by Jane Davis
I suppose it was the one opportunity that I have had over the years to come clean with Peter and tell him that he is Andrea's father. Although his belief in Tom was such that he refused to accept the possibility that Laura might die, I wondered if we should have waited to see if Laura would pull through. With Tom so ill and no formal adoption ever having taken place, it would have fallen quite naturally on Peter to take care of Andrea and then it would have been possible to keep the children together. Part of me had this romantic notion that I might have had a role to play. But how would Peter react to the news that he had been lied to for four years by the people that he thought of as his closest friends? It seemed possible that he would want nothing to do with the lot of us, which, I suppose, would have been a solution in itself. And possibly one that might have cost him less in terms of sacrifice. And did I really want to change my life so dramatically or did I just like the idea of having a family of my own? And so I took the coward's option of keeping quiet. Just as I would probably have taken the coward's option and told Laura none of this if I had had the opportunity to see her one last time. The question that bothers me now is the same question that bothered me then. Would I have been forgiven? And not knowing is one of the things that makes it so difficult for me to grieve for Laura now. We were not the close sisters that everyone thought we were. We were not even as close as she thought we were. I deliberately dipped in and out of her life. In a way, I dipped in and out of my own life. I see that now. Maybe the question that I actually need to ask is can I forgive myself?
I found solace in the fact that Peter Churcher, who had loved my sister from the start, found himself capable of so great a deception. Although he had convinced himself that it was the right thing to do, it involved breaking the law and lying. Perhaps the only difference for him was that he then intended to remove himself from the situation permanently, a luxury that family members cannot lay claim to. Although my own motives were not entirely pure, I had no doubt that his were.
I simply asked, 'Have you really thought this through?'
'I've racked my brains and this is the answer I keep coming back to. It's the only way.' I could hear how painful it was for him.
'If you honestly believe that, I'll help you. Do you think we can pull it off?'
'Oh, yes,' he said sadly, almost as if he would have liked to be caught out, 'everything's in place. You don't need to worry on that count.'
'I take it the less I know the better.'
'You're a good sister, Faye.'
'Let's not go that far. And, Peter Churcher, don't you dare screw things up before I get there.'
Part Fourteen
Peter's Story
Chapter Forty-five
It was the hardest thing I've ever had to do. Far harder than learning to understand my father. Far harder than admitting to the woman you love that you have slept with her sister. Harder than giving Laura away on her wedding day and pretending to be happy for Tom. Harder even than leaving. Some things are made easier by the knowledge that what you are doing is right. Not this. I'm sure that some people would consider me very cruel. Watching Tom sit by Laura's bed, patchy stubble growing back (his hair would never grow back as it was before), his face unshaven, his eyes blinking under the hospital lights, I knew what had to be done. I had to put the family that I had pulled apart back together. It was to be a painful process for all of us.
In my line of business, I've met the good, the bad and the downright nasty. I called in a few favours. And quickly – I had no time to waste. Faye owed me no such favours, but despite her absence in recent years, she was as close to Laura as any two sisters are. What we were about to do was not the sort of thing that you could admit to after the event. I had taken a huge gamble by asking her. If she hadn't agreed to help me, I'm not sure that I could have relied on her discretion. With the help of some of the keenest craftsmen in the land and their imaginative paperwork, I prepared to give Derek up for adoption, with Faye posing as an unmarried Laura and skilfully forging her signature. Laura was so recognizable in her home town that I chose an adoption agency in Newcastle where, up until a few short weeks beforehand, I had been resident, nurturing a reputation as a solicitor who could be trusted. My instincts led me to an agency that professed to have a strong Christian ethos. Even though I had no strong beliefs, I wanted to ensure that Derek ended up in the safest possible hands. Whilst there were no guarantees, I felt comforted by the idea that he would be placed with a couple with strong family values.
We were required to appear before the adoption board, one of whom had consulted my firm on a family matter and recognized me on sight. He was joined by a white-haired lady whose spectacles kept on sliding down her nose, giving her an appearance of disapproval. The final member of the board was a younger lady with a more kindly looking disposition.
'Mr Churcher.' The gentleman greeted me with a curt handshake. 'We've met before.'
'I hope this doesn't place you in a difficult situation,' I said.
'Perhaps you'll both be so good as to take a seat while I check with my colleagues.'
They huddled outside the door and spoke in low tones. Their body language was neutral. I glanced at Faye and saw her exhale deliberately, trying to keep her nerves at bay. I wiped the palms of my hands on my suit trousers.
'Sorry to have kept you,' he said on his return as they took their seats opposite us. 'I've explained how we know each other and we can't see any reason not to proceed.'
Maybe there was less checking of paperwork than there might have been otherwise. I can't say, never having been in that situation before.
'Perhaps you can tell us what brings you here today?' the lady in spectacles asked, looking from one of us to the other.
Faye cleared her throat. 'Derek was the result of a one-night stand,' she said frostily. 'We hadn't met before and there is no relationship between us to speak of. I hadn't planned to be a mother and I'm in no position to bring up a child on my own.'
