The Yearning Heart

by Sylvia Broady

  In anger and with an uncomfortable feeling of bitterness, Fran blurted out to Will, who was just about to light another cigarette, ‘Why didn’t you write to me?’

  Will held the lighted match, letting it scorch his finger before he blew it out. He screwed up his face, searching his memory, and then he frowned and said, ‘I did write. It was you who never answered. I wanted yer to come home. I missed yer, lass.’

  She flung back at him, ‘You didn’t write to me, it was I who wrote to you and Agnes. Neither of you made an effort to reply.’ The flow of hot tears ran unheeded down her cheeks and her voice rose to a high pitch. ‘I was lonely, far from home, missing Michael and grieving for Christine. No one showed me any love or compassion. And yet, here I am, caring for you while my so-called sister has taken my son to the other side of the world.’ By now she was sobbing, uncontrollably.

  Will’s slumped back in his chair. The hand which held the unlit cigarette shook and his ruddy complexion blanched grey. His eyes, once the bright blue of his youth, now faded, were damp with threatening tears.

  Suddenly, the kitchen door burst open and Nick came rushing in. ‘What’s happened?’ he asked. ‘I heard shouting.’

  ‘Oh, Nick,’ Fran cried, flinging herself into his arms.

  He held her trembling body close. Over the top of her head, he saw the dejected figure of Will and the letters scattered about the table. He gave a swift glance around the room, half expecting to see someone else. It was a strange feeling.

  Nick felt Fran’s body relax a little and her sobs ceased. ‘Come and sit down, love.’ He guided her back to the chair opposite Will. Quickly, he went over to the dresser and found a small bottle of brandy, which was kept for medicinal use, and poured out two liberal measures. He gave one to Fran and the other to Will, and then he waited, watching both their faces until they were visibly calmer. Then he broke the silence. Addressing them both, he asked, ‘Do you want to talk about it?’

  It was Will who answered, his voice barely audible. ‘A misunderstanding. Mix-up of letters not received. Post was all ter pot during war.’

  Fran stared at him and he caught her look, and, in that instance, Will knew that Fran knew it was Agnes’s doing, her meddling, her heartless ways that had caused untold misery and grief. No words were spoken between father and daughter, and Fran knew on that subject they never would be. Agnes was dead and so was her past.

  By the time Tina and Joe arrived for the evening meal, peace was restored, and both Will and Fran were in calmer minds. It had been decided by father and daughter that no useful purpose would be gained by keeping Agnes’s correspondence. The letters had all been burnt in the kitchen fire except for the one from George Spring and an old photograph.

  Fran told Tina that Agnes was born illegitimate and had an unhappy childhood, which narrowed her view on life, and added, ‘I supposed she thought that her actions toward me and you, in her eyes, were justified.’ Then it struck Fran that neither Tina nor Michael had the stigma of illegitimacy attached to them, but, then, Fran had never been given the chance to make a life for her and her children. She dashed the bitter thoughts away and smiled, saying, ‘Read this.’ Fran passed George’s letter to Tina.

  They had gone outside and were sitting on the wall outside the kitchen while the men were inside having a beer and talking rugby. The early evening air was still, the wind having dropped to give that balmy effect of being in another world. Tina took her time reading the letter as if she was digesting every word. When she looked up, her eyes were wet with tears. ‘So sad, I never knew of her, she was my great-grandma Martha.’ Then, through her tears, she smiled, saying, ‘I’m part of her family.’

  Fran reached to take hold of Tina’s hand and said, ‘I didn’t know of Martha’s existence either. Agnes never talked about her mother or any of her family. So strange,’ and added wishfully, ‘I would have liked to have met Martha, but I think she died the year I was born.’

  ‘I wonder what she looked like,’ Tina said softly. ‘You know, if you or I look like her.’ She turned her face to Fran, looking directly into her eyes. ‘We have the same deep blue eyes and now I come to think of it, Michael has too.’

  Fran’s heart beat faster at the mention of her son and she turned away from Tina’s intense gaze, thinking there was a lot more to be talked about and resolved regarding Michael, but for now she was happy to have her daughter close by. Cheerfully, she said, ‘I have another surprise. Take a look at this.’ Fran reached for the envelope by her side on the wall and handed it to Tina. She watched her daughter’s face, so beautiful and yet solemn, as she opened the envelope and drew out the contents, and gasped in admiration, saying, ‘What a pretty girl.’

