The Yearning Heart

by Sylvia Broady

  Here, Fran felt guilty. ‘He was clearing up a misunderstanding. Something Helga said.’

  ‘I can guess. She still blames me for the accident and she’s right. I shouldn’t have let my wife’s argumentative mood distract my driving or I should have stopped the car.’ His voice was sad, almost painful. ‘If only I’d known it would have cost the life of my son.’

  Fran thought of Michael, oceans away. She waited to see if Nick was going to say any more about his tragedy, but he didn’t. So they talked about nothing in particular. By this time, darkness was falling and they were both feeling rather tired. ‘I’ll make the cocoa and see Dad off to bed.’

  When she came back with their bedtime drink and biscuits, she said, ‘Shall we have an early night?’ He just nodded. And, wanting to take away his hurt and to ease his pain, she said softly, ‘My bed is the most comfortable one.’

  And the joy on his face gladdened her heart.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Tina lay in bed, looking up at the zigzag crack in the ceiling. It was like a crazy path, mirroring her life. She was supposed to be finding her birth mother, Isabel Renton, who could be Mike’s mother. That was enough to unravel in itself and now she’d added another complication: she was pregnant. She stretched out her arm to the empty side of the bed. The sheet was cool, smooth, unwrinkled. How she missed the warm bodily comfort of Joe. He had gone from her bed now that Nancy had returned. She thought of Nancy as a mother figure, though at first she had been upset on hearing Tina was pregnant. Fran had been helpful and kind, but she wasn’t family.

  Tina pulled herself from the bed and it was only when she was dressing, that she realised she hadn’t been sick that morning, which was a relief. She fastened her dirndl skirt placate with a safety pin to accommodate her thickening waist line and wore her blouse loose.

  She’d worked her lunch hour and left the shop early so she could be home before Nancy. This would be the only time she could talk to Nancy because Cyril would be home this evening.

  First, she put the kettle on to boil, and then took from her shopping bag two Yorkshire curd cheesecakes – these were Nancy’s favourites. And, by the time Nancy arrived home, the kettle was singing.

  Taking off her head scarf and shaking her permed curls, Nancy exclaimed with surprise, ‘This is a treat.’ Tina smiled and poured out the tea. She felt guilty because of her ulterior motive. Her stomach churned with tension. Was it fair to land Nancy with another one of her problems?

  ‘You should be eating for two.’ Nancy said, watching Tina nibble at her tartlet. Tears pricked Tina’s eyes and she fought them back, giving a gulp. ‘Sweetheart, are you worried about the baby?’ Nancy asked. Tina shook her head. Baffled, Nancy asked, ‘What then?’

  ‘It’s my mother.’

  ‘Your mother?’ Nancy repeated, thinking of the dead Maggie.

  ‘Isabel Renton,’ Tina whispered the name as if she was frightened of it.

  ‘You’ve spoken to her?’

  ‘She’s in Australia.’ Nancy reached out to hold Tina’s hand. From the warmth and comfort of Nancy’s touch, Tina found the courage to continue. ‘I think Michael Renton is my twin brother.’

  ‘Michael?’ Nancy looked puzzled. ‘Do you mean Joe’s friend? Are you sure?’

  ‘Not really. I feel so confused.’ Then she related to Nancy when she and Joe had gone to High Bank House for Sunday lunch and she’d found that Isabel Renton was Michael’s mother. ‘Mike’s my age. It connects, don’t you think, Nancy?’

  Nancy pondered a moment and offered, ‘I’m not sure, love. You’ll need more details.’

  ‘Nancy! I’ve just got to know. I can’t think straight. I need to know.’ Her face screwed with uncertainty, she pressed her hands to her throbbing temple.

  Nancy rose, went to Tina’s side and hugged her closed. ‘There,’ she soothed. ‘I think the best thing is to talk to Fran. She might be able to help.’

  Hope touched Tina’s heart. ‘Oh, Nancy, do you really think so?’

  Early evening, Tina and Nancy caught the bus to High Bank House. ‘This is a lovely surprise,’ said Fran opening the door to them. Then she noticed Tina’s subdued look and red rimmed eyes. ‘Is there something wrong?’

  Nancy answered, ‘Fran, there’s something we need to talk to you about.’

