by Liz Harris
Four days later, the postman brought Amy’s reply.
Dear Patricia,
I’m quite willing to meet you – I wouldn’t have got in touch with you had that not been the case.
What about meeting at Marine Ices, opposite the Round House in Chalk Farm – say next Saturday, at 11 a.m.? It’s central to both of us. If that doesn’t suit you, perhaps you would suggest a different arrangement.
Yours sincerely,
Amy
It did suit her, Patricia immediately wrote back, and she was very much looking forward to meeting Amy. She addressed the envelope and got up to go and post it. As she did so, she caught sight of herself in the mirror that stood on the shelf. She went closer to the mirror, and stared at her reflection.
She hadn’t realised it before, but she looked every bit her fifty-one years of age, and maybe even older than that. Her hand went to her greying shoulder-length hair. Perhaps she should give her hair a colour rinse before she met Nima – before she met Amy. She seemed to have gone grey overnight. And her hair could also do with a trim. She must look her best on Saturday. She wanted Amy to like her.
They stared at each other across the table.
‘Well, I don’t look much like you,’ Amy said, leaning back in her chair.
‘You look like your father.’
‘I guess that figures if I don’t look like you, and I don’t.’ Amy picked up a menu and opened it.
Fingering the edge of the table cloth, Patricia smiled tentatively across the table. ‘It’s strange, isn’t it, meeting like this?’
Amy glanced up at her. ‘You can say that again. To be honest, I know this was my idea, but I don’t really know why I suggested meeting you. I had the best mum and dad in the world – they were amazing parents – and I don’t need any more.’
‘Do they know you’re here?’
‘I wouldn’t go behind their backs, if that’s what you mean.’ She paused. ‘Mum died two years ago, and Dad died a few months ago.’
‘I’m very sorry.’
‘What about – you abandoning me or my parents dying? Look, you don’t have to answer that. Let’s get some coffee, shall we?’
‘I’ll get them. How do you like your coffee?’
‘Black, please. No sugar.’
‘Would you like a scone or something with it?’
‘No, thanks. Just the coffee.’
A few minutes later, Patricia returned to the table with two coffees and sat down. She took a sip of her drink. ‘You’ve got a ring on your finger, I see. What’s your husband’s name?’
‘Andrew. He’s an architect.’
‘An architect, is he? That’s nice.’
‘I look after his books for him.’ Amy stared pointedly at Patricia’s left hand. ‘I take it you didn’t get married, or if you did, you’re not married any more.’
‘I never married.’
‘Have you any children?’
‘Just you.’
‘I don’t really count, do I?’
Patricia took another sip of her coffee. ‘What about you – have you got any children?’
‘I had a miscarriage four months ago. We still haven’t got over losing our baby.’
Patricia put her cup back on the saucer and looked across at Amy. ‘I’m so sorry. Losing a baby is the hardest thing that can happen to anyone.’
‘Especially if you don’t choose to lose it.’
She picked up her drink again. ‘How did you find me?’
‘Dad left a letter for me to read after his death. It had the address of the house in Highbury where you gave me away, and also the Adoption Order. He thought I might want to know more about my background one day. It wasn’t difficult to find you – you’ve got the same name and you live in the same sort of area as you used to. Andrew did the leg work.’
‘That was kind of him.’
‘He’s a kind man. He’d have been a great dad. Rather, he will be a great dad when the time comes.’
‘You haven’t asked about your father, Amy – your birth father, that is,’ Patricia ventured after a few minutes’ silence. ‘Do you want me to tell you about him?’
‘I suppose I must want to know something about you both or I wouldn’t have contacted you like I did. I wasn’t going to, you know – I don’t need you – but losing my baby like that … and Dad dying … well, I suppose I suddenly wondered how anyone could give their child away.’
‘I understand,’ Patricia said quietly. ‘And I wouldn’t blame you if you hated me.’
