by Karen Osman
They had just celebrated the arrival of Edith’s first grandchild last month and with a start, she realised she was the only one in the group who didn’t have grandchildren. She felt a distasteful mix of disappointment and competitiveness. Is this how her own mother had felt? Was Angela running out of time? At twenty-seven years old, she was pushing it, but she had never so much as hinted to Angela; her own mother’s impatience still stung to this day. Yet had her mother been right? Is that why Rosemary had struggled with pregnancy? The doctor had never said that in so many words but still… she had often wondered if her own ambition was the cause of her infertility. Angela had once said that she had no desire to become a mother, a statement Rosemary had ignored at the time as a combination of youthful ignorance and her experience in a children’s home. All women wanted children, didn’t they? But as she sat listening to Edith’s description of little Matthew’s feeding habits, Rosemary thought about grandchildren, wondering if history would repeat itself and whether once more she would be denied a baby in her arms.
30
Evelyn
Evelyn was pleased. She’d won two rounds of bingo and the barman had given her a drink on the house. That was a good night, in her book. Bingo was every Tuesday and Saturday, and Evelyn rarely missed it. She liked the feel of the bingo card in her hand, the rhyming slang of the bingo caller – Two fat ladies, eighty-eight! – and that tingling anticipation as she crossed out her numbers. Saturday tended to be busier than Tuesday, which meant fewer chances to win, but she still enjoyed it. If it was raining, she took the bus as it was a good thirty-minute walk, but if the weather was bearable, she walked and she normally picked up Brenda, who lived down the road.
Evelyn hadn’t told her about meeting Angela, or that she even had a child at all, for that matter. It was a strange feeling because, for all their jibes and sarcasm with each other, she was her closest friend, based on a lifetime of shared love of TV soaps and bingo, disdain for the middle classes and the unwavering belief that they were the victims of Margaret Thatcher’s Britain. They could spend hours talking about the news and gossip of the day, usually picked up from the daily papers.
They had been friends for years and they used to be neighbours. However, Brenda had recently managed to persuade the council to put her on a nicer estate in a ground-floor flat, due to her arthritis, although Brenda seemed to manage to get about just fine when she wanted to. Still, when her friend had shown Evelyn around her new place, Evelyn had to admit, with the small garden terrace, it had been nice sitting outside and having a cup of tea.
She’d wanted to say something then to Brenda about her birth daughter but what would she say? Evelyn wouldn’t have known where to start. Besides it didn’t look like it was going to go much further so what was the point in dredging it all up? No, it was better to get back to focusing on her own life.
She had gone to see Alan to put in yet another claim to the council for a better flat, but so far nothing had come of it. At this rate, she might have to develop arthritis as well, thought Evelyn. Wasn’t it just the other day that her legs were playing up? Yet, all thoughts of aches and pains were forgotten as Evelyn contentedly strolled home after dropping Brenda off, the envelope full of prize money safely in her handbag. It was dark and Evelyn was looking forward to getting home and reading the magazines Doreen had dropped off earlier. They had decided long ago to buy different ones each month and then swap them as a means of saving money.
Hornsey Lane was always noisy with traffic, but still, she felt rather than heard someone behind her: brisk footsteps that echoed her own. She quickened her pace, clutching her handbag harder under her arm. A small stone hit the back of her leg, but she didn’t stop. Who the hell was it? The footsteps came nearer and nearer. She was almost there – she could see the estate now.
But it was too late.
Out of the corner of her eye, a black-hooded figure was almost upon her. Instinctively, Evelyn whirled round, arms outstretched to ward him off. But the figure propelled past her, leaving Evelyn feeling foolish and breathless as the stranger fled into the darkness. Perhaps there was no intention to harm her – he or she was just impatient? Still her heartbeat had quickened, and her hackles were raised. She had the savvy sense of a Londoner and couldn’t shake the feeling she’d just narrowly avoided being mugged.
Finally crossing the estate to her block, Evelyn saw with relief the streetlamps were on. Whoever it was had given her a scare and she wasn’t going to take any chances. She knew incidents happened all the time on the estate, normally between neighbours, but when they did, most people had an idea of who had done what and it was usually all sorted out. The faceless stranger had unnerved Evelyn and she quickly climbed the stairs to her flat, double-locking the door and fastening the windows before collapsing into her armchair, cigarette and vodka in one hand and Charlie on her lap.
31
Angela
It was a Saturday morning and Angela was in Tetbury again. She’d come up on the train yesterday afternoon. She was relieved to see her dad was looking much better this time. Apart from the weight loss, a stranger wouldn’t suspect he was suffering from a devastating illness. But still, Angela saw him taking day-time naps instead of reading the newspaper, his moments of confusion where there used to be clarity, her mother’s hearty meals gradually getting smaller and smaller as his appetite dwindled.
Some mornings James would sleep late, such as today, so Angela was having coffee with her mum. Despite it being November, it was a bright clear day and they were sitting out in the garden, wrapped up warmly, the white wrought-iron chairs softened with cushions against their backs.