  Nick and Will were in the kitchen, so she said, ‘Come through to the sitting room. Sorry, but the sofa is not very comfortable. Pack the cushions behind your back, Tina.’

  Thinking they wanted to talk about the expected baby, Fran smiled reassuringly at Tina, but Tina kept her eyes downcast. So, Fran looked to Nancy and waited.

  Nancy gave Tina a gentle nudge. At that very moment, Tina thought of her beloved Maggie and her heart cried. Oh, Mam, Mam. She swallowed hard and the heat from her body clung to her blouse. She gave a deep sigh and her voice quivered. ‘It began when my mother, Maggie, died. It was so sudden. There were only the two of us and we were happy.’ She closed her eyes for a moment, thinking of those cherished memories. Then she continued, her voice gathering momentum, becoming stronger. ‘There was a lot to see to, documents and things, and the Reverend Fairweather was very helpful. He gave me good advice, but I didn’t always take it.’ She took in a great gulp of air and said quietly, ‘Until she died, I didn’t know Maggie wasn’t my real mother, that she was my foster mother and until I’d left school a “Mrs Bewholme” paid Maggie to look after …’

  Fran interrupted, ‘Which Mrs Bewholme?’

  Tina thought for a moment. ‘Agnes Bewholme, I think.’

  The colour drained from Fran face. ‘How do you know this? Did you see her?’

  Tina gasped at Fran’s harsh tone and the strange way she was looking at her. A feeling of uneasiness filled her, but she had to carry on. How else could she find out the truth? She stumbled on, ‘There were letters from Mrs Bewholme. I’ve left them with the Vicar. I think I saw her once, but I didn’t know who she was. Maggie said she was an aunt. She was well dressed, wore a hat and talked posh, but with a funny accent. That’s all I remember about her. She didn’t come to Maggie’s funeral.’

  That was her mother, she felt positive. But what had she been up to? What was her connection with Tina? Fran sat on the edge of the chair, bracing herself. For what, she wasn’t sure.

  Nancy took up the story. ‘Tina came to Beverley to find her real mother.’

  ‘Her real mother,’ Fran repeated, not sure where this situation was going and why Agnes Bewholme had been involved. ‘Do you know her name?’

  Tina felt everything in her body turn and twist, and her nerve ends tingle. She drew a deep breath and forced out the words. ‘Isabel Renton!’ The name was out, but it hung in the air like a bird trapped on an unseen wire.

  Fran felt as if the room was revolving. From the kitchen came the sound of distant laughter. Both Tina and Nancy were staring at her, waiting for her to speak. She forced out the words. ‘Agnes Bewholme was our mother, that is, Isabel’s and mine. But I don’t know anything about Isabel having a daughter.’ She tried to get her head around what had been said and if Isabel had had a daughter it must have been after Michael was born. Or could it have been before?

  ‘Fran,’ Tina spoke softly, feeling afraid for upsetting the woman, as she clearly was. Perhaps it wasn’t such a good idea of Nancy’s after all to ask Fran about Isabel. ‘I’m sorry.’

  Fran felt ashamed at seeing the distress in Tina’s eyes and she knew, whatever the situation, it needed to be resolved. ‘Don’t be sorry.’ Thinking logically, she asked, ‘What makes you think Isabel is your mother?’

  ‘Her name’s on my birth certificate.’

  Her head spun. Was it possible, Isabel had a daughter? Fran stared at Tina in disbelief and said, ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘I can bring my birth certificate to prove it.’

  Nancy rose quietly and left the room, leaving Fran and Tina alone together.

  ‘There’s no need for that.’ Fran forced a smile. This girl ha
d just presented her with an emotional shock. But then what about Tina’s feelings, finding out that Isabel was her mother and, worse still, not even to be acknowledged as her daughter.

  Feeling emotionally drained, but needing to qualify further her birth mother’s name, Tina said, ‘I did see Isabel once, when I went to the doctor’s. She was the receptionist.’ Tina didn’t add that she didn’t like the woman on sight.

  Fran searched Tina’s troubled eyes. ‘You didn’t speak to her?’

  ‘No, it was late and I think she was tired. I didn’t see her again.’

  ‘And now she’s in Australia,’ Fran said, failing to disguise her hopeless tone. ‘I doubt if she’s ever going to come back.’ Was there more to Isabel marrying in haste than just to whisk Michael away? Was her past catching up to her?