  Tina held the brown sepia photograph in her palm and gazed in wonderment. The girl must have been about twelve with long fair hair and wide expressive eyes. She was wearing a lovely summer gown. The hem of the gown was trimmed with little frills held in place by bunches of satin forget-me-nots and peeping out from beneath her gown was a pair of shining laced boots. In her hand, she was holding a Bible. Tina looked to Fran and saw her eyes sprinkled with tears. ‘Is this Martha?’ she asked softly.

  Fran moved closer to Tina and looked down at the photograph, taken so long ago. ‘Yes, this is Martha, my grandmother, your great-grandmother and my mother’s mother. It’s hard to believe that Agnes was the daughter of this, kind-looking and beautiful young girl. But then I’ve never seen a photo of the young Agnes.’ Fran’s voice trailed away. Both women were silent, both lost in their thoughts.

  ‘Are we eating or what?’ Joe’s voice broke the silence, making both Tina and Fran jump.

  The day, unnoticed by mother and daughter, had drawn to a close and stars were twinkling in the dusky blue sky. ‘I’m starving.’ He held the door open for them and they entered the kitchen, which was filled with the delicious aroma of the casserole simmering in the oven.

  Will looked anxiously at the two women and Tina caught his eye. ‘You alright, Will, Mr Bewholme?’ And then she laughed. ‘Can I call you Grandad?’ Will’s face lit up with pleasure and love. Tina went to his side and, sitting on the arm of his chair, leant forward and kissed his grizzly cheek and said, ‘Hello Grandad.’

  Much later that evening, when the young people had gone and Nick had gone for a pint with Rufus, Fran and Will sat by the fire, both deep in their own thoughts. Suddenly, Will said, quietly, ‘What about our Michael?’

  It was as if he had been reading her mind, for Michael was very much in her thoughts. Tina now knew she had a twin brother, but Michael didn’t know that he had a twin sister. ‘I know, Dad.’ She sighed heavily. ‘He should know about Tina, but then he will have to know about everything else. If only I had told him before he went to Australia. I thought there would have been time to get to know him, build up a relationship, but Isabel whisked him away too fast,’ she lamented. But her father’s voice pulled her up, sharply.

  ‘Now, my girl, we’ll have no self-pity. First thing in the morning, you phone our Isabel and tell her about Tina.’

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  October 1958, Melbourne, Australia

  ‘Telephone, Mrs Stanway. It’s your sister from England,’ announced the housekeeper, Edith.

  Isabel, relaxing out on the veranda, frowned and looking up from the magazine she was reading, and said, more to herself than Edith, ‘What on earth does she want?’ Reluctantly, she went indoors, thinking it must be something to do with Father for Frances to ring. She glanced at the carriage clock on the hall table – nearly five. Good gracious, she thought, it must be early morning back in Burton Banks, though she had yet to fathom out the approximate time difference. Now Michael, he could work it out in a flash. She picked up the phone, aware that the local telephonist might be listening in. ‘Hello,’ she said, lightly.

  ‘Isabel!’ Fran’s words came spurting out like an icy waterfall. ‘Michael has a twin sister, Tina. Why didn’t you tell me she was still alive? How could you be so crue
l and wicked? Now Michael must be told the true circumstances of his birth, that I am his mother and Tina is his twin sister.’

  Isabel couldn’t make sense of what she was saying. ‘Frances, what are you gabbling on about?’

  Fran repeated and Isabel listened, her body turning cold despite the heat. She replied sharply, ‘I know nothing of this Tina. You’re making it up.’ She laughed a high-pitched noise. ‘If you think I’m going to fall for your little scheme, you are mistaken. I am Michael’s mother, not you.’

  Fran’s righteous voice shouted across the miles. ‘No, you are not. I am Michael’s mother and Tina is my daughter and Michael’s twin sister. Nothing you say can alter that fact.’

  Her voice shaking, Isabel said, ‘You can’t do anything. We are too far away.’ And, with that, she banged down the phone.

