The Yearning Heart

by Sylvia Broady

  ‘We haven’t told Michael, Dad.’ A heavy sigh escaped her trembling lips.

  ‘He should know, our Michael.’

  ‘Yes, he should.’ But she made no move to say when.

  Deirdre dropped Fran off at the hospital entrance saying, ‘I’ll wait in the reception area.’

  Fran nodded her appreciation and hurried into the hospital. She prayed so hard for Tina to pull round, to recover from her accident and the terrible trauma of Joe’s death. Beyond that, she couldn’t comprehend her thoughts.

  In the ward, there was an air of efficient quietness as the nursing staff attended to their patients. She stood for a moment, looking into the empty side ward and felt a surge of panic attack her. She couldn’t see Tina. Oh my God! she thought, Don’t let her be … Just as her legs were about to buckle, a nurse came up to her. ‘Mrs Miller is in ward one.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Fran whispered, relief flooding through her mind and body.

  At Tina’s bedside, Fran stood, just looking down at her daughter sleeping, so still, so unnatural for a young woman. She drew up the hard, brown metal chair and sat down, reaching for Tina’s translucent, motionless hand. It felt weightless in hers. ‘Hello, my darling,’ she whispered.

  Tina’s eyes opened and her face crumbled. ‘I want to go home,’ she whimpered.

  ‘You will, my darling, just as soon as you are well enough. The doctor won’t keep you in hospital any longer than necessary. Now, let me tell you all our news.’ Fran tried to keep her voice light and positive. ‘Helga, Rufus’s wife, is, surprisingly, a very nice person. She’s offered to look after Julie again. She’s a good cook.’ So she continued cheerfully chatting away, though careful not to mention the visit of Joe’s sister, Maureen. She was arranging his funeral.

  On Fran’s next visit, Tina asked, ‘Why can’t I see Joe?’ Fran’s stomach knotted.

  ‘Oh, my darling daughter, you remember …’ Her voice trailed.

  ‘I want to see him.’ Tina said stubbornly, her eyes filling with tears.

  It was then Fran realised Tina wanted to see Joe in the Chapel of Rest to say her goodbyes.

  The hospital management were very understanding and made all the necessary arrangements for Tina. Fran offered to go with her, but, no, Tina wanted to be alone with Joe.

  Fran visited Tina a few days later and, after telling her all the news from home and how Julie was settled into a routine, they lapsed into silence. The hum of the other visitors talking to patients drifted. Tina was now in the main ward as her condition, physically, was much improved. But her emotional state swung up and down. Suddenly, Tina said, ‘Joe loved his bike, the freedom. Now, he’s free to roam where he likes. I want him to have a wreath in shape of a motorbike. Can you order it for me, please, Fran?’

  Fran reached out and hugged her daughter’s good side, saying, ‘Of course I will. I think it’s a lovely tribute to Joe.’ For the first time, Fran saw a glimmer of a smile pass across Tina’s face.

  Within a couple of days, Tina was well enough to leave hospital. It was obvious to Fran that Tina couldn’t manage on her own, let alone with Julie. ‘I’d like you to come and stay with me until …’ She stopped, unsure what to say. Then she added, ‘If that’s what you want.’

  ‘I want to go back to my own little flat, but not yet …’ Her voice trailed off.

  Later, alone, Tina mulled over in her mind what she had done and not told Fran. She had written to Michael, explaining their relationship. I am your twin sister and our mother is Fran and you have a lovely niece, Julie. What she couldn’t write about was Joe’s death. She needed to keep him close to her, for just a little longer.

  Joe’s funeral was a quiet, sad affair. The Reverend Fairweather officiated at the service. Maureen and her father laid on drinks and sandwiches at their local pub for Joe’s work mates and friends. It was their way of trying to come to terms with the loss of a dear son and brother. Tina, in a wheelchair borrowed from the hospital, went with Fran, Nick, Will, Reverend Fairweather and Nancy back to High Bank.

  On the way home, they collected Julie from Helga’s. As Tina cuddled her daughter on her knees, she shed more tears. ‘She’s not forgotten me,’ she repeated over and over again.

  For quite some weeks, High Bank House was topsy-turvy with the baby teething and keeping everyone awake at night, but they managed. Will just took a longer nap in the afternoons and so did baby, and everyone else went to bed earlier.