As she breathed in the air, so different from the smells of London, Angela took in the country landscape. But it was the garden that had first captured her attention all those years ago. Even today, it still took her breath away. It didn’t matter what season it was, it was full of life and her parents’ pride and joy. When Angela had first seen it, she had been amazed. She hadn’t known such beauty could exist within reach of the capital. Her world had consisted of the commotion and clamour of the children’s home and school, her only quiet escape being the school library. But here, just over a couple of hours away, was a garden from a storybook. Swathes of blooms in every colour had been planted in curvaceous flowerbeds, while long stretches of grass were interrupted with tinkling fountains, Romanesque bird feeders, and even a loveseat. It was full of life and around every corner was a surprise: the unexpected flutter of a butterfly, the ripeness of a new tomato or the first cluster of snowdrops, depending on the season. As a teenager, Angela had never tired of exploring it. In the summer evenings, her dad used to walk her round the garden telling her the names of the different plants and flowers: ‘The Daffodil Jetfire, although I prefer its botanical name, Narcissus. It just suits it, don’t you think, the way the flower leans over as if looking at its reflection?’
The memory made her smile. When was the last time she had walked around the garden with him? Had he asked her during one of her recent visits? Angela couldn’t remember. She made a vow to walk with him before she left that weekend.
‘How are you managing with the garden, Mum?’ she asked now.
‘Well, your father still likes to keep his hand in, but he tires after an hour. I was thinking I might get some help in, but…’
Angela looked at Rosemary questioningly.
‘You know… it would feel like giving in, I suppose.’ She shrugged. ‘Silly really.’
‘Not at all. Perhaps we can all do a little this weekend if the weather stays like this?’
Rosemary smiled. ‘Yes, your father would like that. You’ll have to borrow some of my overalls, though!’
Angela looked down at her outfit. Mum had a point. Even though it was a weekend, she had a silk, cerise-coloured, button-down shirt over a fitted skirt, and her small waist was emphasised with a wide belt. Angela loved clothes, and she especially loved them now that she had the money to buy them. She suspec
ted it was a result of never owning anything when she was growing up in the children’s home. Most of her clothes had been hand-me-downs – even her underwear – and there was always something wrong with them: they never fitted properly, or they had stains that wouldn’t come out, or they were old-fashioned. Angela involuntarily shivered at the memory. Apart from when she had been reading her old diaries, she hardly ever thought about her time at the children’s home. Those days were long gone. Yet her meetings with Susan and finding Evelyn was bringing up memories that she thought she had securely locked away. She thought back to the day before when she’d updated her parents on her meeting with Evelyn. It was the first thing her dad had asked her when she stepped through the door.
‘Give her a minute, James, to get settled – she’s only just got in!’ Mum had exclaimed.
But it was good to see him excited about something, and they had all sat down in the living room.
‘How did it go?’
Angela looked at her mum, seeing concern but also something else. Fear?
‘It was…’ Angela searched for the right word. How was it? Disappointing? Confusing? Shocking?
She settled for ‘strange’.
‘It was strange, really. Evelyn wasn’t at all how I expected her to be.’
‘How did you imagine her?’ asked Dad.
‘Well, like us, really…’ Angela hesitated. ‘Like me. Does that sound absurd?’
‘Of course not. It’s hard to imagine someone when you’ve never seen or experienced that person before, so your brain probably just goes with what it’s used to. It’s good that Susan was there to support you,’ he reassured.
‘Yes, she was a great help. I trust her a lot.’
Angela had recounted the conversation she’d had with Susan after the visit.
‘How are you feeling, Angela? I can’t imagine that was easy for you,’ Susan had said as they started to walk down the hill back towards Archway station.
‘No, it wasn’t really, but at least it’s over now.’
‘I know. But the meeting went better than I expected.’
‘Really?’ responded Angela in surprise.
‘Yes, of course,’ Susan said firmly. ‘I’m sure you were slightly taken aback by her character, but I suspect there’s a lot more to Evelyn than meets the eye.’
‘She does seem rather… tough,’ said Angela, trying to find the right word.
‘Yes, it’s not unusual, though. Women who have given up their babies for adoption sometimes come from challenging backgrounds where there was little support. It’s still a fairly taboo subject, even today, so you can imagine what it was like when you were born in 1961.’
‘I suppose,’ replied Angela. ‘I just thought she might be a bit more… you know…’
Susan looked at her. ‘Apologetic? Loving?’ she suggested.
‘Well, yes,’ replied Angela, relieved not to have to spell it out. ‘She just didn’t seem to care that much really.’
‘I know. It’s only natural. But in all my years of doing this, I’ve never met a mother who didn’t care. Young and naïve? Yes. Uneducated and ill-prepared? Absolutely. Ashamed? No doubt. But hopefully today is a new start – a chance to build a relationship and foster understanding. I’m not saying it will be an easy road, but you have the opportunity, which is more than most.’
Angela didn’t respond. Stopping, Susan had placed a gentle hand on Angela’s arm. ‘At the end of the day, Angela, you are in complete control of this situation. Whatever you want or don’t want to do, I will support you a hundred per cent,’ she said gently.
‘I know, thank you,’ Angela had replied.