  Suddenly, feeling so overcome, Tina burst into tears.

  ‘Oh, my dear.’ Fran went to Tina and knelt beside her and held the sobbing girl close. Soothing her, she stroked her red hair, seeing the light roots showing through. Fran thought fleetingly, she’s blonde beneath that mop of red. What a bitch Isabel was to desert such a lovely girl. But, why had she done it? And why had Agnes been involved? Something wasn’t making sense, but she couldn’t think what.

  Tina stirred, raising a tear-stained face and mumbled, ‘Sorry.’

  ‘Don’t be. It’s your hormones acting up. You’re pregnant. Now, your top priority is to take care of yourself. You are going to be a mother. Think of that.’

  Tina brightened. ‘I’d love a little girl. I’d call her Maggie, after …’ Her lips quivered.

  Fran gave Tina her handkerchief. ‘Dry your eyes.’ Then, kindly, she said, ‘Go home and rest. We can talk again later if you wish.’ Inwardly, she cried, Isabel! What have you done?

  Later that evening, in their bedroom, Nick said, ‘What’s on your mind?’

  Wearily, Fran got into bed. ‘It’s where to begin.’ Fran told Nick of Tina’s revelation and how she came to Beverley to find her birth mother. ‘Naturally she’s very upset and it doesn’t help matters that Isabel is on the other side of the world. It came as a shock to me. I knew nothing about it. Not that Isabel and I were ever close.’

  Nick cuddled Fran, saying, ‘It’s a pity this didn’t come to light before Isabel departed.’

  ‘That’s the funny thing. When Isabel worked as a doctor’s receptionist, Tina saw her but didn’t make herself known then. Perhaps it’s something to do with her being pregnant now. Where you come from and who you are, are important bases in forming relationships and …’ She suddenly thought of Michael. He didn’t know the truth. He was living a lie and she allowed it to happen.

  Suddenly, she remembered something about Tina which had puzzled her earlier. Then it came to her in a flash, startling Nick. ‘It’s impossible!’

  ‘What is?’ Nick asked, not following her line of reasoning.

  ‘As far as I knew, Isabel was unable to conceive so Tina cannot possibly be Isabel’s daughter!’

  ‘But you said …’

  ‘I was giving Tina the benefit of doubt, but I have no proof.’

  ‘What proof do you require and why would she make up such a story?’

  ‘I don’t know, but what I do know is that Isabel was unable to have children.’

  ‘But I thought she had a son!’

  ‘Michael is my son!’ Fran exclaimed, experiencing a short spurt of exhilaration. Then she covered her face with her hands and sobbed. Nick held her trembling body close, stroking her hair and, gradually, the soothing movements released her tension and she felt able to look into his face. He must be wondering what kind of woman he had become entangled with. She owed him an explanation – if she had any kind of future with Nick, she must be honest with him.

  ‘Nick.’ She looked deep into his eyes and quietly told him everything. How Isabel’s late husband had got her drunk when she was in a vulnerable, emotional state of mind; Michael’s birth and the death of his twin sister; her mother’s cruel intervention in taking Michael away from her when she had been so ill; her disastrous marriage; her failure to win Michael back; and the final breaking point – Isabel whisking Michael off to Australia and Michael wanting to go.

  Nick hugged her tenderly. ‘One day Michael will come to you when he learns the truth.’

  ‘Do you really think so?’ Fran felt a slight surge of hope.

  ‘Yes, I think the truth will come out eventually,’ he said, reassuringly. He frowned, pondering thoughtfully before saying, ‘Fran, did you ever visit your daughter’s grave?’

  ‘Why, no. I was so ill at the time my mother told me of Christine’s death. And afterwards, I just focused on Michael.’

  ‘Your daughter was called Christine?’ Nick sat up with a jerk. ‘Have you considered that Tina might be your daughter and not Isabel’s?’

  Fran closed her eyes briefly, then opened them, staring at Nick. ‘Of course I did, deep down, but I couldn’t admit it to myself. I was frightened to hope.’

  ‘Isabel’s name is on is on both Michael’s and Tina’s birth certificates. How did that come about?’

  Fran sat up and gasped in realisation. ‘I’d forgotten until now, mother booked me into the hospital as Mrs Isabel Renton. She said it was to save further disgrace and better for me if the nursing staff thought I was married. She wasn’t thinking of me, only of herself and the scandal it would bring if the full story was told. Damn, damn my mother for interfering,’ she retorted angrily. She flopped back on the pillow, emotionally drained. ‘How can I put it right?’