‘I don’t hate you. You have to know someone to hate them. I don’t know you at all. You’re not part of my life and never have been.’ She paused. ‘So where is he, then, my birth father? Presumably, he’s Asian or something like that. There’s no way I got these eyes from a full-blooded Englishman. And I obviously didn’t get them from you.’
‘He was born in Ladakh.’
‘Where’s that? I’ve never heard of it.’
Patricia smiled. ‘Not many people have. It’s a shame as it’s a beautiful country. It’s north east of India – north of the Himalayas – and west of Tibet.’
‘That explains Nima, then. I wondered where the name came from.’
‘Nima means the sun. You were going to be the sun in our lives. When I was eighteen, my father and I went on a trip to Ladakh, and that’s where we met Kalden, your father.’
‘My father’s name is Brian Galloway, and my mother’s name is Maisie Galloway. My birth father’s name was Kalden. I think that was what you meant to say, wasn’t it?’
‘You’re right, of course. I’m sorry. I’ll try to be more careful with my words in future.’
‘So I’m the result of a holiday romance, am I? That’s too corny for words.’
‘Not in the way that you mean, you’re not. Kalden and I genuinely loved each other. He was so good-looking, he took my breath away the moment I met him. And he was such a wonderful person. How I loved him!’
‘And that’s why you gave your child away to someone else, is it? Yes, that makes good sense.’
‘You don’t understand. How could you? Long before we knew I was expecting you, we decided to stay together forever. Kalden was killed as we were leaving Ladakh to come back to England – he fell off a high bridge.’ She stared at Amy, who was looking down at the table. ‘I’m afraid that he died,’ she repeated. ‘If I hadn’t insisted on crossing the bridge before we stopped for the night … if I hadn’t been in such a hurry to get off the bridge at the other side … it might never have happened. But it did. And he died.’
Amy raised her eyes to Patricia’s face. ‘I’m glad you loved each other and that I wasn’t the result of a meaningless one-night stand. That would have hurt.’
‘I can’t tell you how often I’ve re-lived that moment just before we started to cross the bridge. Whenever I re-live it, we don’t go across until the following morning, and there’s no accident. My life would have been so different. You, me, Kalden – we’d have been a family. I might have had more children.’
‘I’m sorry it worked out for you like it did, but there’s no point in speculating about what might have happened in different circumstances. It’s in the past and long gone. The future’s all that matters. And talking about the future,’ Amy started to button up her jacket, ‘I’ve got some shopping to do. We’ve finished our coffees so we might as well go our separate ways now, don’t you think?’
‘If that’s what you want.’
‘Well, we’ve met – I wondered if I’d be confronted by someone who looked like me, but I wasn’t – and I now know where I came from and what happened to my birth father. I don’t think there’s anything more to be gained by talking for longer.’
‘I’d very much like to see you again, Amy. But that must obviously be your decision,’ Patricia said, and she stood up. ‘You’ve got my address and you can always contact me. There’s so much I want to know about you … about your life … everything … I know I don’t have the
right; I’d just like to know, though. So I do hope you want to meet me again. You can say where and when. Anyway, I can see that you want to get off now, so I’ll say goodbye.’
She smiled at Amy, and walked out into Chalk Farm Road, her vision blurring.
They met at the bottom of Pond Street the following Saturday afternoon, and made their way to the lower part of Hampstead Heath.
‘We’re lucky with the weather,’ Patricia said as they strolled past the first of the ponds. ‘Planning to go for a walk in England is always tricky – you never know if it’ll rain. We used to walk for miles, Kalden and I. But rain’s not a problem in Ladakh,’ she added with a smile.
‘I know,’ Amy said shortly. ‘I’ve been reading up about it.’
‘I’m so glad you suggested meeting today. I was desperately hoping you would write again.’
‘I wasn’t going to. At least, I don’t think I was. But as Andrew pointed out, I didn’t ask you the big question, the one that deep down I must have wanted the answer to most of all.’ She stopped and turned to Patricia. ‘Why did you have me adopted? If you loved Kalden as much as you said you did, why didn’t you keep me?’
