, and as she closed the notebook she realised she felt better already. Finally dressed, she hurried through to the living room to find her parents, fired up to discuss a plan of action. But as she opened the door, her pace immediately slowed. Her dad was fast asleep in his armchair, his breathing slightly ragged, his bony wrists peeking out from his too-big shirt cuffs. It was eleven in the morning. As Mum tenderly covered him with a blanket, her face etched with anxiety, Angela looked on, her previous hopefulness once again replaced with despair.
*
The silence was unusual. It seemed inappropriate to talk about the mundane when her dad’s health was at stake. Angela floundered as to how to start but, surprisingly, her mum rescued her.
‘I’m sure you have a lot of questions…’
It was late afternoon and Angela had almost anticipated Mum carrying on as normal, suggesting a walk or an early pub dinner. Rosemary, while loving, was not known for sharing her feelings and most upsets were brushed aside until they resolved themselves. But this was no minor upset and the fact that she was now broaching the subject showed just how concerned she and James were about Angela’s reaction to the news.
‘I’m sorry about last night,’ started Angela. ‘It must have been the shock.’
‘There’s no need to be sorry, darling. It was a shock to us as well,’ said Rosemary. ‘We’re only sorry we had to tell you,’ she added, shooting a pointed sideways glance at James.
‘No, no, I’m glad you did. At least now I can help. I can come down every weekend and even during the week, if need be. I could even commute into London to help you both.’ Angela had already planned her schedule, keen to be doing something – anything – to fight this horrible intrusion into their lives. James started to say something, but it was Rosemary who interrupted this time.
‘You know you’re more than welcome here any time, but we really don’t want you to give up your life for this. We have lots of support from our friends, neighbours and the hospital. Betty still comes to clean a couple of times a week as well so there’s not really a huge amount to do.’
‘But…’
‘How about we have some tea, and we can answer all your questions. There’s no rush is there, though? We still have the whole weekend.’
Angela stared at her retreating back as she went to put the kettle on.
‘Don’t take it personally, love,’ said James when his wife was out of earshot. ‘You know what she’s like. Your mum is coping really well – better than I expected, really. Of course, the news knocked her for six initially, but now we have a routine of sorts, we’re trying to be optimistic. With all the medical advances, you just never know these days.’
Angela nodded. ‘Yet you want me to find my birth mother now?’ she asked. ‘It just doesn’t seem the right time somehow.’
‘If there’s one thing I’ve learnt from all of this, love, it’s that there’s never a right time. And you always said you wanted to get to know her. From the minute your adoption was finalised, I vowed that I would support and help you do that. I suppose, this… this thing… has just speeded all that up a little bit.’ He paused, giving Angela some much-needed time to think.
‘You still do want to find her, don’t you?’ he asked when Angela was silent. ‘I know you’ve been busy at work and everything… but you’ve always been so certain, even when you were younger, that you wanted to find her.’
Angela thought about it. He was right about that. She had always been vocal about it, if only to find out why anyone would leave their baby in a children’s home. It was unimaginable yet it had happened. She’d had many years to come to terms with it, but it still hurt: her real mother hadn’t wanted her enough and had left her – barely a few days old – to her fate. This had been in 1961, and as she grew from baby to toddler to child, the home was her only reality, until she had been adopted at fourteen. She knew how lucky she was. It was almost unheard of for older children to be adopted; couples normally wanted babies. Fate had been on her side, though. Apparently there had been a slight concern that James and Rosemary were too old to adopt a baby and they wouldn’t be able to cope with the demands of a young child. As a result, Angela had been paraded out, told to be on her best behaviour and to go to Matron’s office and meet some people immediately. At the time, Angela had wondered what all the fuss was about, but as soon as she met James and Rosemary she knew she wanted to live with them. They were kind, down-to-earth and educated. Angela had always done well in school without needing to try too hard. She found solace in her textbooks, escaping into a world so different from that of the children’s home, with its constant screaming and crying, chores and punishment, hand-me-downs, and lack of solitude. As James, Rosemary, and Angela talked and got to know each other a little bit, she could feel herself relaxing. They were clearly impressed by her commitment
and dedication to her education in what they later politely referred to as ‘exceptional circumstances’. Although it was mainly James talking, Angela remembered how beautiful and elegant Rosemary was. Angela didn’t think she’d seen anyone with such composure and grace. As the interview progressed, Angela realised that she wanted to be adopted by them – wanted it so badly she wasn’t sure how she would cope with the disappointment if they didn’t take her. After an hour, Matron whisked her out of the room, telling her to stop prattling on. But as she turned to say goodbye, James gave her a discreet wink. Hopeful, Angela had a feeling that life was about to present her with an incredible opportunity.
