The Golden Thread

by Monica Carly

  ‘Dear God,’ she thought, I can’t get back. ‘I’m getting weaker, and all the time the current is pulling me further away from the shore.’

  She knew she needed to keep trying, but for a moment she couldn’t do it any more. All her resources seemed to have drained out of her. Powerless, she was beginning to slide under the water.

  No! No! She would never give in. Desperately she fought her way back to the surface. Panic-stricken, she struggled to get back into the rhythm of swimming.

  Then she saw him! With masterful strokes that broke through the water, travelling at speed towards her was the young man who had been on the beach. The next moment he had grabbed hold of her.

  ‘I’m going to swim on my front,’ he said. ‘I want you to hang on to my shoulders, and we’ll do the breaststroke kick together.’

  She clutched hold of him the way he had instructed her to and tried to get the timing right so that her movements fitted in with his. Together they fought the current. Instead of attempting to go straight towards the shore he took off in a direction parallel to it until the swimming became easier. Then he began to cut a diagonal line in towards the beach. At last they were really making headway. Fran could see that the distance between them and dry land was narrowing.

  All her strength had drained out of her by the time they finally stumbled out of the water and up onto the beach. Fran collapsed onto the sand, gasping for breath and shivering. Her friends, their faces white with anxiety, brought their towels and putting them round Fran began to rub her, trying to get her warm and dry.

  The older woman approached, bringing the boy’s clothes. She knelt down beside him, fussing over him. He had stripped to his underpants for the swim, and as he didn’t have a towel the girls offered one of theirs. The boy started to pull on his clothes.

  Despite the heat Fran was still shivering. She turned to speak to the strangers.

  ‘I don’t know how to thank you. I thought this was going to be my last day … I couldn’t seem to swim back.’

  ‘It’s okay. The current here’s pretty deceptive.’

  The boy spoke gruffly, as he struggled into his socks. Then he pulled his trainers towards him and began to lace them up.

  ‘I’m so sorry for causing you all that trouble. I should never have been so pig-headed.’

  He shook his head. ‘It doesn’t matter. I’m glad I managed to bring you back.’

  ‘I’m more glad than I can say. What’s your name? You were absolutely wonderful. You’ve saved my life. Are you a trained lifesaver?’

  ‘I did a course recently. Didn’t know it would come in useful so soon!’

  Then he grinned, and it was a lovely, heart-warming grin. Fran, who had been feeling frightened and miserable, and thoroughly ashamed of herself, felt this young man’s smile begin to dispel her wretchedness.

  ‘Please tell me your name.’

  He stood up, now fully dressed.

  ‘It’s Timothy’, he said. ‘My friends call me Tim. This is my mother.’

  ‘Please forgive me,’ Fran said, tuning to the older woman. ‘You must have been going through agonies. You have a son to be very proud of.’

  The woman had seemed aloof up to this point, giving Fran the distinct feeling that she didn’t want to speak to her. This was very understandable, in view of the fact that she had just put this stranger’s son in danger by her foolish actions. But at last the woman smiled, and her whole face softened.

  ‘I am. Very proud of him, for all sorts of reasons. Fortunately all has ended well. I’m glad you’re safe. Come on, Tim. Let’s get back.’

  They turned to go. Fran watched their retreating backs. She saw that the young lad, who had streaked through the water with the grace of a dolphin, walked on land with an awkward, uneven gait. Something about his shoes, when he had been putting them on, had caught her attention and now she realised what it was. The heels were of a different height, the left one being higher than the right.

  She was silent as she watched mother and son walk away. Then she turned to her companions.

  ‘Come on – let’s go and find that church. I think I need to say a prayer.’

  Chapter 22

  The three friends had returned to Fowey and were sitting in a pub consuming their evening meal. The laughter that had characterised their holiday earlier was missing. Conversation was desultory, soon drying up altogether.

