In Search of Hope

by Anna Jacobs

  She’d explore the area around the village gradually, taking Ned on little outings, she decided. The weather was getting warmer and they were both due to have some fun.

  She stood him on a chair, so that he could look out properly, but held him carefully as she pointed out of the window. ‘See the cows in that field, Ned? And the white things over there are sheep.’

  He soon tired of staring out and got down to explore the big room. As he walked round, he began to look more and more worried. ‘It’s not tidy. Daddy will shout. We have to clear up quickly.’

  Only four and he knew that already.

  ‘Daddy doesn’t live here. He won’t see it.’

  Ned stared at her, as if he couldn’t take this in.

  ‘Come on, darling. We need to have our tea, then unpack more of our things.’

  On the floor below, she stopped at the doorway of the back bedroom. ‘This is your room. We’ll make up the bed and you can sleep in here tonight.’

  He looked round the room and inched closer to her. ‘Don’t want to.’

  ‘You’ll like it when Boo-Bear is here with you.’

  Looking dubious, Ned followed her down the stairs and without telling began to put his things away.

  ‘No need to put them away. Daddy doesn’t live with us now.’ She wondered how many times she’d have to say that before he believed it. ‘We can do what we want here.’

  But such a big change was a lot for a child of four to understand and Ned still kept listening as if waiting for his father to come home from work.

  Not until Ned had fallen asleep in his new bedroom, clutching his bear, did Libby open the letter from her grandmother. She wanted desperately to see what was inside, and yet she was almost afraid to read it.

  She opened the envelope to find many sheets of letter paper, all filled with that angular black handwriting.

  The covering note alone had her in tears.

  Darling Libby,

  I’m writing to say goodbye. It won’t be long now before I die and I’ll be glad to go. What do people say? Old age isn’t for the faint hearted. Neither is cancer, however caring the doctors and nurses.

  I do understand you’d have come to see me if you could. And I thank you for the annual letters. They meant a great deal to me and I still re-read them occasionally.

  I don’t know why you stopped writing a few years ago, but no doubt you had a good reason. Perhaps it was to do with your husband.

  I confess that when a second Christmas went by without a letter, I paid a private investigator to check what you were doing, to make sure you were well. And I sent him every year to do another check.

  It didn’t sound as if your husband was making you happy, but at least he gave you a son. I’ve seen photos of Ned. What a darling!

  I hope my legacy helps you with whatever you want for yourself in life and please forgive me for making conditions. Only I didn’t want the money to go to your husband.

  Last year my private investigator thought you were looking very strained, so I took a chance that you might want to leave Steven if you could.

  If you’re reading this, then perhaps I was right.

  Whatever you decide to do in the future, I hope you have a happy life and that your son grows into a fine young man.

  Much love

  Rose

  By the time she finished reading the cover letter, Libby was in tears. She read it again, sobbing helplessly. Why hadn’t she been braver and left Steven before? She could have found help. She could have seen Grandma Rose again before she died.

  She didn’t start to read her grandmother’s unsent replies to her annual letters, couldn’t face them yet.

  She’d had so much stress during the past few days that all she wanted was to curl up in bed and sleep for a long time.

  He had to act, get Libby back, Steven decided the following evening as he opened the door to a cold, silent house and realised he’d not thought about what he was going to have for tea.

  Anger rose in him. He could manage perfectly well for himself, of course he could, but he didn’t see why he should have to. He was a business executive, not a housewife.

  He went to the freezer and found a freezer bag neatly labelled ‘Spaghetti Bolognese’. He pulled it out, put it on a plate and stuck it in the microwave.

  How long, he wondered. Shrugging, he put it on for five minutes.

  When the microwave pinged and he pulled it out, half the cling film cover had melted and yet the food was still frozen in places. Gingerly he pulled off the pieces of cling film and stuck the plate in the microwave again, this time for three minutes.