As she watched them leave, she knew she should find out more about them. Hearing Matron in the hallway seeing the visitors out, Angela crept back to the room and looked on the desk. On top, she could see a file marked ‘Steele’. Flicking it open, she quickly scanned the contents, which revealed a sad story of lost babies and infertility. Hearing the front door shut and Matron’s footsteps returning, she quickly closed the file and slipped out of the room. Hiding behind a nearby cupboard in the hallway, she listened as Matron and one of the day nurses went into the office.
‘Well, that was unexpected!’ announced Matron. ‘Who would have thought they’d be interested in Angela? Asked for her especially!’
Bitch, thought Angela.
‘Still, it will be great for her, won’t it? Clearly from money, those two …’ replied the day nurse.
Angela struggled to remember the nurse’s name. There were so many of them all coming in on different shifts and timings.
‘Yes. Apparently, she can’t bear to see babies – such a shame. I hear he is self-made, though. Originally from the East End and married above his station.’
‘Can’t be bad,’ replied the day nurse wistfully. ‘Anyway, I’d better get on.’
Angela breathed in slightly as she heard footsteps leaving the office and when she was sure it was safe, she quietly left her hiding place.
*
Rosemary placed the tray on the coffee table. They were in the front reception room, Angela and James sitting together on the small two-seater sofa. A selection of biscuits lay on a plate decorated with pink roses, which matched the cup and saucer. As Rosemary poured, Angela was suddenly ravenous. She hadn’t had anything to eat since last night. She sat back with the comfort of tea and biscuits as her mum began to talk.
‘It was such a shock, really. You’d only gone for a check-up, hadn’t you, James?’ she said, turning towards him. ‘The next thing we know, they called you back – just a couple of days later – to meet with a consultant as soon as possible. Well, you know how often that happens with the NHS – you’re lucky if you can get an appointment within the week! Anyway, I went with him, of course, even though you didn’t want me to, did you, darling? I remember everything about that day – one of the worst of my life. Prostate cancer, they said…’
As her mother faltered, Angela stiffened. She wasn’t used to seeing her like this. Rosemary had always been so unruffled and in control. But what did Angela expect? The news of her father’s illness had shaken her to her absolute core so what it must have done to Mum she could barely imagine. She was aware that her parents were older than those of her friends. She had never given it much thought until today, but now she could see those extra years in the worry on their faces.
Visibly pulling herself together, Rosemary interrupted her thoughts.
‘The good news is, though, they caught it early and that’s what we must focus on now. That, and the treatment. Your father has been so strong, you wouldn’t believe…’
Angela struggled to take it in as Rosemary reached for the box of tissues on the small coffee table next to her chair.
‘I didn’t want to tell you,’ she said, composing herself. ‘But your father wanted to do it in person at some point and we know how busy you are…’
What an odd thing to say, thought Angela. Yet when she tried to remember when she had last visited her parents, she guiltily realised she couldn’t. Had she declined their last invitation? Wasn’t that the weekend of her friend’s birthday? Angela sighed heavily.
‘I’m sorry, Dad,’ she said simply.
‘Oh, love, it’s not your fault. I’m just sorry that all of this has happened.’ He waved his hand across the room as if trying to push away the bad news.
‘Anyway, as I was saying…’ Rosemary braced herself by sitting up straighter and taking a sip of tea. ‘The good news is, there’s a chance of recovery and that’s what we need to remember. Isn’t that right, James?’
‘It is, my love,’ he replied, getting up to give his wife’s hand a quick squeeze.
‘So, no need to worry too much,’ joked James, turning to Angela. ‘I’m not ready to go just yet!’
‘That’s true!’ Rosemary agreed. ‘He’s still wandering around in the middle of the night, so that’s a good sign!’
It was a running joke between them that James had a sweet tooth, which he especially liked to indulge during the night if he woke, like a child raiding the biscuit tin. The behaviour was so far removed from her dad’s daytime persona that it made Angela smile. It was not uncommon to find a trail of biscuit crumbs and the latest novel he was reading face down on the kitchen table, the book’s pages splayed like butterfly wings. Rosemary had long been used to his midnight wanderings, and each night before she went to bed she cleared the floors, making sure there were no stray shoes or magazines he might trip over.