  Stunned, Fran just stood there in the silence. Isabel’s words and reaction had shaken her, horrified her, but then what had she expected of Isabel? For her to renounce her claim on Michael? She was not sure what the next move would be, but what she did know was that Tina should be acknowledged as Michael’s sister. Michael, now more than ever, needed to be told the whole truth. For her to discover Tina and for them to be reunited as mother and daughter, and Will as her grandfather, the family would not be complete without Michael.

  It was difficult for her to accept that the bond existing between Isabel and Michael could not easily be broken. How could she explain this to Tina? And would Tina be content?

  ‘Penny for them,’ murmured a husky voice in her ear.

  Fran twisted round into the warm security of Nick’s arms. She leant into him, her head resting on his shoulder, breathing in the comfort of his male freshness. ‘It’s Isabel.’ She told him of her conversation with Isabel and her reaction.

  Nick listened quietly and didn’t speak until Fran had finished. ‘Not an easy situation,’ he said.

  ‘Tell me, Nick. What should I do?’ She turned to look earnestly at him.

  ‘My darling Fran, from what you tell me there is no quick fix. But, I think you are going to have to sit down with Tina and talk it through. Let her ask you questions. Answer them truthfully.’ She gave him a hard look. ‘Sorry, I know you will, but it could be painful for you, but necessary if you and Tina are going to build a solid relationship together. And tell her the outcome of your telephone conversation with Isabel.’ He looked steadily into her eyes and held her gaze.

  Then she spoke. ‘Nick Saunders, what would I do without you?’ And before he had a chance to reply she kissed him, a long, passionate kiss.

  It was Saturday afternoon, Tina’s half-day off from work, and they had agreed to meet in the Market Place. As Fran stood on the bus running board, waiting to alight, she caught sight of Tina waving to her and she felt her heart quiver with love and pleasure as she waved back. She couldn’t help but say to the woman standing next to her. ‘That’s my daughter.’

  Fran and Tina hugged and linked arms as they headed towards the colourful array of market stalls, which were thronged with shoppers looking for bargains. They passed fruit stalls piled high with polished apples and shining oranges, always a treat to see them after the austere years of the war – now a distant memory, Fran thought, not wishing to dwell on her lost years. If only Michael was here. She sighed heavily.

  ‘Are you alright?’ Tina asked. There was so much she wanted to ask Fran, but she was scared to break the fragile relationship which existed between them as mother and daughter.

  ‘I was thinking of Michael,’ Fran replied. Tina just nodded.

  ‘Excuse me, missus, are you buying or what?’ boomed a loud masculine voice.

  Both Fran and Tina, not realising they had stopped walking, stared at the wet-fish stallholder, who was wearing a large striped, blue apron over his white coat overall. Their gaze dropped to the cold eyes of a large cod on a marble slab and they both giggled. ‘Sorry,’ Fran muttered, as they quickly moved on.

  ‘Tina, were you shopping for anything in particular?’

  ‘Not really. I’m saving up.’ She didn’t add what she was saving up for, later she would tell.

  Fran suggested, ‘Shall we find a cafe and have a talk?’ Tina nodded her approval. They negotiated through the busy shoppers, crossings the cobbles to the bakery and tea shop next to the Green Dragon public house. They managed to find a quiet table tucked in a corner and ordered a cream tea for two.

  ‘This was delicious,’ Tina said with satisfaction, licking from her lips the last of the cream doughnut. ‘Now I’m no longer sick in the mornings, I can eat most anything.’ She wrinkled up her pert nose, ‘Though, the smell of liver and onions cooking turns me.’

  Fran watched her daughter’s animated face, loving this intimacy. She put down her tea cup and felt her insides quiver with uncertainty. She took a deep breath and smiled, saying, ‘Tina, I guess there must be things you want to ask me.’

  ‘Do you mind, Fran? Because there are.’ She shrugged her shoulders, not wanting to upset her. Fran nodded for her to continue. Tina spoke in a low voice, not wanting the people at the next table to overhear. ‘My father – on my birth certificate, it says his name is Victor Renton. Is that true?’

  At the sound of that name, Fran felt a cold shudder run through her body, but she braced herself, her head held high. ‘Tina, I want to be honest and truthful with you. Victor Renton was your father and Michael’s. He was also married to my sister, Isabel.’

  Tina gasped. ‘Wow! Did you love him?’