‘If you would like me to arrange another meeting for you, just let me know. I can be there as well, if you would like, or if you feel up to it you can perhaps meet Evelyn on your own.’
Angela had been in two minds. ‘I’m seeing my parents this weekend. I might talk it through with them and then I’ll let you know.’
And now here she was, in Tetbury, spending time with people who had devoted their life to her and she felt guilty that her thoughts were on someone who hadn’t done that. James and Rosemary had had so much love to give and so much to share. They hadn’t just wanted to fill a gap in their lives, they truly wanted to help.
‘Anyway,’ said Angela, ‘I said I would talk it over with you and Dad first and decide the next steps.’
‘Well, of course you have to see her again,’ announced Dad. ‘Tell her, Rosemary.’
Rosemary frowned at James before turning to Angela.
‘One step at a time, darling,’ her mum replied. ‘What are your options?’
‘Well, to meet again and try to develop some sort of relationship is one option…’ said Angela, trailing off.
‘And the other?’ asked Rosemary.
‘To leave it be.’
‘I see. And how are you feeling about it at the moment?’
‘Honestly, I don’t know. I thought I would be a lot more interested to pursue it, but now that I’ve met her...’ She sighed. ‘We just don’t seem to have a lot in common,’ Angela confessed with a shrug.
‘Well,’ replied her mum, ‘it was only one meeting and you were probably both very nervous. It seems a shame to close the door when you’ve come this far.’
‘Absolutely,’ James agreed.
‘On the other hand,’ Rosemary continued, ‘you’ve met her now, so perhaps you know all you need to know.’
Angela looked up in surprise at the sudden change in tack. She was just about to respond when Rosemary got up and headed to the kitchen. ‘Right, well, I’d best get the lunch started.’
And just like that, the conversation was over, and Angela and her dad were left staring after her.
32
Saturday 24 January 1976
Dear Diary,
I turned 15 a few days ago. Kath and Ray didn’t do anything, but I didn’t expect them to. Peter gave me a book called First Term at Malory Towers, which I’ve hidden under my mattress to read later. It looks quite childish and he probably stole it, but it was nice of him to make the effort. He has changed a lot over the last few months. He used to be confident, with lots of back chat, but now he’s quiet and thoughtful and keeps himself to himself. I think he would be quite shocked if he found out I snuck out last night. Mark kept his promise and took me clubbing. When we got there, the music was really loud, and it was dark inside the club. But it was so cold outside, I was just happy to be indoors. Mark gave me another tab, and within minutes I could feel the music like it was inside me – it was incredible. We danced all night long and missed the last bus, so we had to walk home. The strange thing is I didn’t feel the cold at all on the way back.
A.
Thursday 25 March 1976
Dear Diary,
Mark has gone. Packed up all his stuff and left. Kath informed the Inspector but because of his age, there’s not much that can be done. I can’t believe he’s left me here. I don’t know how I’m going to survive in this place without him. Our secret meetings and nights out were the only things that kept me from going under. Where am I going to get my smokes from? Why didn’t he tell me? Why has he just taken off without a word to anyone?
A.
Monday 19 April 1976
Dear Diary,
There’s a lot of excitement as Kath and Ray just told everyone that they have a couple visiting this week who want to adopt. It will be one of the babies or the littlies that get picked as usual. I hope they pick Julia – out of everyone she could really do with a loving home. She’s so frightened of everything and often comes into my bed at night. Ray says he’ll be happy just to have one less brat to deal with.
A.
33
Rosemary
Rosemary tried to conceal her irritation. They had been waiting almost two hours and, after checking with reception for the second time, there was still no further update on when the consultant would see them. When James had first been diagnosed, she’d antic
ipated the fear and the worry but what she hadn’t expected was how time-consuming it would all be. It felt like they lived half their life at the hospital, most of it just hanging around. As usual, the waiting room was busy, and every time the consultant’s door opened, it was like a pebble being dropped into a pond, the anticipation rippling across the room as to who would be called in next.
She’d read all the magazines and had mentally rearranged the room to make it more comfortable and welcoming. Gone were the rows of hard seating, cheap tiled flooring, and posters about the dangers of smoking. Instead, Rosemary passed the time picturing comfortable armchairs next to shelves of inspirational books with walls lined with a series of beautiful watercolours. The centrepiece would be a large aquarium, the mesmerising, colourful fish dissolving the long hours. She looked over at James, who was reading his book, her annoyance magnified by the fact that she’d left hers at home.
‘Mr Steele?’ announced the nurse. Finally, thought Rosemary. Gathering up her handbag and coat, she automatically took James’s hand and followed the nurse.
*
Rosemary considered herself an intelligent woman but even she was struggling to comprehend what Mr Redding was saying. There seemed to be no concrete answer to any of their questions. His responses were vague, reluctant to commit to anything. Instead, he spoke of optimism and living life to the full. Easy for you to say, thought Rosemary resentfully. As she watched Mr Redding shuffle through his papers, she sensed the appointment drawing to a close. She wondered how long they’d been in the room – fifteen minutes? Twenty? And all they’d learnt was that James’s chemotherapy was going as well as could be expected. If she heard that phrase one more time, she would scream.