  Nick lay down beside her and said, ‘You tell Tina what you believe to be the truth and take it from there.’

  Overwhelmed by the support and compassion of this wonderful man who had come into her life, she flung her arms about him in a loving embrace, kissing him passionately.

  That evening, Tina met Joe in the coffee bar in the Market Place. It was early, so the usual crowd of lads and lasses were not yet in. They were both subdued. Tina wondered if Joe was regretting becoming a father. He was young and so was she. With parenthood came a great responsibility and neither of them was really ready for it. He sat next to her and was wearing the aftershave she’d bought him. Even with the aftershave, she caught the odd whiff of grease and petrol. ‘It’s ingrained in my soul,’ he told her, dramatically.

  Just then, one of Joe’s mates came in and waved to them. He stopped to select a tune from the jukebox. Tina said, quickly, ‘I need to talk to you before he comes over.’

  He glanced at her and took a swig of his ginger beer, then said, ‘Okay.’

  She charged in. ‘I’ve been to see Fran today. You know I’m looking for my real mother?’

  ‘Yeah. I can’t see the point if the woman abandoned you. Besides, you’ve got me.’

  Ignoring what he said, she continued, ‘When we were at Fran’s for dinner, you mentioned that Mike’s mother was Isabel Renton.’ Joe cocked an eye at her. ‘Isabel Renton is my real mother’s name, it says on my birth certificate. And I’ll tell you something else. Mike has the same birthday as me. We could be twins.’ She finished breathlessly.

  ‘You’re making it up.’ He tore open a packet of crisps to find the twist of blue paper containing salt and began sprinkling it over his crisps.

  ‘I’m not!’ she yelled, swinging her arm and knocking the packet of crisps flying. Joe’s mate who was approaching made a hasty retreat in the opposite direction. ‘I’ll show you my birth certificate.’ She raked in her handbag and withdrew it, thrusting the certificate in his face. ‘Read that,’ she commanded.

  He glanced at it. ‘So what?’ He drained his glass. Women, he thought, are strange creatures. He needed male company, to have a game of billiards and crack a few jokes.

  ‘It means that Mike is my brother, don’t you see?’

  ‘Sure, but he’s hardly going to jump on a ship and come back from Australia just to see you.’

  Sunday was the first day Tina had had off work since Fran had rung her
to say she had some news to tell her, but not over the telephone. She dressed carefully in her new flared skirt and blue blouse, and slipped on a pair of ballerina shoes. Brushing her hair smooth, like she had done when going for her job interview, she added rose-pink lipstick. She eyed herself critically in her dressing table mirror. Her insides felt full of butterflies, wondering what Fran had to tell her. Was it about Isabel Renton?

  She caught the bus to High Bank House and alighted at the top of the lane. As she walked along, she kept rehearsing what she would say to Fran when she presented her birth certificate. Fran had said that there was no need for her to see the document, but, in spite of that, Tina felt this irritating niggle at the back of her mind that Fran didn’t all together believe her.

  As she neared High Bank House, her heartbeat raced as if she’d just swam the full length of the river. Rubbing her clammy hand, down her skirt, she walked down the path to the back door and, for one wild moment, she thought of fleeing. But the baby kicked her as if to say, ‘don’t run’. She placed a protective hand on her belly and then she knocked loudly on the door.

  Fran opened it. ‘Come in, Tina,’ she welcomed with a smile. Tina glanced round the empty kitchen and looked at Fran. ‘Dad and Nick have gone down to the pub, so we won’t be disturbed. Sit down,’ Fran said, and sat opposite her at the table. She cleared her throat. ‘You must be wondering why I asked you to come.’

  Tina nodded. Then she pulled from her handbag her birth certificate and passed it across the table to Fran. ‘This is the proof of my birth.’

  ‘There was no need.’

  ‘I want things to be clear.’

  Fran unfolded the document and read. A similar, unbelievable, chill to that which had gripped Tina when she first read it now gripped Fran. Mother: Isabel Renton. Father: Victor Renton. Christine Renton. Date of birth: 8th March 1942. She stared at it for what seemed an eternity, her eyes brimming with tears.