The Golden Thread

by Monica Carly

  Barbie was impressed. Percy had obviously been giving some thought to how they could rearrange their lives around a baby.

  But Barbie’s last question was the hardest of all, and this time Percy had no answer ready.

  ‘Will we be able to love the child like our own, when it isn’t really our child at all?’

  Percy scratched his head for inspiration, but this time it was Barbie who supplied the answer to her own question.

  ‘We’d love her because we’d feel so sorry for her! Poor little mite! Just fancy – somewhere out there a wicked woman has abandoned her! It makes my blood boil just to think of it! How could anyone not want a lovely little baby!’

  ‘Well, we do,’ said Percy. ‘That’s for sure.’

  ‘Yes,’ agreed Barbie, ‘that’s true – so we do.’

  And that, at long last, was that.

  Chapter 17

  The process on which Percy and Barbie had embarked turned out to be lengthy, laborious and, it seemed, held no guarantee of success. Dr Flint knew many of the basic facts concerning adoption and was able to point them in the right direction. He suggested that as they had always been regular in their attendance at the local anglican church it might be appropriate to approach the Church of England Adoption Society. They were fortunate to find that the Society was, at that time, open to new applications

  The couple soon discovered that there were numerous forms to fill in, interviews to attend, and many weeks of waiting when nothing happened. It was hard on the nerves, now that they had committed themselves to the idea, and sometimes it was Percy who became despondent, and sometimes Barbie.

  ‘Perhaps it’s all too much for us,’ said Percy one day, when they had both rushed to pick up the post, and there was still nothing from the Adoption Society. ‘Perhaps we should have accepted that having a child is just not for us.’

  ‘Don’t lose hope, Percy. That’s not like you. We must just keep smiling. It’ll be all right, you’ll see.’

  Then, a few days later, the letter came. The Society had accepted them as prospective parents and would let them know when a suitable baby had become available. Percy and Barbie were overcome with joy. In a surprisingly short time another letter came. The Society knew of a baby that was to be handed over for adoption in March, and provided all went well then they suggested the Pipers prepare themselves for an arrival in April.

  There were three months to wait. It proved to be an enormously exciting time, and there was so much to do – a nursery to prepare, helpers to find for the shop, equipment to be bought – all the paraphernalia a baby requires. But everything was in place in good time, and then it was just a matter of waiting.

  At long last two proud parents stood either side of the cot, gazing at its tiny occupant, speechless with wonder. For her part the baby gazed back, her deep blue eyes mirroring the adoration bestowed upon her by the two mesmerised adults. She gazed at her new parents, her eyes unblinking and steady.

  ‘She’s so tiny!’ gasped Percy. ‘How can she be so small and yet so perfect!’

  ‘She’s beautiful! Oh Percy, isn’t she beautiful?’ Tears were rolling down Barbie’s cheeks. She was consumed by the rush of love that swept through her body as she realised that this tiny infant was now her daughter. The baby seemed to approve of what she saw, too, as she gurgled happily. The mutual admiration continued for some time.

  Then suddenly the little face began to pucker, the body trembled and sobs gained in crescendo until the whole tiny being was transformed into a seething cauldron of misery vociferously expressed.

  ‘Whatever do we do now?’ Percy, alarmed, felt helpless at the sight of such tragic emotion. ‘Should we feed her?’

  ‘I don’t think it’s the right time.’ They had been given a sheet of the baby’s daily routine and advised to stick to it, as this would provide continuity.

  Barbie hesitated for a moment, then bent down and picked the child up out of the cot. Holding the baby against her, with her left arm bearing the baby’s weight, her right hand caressed the little back with an expert touch that surprised herself, let alone Percy. Miraculously the sobs began to lose their power, and after a few snuffling noises peace descended once more.

  ‘There, all she needed was a cuddle.’ Barbie walked up and down, talking softly and soothingly to the little bundle that was now apparently enjoying a deep sleep.

  ‘You’re a wonder, Barbie! You knew just what to do. How did you know that?’