  When he pulled it out, the edges of the food were overcooked and hard in places, but at least it had thawed. He wanted to hurl it at the window, smash everything in sight … He stopped and took a deep breath. Of course he wouldn’t do that. He mustn’t lose control.

  He sat down at the kitchen table, unable to face setting the dining-room table, though he despised eating in here. Gingerly he picked his way through the mess on his plate, discarding bits that seemed too hard, eating the rest stoically.

  He’d prepare in advance for tomorrow. In the freezer he found a ‘roast beef dinner’ and put it in the fridge to thaw out overnight.

  After he’d cleared up the kitchen, he went into his study and typed a reply to the agency which facilitated reunions of adopted children with their birth parents. He took pleasure in saying Libby never wanted to hear from ‘her’ birth mother again. He signed it with an indecipherable scrawl and wrote the address on an envelope, trying for the same nearly illegible scrawl.

  He knew Libby would have loved to meet her birth mother, because she’d spoken of it wistfully after her adoptive mother died, so doing this made him feel very satisfied. She might not know this woman was trying to find her, but he would and one day he’d tell her; one day when she needed pulling into line.

  The idea of watching television didn’t appeal, so he checked various things online, impatient to put together a plan. He always made a rough plan before beginning a new project, and this was no different. After that, he’d work on a detailed plan.

  By chance he came across a website for a divorced fathers’ coalition and read avidly. Men were complaining about how unfairly they were treated by the law these days, how everything they’d worked for went to the wife, how hard it was to get custody of or even see their own children. Dozens of maudlin emails on the message boards. Why didn’t the fools do something about it? He intended to.

  But reading the posts on the website had made him more aware of how careful he would need to be. He didn’t want to be caught breaking the law. She wasn’t worth that.

  When he felt thirsty, he glanced at his watch. Nearly bedtime. He bookmarked the site and jotted down some of the ideas it had given him, before switching off the computer.

  As he made a final cup of tea, he wondered if he should go to the police and complain about his wife abducting his son.

  Yes, he’d certainly consider doing that.

  And he still hadn’t remembered the name of the lawyer in Rochdale. That situation had to be factored into his plans.

  He was looking forward to confronting Libby and bringing her home. He’d teach her not to do such a thing again. Not hit her. No. That was too risky, given the stupid laws they had these days. He shouldn’t have allowed himself to lose control the night before she left. As his father had taught him, there was always another way to reach your goal.

  A thought occurred to him. He’d probably bruised her – well, he was bound to have done – so he’d be best waiting for the bruises to fade before he took action. A couple of weeks, maybe.

  What if she’d made a formal complaint? No, she’d never do that. Even if she considered it, she’d never dare, because she knew he’d punish her.

  He went to bed and slept soundly. No child crying in the night, no footsteps going down to the kitchen, just a peaceful house. He did enjoy sleeping alone.

  That was
the best thing about this whole mess: the peace and quiet in the house.

  That evening as they sat chatting about their day, Chad waited for Emily to confide in him and, when she didn’t, he raised the matter himself. She’d grieved for long enough. They had to solve the mystery.

  ‘We need to find out about your birth daughter.’

  She hesitated, giving him a wry smile. ‘You’re not the only one nagging me. Leon keeps prodding me too.’

  ‘He still looks out for you, doesn’t he?’ And she still talked to Leon sometimes when she wouldn’t talk to anyone else.

  ‘Yes. But with him, there’s often an ulterior motive. I think he might want to use this place occasionally when he has to spirit someone away.’

  ‘I don’t mind that, Emily. Leon seems to be as much a friend to you as a former boss, and he helped us when we were in trouble.’

  She shuddered at the memory of how she and Chad had both been locked up in a secure facility for dementia patients with the sister in charge taking money to keep them there. Such a strange way to meet a man and fall in love.

  She’d no desire to go back to working in national security, though she was proud of having helped prevent some nasty incidents. She saw that Chad was waiting patiently for her to give him her full attention. ‘Sorry. My mind wandered just then. Where were we up to?’