  Each day, Tina hobbled to pick up the post, willing a letter to come from Michael.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  The taxi juddered to a halt and Fran said, ‘We’re home.’ There was no answer. so she turned her head, her heart squeezing with love at the sight of her sleeping daughter and granddaughter. They had been to lay flowers on Maggie’s grave and it had been a long journey, staying overnight at the Reverend Fairweather’s home. ‘Wake up, my darlings.’ Tina yawned and Julie sleepily opened her eyes, looked at her grandmother and smiled.

  Holding a wriggling Julie in her arms, while Tina paid the driver, Fran glanced up at the house. Just then, Nick opened the front door and came out to help with their baggage. She smelt his freshness, his maleness, prompting the tantalising thought of his naked body and hers intertwined. She caught Nick’s eye and thought he might be thinking the same. But he wasn’t. His eyes held a glazed look which she couldn’t read.

  In the quiet kitchen, Will was sitting in his usual chair, smoking his pipe. ‘Hello, Dad.’

  ‘Hello, love.’ He glanced at her but didn’t meet her eye.

  Suddenly, the door from the hall burst open and he stood, framed in the doorway.

  ‘Michael!’ Instantly, Fran’s face lit up with pure pleasure. But his did not.

  ‘Hi, Mike,’ said Tina, standing by her mother’s side. She stared at her twin. ‘What a surprise.’

  Still, he didn’t say anything or move, but his gaze, fixed on Fran, did not falter.

  Fran broke the silence. Her heart racing, she asked, ‘Michael, what’s wrong?’

  Michael came into the kitchen and stood before her, his eyes seeming to bore into her very soul. She shivered and her insides knotted.

  Then, in a quavering voice, Michael said, ‘Why didn’t you tell me that you are my real mother and Tina is my twin sister?’

  The colour left Fran’s face and she felt shock waves rip through her body as she began to tremble. Tina gasped and Julie whimpered. Flashing through Fran’s mind was a series of pictures, painfully agonising memories representing the times over the years when she had tried so desperately to reunite with her baby, her son. How could she reply in a simple sentence? All she longed to do was to take this handsome son of hers into her arms and hold him close. From far off she heard a thin voice, her own, saying, ‘Michael, it’s complicated.’

  ‘Try me!’ His voice was harsh. He came close and she felt the fire from his breath on her face. She reeled back, knocking against Tina, and Julie began to cry.

  Nick stepped in between Michael and Fran. ‘That’s enough! Any explaining can wait until the morning.’ He put his arm protectively about Fran’s shoulders.

  Without a word, Michael turned on his heels and stormed from the kitchen, banging the porch door on his way out.

  Nick led Fran to a chair at the kitchen table. Even the relief of crying was denied her as she felt too numb with shock. Nick placed a glass of brandy in her hands. ‘Drink this, darling.’

  As the liquid slipped down her throat and the glass emptied, only then did her emotions release. She sobbed and sobbed. When, at last, her tears were spent, she said to Nick, ‘All those longing years, the yearning, the hope for Michael to know he is my son, but I never dreamt it would be like this.’ She sniffed, dabbing her eyes on a sodden handkerchief.

  After a while, she looked round the kitchen and panicked. ‘Where’re Tina and the baby?’

  ‘Tina’s putting Julie to bed. I’ll run you a bath and an early night will help you.’

  ‘But
, what about Michael?’

  It was Will who answered her. ‘I’ll wait up for him.’

  She’d forgotten about her father, sitting so quiet and still. ‘Oh, Dad!’ She felt the hot ache behind her eyes and the knotted turmoil gripped her again.

  ‘Best talk to your son in the morning, lass.’

  Michael avoided Fran. His time was spent with Tina and Julie. Fran was pleased he was bonding with his sister and niece. Outwardly, she approached the situation of Michael ignoring her philosophically, but inside she was bleeding. She felt as if her life’s energy was draining away. If only she’d stood up to Agnes, been more assertive and demanded her son be returned to her. But Agnes was cunning and, knowing Fran’s vulnerability, she attacked her conscience. She argued that the boy wasn’t a parcel to be passed around, it would disrupt his schooling, wait until he’s older. So she did. Of course, she realised later, too late, that children are adaptable. How now to explain this to a seventeen-year-old, a young man? It now seemed such a weak excuse.