  ‘Don’t know,’ admitted Barbie. ‘Just felt right to do it, somehow. I tell you what, Percy. We should use her name, so she gets used to hearing it. The name’s written on this wrist band, and we saw it on the birth certificate – it’s Francesca.’

  ‘That’s a bit of a mouthful. Can’t we change it?’

  ‘Oh no!’ Barbie looked shocked. ‘That’s her given name – the name her mother gave her – we mustn’t change it.’

  ‘I think we can. It’s not written in stone. After all, we’re her parents now, so we can call her what we want.’

  ‘I don’t know so much, Percy. I really don’t think we should change it. It’s as if … oh, I can’t explain it, but it’s like a trust … the woman who bore her named her, and even if she has upped and left, leaving the child behind, I still wouldn’t feel right changing it.’

  ‘Just as you like, Barbie. In any case, we can always shorten it. There’s nothing to say we can’t do that. Perhaps we’ll call her Frannie, or Fran. I wonder what her surname was, before it got changed to Piper. We don’t know, do we?’

  ‘No, we don’t. The Society told us, didn’t they, that it’s usual in these cases to use the shortened form of birth certificate, so the parents’ names are not shown, only the adoptive parents’ names.’

  ‘I bet her real parents weren’t married,’ muttered Percy.

  ‘Poor little mite. What a start in life! Never mind, she’s all respectable now, and that’s all there is to it. She’ll never know how her life began. All she needs to know is that she belongs to Mr and Mrs Piper, and now she’s in a good home and she’ll be loved.’

  ‘Yes,’ agreed Percy, knowing that was what Barbie needed to hear. But silently he wondered if the tiny scrap now fast asleep on his wife’s shoulder ought to be told about her origins, some time. Ah well, that thought could be shelved for a very long time.

  Chapter 18

  Still waiting for her fifth birthday Fran had not yet started ‘big school’, with the result that she had to be content with a local nursery school. She was already finding this did little to stretch her enquiring mind and longed for the promotion that would come the following September. Finally the all important milestone arrived. Very early one March morning an excited little girl opened the bedroom window, calling out to anyone who might happen to be passing, ‘I’m five!’

  Skipping up and down eagerly Fran went off to Oakdene Nursery School, looking forward to the birthday cake she had been promised that evening. Barbie had decided they would wait until Saturday afternoon for a party, so that Percy could be there to enjoy it with them. He was loath to miss any of the excitement where his small daughter was concerned.

  To try and make the day an especially happy one, Barbie took Fran to the park on the way home, so that she could play on the swings. Fran loved this and would fearlessly swing daringly high, until Barbie’s nerves were in shreds. On the way to the play area they passed a grassy patch interspersed with flower beds.

  ‘What does that notice say?’ asked Fran, bending down to look.

  ‘It says we must keep off the grass.’

  ‘Why do we have to keep off it, Mummy?’

  ‘Because, darling, if you run all over it and trample it under your feet the grass would probably wither and die.’

  ‘But it looks so strong – I didn’t think if I just walked on it that I would hurt it.’

  ‘It’s not as tough as it looks. Under that surface, where you can’t see, there are some tender yo
ung shoots. Some people might have great big boots, and the poor little shoots would get broken when those big boots trod on them.’

  Fran looked at the grass thoughtfully. The next moment she put her foot out and stood with one shoe on the grass.

  ‘Fran! What are you doing? It’s not like you to be naughty!’

  ‘I’m not going to trample on it … I just wanted to see what happened if I stood on it gently, and look, it’s perfectly all right!’

  ‘Maybe, but you can’t see the damage. That goes on under the surface, and it will only show after a time. That’s why we mustn’t walk on it.’

  ‘Well, if I did jump on it and break the young shoots, would they ever grow back again?’

  ‘I don’t know, Fran, dear. I think it would probably need someone, like one of these clever gardeners, to look after it very carefully, and then perhaps, after a time, it might recover. But it’s best not to hurt it in the first place, so let’s do as they say, and stay on the path. Come on, let’s go to the swings!’