  ‘We were discussing looking for your daughter.’

  ‘Yes. It’s time, isn’t it?’

  ‘So … what’s the next step?’ The daughter who had been stolen from her as a baby was the one darkness in her life and he would do anything to remove this unhappiness, even if it meant pushing her into action.

  ‘The people at Adoption Reunions let me know they’d sent a letter to the one they’re pretty sure is my daughter, but there was no reply, so they’ve written to her again.’

  She’d fallen pregnant by mistake and the affair had fizzled out. When she found she was pregnant she’d been glad, but the father hadn’t wanted to know.

  Her baby had been born nearly a month early in a central European country. The birth hadn’t gone well and Emily had been too ill to be fully aware of what was going on. They’d told her the baby had died and shown her a grave.

  And that was that. She’d moved on as best she could.

  Only it had been a lie. The child had been stolen and sold to an English couple. She’d never have known if Leon hadn’t found out about her involvement when he was dealing with another similar case in this scam.

  ‘That’s good that they’re writing again, isn’t it?’

  ‘I don’t know. If she doesn’t want to be contacted, that’s her prerogative, surely?’

  When her voice broke on the last word, Chad pulled her into his arms. ‘We’ll find her for you one way or another, my darling. And we won’t stop looking until someone hears from her own lips that she doesn’t want to meet you.’

  Emily sighed. She didn’t dare hope for success, and yet she ached to know that her daughter was all right.

  ‘If AR doesn’t get a reply this time, I know a private investigator who’s an absolute whiz. He maybe bends a few rules – I never ask for the details of how he obtains his information – but he gets results where no one else can. He’s our next step if the regular processes fail. He’ll find out where she is.’

  She cried then, sobbing in his arms.

  ‘You’ll let me do this, won’t you, Emily?’

  ‘Yes. I shouldn’t, but if I could just know she’s all right, even see a photo of her, I’d feel better. I know I would.’

  Joss was woken early by the bedside phone ringing. Who the hell was calling at six o’clock in the morning? He picked it up. ‘Yeah?’

  ‘Leon here. Is there any chance of you coming down to London for a briefing today? We’re starting at noon.’

  ‘I’ll come if I can get a flight.’

  Leon laughed. ‘I guessed you’d say yes, so we’ve already booked you on the nine o’clock flight from Manchester to Heathrow. Have some photo identification ready to pick up your ticket. A car will meet you at Heathrow and we have a room for you. You can return tomorrow. See you.’ He put the phone down without waiting for an answer.

  Excitement filled Joss. It was happening. It really was. Something to fill his empty days.

  Then he remembered his new neighbour and little Ned. No, they’d be all right now. He’d enjoyed helping them and would continue to do so, but he needed some real purpose in life.

  So did Libby, he supposed. Or she would once she’d sorted matters out with that damned husband. He still felt angry at the way the bastard had knocked her around.

  And what was he doing standing around thinking of Libby when he needed to get ready?

  He was on the road to the airport in half an hour and it wasn’t till he was waiting to board his plane that he realised he hadn’t left a message for her, as he’d meant to do. Damn!

  Henry had kept Rose’s phone connected, so after a moment’s hesitation, Joss phoned Libby. He didn’t want her worrying about whether she’d upset him.

  The phone rang five times and he was wondering if she’d gone out, and if so, where she would be at this hour of the morning, when it was picked up.

  ‘Hello?’ Her voice was breathless as if she’d run to answer it.

  ‘Joss here. Look, I’m calling to let you know I have to go down to London on business. I’m at Manchester Airport now and I should be back tomorrow.’

  ‘Oh. Well, thanks for letting me know.’

  He didn’t know what else to say, so trotted out the phrase an American friend was always using. ‘Have a great day.’ He couldn’t help adding, ‘And don’t overdo things.’

  He was annoyed with himself for that. She’d think he was poking his nose in where he shouldn’t. She wasn’t his responsibility. Only … he felt concerned about her. That bruise and the cracked ribs were the mark of a violent man. Her husband might not have hit her before, but he’d certainly not held back this time.