  Fran was taken aback; no one had ever asked her that question before. She thought for a moment and then drew a deep breath. ‘Tina, there is to be no more deception. I will tell you the truth about how you and Michael were conceived. My boyfriend at that time had just publicly ditched me and I was terribly upset. Along came Victor. I was surprised how kind and understanding he was to me, but what I didn’t realise was that he plied me with alcohol to make me drunk.’ She paused for a few seconds, thinking of the right words to say. ‘He took advantage of my vulnerability.’ She couldn’t bring herself to say, ‘he raped me’. Tina’s eyes widened, but she didn’t interrupt. ‘When my mother found out, she was very angry. In her eyes, I had committed a mortal sin and I was sent away to distant relatives.’ She thought of the unhappiness and the loneliness she had endured while been forced to remain at the farm. But most of all, it was the lost years, the heartbreaking longing to hold her son in her arms again, the waiting to be reunited.

  An uneasy silence stretched between them as both women became lost in thought. Then an angry Tina exploded. ‘Agnes sounded a terrible woman.’

  Fran laughed, dryly. ‘That’s putting it mildly.’

  ‘So she got rid of me, but why couldn’t you look after Michael?’

  Fran leant heavily back in her chair. It wasn’t something she could explain in a few sentences. ‘I was shut away in a nursing home and both your births were difficult. I had an emergency Caesarean and afterwards I was ill for a long time.’ Tears threatened as memories came flooding back, but she dashed them away. ‘Agnes said Isabel was looking after Michael until I was better, or so I thought, but Agnes had other ideas. It was said that Isabel and Victor had adopted a baby boy, Michael. I was the girl who had run away from a good home to seek bright lights and goodness knows what else was said about me. I did try, often, to make plans to bring Michael up, but Agnes always thwarted me and, as he grew older, it became more difficult and I agreed, naively, to stay out of Michael’s life until he was sixteen. I had it all planned and wrote to Isabel to tell her I was coming. I never dreamt she would be like Agnes, set on preventing my plans. I was devastated when she wrote back, telling me she was marrying again and taking Michael to Australia. By then, I was desperate to tell Michael the truth, whatever the outcome. But when I finally saw him after all these years, I saw a young man who viewed Australia as an adventure. He was so full of enthusiasm, how could I spoil his happiness, shatter his dream? He would hate me.’

  Tina inte
rrupted, ‘What about me? Michael is my brother.’

  Fran felt her heart pound with failure as she looked into the deep blue, hurting eyes of her daughter. ‘I’m sorry, Tina, he has every right to know that you are his twin sister. I rang and spoke to Isabel, but she seems to think I’m making you up and it’s a ploy to get Michael to come home. I can write to him.’

  Tina reached across the table to touch Fran’s arm. ‘Leave it for a while, I want to get to know you properly.’ Her voice soft, her eyes shining, she said, ‘Since I found out that I was fostered, I wanted to find my real mother. I thought I’d found her once – your sister, Isabel – and I didn’t like her.’ Her touch on Fran’s arm tightened. ‘But you are my true mother and I don’t want to lose you.’ Her beautiful eyes swam with tears.

  ‘Would you like more tea, madam?’ enquired the waitress as she stopped by their table.

  Fran looked to Tina who shook her head. ‘No, thank you.’

  Leaving the cafe, they slipped down Wood Lane, away from the market and the hustle and bustle of shoppers, and made their way to the open green spaces of the Westwood, where children were flying gaily coloured kites. They walked along in companionable silence, breathing in the scented air of late summer, which held a hint of approaching autumn.

  Her legs suddenly aching, Fran said, ‘Shall we sit down for a while?’ They found a patch of dry grass beneath the gentle swaying branches of a tree.

  ‘I often used to come up here with my school friends,’ said Fran. ‘I was a bit of a tomboy, often in trouble for dirtying or tearing my dress.’

  Tina laughed and said, ‘I was a tearaway, so Maggie was fond of telling me. She spoilt me rotten. She was a good mother and I never really appreciated her until she went and …’ Her voice broke.

  Fran slipped an arm around her shoulders and hugged her close. ‘Maggie sounded a truly wonderful woman and for that I’m eternally grateful.’ She dreaded to think if Tina had been fostered by an uncaring person. Gently, Fran smoothed Tina’s hair, inhaling its freshly washed fragrance and realising with a terrible pang that she had never bathed her children. She had forfeited that simple pleasure.