The Home

by Karen Osman

  ‘I did. I took your advice,’ replied Angela.

  ‘Well, I’m glad it went well,’ he said, squeezing her hand. ‘Ignore Katie – she can be a pain in the neck when she wants to be.’

  ‘Yeah, I know. But like I said, it’s not a problem, although I’m glad Leo wasn’t there tonight.’

  ‘Yeah, he’s a strange one. Anyway, enough about them. My plan is to keep you here as long as possible, so you can’t go back to the office!’ said Mitchell.

  ‘I wish,’ replied Angela with a sigh, thinking of everything she had to do.

  ‘You know,’ said Mitchell, ‘you’re the only person I’ve met who works harder than I do! It’s very sexy, you know,’ he added suggestively, putting his arm around her waist.

  Angela laughed away the compliment but she felt herself falling for him.

  *

  It was almost eleven thirty when Angela got on the Tube. She’d only just caught the last train on time. It didn’t matter that she was exhausted and only had a few hours to sleep before having to get up and go into work again. All she could think about was Mitchell. They’d had a glass of white wine each and a quick bite to eat before he’d walked her back to the office.

  ‘Don’t stay too late,’ he’d cautioned, as he left with a lingering kiss.

  But Angela had a lot to catch up on. With her time spent at the meetings, with Mitchell, and her frequent trips to Tetbury, her billing hours had reduced – not by much, but enough to capture Clive’s attention.

  ‘You were the best-performing associate for six months straight. What happened?’ he asked at their weekly progress report meeting earlier that day. ‘You broke up with your boyfriend or something?’

  Angela bristled at the unnecessary remark.

  ‘Get your billing back up,’ he had told her directly.

  ‘Yes, Mr Mooring,’ she’d replied quickly, not even bothering to explain about her other commitments. He wouldn’t be interested anyway. Raymond had smirked at her from across the room, and Angela had stared down the humiliation, knowing she would have to deal with him at some point – he was becoming intolerable. In the meantime, she had vowed to work harder than ever before. She had spent two hours behind her desk that evening and was planning to do more work at home. The office was still a quarter full when she left.

  But as the soothing white noise of the Tube accompanied her home, Angela felt the lure of sleep take over. Leaning her head against the glass partition, she thought she would just close her eyes for a few minutes. Drifting off into a light snooze, she dreamt of Mitchell’s intense kiss, the graze of his stubble as she leant in towards him, his hand coming round to cup the back of her head. Waking with a start, she realised she was almost at her stop. As the train slowed, Angela reached down for her bag but the space between her feet was empty. Shock and disbelief mingled together, a powerful concoction that put her on full alert. She quickly scanned the few remaining passengers and was met with a barrier of newspapers and books. Would they have seen anything? A young woman next to her, who was dressed as a punk, was the only one not reading. Instead, she was listening to her Walkman. Angela turned to her to ask, but the punk ignored her, seemingly too lazy to remove her headphones. God, London could be so unfriendly sometimes, she thought, but at the same time she knew it was her own fault – she shouldn’t have fallen asleep.

  There was nothing to do except get off the train and report the theft. She recognised the hopelessness of the situation, though. The thief would be long gone by now. How could she have been so stupid? Her life was in that bag – her Filofax, her purse, and, oh God, some of her notes for work. Damn it, she would have to rewrite them. She also remembered that Evelyn’s keys were in there. She had got the key copied and was going to give them both to her. She would have to call and tell her. At least they weren’t labelled. Luckily, Angela had taken her own keys out of her bag on the Tube, so they were in her hand ready to use.

  Annoyed, she made her way to the stationmaster’s office to report the crime where she knew she would have to fill in paperwork the length of War and Peace. Sighing, she doubted she would get much more work done that evening.

  40

  Wednesday 23 November 1988

  Dear Diary,

  It was just a combination of factors really – tiredness, the wine and people are so engrossed on the Tube. It’s so easy for things to get stolen – thieves target the Tube all the time for that very reason. They can hide amongst all those people. Of course, true Londoners should know better. Thank goodness for Mitchell. I’ve never been so busy. Between the office, the adoption support group, and Tetbury – it’s exhausting. I’m never at home these days.

