Finding Mother

by Allen, Anne

  Table of Contents

  chapter 1

  chapter 2

  chapter 3

  chapter 4

  chapter 5

  chapter 6

  chapter 7

  chapter 8

  chapter 9

  chapter 10

  chapter 11

  chapter 12

  chapter 13

  chapter 14

  chapter 15

  chapter 16

  chapter 17

  chapter 18

  chapter 19

  chapter 20

  chapter 21

  chapter 22

  chapter 23

  chapter 24

  chapter 25

  chapter 26

  chapter 27

  chapter 28

  chapter 29

  chapter 30

  chapter 31

  chapter 32

  chapter 33

  chapter 34

  chapter 35

  chapter 36

  chapter 37

  chapter 38

  chapter 39

  chapter 40

  chapter 41

  chapter 42

  epilogue

  about the author

  Prepare to be swept away by a heart-warming tale of family relationships and love

  Three women. Three generations. Sacrifices for love…

  Who is she really? Nicole is about to find out as she searches for her real mother; the woman who gave her away at birth. With her marriage in tatters, she sets out from England: travelling to Spain, Jersey and Guernsey before the extraordinary story of her real family is finally revealed.

  Nicole becomes an unwitting catalyst for change in the family. Two women are forced to reveal long-buried secrets. One going back as far as the Second World War. Lives are transformed as choices have to be made and the past laid to rest…

  Praise for Finding Mother

  ‘A sensitive, heart-felt novel about family relation-ships, identity, adoption, second chances at love… With romance, weddings, boat trips, lovely gardens and more, Finding Mother is a dazzle of a book, a perfect holiday read.’ Lindsay Townsend, author of The Snow Bride

  finding

  mother

  Anne Allen

  Sarnia Press

  London

  Copyright ©2013 Anne Allen

  The moral right of Anne Allen to be

  identified as the author of this work has been

  asserted in accordance with the Copyright,

  Designs and patent Act 1988.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication

  may be reproduced or transmitted in any form

  or by any means, electronic or mechanical,

  including photocopy, recording, or any

  information storage and retrieval system

  without permission in writing from the publisher.

  Sarnia Press

  Unit 1, 1 Sans Walk

  London EC1R 0LT

  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available

  From the British Library

  ISBN 978 0 9927112 0 7

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters,

  businesses, organisations, places and events are

  either the product of the author’s imagination

  or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to

  actual persons, living or dead, events or

  locales is entirely coincidental.

  “Oh, what a tangled web we weave, when first we practise to deceive."

  Sir Walter Scott, Marmion, Canto vi Stanza 17

  chapter 1

  ‘I want a divorce!’

  Nicole’s cry hung in the air as she slammed out of the house. She flung herself into the driver’s seat of her car, an Audi TT parked adjacent to its twin. After substantial and unnecessary, but therapeutic revving, the car shot out onto the road as Tom appeared at the front door, shouting something Nicole couldn’t and didn’t want to hear.

  Half a mile along the road towards Bath, she pulled into a layby and, leaning her head on the steering wheel, sobbed. A few minutes of unrestrained tears later, Nicole reached for a tissue from her handbag and, using the vanity mirror for guidance, wiped the black streaks of mascara from her face and blew her reddened nose. A few deep breaths helped restore her breathing, but her head continued thumping from the release of emotion.

  I thought crying was supposed to be good for you, but I’ve never felt so awful. Well, not since I broke my leg skiing when I was twelve. In a rare moment of clarity she wondered which was worse – a broken leg or an unfaithful husband. It was a close call. Reclining the car seat, Nicole stretched out her tall, slim frame, allowing her clenched muscles to finally relax. What a mess!

  It had all started when she wanted to order a food delivery from Sainsbury’s and couldn’t find her credit card. After calling out to Tom if it was okay to use his – being a joint card – Nicole took the answering grunt from upstairs to mean a yes. As she opened his wallet a bill fell out.

  Picking it up, the heading caught her eye; ‘The Stratford Manor Hotel, Warwick Road, Stratford-upon-Avon’. Odd, when did Tom stay there? Opening it out Nicole saw it was a receipted bill for two nights in the name of ‘Mr and Mrs Oxford’ dated for the previous weekend. Nicole held onto the chair as the realisation hit – he was still being unfaithful. Tom had assured her he’d got it out of his system and was now a devoted husband. Except it appeared he wasn’t.

  Nicole’s feet felt as if encased in lead boots as she went upstairs to the bedroom. As she flung open the door to the designer decorated room which, at least for her, had represented love and harmony, Tom was shrugging into his jeans. He was freshly showered after his run and his light brown hair stood up glistening and spiky.

  Moving slowly into the room she threw the bill onto the cream velvet bed-throw. Tom stiffened and looked up, the turned down mouth and contracted eyebrows offering the mournful look of a penitent.

  ‘Please, darling, it’s not what you think…’

  ‘Oh, what is it then? Entertaining a new writer, perhaps?’ Nicole’s voice sounded harsh, even to her own ears. As a television producer Tom often met with programme writers. But meetings were not usually conducted in a hotel bed, or so she assumed.