  ‘Let’s clear the air,’ said Fran, her tone matter-of-fact. ‘I want to say that I’m very sorry for what I put you through today. I know I should never have tried to swim out as far as I did.’

  ‘I’m furious with you,’ said Jill. ‘We shouted at you to come back, and you took no notice!’

  ‘I was so frightened,’ added Bunty.

  Fran looked at the strained faces of her friends and felt ashamed. She knew she could be headstrong and determined – Barbie and Percy had told her often enough. It was one thing if her obstinacy didn’t harm anyone else, but a very different matter if it caused her friends to suffer. She sighed.

  ‘It was exciting, swimming against the waves. And the noise of the water was so loud I didn’t hear your shouts. Believe you me, when I turned and saw how far out I’d swum, I was pretty scared. Then I saw you jumping up and down on the beach, and I fought to get back, but the current was too strong.’

  ‘Those other people came to watch,’ said Jill. ‘The lad started pulling off his clothes, and the mother tried to stop him. She begged him not to go. She said better one life lost than two. She actually said that!’

  ‘Now I feel worse than ever.’ Fran hung her head.

  ‘The lad was determined. He took no notice of his mother and started to plunge into the waves. We thought we ought to speak to her, because we felt, well, kind of responsible. So we said how brave he was.’

  ‘What did she say?’

  ‘She said of course he would go, she knew that, despite anything she might say. She said swimming was the thing he was most good at, and it must have seemed hard that she had tried to stop him, but he was all she had left in the world now.’

  ‘Oh dear! I feel terrible about the whole episode.’ Fran’s remorse was plain to see.

  ‘Then let’s forget it,’ said Bunty. ‘Let’s pretend it never happened.’

  ‘That’s no good, because it did happen. I was idiot enough to let it happen. But it’s made me think, and I want to say one or two things, if you’ll let me.’

  The friends nodded, so Fran went on.

  ‘It concentrates the mind wonderfully when you think you are about to drown. I had got to the point where I was completely exhausted. I couldn’t raise the energy to move my arms and legs even one more time, and the water was closing over my head. Then somehow a voice inside me told me not to let go, to try once more, and fight. So I fought. I managed to surface – and that’s when I saw him, coming towards me. And in those moments I knew what really mattered to me, what I needed to go on living for.’

  ‘Which was?’ prompted Jill.

  ‘I couldn’t let my parents down – they had given me so much. I couldn’t make them endure a terrible tragedy. Then I thought about my friends, especially you two. We’ve been together since secondary school, in our tight little group, keeping out the classroom bullies and fending off the cutting remarks of teachers.’

  ‘All for one and one for all!’ Jill tried to lighten it.

  ‘Exactly so. I realised I was lucky to have friends like you, and if I got back I wanted to say – don’t let’s ever lose touch. No matter where life leads us, whatever husbands or family come along – let’s always be there for each other.’

  ‘A pact!’ cried Bunty. ‘Should we seal it in blood?’

  ‘Not me!’ Jill was the most squeamish of the three. ‘Anyhow, that’s all understood. So is that it?’

  ‘Not quite.’ Fran was looking more thoughtful than ever. ‘Do you remember me telling you, a long time ago, that I was adopted?’
>
  ‘Yes, I think so.’ Jill answered, and Bunty nodded. ‘But so what? You’ve got lovely parents now, you said so yourself.’

  ‘I know I have and I’ve been extraordinarily lucky. But neither of you can understand how that feels. You belong to your parents in every sense of the word. I don’t, in the same way, because somewhere out there a man and a woman exist who are my real parents, my birth parents. And not knowing who they are or anything about them makes me feel that I don’t really know who I am.’

  ‘I can’t really see that it matters.’ Bunty looked puzzled. ‘Would knowing make any difference to you?’

  ‘I think I can understand what Fran means. I can’t fully, because, fortunately, I’m not in that position.’