  A.

  41

  Evelyn

  Evelyn hadn’t known where Tetbury was and she hadn’t liked to show her ignorance by asking, but she had managed to find out by dropping the place name into conversation with Brenda. According to her, it was in the Cotswolds and it was a very fancy area – lots of antiques, apparently. Evelyn wondered about Tetbury and what the Steeles’ life together had been like. It was one thing to see a photo of Jimmy – or James, as he clearly now liked to be called – but the urge to see him and confront him about his lies was almost overpowering. Tomorrow, she would call the railway station and find out how much a train ticket to Tetbury cost. As long as she was back before dark, she’d be fine.

  *

  Despite her determination to get to Tetbury, Evelyn didn’t want to get on the train by herself, so she persuaded Brenda to join her on the pretence of a day out. When Brenda had asked why Tetbury when they could go to Brighton, Evelyn was prepared. She’d discovered that Highgrove House was close by and Brenda was nothing if not devout in her passion for the Royal Family. It was arranged for the following week: they would travel there on the train, visit the Royal Gardens and have a wander around the village. Evelyn had written down the address and telephone number for James and Rosemary from the phone book, and on the morning of their departure she could barely think straight.

  ‘Evelyn, for goodness’ sake, whatever is the matter with you?’ Brenda asked when she kept fidgeting and sighing on the train.

  ‘Nothing,’ replied Evelyn sullenly, irritated at being spoken to like a child. ‘I’m going to get a cup of tea – do you want one?’

  ‘Yes, please. Just make sure it’s hot and not that lukewarm stuff they usually serve,’ complained Brenda.

  As Evelyn waited for the tea in the buffet car, she wondered what she would do when she got there. Would she just knock on James and Rosemary’s door and introduce herself? Of course, she couldn’t. There had to be a better way.

  Think, Evelyn, she urged herself. What excuse could she come up with to see James in person? She wasn’t worried about him recognising her. The young girl she had once been had long disappeared, changed beyond recognition by a life of hardship, disappointment and debauchery.

  *

  Evelyn was quiet all the way back to London from Tetbury. For once, she didn’t mind Brenda’s constant prattle – it gave her time to think. Despite the photo, she was still shaken when she saw Jimmy – James – strolling through the village with a smartly dressed woman she recognised from the photo in Angela’s wallet as Rosemary. Evelyn saw her reach out to take his hand, and when she saw how much love exuded from James towards her, the injustice of it all floored Evelyn.

  He’d left her pregnant and alone to cope with the mess he’d caused, but had somehow managed to find his daughter, adopt her with a new woman and live an idyllic family life. It should have been her, she thought. Why wasn’t it her?

  But here was her opportunity to find out. She couldn’t believe it had been so easy to see him. If that wasn’t a sign to confront him, she didn’t know what was. Yet as her feet went to move forward, something held her back. While he looked incredibly well-to-do and still had a hint of that rakish charm, she recognised a dying man when she saw one. While Brenda was browsing one of the antique markets in the Market House in t
he centre of town, Evelyn discreetly followed James. As she watched him walk down the High Street, clearly struggling with the effort, she took in his expensive-looking blue jacket and checked shirt. He even had a little handkerchief peeping out of his top pocket. Oh for goodness’ sake, thought Evelyn to herself crossly; he looked ridiculous.

  Still, Evelyn felt herself smile. They’d had some good times. As the years rolled back, memories flooded her mind: the excitement of sneaking out to meet him, the music as they swayed together, his hand taking hers as he led her up to a bedroom. He’d made her feel special and she’d fallen for it all. He must be over fifty now, and look where they’d both ended up: he battling cancer, and she ravaged by drugs and drink.

  She watched him go into a coffee shop, and turned away to find Brenda. Remembering the look of love on his face towards Rosemary, she knew what she would do.