'Financially?'
'Financially, emotionally. You name it, really.' Her arms were folded tightly over her chest, but it wasn't enough to contain her shaking.
'There's no going back once you've taken this step,' the younger lady said. 'It's important that you realize that. You will leave here without Derek today and you won't be allowed contact with him again.'
I avoided looking at my son. I couldn't trust myself. I tried not to think about all of those uncertain couples who would have caved in at that stage in the process.
For a while, there seemed to be concern that we had not decided to have Derek adopted until after his birth. This was quite unusual in their experience. There was whispered conferring and an exchange of notes as Faye described how, early in the pregnancy, I persuaded her that she would have my full support if she had the child, but that I seemed to change my mind after she felt it was too late to consider the alternatives.
'He had a change of heart when reality hit him,' she said. 'I had let myself believe that things would change when he saw the baby. But he didn't even get in contact after I wrote to him to tell him that Derek had been born. Can you imagine not wanting to see your own son?' She brought her hand up to her mouth and stifled a sob. 'I'm sorry,' she faltered and the younger lady stepped forward offering a box of tissues. I tried to fix my face in the type of stare that I thought would suggest that I was being subjected to emotional blackmail.
'I offered an appropriate level of financial support,' I cut in. 'You chose to have the baby. It was your decision. I made my feelings on the subject perfectly clear, but you only heard what you wanted to hear.'
When Faye spoke again it was to the board and not to me. 'It's not just a question of financial support. He can't give me what I need. The truth is,' she blurted out, 'he won't tell you this, but he's been in love with someone else all along. He doesn't want to jeopardize that, so he will never admit publicly to being Derek's father.'
All the while I avoided the direct gaze of my client, but I could
feel his eyes on me as if to question how I was qualified to deal with issues of family law.
'No!' Faye commanded herself to maintain an element of control. 'Although I thank God that I chose to have Derek, I feel foolish to have been taken in by that man and his promises. I've always believed in family and Derek is entitled to one of his own. A real family. I'm not in a position to give him the home and the life that he deserves. I hope that you can see that I want what's best for him.'
She was so good that I found myself wanting to tell her that I would make a greater effort and do more to help. Instead I fixed my expression in an angry gaze. The panel reached the conclusion that our relationship was so strained that, even though my income would allow Faye and Derek to live comfortably, it would create an unhealthy atmosphere for a child. It was clear that we could not get on. Papers were drawn up and signed. I gave away my son. The only son I am ever likely to have. When we were asked if we wanted to say goodbye to Derek for the last time, Faye agreed and clung to him tearfully, telling him how he would have a better life than she could ever offer him. I declined and left the two of them without a single word, under the harsh gaze of my client who clearly thought I was unfeeling. I heard one of the women say to Faye, 'You've done the right thing. The boy will go to a family who desperately want a child. He'll have a new name, a new start. It's for the best.' I prayed to God that it was so.
Faye was still crying when she left the building. We held each other for a moment.
'You were very convincing in there,' I told her.
'Yes, well, it looks as if I succeeded in convincing myself.' She shuddered. 'Those acting classes must have been better than I thought. Is that it?'
Yes, I thought to myself, that really is it. Derek was gone and my reputation in ruins. It seemed fitting that I should receive some form of divine retribution for deceiving the well-meaning folks of the adoption board. If my career was to suffer, so be it. Work was very low on my list of priorities. Many times since, it has struck me that if I had had the opportunity to cross-examine us, I would have asked some far more probing questions and given us a much harder time. But more than that: I have to ask what did they see in the two of us that made them decide we would be unsuitable parents?
With a falsified death certificate, we then broke the news to Mrs Albury. I had no problem putting on a convincing act myself. The pain, the tears and the grief were real. The explanation I gave was cot death. I have found from experience that people do not ask too many questions when a baby dies, particularly one who was premature. They jump to their own conclusions.
'It wasn't meant to be,' Mrs Albury repeated over and over again, patting my back. 'The poor little mite.' But I could tell that she was distracted, presumably by the thought of how we would break the news to Laura when she woke, and how this would affect her recovery.
'Do you think that I should wait before making the arrangements until . . . ?' I asked Laura's mother.
'No, dear,' she replied, her eyes full. 'You go ahead. We have no idea how Laura's going to be when she comes round. I hope you won't mind if I give it a miss. The girls don't know this, but I lost a child at a similar age the year between them. We chose not to have a service. But you must do what you think is best.'
I was both surprised and relieved. Although I had researched how to stage a fake funeral, it was the part that I would have been least comfortable with. It seemed strangely out of character for Mrs Albury, who liked to be in charge of every aspect of her family's lives. I could only presume that her focus was on the living and that she felt there was nothing more she could do for poor Derek. The Alburys were not a religious family and it seemed that she considered a funeral to be a formality that she could take or leave. My parents certainly would have felt they had a duty to go, putting personal feelings aside. There was no one else I had to consider. Although there was relief, it also dawned on me how alone I was. Other than Laura and Tom, and with my mother unable to leave the Home, I had no close friends or family. They were my whole life.