  ‘I feel sort of in limbo, kind of stateless. You see, I’ve absolutely no family of my own. We were talking just now about making a blood pact. Don’t you see – I’ve no blood relative, anywhere on this earth, that I know about. And yet they are around, somewhere.’

  ‘You might, perhaps, rub shoulders with one, and never know they were your relation,’ said Jill thoughtfully.

  ‘Yes, I might. Wouldn’t that be a strange coincidence! And it makes me feel I never want to have children of my own, because they would be just as much in the dark about my side of the family as I am. And it would hurt them, as it hurts me.’

  ‘So what are you planning to do about it?’

  ‘I made a resolve, that if I did get back to dry land, then one day, when the time was right, I would start searching.’

  ‘When would the time be right? What’s wrong with now?’ Bunty liked to get on with things.

  ‘Because it would upset my adoptive parents dreadfully. When I was first told that I was adopted – or “specially chosen” as my mother put it – I was quite young, so of course I started to ask questions. And even at that tender age I realised that Mummy was terrified that if I found my birth mother she might be displaced. Some time later I tried bringing the subject up again, and she got so distressed that I promised I would put it out of my mind. I haven’t ever mentioned it to her since, but of course I can’t forget – it’s too much a part of who I am. But I vowed I would wait until my dear mother has passed on, and then I shall set about it with a vengeance.’

  ‘Don’t you think it might be too late then? By the time Barbie dies, your real mother might have died as well.’

  ‘That’s true, and it’s a risk I must take. But I’m guessing that my real mother was quite young – that was probably why she couldn’t keep her baby – and Barbie was relatively old to be a mother, so there’s a chance. And it’s a chance I have to take.’

  ‘How strange it will be, if you do find her. Do you think you will instantly love each other?’

  ‘I’d have to get to know her, of course, but I think I’d immediately experience the feeling of connection. I long for that sense of having someone who’s truly mine – who is a part of me, and I’m a part of her. Please don’t ever pass this on to anyone, but the truth is I don’t really feel I belong to my parents – dear though they are to me. I’m different from them, I have different abilities. Once I knew I had it in me to go on to further education I also realised that I’d left them behind completely. They are both lovely people and greatly respected in the village – but far more goes on in my head than I can ever share with them. What I long for is to find that person with whom I can have a real empathy. And one day, I will. I promise you, I will! I dream constantly about it, and after what happened yesterday I am more determined than ever to make it happen. And when it does, when I find my birth mother… I just know… it will be wonderful!’

  Chapter 23

  Driving through the open countryside Fran struggled to raise her spirits. Everywhere around her looked beautiful in the spring sunshine. After so much rain the fields were thickly carpeted with grass, and ‘England’s green and pleasant land’ was a sight for sore eyes – especially for someone who spent her working life in London and lived on its outskirts.

  She was ashamed of her bad temper. It was just that all her friends had gone for a weekend down to the Dorset coast. They had rented a little cottage and would have a wonderful time socialising, possibly doing some boating, eating at picturesque pubs, and generally have the fun that young people enjoy. What’s more, among them was a certain John Peters, who had begun to pay Fran some marked attention. She was hardly smitten by him – he didn’t seem to have the initiative and drive she looked for in a male companion – but at thirty years of age, when you lacked anything approaching a boyfriend, you welcomed signs of interest, initially, anyhow.

  Well, she was committed to going home for Barbie’s birthday, and she knew that her presence at the tea party would make the event for her parents. She had a birthday cake in the boot of her car on which, written in icing sugar, the words ‘Happy 70th birthday, Barbie’ were emblazoned. When she thought of her parents and all the love with which they had enveloped her all her life, she knew there was no place for resentment, and started to look forward to seeing them.

  It was just that, at the age she now was, it seemed appropriate to draw the conclusion that a single life was going to be her lot, and she knew this was probably her fault. The fierce independence of spirit that characterised her was off-putting to the male sex, and usually frightened any boyfriends away in a matter of weeks. She wondered why she had to be quite so self-protective, and guessed that it had a lot to do with her origins. If you did not know who you really were you needed to cling on to what little identity you did have. Oh well, she’d probably hate sharing her life with anyone, anyway.