  *

  Evelyn wandered through the house, its welcoming but fancy accessories giving it a farmhouse feel. A huge fire was lit, its flames giving off a warmth that drew her to sit in front of it. As she looked around, she could see family photos. There was Angela with James and Rosemary, all on their skis ready to go down the slopes. Angela on her graduation, with her father’s arm wrapped around her. Angela dressed up for her sixth-form disco. There were so many. Evelyn counted twenty-four photos scattered across the living room walls and on various cabinets. Twenty-four occasions Evelyn had missed out on. The door opened, and she turned, coming face to face with Jimmy. He didn’t look surprised to see her, just sat down on the sofa and watched her.

  ‘You aren’t fit to be a mother, Evelyn,’ he said.

  Evelyn tried to defend herself but she couldn’t speak. She watched in dismay as Rosemary entered the room and joined James, cuddling into him, a baby nestled in her arms. Evelyn stood up to get a closer look at the infant but James put an arm out to prevent her.

  ‘You aren’t fit to be a mother, Evelyn,’ he said again. ‘But Rosemary is. We’ll take it from here.’

  All of a sudden, Evelyn is lying on a bed, her legs held open in stirrups. She can’t move but her body is straining to sit up and get a glimpse of her child. All she can see are shadows moving above her as the anaesthetic brings her back under its spell. But just as her eyes are about to close, she briefly sees her baby screaming and grimacing at the wrench from the womb. She hears the midwife say it’s a girl before they take her away and Evelyn lies back, relieved that she’s healthy. They bring her back, quiet now, placing her little body in one of Evelyn’s arms as she tries to fight the haze of the drug. But the pull is too strong and Evelyn falls limp as they take her away for the last time.

  *

  Evelyn wakes from the dream in her own bed. Her mouth is dry and her head is pounding. Looking around her, she tries to remember when she went to Tetbury. Yesterday? Or the day before yesterday? Covering her face with her hands, she makes a vow to herself that this time she really will give up the drink.

  42

  Rosemary

  The day had started off well. James had woken up relatively early and seemed to be in good spirits. They’d had breakfast together and even taken a stroll round the garden. They’d talked about next season’s planting and what they would look forward to seeing in bloom. They hadn’t made any plans for a while; it seemed pointless when the two of them were so focused on getting through each day, each week, but that morning as she felt a hint of normality return, Rosemary felt optimistic. When James had mentioned going for a walk in the village after lunch instead of his usual nap, she even went so far as to hope he’d turned a corner. But they’d only been walking for ten minutes before James slowed his pace to lean on the wall. He was breathing heavily. Gently guiding him into the nearest café, Rosemary had ordered a large pot of tea, fighting the disappointment with cheery chatter. An hour later, they were safely back at home, James in his chair, head to one side, gently snoring. It was then that the phone had rung, and Rosemary quickly hurried to answer it before it woke him.

  ‘Good morning, is that Rosemary Steele?’

  ‘It is. Who’s speaking, please?’

  ‘This is Evelyn Harris.’

  Rosemary’s hand unconsciously went to her chest, her fingers clasping the gold locket that lay there.

  Evelyn Harris.

  During the adoption process, it was James who had dealt with everything. He had visited the children’s home several times to sort out paperwork and approvals, while Rosemary had visited only once. Even though it was years ago, she still remembered it vividly.

  As soon as the large front door of the children’s home had opened, James and Rosemary were met by clamouring toddlers, their little starfish hands begging for them to be lifted. Unable to resist, she had picked up one child, a beautiful little boy with huge brown eyes. Rosemary’s heart had contracted with sorrow while the searing heat of disbelief that abandoned children even existed pressed against her throat.

  ‘What’s his name?’ she’d asked Matron.

  ‘Hughie,’ she’d replied.

  Holding him in her arms, Rosemary felt the urge to protect him, insistent and physical. They fitted together perfectly, his arms gently resting around her neck, and when he leant his head on her shoulder, it took everything Rosemary had not to turn and walk out of the front door with him. She caught James watching, a strange expression on his face before quickly replacing it with an encouraging smile.

  ‘Come on, love, Angela will be waiting for us.’