  Tom opened his mouth but nothing came out. Unheard of for him.

  ‘Didn’t you tell me you were attending a conference in Birmingham last weekend? At a city centre hotel?’

  ‘Yes, but I. . .I wanted to get away from everyone. That’s why I moved to Stratford.’ He must have seen the disbelief on Nicole’s face as he went on, ‘It wasn’t anything important, really it wasn’t, darling. It’s you I love, you know that, don’t you?’

  He reached out to Nicole but she stepped back from him, a coldness clutching at her heart. The thought of being touched by those adulterous hands made her feel sick. Anger at his betrayal triggered off a flow of adrenaline, propelling her through the bedroom door and down the stairs, giving herself time to grab her bag and car keys before slamming out of the house.

  Thinking now of her parting shot at Tom, Nicole asked herself if she really did want a divorce. They appeared to have everything. Both successful in their media careers – she being an investigative journalist for the same television channel – beautiful, renovated farmhouse near Bath; exotic holidays when they found the time; and no children to restrict them.

  She fell madly in love with Tom twelve years ago, when they’d met at the radio station where they then worked. He seemed equally smitten and proposed two years later with a huge diamond solitaire.

  Nicole sighed as she thought back to those early days when the world was at their feet. Both dynamic and ambitious, they progressed into television to furth
er their careers. And there Tom met temptation.

  Another deep sigh escaped her lips as she lay back with her eyes closed. Her marriage mirrored her life generally – glamour and glitter on the surface but no real substance.

  It was too depressing for words and Nicole knew that something needed to change if she was to love and respect herself again. It was clear Tom had not changed and, at thirty-seven, it wasn’t likely to happen. At least not until he lost his looks or his power. Or both. Nicole wasn’t proud that she’d been seduced by great sex, an expensive lifestyle and the kudos of being not only a “name” in her own right, but also of being married to an even bigger one in media. Everything came too easily for her, beginning with the very comfortable and spoiled upbringing of an only child in Jersey. The only thing to have marred the idyll had been her adoption. She’d known forever and, as a child, it hadn’t bothered her. But the problems building up in her marriage had led to feelings of discontent and unease. Unease in herself – who on earth was she really? Nicole knew she wasn’t like her parents, which was natural. She wanted to know who she was, who she really took after. That might help her to change the person she’d become and didn’t actually much like.

  Okay, pay-back time. Nicole squared her shoulders as she sat up and started the engine before swinging the car round to face the house from which she’d driven so furiously what felt a lifetime ago.

  ‘We need to talk,’ she said, coming into the kitchen and finding Tom slumped in a chair.

  ‘Darling! Thank God you’re back! Please, please let’s start again. I swear I’ll never so much as look at another woman if only you say you forgive me and will stay.’

  He certainly looked miserable. She took in his tousled, uncombed hair, the pulled-down corners of his mouth and the blue eyes missing their usual sparkle.

  Tom rose to meet her but she shook her head and motioned for him to stay seated. His gaze was wary as Nicole sat opposite him at the scrubbed pine table at which they hardly ever ate together, so busy were their respective schedules.

  Nicole took a deep breath, willing herself to stay calm and not let emotion sabotage her hastily rehearsed speech.

  ‘I do want a divorce, Tom…’

  ‘No, you can’t, darling! Let me…’

  ‘Please let me finish! Then you can have your say. What’s happened is merely a symptom of what’s wrong with our marriage. And, I now realise, has been for some time. I really believe we’ve stayed together for the wrong reasons and it’s time to think of the future.’

  She cleared her throat. ‘We… didn’t really talk about having a family but it could be that I’ll want children one day.’

  Nicole leant on the table as if it would give her the strength she needed to continue.

  ‘But I’d want a stable, happy home for my child and that’s not guaranteed with you. I’m not sure I can trust you. Not now,’ her voice fell to little more than a whisper as she plunged the knife into their ailing marriage.

  Tom’s eyes widened and his mouth opened wide in panic as he sought to save the relationship which had been his rock for so long. He reached out to grab Nicole’s hands but she pulled them out of his way, letting them twist together under the table.

  ‘Please, darling. I know I’ve behaved badly and have been an absolute idiot. I have no excuse. You’ve been a brilliant wife and we’ve enjoyed such a great time together. Remember that trip to Paris? And that time in Venice? Surely you don’t mean to throw away everything we’ve shared!’ He flung out his arms.

  Nicole couldn’t bear to look at him and kept her gaze focussed on a spot half-way down his navy T-shirt.

  ‘We’ve achieved so much together – our careers, this house; doesn’t this mean anything to you? We’re the Golden Couple of television! A team – and a damn good one!’

  She knew that in some ways Tom was right. They were a well-respected team at work. Admired and envied by those clambering up the ladder behind them. And she knew that if they were no longer a couple then she’d have to start again somewhere else. It would be impossible to stay at Bristol. A miserable thought. But her reputation would be enough to open doors elsewhere. At the moment she was tired, tired of the cheating and lying at home and tired of the pressure at work to strive forever upwards.