  Also, she had Tina and Julie to consider. Their happiness was important to her. Fran knew Tina had held up her plan to move back into her flat, to rebuild her life with Julie. Instead, Tina spent time with Mike, getting to know him as a brother. He loved his niece and she loved him. You could tell by the way Julie’s baby laugh sang and the way Michael held her high in the air then swung her down like a swooping bird.

  Coming in from the garden, Fran watched this play. Her whole body contracted with the pain of love. She felt a stranger, an outsider. Just then, Tina came into the kitchen from upstairs and was dressed for going out. ‘We’re meeting Shirley in town.’ She smiled uneasily at Fran. ‘We’ll be back for tea.’

  ‘Not dinner?’ Fran couldn’t keep the note of despair from her voice.

  ‘No.’ Tina turned away, unable to bear seeing the hurt in her mother’s eyes. She took Julie from Mike’s arms, saying, ‘Come on, my little beauty, let’s strap you in your pram.’

  Fran moved forward. She murmured, ‘Michael,’ and held out her hands to him, but he totally ignored her.

  Tina came and kissed her cheek, and whispered, ‘Give him time.’

  ‘Bye, Grandad,’ they both called.

  ‘Do yer think Isabel might ring?’ asked Will. Fran, lost in her misery, turned.

  ‘Isabel?’ Fran repeated, as if she’d never heard her sister’s name before.

  ‘Aye, you’d think she’d want to know our Michael’s arrived safely.’

  It suddenly dawned on Fran that Isabel might not know Michael was here and, if she did, why hadn’t she been in touch? ‘I’ll ring Isabel now.’ She glanced at the clock. It would be seven in the evening in Melbourne. It was John who answered and said Isabel was too upset to come to the telephone.

  ‘Michael rang me when he’d arrived at the airport. I was going to give him a few days to settle before I contacted him. How are things?’ John enquired.

  ‘Not good.’ Her voice faltered. ‘Michael blames me as well as Isabel.’

  ‘It was a shock to him. Give him time to adjust. He’s a sensible young man. Though what the outcome will be, I cannot guess. It’s his decision.’ There was a sad note in John’s voice.

  Fran picked up on his thoughts. ‘You want Michael to return to you?’

  ‘Yes, I’ve arranged for him to study the wine trade, to get a career behind him. When that’s complete, then he can make up his own mind about his future.’

  Fran replaced the receiver. She was full of thought. Time, John had said, give Michael time. Maybe there was hope that Michael would accept her. Her spirits lifted a notch.

  They didn’t come home for tea. Tina rang from a call box, explaining, apologetically, that they’d met Nancy and they’d accepted her invitation for tea. ‘I’m sorry, Fran, but I couldn’t refuse without a scene. Mike was adamant and I didn’t want to upset Nancy.’

  ‘I understand, but I do need to talk to Michael. Try and persuade him to talk to me, please.’

  ‘He’s stubborn, but I’m trying.’

  They came home late and Michael went up to his room. Fran slept fitfully that night.

  She woke early the next morning and lay listening to the dawn chorus, thinking how wonderful it was. Then she remembered. Michael. How could she begin to tell him the truth? With Tina, it had been easy. She had been looking for her birth mother and they hadn’t expected too much of each other. Their love and bonding, after the initial hiccup, came naturally. But with Michael, it was different. He hadn’t been looking for her. And yet, she had envisaged their reunion to be ‘ever-after’ happiness, not this painful ache in her heart. She could see it was too much for him.

  Early morning the next day, she said to Nick, ‘I’m going for a walk by the river.’ Crossing the yard, she slipped through the gate slotted into the willow fencing Nick had erected. The air was tangy, fresh on her flushed skin, but guilt assailed her. The guilt she had accumulated over the years, for lacking the strength to tell Michael the truth. He must want to ask her questions and she would answer them with honesty. She was waiting for him to come to her and, if he didn’t, she knew she would have to force the issue. But then she didn’t want it to go wrong.