  Nodding, Rosemary buried her cheek against Hughie’s, as if breathing in his scent could make him hers. Reluctantly, she put him down, his chubby legs still wobbly like a new-born lamb, making him grasp for her hand. As Rosemary watched it dawn on him that she was leaving, Hughie let out a sob which crescendoed into a series of howls. As one of the carers led him away, Rosemary bit her lip hard, focusing on the pain to harden herself and prevent her own tears from falling.

  Following James, Matron showed them through to an office on the other side of the hallway. It smelled of furniture polish and bubble gum, presumably the former used to disguise the latter. A large wooden desk with chairs dominated the space, and Matron indicated for her visitors to sit down. On the desk waiting for them was an adoption consent form and as James picked it up, Rosemary caught sight of the black typed letters, bold and official: ‘BIRTH MOTHER: EVELYN HARRIS’. Underneath was her illegible, scrawled signature. After years of trying for a child, in the end all it took was a few ink marks. Matron left, presumably to bring Angela, and James grasped Rosemary’s hand.

  ‘I can’t believe this is finally happening!’ he said. ‘In just a few days, we’ll be parents. After all these years…’

  He appeared lost in thought but suddenly he turned to her, his eyes wet.

  ‘I know it’s not a baby, Rosie love, but I just know you’re going to make an incredible mother. Thank you for this.’

  Rosemary smiled, her heart full of love for James. She would do anything for him, and if they weren’t allowed to adopt a younger child, then Angela would be perfect, she told herself firmly.

  Since that day, Rosemary had thought about Evelyn – of course she had. Who was this woman who had given up her daughter? What were her circumstances? What was her medical history? If Angela ever mentioned her, she referred to her as her birth mother. Rosemary guiltily remembered reading Angela’s diary once and was both horrified and gratified to see Evelyn referred to as that bitch who gave me up, the teenage angst clearly apparent in the heavy underlined script. But apart from that, Evelyn’s name was rarely mentioned.

  Until now.

  Still holding the receiver in one hand, Rosemary peered into the living room to make sure James was still asleep. Normally, the sight of him evoked sympathy, but with Evelyn on the end of the line Rosemary felt the irritation rise again that he had persuaded Angela to bring this woman into their lives at such a time.

  ‘Good morning,’ Rosemary finally replied, closing the living room door behind her. ‘How ca
n I help you, Evelyn?’

  ‘Oh, well, you can’t really,’ she replied, seemingly oblivious to the polite rhetoric. ‘I was just giving you a ring to say thank you for doing such a wonderful job raising my daughter. Angela tells me it was you and Ji— James who encouraged her to get in touch with me.’

  Despite Evelyn’s pleasant tone, Rosemary felt the words like barbed wire on her skin. Her daughter?

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Evelyn into the silence. ‘I hope I haven’t taken you by surprise. I did mention to Angela that I would be in touch. Don’t tell me she forgot to tell you! Kids these days, eh?’ Evelyn laughed, her attempt at camaraderie, falling like a deck of cards.

  ‘Indeed,’ replied Rosemary. ‘Well, it was lovely to hear from you, Evelyn.’

  ‘Anytime. It would be nice to stay in touch, wouldn’t it? I’m sure Angela would be pleased to see everyone getting on so well. She says you come to London regularly. Perhaps we could all meet for a cup of tea next time you’re here. That would be nice, wouldn’t it?’

  ‘That would be very nice, now I really—’

  ‘By the way,’ Evelyn interrupted, ‘there is one thing I wanted to talk to you about. A delicate matter, what with James being Angela’s real father and everything. I’m presuming Angela doesn’t know – I suppose you and James were waiting for the right time to tell her?’

  Rosemary gripped the receiver, pressing it hard against her ear until it started to smart. Closing her eyes tightly, she resisted the urge to hang up.

  ‘I’m sorry, Evelyn, you must be mistaken. The information about Angela’s father was never shared with us at the time of adoption.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘Look, I’m very sorry, but I must go – I have a pan boiling over. It’s been nice talking to you.’ And before Evelyn could respond, Rosemary replaced the receiver, finally cutting off the endless prattle.