I went through the motions of selecting a small plot in a memorial garden and having a small granite stone engraved, hoping that this might bring Laura some comfort in the years to come and, at the same time, praying that it would not bring Derek bad luck. I was sufficiently superstitious that I took care not to lie when choosing the wording, referring not to his death, but the joy he brought us – however brief.
'No dates?' the stonemason asked. 'It's customary to have the dates.'
'No dates.' I was adamant.
In keeping with the other children's plots, I placed some of the toys that we had bought him there. Weeks later, when I took Mrs Albury and Faye to show them the plot, it was the sight of those damp and faded toys that Mrs Albury seemed to find the most distressing. I have visited many times over the years when I think of Derek as I find that I feel closest to him there.
Despite Andrea's reluctance to accept a little brother, I was surprised by her lack of questions at his disappearance. Her verdict was that now that the baby who had been so much hard work had gone, her mummy could get better and come home. There was some logic in this, however warped it might seem to an adult mind, and I clung to the hope that she was right.
The three of us took turns to stand sentry at Laura's bedside in eight-hour shifts, Mrs Albury, Faye and I. At the first shift after my return from Newcastle, I told the staff nurse in Tom's hearing that we had lost Derek. Outwardly, Tom seemed to react very little, although he blinked several times rapidly and his eyes darted about. The nurse, still confused about the relationship between Laura, Tom and me, reached out to both of us with a heavy hand, unsure which of us to offer her condolences to.
'Well then, we'll have to make sure we look after this one for you. But it's going to come as quite a blow to her when she comes to. Are you going to tell her?' She addressed her question to me and I nodded my response.
'Telling's always hard. I've had to do it as part of my job for years and it never gets any easier. But you'll find the right words when the time comes.'
Mrs Albury had decided that Andrea should not see her mother as she was too young to understand what was happening. I question if this was the right decision, as to have your father then your mother disappear must have been confusing enough. At least if she had seen her mother in hospital she would have known that she hadn't been abandoned completely. To have three new parental figures thrust upon her must have been difficult. Two, if you think that Faye took over after her bedtime and left as she was getting up, claiming that she wasn't good with children. I disagreed. Once or twice, I caught Faye looking at Andrea and I could tell that she longed to go and pick her up, but just didn't know how. Maybe she, too, had been plagued with doubt after her experience with the adoption board.
'Children are just like dogs,' I tried to joke with her, misjudging her mood. 'They can smell your fear.'
'Two weeks and you're suddenly the expert,' she fired back at me, obviously unaware of the times when Laura had brought Andrea to stay. I had learned by watching Tom with Andrea. Faye had very rarely seen Andrea, let alone with family members. I saw that she regretted being short with me immediately after her outburst, but Faye being Faye couldn't bring herself to say anything. We were bound together by our conspiracy, although it wasn't a bond that would bring us closer together. Whilst Faye didn't express regret, her role in the deception had obviously left her feeling vulnerable and she seemed to be angry with me for involving her. Coupled with her fears for her sister, I wondered how far I could rely on her and felt constantly sick with nerves that we would be found out.
Tom was the only constant at Laura's bedside. Mrs Albury and Faye were shocked by his altered appearance. I have no idea what passed between them as they sat and waited for words of hope, but they remarked on it when we saw each other briefly between visits. I found myself the recipient of Mrs Albury's steely gaze on several occasions. She said very little, but little needed to be said. I wasn't sure exactly what Laura had
told her mother about what led to Tom's disappearance, but it didn't take a genius to put two and two together. The main concern that Mrs Albury voiced was whether Andrea would recognize her father, but Tom had yet to ask to see Andrea. His focus was on Laura alone.
The hospital staff took a shine to this strange figure and decided that he qualified for a bed. It was while he was there that he started the treatment that would set him on the road to recovery, barely realizing that he too was a patient.
Laura was kept heavily sedated for eight days. Each time the poisoned blood circulated around her body there was danger of damage to her major organs. She received a number of blood transfusions until the antibiotics performed their magic, her fever subsided and she was declared clean.
When she opened her eyes and looked at Tom, she asked simply, 'What happened to your mane?' It was as if he had nipped out for a quick haircut rather than been missing for several months.
Despite the fact that I was in the room, her gaze was entirely on him. She was clearly groggy and I had no idea what she remembered, if she knew where she was or why she was there. She didn't ask for Derek.
'I'm sorry,' she mouthed at Tom after a while, her eyes filling.
With his back to me, I could not see if he made a response, but his head dropped forwards.
'Welcome back.' The nurse bustled past to check Laura's pulse. 'You gave us quite a scare. Out of the way, boys. I need to run some checks.' She ushered us out of the room, pulling the curtains around the bed. We sat on chairs in the corridor. I recognized both disbelief and relief in Tom's expression. He rubbed the tufts of hair on his head as if surprised not to find curls.