  Seeking her haven of refuge of childhood days, she scrambled down the river bank and flung herself down on to the rough grass. She shaded her eyes and, from her position, she could see the curve of the river going upstream through the open plain of farm land. Moorhens darted in and out of the reeds on the opposite side of the river. Dragonflies, taking advantage of the warmth of the late summer’s day, skimmed the waters. With the quietness and peace of the countryside around her, Fran closed her eyes, willing its peace to invade her body and mind, to help her make the right decision.

  She lay for a while, feeling safe, wishing she could stay here for ever, both mentally and physically. But it wasn’t possible, never an option. She could no longer hide from her responsibilities. Agnes was dead and Isabel was in Australia. Now, it was just her and Michael, and he had a right to know the whole truth. She’d give herself a few more minutes, and then she’d go back to the house and face Michael. So, wrapped up in her thoughts, she did not hear the rustle of grasses, the crunching of stalks or the sighing of breath.

  ‘Fran.’

  Startled, she looked up, seeing a figure towering over her. She shaded her eyes against the morning sun. ‘Michael!’ she exclaimed with surprise, her heart pounding.

  He dropped down onto the bank beside her. Neither spoke, both staring ahead. Fran knew it was up to her to break the silence.

  ‘How did you find out?’ The question was clumsy and so was her voice, but it was the first thing that came into her head.

  ‘Shirley wrote to me and then Tina.’

  Fran felt her eyes smart. She had no idea that Tina had also written. She must have been so desperately unhappy. She swallowed hard, finding the words. ‘I’m sorry you had to find out that way. I always hoped Isabel would tell you the truth.’

  ‘Mother went hysterical.’ His voice shook with emotion.

  He still thought of Isabel as his mother. That hurt Fran. Then, what could she expected? Pulling up a blade of grass, she ran her fingers along its sharpness, drawing blood. Then words came out of her mouth which she didn’t expect to hear. ‘You’ve been happy with Isabel?’

  She felt rather than saw his nod. ‘She’s been a good mother to you?’

  She turned to look into face and saw the confusion in his eyes. ‘I suppose.’

  Tears pricked her eyes, but she mustn’t cry. She couldn’t bring herself to tell him about his conception, not yet – later. Instead, she asked him, ‘Michael, what do you want to know?’

  He stretched out his long limbs and she knew he was trying to form some kind of question. ‘Why didn’t you look after me and Tina if you were our mother?’

  She watched the reeds and rushes on the far bank sway rhythmically, but her voice was flat, her chest throbbing with pain as she began. ‘I was sixteen when I gave birt
h to you and Tina, and afterwards I was very ill. Agnes, your grandmother, took charge and Isabel helped to look after you.’ Her voice faltered and was barely audible. ‘I never meant it to be a permanent arrangement. Obstacles were placed in my way. But that is no excuse. I should have asserted my rights as your mother. I should have made a home for you.’ Her fingers sought the rough grass and she pulled again, inflicting pain.

  ‘Is that why you gave me a hundred pounds – guilt money?’ he shouted, callously.

  She recoiled at his words, because they were true. ‘I’m sorry,’ was all she could say.

  ‘Sorry,’ he repeated, harshly, springing to his feet, once again towering over her. ‘You think saying “sorry” will make everything right? You’re sad!’ He paced back and forth. ‘Do you realise, when I went to Australia I was happy, with a future to look forward to. And now?’ He flung up his arms in despair, his voice cracking. ‘Now my best mate, Joe, is dead and I hear Tina is my twin sister and you are my real mother. What if Shirley and Tina hadn’t written to me? Would you have left me in ignorance for ever? I’m seventeen. I’m not a child. You should have told me.’ His face contorted as he desperately fought to hold back his tears.

  Her heart overflowing with love for her son, she was instantly on her feet holding out her arms to him, wanting to comfort him.

  But he held his arms up in horror. ‘Don’t touch me.’

  She froze. He twisted away from her and lumbered up the bank, running along the path, away from her. She watched till he was out of sight. Then she slumped down and stared vacantly at the dark, swirling water. She feared her son was lost to her for ever.

  She allowed herself only moments of self-pity and sat up sharp, saying out loud, ‘Frances Meredith, you have no right to give up on your son. You show him how much you love him and care for him.’ She stood up, brushed the grass off her skirt, and walked purposefully back towards the house.