  She raised her eyes slowly, finally letting them rest on his, steeling herself against the look of pain she saw there.

  ‘It’s no good, Tom. Maybe this was meant to happen. For my part, I need to discover what I really want from my life. Yes, we’ve had good times, wonderful times. But that’s going back years. When was the last time we took a romantic break together? When did we last laugh together?’

  Tom looked stricken. Even she didn’t remember so he certainly wasn’t likely to.

  She ran a hand through her expertly cut bob and went on, ‘We’re not having any fun now, Tom. And material possessions aren’t making either of us happy, are they?’

  Nicole waved her hand around the Smallbone kitchen which once represented her idea of happiness. She remembered the line in the company’s advertisement which had attracted her – “A Kitchen for Life”. Hmm, pity they couldn’t offer a marriage for life!

  ‘Please, Nicole, let’s not rush into anything. I can understand that you’re hurt and angry but that’s not the time to make major decisions. How about a trial separation? To give you time to see what you really want? I know I don’t want to lose you but I’m happy to give you space, if that’s what you want.’ Tom’s eyes pleaded with her from the other side of the table.

  Nicole thought for a moment. Perhaps they both needed time to think. ‘Okay, I’ll agree to a separation, let’s say six months.’ She noticed the hope flicker in his eyes. ‘But I’m not promising there’ll be no divorce. I still feel that’s the way to go. But I can’t leave my job at a moment’s notice, either. So I’ll carry on for the two months left in my contract and then go. Might take a sabbatical to keep my options open. And I want you to move out. You could get a flat in the city.’

  Tom took a deep breath which was part groan.

  ‘Yes, if that’s what you want. Do you want me to leave today?’

  She heard the despair in his voice and anger hardened her resolve.

  ‘Yes! It’s going to be bad enough bumping into you at work so I need to be here on my own. You can move back once I go away.’

  His eyes widened. ‘Where will you go?’

  ‘To Spain, to see my parents. They’ll be back from their cruise by then and I can have a little time with them at the villa.’

  ‘Only a little time? So will you come back here afterwards?’ he asked, brightening.

  Nicole shook her head. ‘No, probably to Jersey. I’m going to ask Mum for help in tracing my mother. My real mother,’ she said, her eyes unfocused.

  chapter 2

  The sun beat down on the concrete and tarmac of Alicante airport, and a heat haze shimmered over the roof of the car park. The smell of diesel and hot metal hung in the air. Nicole’s scalp prickled with the heat as she walked behind her father wheeling her suitcase in the direction of his Mercedes. At her arrival through the double doors marked “Salida”, they had shared a perfunctory embrace, the norm from the man who had problems showing affection.

  ‘Nicole! Bienvenidos a Espãna! Your mother’s at the villa preparing a paella in your honour and sends her love. Now, let me take your case, there’s a good girl,’ was all he’d said.

  She now looked at him with affection as he marched ahead of her. He had been a kind, if undemonstrative, father. She understood that her mother had had problems conceiving and they had adopted as a last resort. Her father should have had a son, she thought, trying to keep pace with him through the labyrinth of the car park. He retired as an advocate in Jersey a year ago and she was sure he’d have been pleased to have passed the baton to a son. Not that Nicole couldn’t have followed him into the law if she’d wished, but she had wanted something less dry and more glamorous
for a career.

  This was her first visit to her parents since they had moved to their retirement villa in Javea, an hour up the coast. Both golf addicts, they chose the town because of the high standard of the golf courses as well as the ever increasing British ex-pat community. They retained a pied à terre in St Helier, telling Nicole she was welcome to use it whenever she wanted.

  As they settled into the comfortable leather seats, her father switched on the air conditioning. By the time they’d driven through the exit barrier, the car felt so cool that Nicole was regretting putting her sweater in the boot with her case. There was little conversation while her father concentrated on the tricky manoeuvre of steering the car onto the busy road leading to the Autovia A7 heading north.

  Nicole was amazed at the volume – and speed – of the traffic whizzing past on their left and was grateful that she didn’t have to drive. She had had little experience of driving in Europe but had complete confidence in her father’s ability to cope. He and her mother had been regular visitors by car to France and Spain over the years and Ian was a careful driver even though he loved powerful cars. The current model, a LHD car looked brand new and Nicole smiled at the thought that he was still enjoying his “boys’ toys”.

  After about ten minutes they were away from the intensity of the traffic encircling Alicante and Nicole sensed her father relaxing as he settled at a steady 100kph.

  ‘You and Mum settled in now?’ she asked, glancing at his tanned profile.

  ‘Yes, we are. Of course, it was an advantage already knowing the area well and we’d made several friends at the golf club over the years.’ He pulled out to overtake an open lorry piled with old tyres before continuing, ‘Your mother’s a member of the local bridge club and recently joined the amateur dramatic society helping with the costumes. So we keep busy. I’m thinking of joining the mountain rambling group as another way of keeping fit.’

  ‘Hope you’re not overdoing it, Dad. You need to be careful in this heat.’