  If Pulford came after her … Well, Joss would be around most of the time and he’d not let anyone hurt her, or Ned.

  He wondered if there was anyone in the village who’d help her if he had to go away again. He should have arranged that straight away, knowing Leon might have work for him.

  Maybe Terry at the pub or Pete at the village shop. He’d have a quiet word with them once he got back.

  They began calling for people to board the plane, so he picked up his backpack and followed the crowd, excitement rising in him.

  Libby was woken by the phone and felt only half-awake as she spoke to Joss. She was pleased that he’d bothered to let her know he’d been called away. She would have worried if she hadn’t seen him around for two days.

  When she put the phone down, she stretched luxuriantly, then got up, drawn yet again to the window and the view over the moors. The light held the pink glow of dawn still, something she loved to see.

  She wondered if Ned was awake yet. He might be. He’d learned to stay quietly in bed till she fetched him.

  She tiptoed into his room and found him just stirring, rubbing his eyes sleepily and smiling when he saw her.

  ‘Come to the bathroom, darling.’

  ‘Has Daddy gone to work?’

  So she said it again, like an affirmation. ‘Daddy doesn’t live here.’

  ‘But when he comes—’

  ‘He won’t come here. There’s just you and me living here.’

  ‘And Joss.’

  She was surprised by that. ‘Yes. But Joss lives next door, not in our house. Do you want to go to the bathroom now?’

  ‘Yes. I’m a big boy. I can go by myself.’

  But big boy or not, he took Boo-Bear with him, chattering away to the nearly threadbare furry object he’d loved since he was tiny.

  When he’d finished in the bathroom, she supervised the washing of hands. In the kitchen she gave him a drink of milk while she made a mug of tea. While she waited for the tea to brew, she started to
go through the nearest cupboard, putting the things she didn’t want or was uncertain about on the table.

  She didn’t realise what the sound was for a while, then it dawned on her that she was humming, that she felt happy.

  ‘Sing “Twinkle”, Mummy,’ Ned begged.

  So for about the millionth time, she sang ‘Twinkle, twinkle, little star’ and he joined in. He loved singing and had a very tuneful voice for one so young, but Steven hadn’t encouraged him to sing. Steven never whistled or hummed. She’d asked him once why not, and he’d said he wasn’t a performing monkey, thank you very much, and didn’t want to listen to other performing monkeys, either.

  When she and Ned went upstairs to wash and get dressed, she decided to clear out the drawers and cupboards in the front bedroom, so that she could put her own things away. She winced when her rib hurt, but didn’t let it stop her, because suddenly she was eager to claim the bedroom for herself.

  There weren’t a lot of drawers, but they were crammed full, as was the wardrobe, and the bed was soon piled with clothes. Had her grandmother never thrown anything away? She hated to go through someone else’s clothes, but had no choice, so muttered, ‘Sorry, Grandma Rose!’ and set to work.

  When she came to a bundle of letters tied up with a fancy Christmas ribbon, she realised they were the ones she’d written and couldn’t hold back tears. She put them with the letters from her grandmother. To think Rose had kept all the letters and Christmas cards she’d ever sent! They looked rubbed and worn, as if they’d been read many times.

  She went back to clearing things out. Some of the clothes weren’t worn or dirty, but they were very grandmotherly. She might keep a couple of cardigans and a coat for the cooler weather, but as for the rest, she’d offer them to a charity shop if they were in decent condition, throw them away otherwise. She went to get rubbish bags and bundled everything that was no use into two of them, stacking the bags on the landing. The decent items she took up to the top floor.

  Then she unpacked her own clothes, sighing once she’d hung them up to see so few. She hadn’t brought the smart going-out clothes she wore for Steven’s work functions, didn’t want anything to do with those. He had chosen them and told her which to wear each time. They wouldn’t bring back any happy memories.