‘Believe me, I wanted to,’ Patricia said quietly. ‘I wanted to keep you very much. Every day for the last thirty-two years, I’ve regretted that I didn’t fight harder to keep you, no matter how difficult it would have been. I’ve never stopped thinking about you, wondering what you were doing, hoping you were all right.’
‘So why didn’t you fight harder, as you put it?’
‘I don’t think I’ve ever really been able to answer that question satisfactorily to myself.’
‘Have a try, why don’t you?’
‘I was eighteen – which was very young in those days. I was totally dependent upon my father, and I was still trying to cope with losing Kalden. It was a different world then. There was a real stigma if you were an unmarried mother, and my father was one of those people who always worried about what others thought. He was a strong, domineering person – an ex-army man, a major – and it wasn’t easy to stand up to him. He made me choose between being cut off from my family and living on my own with a small baby to look after, or giving you up for adoption and staying at home. In the end, I agreed to give you up – I couldn’t see how I could manage by myself without any help.’
‘Other people in your position did.’
‘I know they did, and I’ve always wished that I’d tried harder. I did try, though – I went to the benefits’ office and to the housing people, but they were no help, and I looked at the bedsits I’d just about be able to afford. You can’t imagine how squalid they were. You couldn’t bring up a baby in such a place.’
‘What about your mother? Was she in favour of you giving your child to goodness knows who?’
‘No, she wasn’t. If she could have helped me, she would have done. But she didn’t have any money of her own, and she was far worse than I was at standing up to my father.’ She glanced at Amy’s face. ‘It must be virtually impossible for you to understand what it was like thirty years ago. Unmarried mothers have it much easier today, what with benefits, crèches, the so-called sexual revolution, and less hostility in society generally. But back in 1963, when I was expecting you, I genuinely didn’t feel that I had any real choice.’
‘Your father sounds pretty horrible.’
‘Horrible’s too strong a word. He was a complex man, and a very unhappy one, but to give him his due, he thought he was doing what was best for me. But I’ll tell you about my family another time – if there is to be another time, and I hope that there will be.’ She paused. ‘I don’t know if I’ve made you understand why I gave you away. I hope I have. Above all, I hope you believe me when I say that it wasn’t an easy thing to do, and that I regret it very much.’
‘I do believe you regret what you did. You would do: you’re on your own now, and you’re getting older, with no family around you. Most people would regret doing the thing that caused that.’
‘You must think what you want. I know it’s more than that. And whatever you say to me, you can’t stop me from being thrilled that you got in touch. Just to see you …’ Her voice caught.
Amy glanced at her quickly, and looked away. ‘We’d better go back now. It’s getting dark and I’m sure we’ve both got things to do.’
They turned round and started walking across the Heath in the direction of Pond Street.
‘Can we meet again?’ Patricia asked. ‘I still don’t know anything about you and what you’ve done over the years.’
‘I’m not sure that there’s any point. I don’t need a mother now.’
‘I know that. But I’d like to think that we could have some kind of relationship, nevertheless.’
Amy shrugged her shoulders, and they walked on in silence for a few minutes. ‘What did Kalden look like?’ she asked suddenly. ‘I know you said he was good-looking, but apart from that. Have you got any photos of him?’
‘Not a lot, but some. They’re at home. Why don’t you come for tea one afternoon and I’ll show them to you?’ She saw the indecision in Amy’s eyes. ‘I’m sure you’d like to see what he looks like, especially as you’re so like him to look at. You wouldn’t be committing yourself to anything.’
‘My eyes are like his, I know.’
Patricia smiled. ‘It’s not just your eyes – your whole face is like his, and your mannerisms. You’re very like him in lots of ways.’
‘Maybe I will come and have a look at your photos, then. I could come next Saturday afternoon, if you like.’
Patricia’s shoulders relaxed.