  ‘Okay!’

  Fran ran ahead to the play area, and jumped on a swing. She showed no fear, and her legs, already unusually long for her age, swung to and fro energetically, driving the swing higher and higher.

  ‘Not so high!’ cried Barbie. ‘I don’t want you to fall off, not today of all days!’

  Fran obediently slowed the swing down. A mother was passing, pushing a toddler in a pushchair.

  ‘Hello!’ Fran called out. ‘I’m five today!’

  The woman stopped. Happy to enter into the spirit of the occasion she registered immense surprise. ‘Five! Are you really? Well, I never, how very grown up you are. Fancy you being five!’

  ‘How old’s your little girl?’ Barbie felt the conversation shouldn’t be entirely one way.

  ‘She’s not two yet. Next month she will be.’ Turning to Fran again she said, ‘Have a lovely birthday. It’s so exciting, being five.’ She smiled and continued on her way.

  Enjoying whizzing down the slide as fast as she could Fran noticed a policeman approaching. As he came up she announced once more the all-consuming piece of information. The policeman came to a standstill in front of her, feet planted firmly apart, hands on his hips.

  ‘Do you mean to tell me that you’re five? I don’t believe it.’

  ‘Yes, I am! I am! I’m five.’

  ‘Goodness me. I must make a note of this.’ He withdrew a small notebook from his breast pocket, flipped open the cover, and felt around for his pencil. He started writing, and then looked up.

  ‘I’ve written here that the little girl on the slide is five. But my sergeant will want to have a name for the records, so what’s your name, little girl?’

  ‘It’s Fran.’

  ‘Fran,’ he repeated, writing laboriously.

  ‘Well, it’s Francesca, really.’

  ‘Francesca Really.’ He continued writing.

  ‘No, it’s just Francesca. Not Really.’

  ‘I think you’re having me on, young lady. Is it Francesca Really or isn’t it?

  ‘It is and it isn’t. It’s Francesca. Not Really. Really isn’t my name.’

  ‘Oh, I think I’m beginning to see. So if it’s not Really what is it?’

  ‘It’s Piper. That’s my surname – I’m Francesca Piper.’

  ‘Gotcha,’ said the policeman. ‘I think I’ve written it down right now. Well, I’m very pleased to make your acquaintance, Francesca Piper. I must congratulate you on having achieved your fifth birthday, and I should like to convey, on behalf of my sergeant and all the lads at the station, our very best wishes on this special occasion.’ He touched his helmet, and went on his way.

  Fran went and sat on the seat by Barbie, laughing.

  ‘Wasn’t he a funny man? I do like having birthdays. Everyone talks to you!’

  Barbie put her arm round the child. Perhaps she could seize the moment.

  ‘Your daddy and I are enjoying your birthday as much as you are. We are so happy to have our little girl. And you’re all the more special because we chose you. The thing is, dear, Daddy and I found we couldn’t have a baby of our own, so instead we chose one, and we chose you. And we’re very happy that we did.’

  Fran thought for a bit. ‘Where did you choose me from? Is there a shop that has babies?’

  ‘No, not a shop. There’s a very special home where they look after the babies who don’t have a mummy. Then when a mummy comes along who doesn’t have a baby, they let you choose. And so everyone’s happy.’

  ‘Why did you choose me?’

  ‘You were so pretty, and we just knew we could love you and love you.’

  Fran didn’t reply. Her attention was distracted by an elderly lady approaching with a small dog.

  ‘I’m five,’ she announced, anxious not to miss an opportunity.

  The elderly lady’s expression conveyed the requisite pleasure and surprise. ‘Look at that,’ she said to her dog. ‘This little girl is five!’

  Since the dog failed to respond Fran asked, ‘What’s your dog’s name?’

  ‘Sugar,’ replied her owner. ‘I called her Sugar, because when I went to choose her I thought she looked so sweet. She was only a little puppy then.’