  Deep in her musings she became aware that the car was making some odd noises and proceeding rather jerkily. Then the engine cut right out. She managed to pull in to the side of the road and tried to restart it, but without success. Just what she needed! A breakdown on a country lane surrounded by fields and not a house in sight. She got out and looked up and down the road – perhaps she could flag down a passing car – but there wasn’t a single one to be seen. The only sign of life was a small herd of cows in the nearby field who were sufficiently interested to come up to the wire fence to find out if there was a little bit of excitement taking place on the other side.

  ‘Stop looking at me!’ said Fran. ‘If you can’t help, just go away and let me think what to do. Haven’t you got lives of your own? How can I come up with an idea if you’re just going to stand and stare at me!’

  The cows’ unblinking gaze did not waver as they solemnly continued to chew their cud. Once more she scanned the empty road in both directions, ready to stop any approaching car, but again there was nothing in sight. She was just thinking she was going to have to set off to try and find some sign of habitation when over the brow of the hill there appeared a tiny yellow dot. Fascinated, Fran watched as the dot grew bigger in size, until it finally was transformed before her eyes into the smallest car she had ever seen – more like a Noddy car than a real one. It drew up behind her and out climbed a large man, his face covered in a bushy moustache and beard, but his eyes, which she could see, looked kind.

  ‘It appears we have a maiden in distress.’

  ‘I’m afraid my car cut out on me, and I can’t get it going. It would happen miles away from anywhere. There isn’t even a house to be seen – only these stupid cows.’

  ‘I don’t suppose they’ve come up with any useful suggestions? No, well, perhaps we’d better have a look under the bonnet.’

  ‘Would you really? I’m so sorry to be a nuisance.’

  ‘Not at all. I like looking at car engines, although I’m rather more conversant with old ones than modern ones.’

  ‘What’s your car then? How old is it?’

  ‘It’s an Austin Nippy. It was born in 1936 and it likes going for spins along country roads.’

  ‘It looks so small, you’d think other drivers wouldn’t see it.’

  ‘They don’t always, but fortunately I can see them. I’m Ni
gel, by the way.’

  ‘I’m Fran, and I’m very grateful to you.’

  By now he had taken several things out of the engine, looked at them and put them back, while Fran stood anxiously by. Then he had a go at starting it, and the engine fired into life.

  ‘Oh!’ cried Fran. ‘How clever of you! Thank you so much. What was it?’

  ‘There was a short in the electrical circuit, but I think I’ve got rid of it. Still, I’d get a garage to check it over as soon as you can. How far are you going?’

  ‘I’ve got about another half an hour to do – it’s my mother’s birthday – I’ve got her cake in the back of my car. She’d have been so disappointed if I hadn’t made it.’

  ‘Well I’ve got a thermos of tea – we could have had our own tea party. You can have a cup now, if you like.’

  He went over to his car and from the back picked up a thermos flask which he held out to her. It was covered in greasy marks.

  ‘Perhaps I’ll forgo the pleasure – anyway, I’ve no knife to cut the cake.’

  ‘I’ve got a couple of screwdrivers and a pair of pliers. I expect we could manage. Still, I’m sure your mother’s tea is preferable. Mind if I follow you a little way? Just want to make sure your car’s functioning properly now.’

  ‘Would you? That would be very kind. And look, why don’t you come in and have some birthday cake with us? I know my parents would be delighted.’

  ‘I’m not exactly dressed for the occasion.’ He was wearing trousers that had seen better days, and an old jacket – but mercifully his clothes did not seem to be covered in oil.

  ‘You look fine,’ she said. ‘It’s only going to be us. Just a family tea party. Will you be able to keep up with me?’