Chapter Twenty-One
Patricia stepped back from the front door. ‘Come on in.’
Amy walked slowly into the downstairs room and looked around her. Her gaze ran along the shelves and the mantelpiece, across the wooden coffee table, along the top of the small television set in the corner of the room.
Patricia followed her eyes to the television. She gave a little laugh. ‘It is tiny, isn’t it? I’m not really one for the TV. I prefer reading.’ She indicated the crowded bookshelves on either side of the fireplace.
‘Me, too.’
‘I’ll get us some tea. Is it normal tea you like? I got in some camomile, just in case. Or you can have coffee. I know you like coffee. It’s only instant, I’m afraid. I’m not a great coffee drinker, although I drink it when I’m out.’
‘Whatever you’re having is fine by me.’
‘Normal tea, it is, then. I know you don’t have sugar in your coffee. What about in tea?’
‘No, thanks.’
‘Sit down, do. I won’t be a moment.’ Patricia hurried into the kitchen, pressed the switch on the kettle and leaned against the worktop.
‘I see you like nineteenth-century literature,’ she heard Amy call from the front room.
‘I do, very much,’ she shouted back, pouring boiling water on to the tea bags in the pot. She placed the pot on a tray next to the things she’d put out earlier, picked up the tray and carried it into the front room.
‘Jane Austen’s my favourite,’ she said, putting the tray on the coffee table. ‘Do sit down.’ She took the chair closest to her and Amy sat down opposite her. ‘I read modern literature as well, though. I’m not totally locked in the past.’ She laughed again, poured two cups of tea and handed one to Amy.
Amy gave her a polite smile.
‘I’ve made a sponge sandwich, if you’d like a piece. I still use the recipe I got from school.’
Amy picked up her cup. ‘I’m not hungry, thank you.’
‘Well, I’m going to have a piece.’ She leaned forward and cut two slices. ‘There’s a slice for you if you change your mind.’
‘Thank you.’ Amy looked around the room again. ‘You certainly don’t like to be surrounded by photographs, that’s for sure. You’ve not got a single photo out.’
‘They’re in the upstairs room, where I usually sit. We’ll go up and look at them when
we’ve had our tea.’
‘How long have you lived here?’
‘It must be about twenty-seven or twenty-eight years now. I moved away from my parents as soon as I could support myself. Things had never been right from the day I told my father that I was expecting a baby. In fact, they’d actually gone wrong long before that, but I didn’t see it. When I think back, the way I looked at my parents changed from the moment I met Kalden.’
‘That’s not altogether surprising, is it?’
‘No, it isn’t. And it’s not surprising, either, that after you’d been adopted and we tried to put the past behind us, we couldn’t. I couldn’t get over losing you. How could I?’
‘Did you have a job? After all, there was no baby to get in the way of you doing what you wanted.’
‘I did teachers’ training, as I’d planned to do, and then taught in a school not far from here. After about a year, I decided to leave home and I started renting this house. My father died two years later, and Mother died a year after him. I didn’t want to move back to our house in Belsize Park Gardens – too many memories – so I sold it, and bought this place from my landlord. He’d been thinking of selling so it worked out quite well. I also stopped teaching full-time – I’d never really enjoyed it – and started working as a supply teacher.’
‘You’ve lived here for a long time, then.’
‘I suppose I have. Anyway, that’s enough for now. The rest of the details about my family can wait for another day. I hope I get a chance to tell you them, though – they might stop you from being too critical of your grandparents – but all in good time.’ She stood up. ‘We seem to have finished our tea, so if you want, we can go upstairs. I’d like to introduce you to your father.’
She went across to the narrow staircase in the corner of the room, and Amy followed her.
‘The room on the left is where I always sit,’ she said as they reached the landing, and she stood back to let Amy go into the room ahead of her.
Amy took a couple of steps into the room, and stopped short. Her eyes widened and she stared around her. Then she walked very slowly round the room.