‘Anyway,’ said James, ‘enough about my health and all that palaver. Coming back to finding your birth mother – in hindsight, perhaps we should have talked about it earlier but there was always a reason not to. In the early years, you were too young, and then as you got older, there were exams and your degree, and we didn’t want to distract you from any of it. And then as time went on, it was almost like we forgot about it. Then, of course, something like this happens, and it makes you reassess everything.’
Angela nodded, thinking. ‘I’m just wondering about the timing. I would rather spend the time with you – my real family,’ she emphasised.
‘Well, it’s completely up to you, love,’ replied James, ‘but we know how important it’s always been to you and we just want to make sure we’re here to support you and help you with any questions.’ He looked at the floor. Slowly raising his head, he went on, ‘No one knows what the future holds or what will happen. The day you decided to call us Mum and Dad was one of the best days of my life.’
Angela felt a tightness at the back of her throat.
‘But I don’t want my illness to burden you,’ he continued. ‘You are destined for great things and we have tried our best to give you every possible opportunity. But sometimes you just need to know where you come from, and I have always sensed that need in you. I worry you won’t settle until you do. Besides, it will take my mind off things, knowing that I’m doing something to help and you have additional support if… you know…’
Angela knew. He meant if he didn’t make it. Squeezing her father’s hand tightly, she closed her eyes. She took a few moments before opening them again. ‘OK, Dad, I know you’re right as usual. But just so you know, I’m planning to be here most weekends and I want you to call me at any time – even if it’s in the middle of the night – if you need me. Promise?’
Her father nodded. ‘That’s my girl,’ he whispered as he closed his eyes and leant back on the cushions.
As Angela sipped the rest of her hot drink, however, she couldn’t shake the feeling that there was still something he wasn’t telling her.
7
Monday 19 January 1970
Dear Diary,
Today is my birthday – I am nine years old. Nelly gave me her favourite marble as a present. It’s yellow like a daffodil and the only thing I own, apart from this diary. I need to hide it otherwise Peter might steal it. He has a huge collection, which he says he won in bets but everyone knows he steals. Apparently, he keeps his loot
under his bed. We don’t get birthday presents but when I got back from school for tea Fat Franny gave me the biggest piece of chicken. When she’s not clipping me round the ear, she’s all right really. Better than Nasty Nora anyway – she didn’t even say Happy Birthday.
A.
Saturday 14 February 1970
Dear Diary,
Yesterday, we had to make Valentine’s Day cards at school. When Snapper asked who I was going to give it to, I said Nelly and everyone laughed and Peter started chanting lesbian! lesbian! at the top of his voice and the whole class joined in. Mrs Thistlethwaite had to snap her ruler on the desk so hard it broke. Nelly said to ignore them. Peter is going to be so sorry.
A.
Friday 27 February 1970
Dear Diary,
After school, me and Nelly went ice-skating on the lake in the park. We don’t have skates, we just slide on our feet. I saw Peter and his mates skating as well. As soon as I got close to him I pushed him and he went flying head first onto the ice. It was so funny! I couldn’t stop laughing but Nelly said I pushed him too hard and he could have really hurt himself. His friends had to pick him up off the ice and when he stood up he had blood on his forehead. Nelly said she doesn’t want to be friends with a bully. I don’t care – I bet he won’t call me a lesbian in front of the whole class again.
A.
Monday 2 March 1970
Dear Diary,
A horrid day – Nelly wasn’t talking to me and Peter had to stay home. When I got back after school, Nasty Nora was waiting for me. I knew I was in trouble. Somehow she must have found out what I did to Peter. Maybe Nelly told her. As soon as I got through the door, Nasty Nora grabbed me by the hair and dragged me into her office. She didn’t even ask me what had happened, just gave me the strap. I didn’t cry but that seemed to make her even angrier as she gave me a few extra welts. Luckily, there was a knock on the door and Nelly told Nasty Nora she was needed immediately as there was a fire in the kitchen. Nasty Nora ran out and Nelly after her. I was in so much pain I had to force myself to walk to the kitchen. There was a small fire in the sink. Later, Nelly told me that she had stolen Peter’s lighter from under his bed. I think Nelly’s my friend again – it’s not easy to get in the boys’ dorm – she must have stolen the key from Fat Franny. My bum hurts so much I’m going to have to sleep on my front for a week.