  ‘My Mummy chose me. She didn’t have me, she chose me.’

  ‘Then aren’t you the lucky one! Just like my Sugar. She’s lucky, too. You have a nice birthday, now.’ The lady moved on, and left Barbie marvelling at the kindness and understanding of total strangers.

  When they got home they put the cake on the table with its five candles, and blew up some balloons, in readiness for Percy’s arrival. Soon he came whistling up to the front door.

  ‘Look at that wonderful cake! Barbie, you’re a genius, to be sure. Now, I wonder how many candles there are! Let’s count them, and then we can light them – and then we’ll all have a piece of this lovely cake!’

  Percy would much have preferred a helping of Barbie’s steak and kidney pie and mash, or sausages and chips, but nobly he managed to wolf down a large portion of very sweet cake instead, with the promise of a proper supper later.

  When Fran had gone to bed that night Barbie told Percy how she had raised the subject of the adoption, and about the conversations in the park. Together they chuckled over the policeman, and jointly delighted in the fact that breaking the news had gone so smoothly.

  For so it seemed to the doting parents. But they were not yet fully acquainted with their daughter’s probing mind, nor her need to explore and test out all she was told. Fran may have appeared to accept the information easily at the time, but from now on the question of her origins would absorb her innermost thoughts. The more she allowed her mind to dwell on it, the more she realised that she couldn’t have been told the whole story. Important facts were missing, leaving gaps she would become desperate to fill. Gradually questions began to take shape in her mind – questions that, before long, were going to cause considerable disquiet in the Piper household. Questions that, despite Fran’s best efforts, would continue to remain unanswered.

  Chapter 19

  ‘Goodness me, Fran! I don’t know! You’ll have to ask your father when he comes in.’

  Barbie, an excellent book keeper, and capable of carrying out duties at the post office counter meticulously, found herself floored by the things Fran wanted to know. She had just been putting her daughter’s tea on the table one day when Fran asked another of her many questions.

  ‘How do the stars stay up in the sky? Why don’t they fall down?’

  Percy, when he came home, did his best with it, although not at all confident of the answer he supplied.

  The questions soon became more searching, leaving both her parents floundering.

  ‘Who told the people in foreign countries, like France and Italy, that they mustn’t speak English?’

  ‘How did they find out which berries were poisonous to eat?’

  Fran’s teachers were plea
sed with her from the beginning, knowing she would do well although it soon became clear that, whereas numbers presented no problems to her at all, words sometimes had a way of causing her to stumble. She came home frustrated one day and demanded to know, ‘Who decided the right way to spell words? Why don’t they get spelt the way they sound?’

  Then came the inevitable question, just as they had settled down one evening – Percy with his newspaper and Barbie with her sewing.

  ‘Mummy, how do you make babies?’

  Percy spluttered and buried his head deeper in the newspaper. Barbie, fearful he might start rambling on about storks and gooseberry bushes, decided to take the bull by the horns.

  ‘It all begins when a daddy and mummy love each other and decide they want children of their very own.’

  She went on to describe how the daddy planted a seed into the mummy, where she cared for it until it had grown into a lovely baby, strong enough to come out of the mummy’s tummy and join the family.

  Fran seemed satisfied with the answer, and Barbie breathed a sigh of relief. A few evenings later, however, it became clear that the child’s thinking had moved on.

  ‘You know you said I was specially chosen, because you and Daddy couldn’t make babies – well where did I come from before that?’

  Barbie had known the question would have to be faced at some time, but she wasn’t prepared for it quite so soon. She thought for a moment before replying.

  ‘There was a mummy who grew you in her tummy, but she wasn’t able to look after you, and she wanted you to have a home where there would be a mummy and daddy who would love you very much, and give you a proper home – and when we saw you we knew you were the little girl we wanted.’

  ‘But why couldn’t that mummy look after me?’

  Barbie began to get flustered.

  ‘We don’t know dear, and as we’ll never know it’s better to forget about it. Just remember how much Daddy and I love you.’