by Jean Ure
After the Mayor it was Mrs Stanhope. Nobody, I don’t think, could accuse Mrs Stanhope of dirging. She has this very crisp, clear voice that forces you to pay attention. But she still went on for far too long! At least, in my opinion. Nobody wanted to hear Mrs Stanhope. Or the Mayor. We wanted to hear Mia!
She was sitting there on the platform, with all the dignitaries. Like a beautiful flower in a bed of weeds, I thought, poetically. I turned and whispered to Skye.
“She could be Jem’s mum!”
Skye made a fierce hissing sound, like a goose.
“She really does look like her.”
Skye went “Sh! ” and jabbed her bony elbow into my ribs. Mrs Monteith, sitting at the end of the row, leant forward and frowned. I sank back, resigned, and rearranged my lips into their polite smile. Why is it that head teachers and dignitaries feel they have to go on for ever?
At last it came to an end. Mrs Stanhope was sitting down and it was Mia’s turn. You could just feel everybody perking up. Unlike the Mayor, who had droned on about excellence and the importance of education in a very dreary way, the things Mia had to say were really interesting. All about when she was at the school, and how she’d always known she was going to be a performer of some kind. How she’d been accused of “always fizzing and popping”. (I trod heavily on Skye’s foot.) How she was regularly “put in the Book” for being late, or not paying attention, or talking in class. (We hadn’t known that.) When she came to the bit about running away from home I dug my fingers hard into Skye’s wrist, which made her jump and go “Ow!” Which made Mrs Monteith lean forward again, with an angry scowl.
“Frankie Foster,” she mouthed, “behave yourself!”
I was hoping Mia might tell us why she’d run away, but she just gave a sort of rueful grin and said, “I’m afraid I’m not a very good role model. I’ve made some big mistakes in my time. Not exactly what you’d call a credit to the school!”
When she said this, Mrs Stanhope stretched her lips into a grimace (I think it was supposed to be a smile) and lots of people laughed.
Mia said, “No, seriously… I may have got there in the end, but please, please, don’t anybody follow my example! It could so easily have been a total disaster. Instead of which—” She turned, brightly, to Mrs Stanhope, who grimaced again. “Here I am, a guest at Speech Day. I never would have thought it! It just shows that with enough determination, you can make your dreams come true.”
Everyone cheered and clapped like mad. I wondered how Jem was feeling. I guessed she would be sitting there fizzing and popping, bursting with pride as she hugged her secret. The daughter of a famous celeb! I didn’t care how much Skye hissed at me and jabbed me with her elbow. Mia really could be Jem’s mum. I just didn’t see how she was going to prove it. She obviously had some plan – but what?
A Year 11 girl, Kamila something or other, was called up to read her essay. It was quite interesting, all about how she came from Bosnia, but I couldn’t really concentrate properly as I was too busy thinking about Jem. Suppose she did ask Mia, “Are you my mum?” and Mia admitted it? What would happen? She wouldn’t be able to go and live with her, cos she’d already been adopted. Maybe she’d be allowed to stay with her sometimes? Go on holiday with her. Go on tour with her! But what would Mr and Mrs McClusky feel? Would they be hurt? Or would they be happy for her?
While I was pondering all this, Jem came bounding on stage. She seemed to have forgotten any doubts she may have had. She was positively crackling with energy, you could almost see it shooting out of her in little darts. I turned in my seat and beamed at Mrs McClusky. Mrs McClusky beamed back. She was going to be so pleased and proud!
Jem started reading. “My beginnings are shrouded in mystery as I was adopted when I was a baby and don’t remember anything about my life before. All I have been able to discover is that I was left on the steps of a churchyard—”
What? I shot a quick worried glance at Skye.
“—wrapped in a shawl. I cannot help wondering,” said Jem, “what my real mum was like, and why she had to abandon me. I try not to feel bitter about it as I feel there must have been a reason. She could still, for instance, have been at school. She was probably frightened and had no one to turn to if her parents were not sympathetic.”
I squirmed, uneasily, in my seat. How could Jem be so obvious? I hardly dared look in Mia’s direction. Jem, meanwhile, continued regardless.
“I have this picture of her carrying me into the churchyard at dead of night, kissing me one last time – mwah!” She actually did it. She actually went mwah. Skye sat next to me, bolt upright, frozen like a block of ice.
“I imagine her praying,” said Jem. “Please—” She closed her eyes, tilting her face heavenwards. “Please let someone find my baby and take care of her! I often wonder if today she still thinks of me. If she wonders where I am, and how I am getting on. I would love so much to be able to meet her and talk to her! I would love to be able to look at her and see if we are alike in any way. Whether I have her hair –” Jem turned, to beam in Mia’s direction – “or her eyes. It is only natural, I think, to feel curious. Sometimes when people say to my friends, Oh, don’t you take after your mum, I feel sad, like I am missing out. No one can ever say that to me. I don’t know whether I take after my mum or not. Nobody knows! If you ask my friends what I am like, they would probably say that I am quite a fizzy, bubbly sort of person, which makes me wonder –” Jem turned again, to beam at Mia – “if my mum was also fizzy and bubbly.”
My cheeks, by now, were beginning to burn. How could Jem do this? Did she really think Mia was going to rush forward and throw her arms round her and announce that she was her long-lost mum? And what about Mrs McClusky? How must she be feeling?
“Before I started the search for my beginnings,” continued Jem, “I discussed it with two of my friends.”
Omigod! This was going from bad to worse.
“One of them, who is a very cautious person, said she thought it was best not to look, as I might not like what I found. But the other one, who is more bold, said go for it. So that is what I did. I was a bit scared in case I discovered something horrid, but once you have started it is impossible to stop. I expect people will say to me, Was it worth it? All you have found out for sure is that you were abandoned. But I think it is better to know than not to know. It doesn’t mean that I am not grateful to my other mum and dad for adopting me.”
I cringed, low, in my seat. I didn’t dare turn to look at Mrs McClusky. I had promised her she was going to be so pleased and proud! I felt pretty dreadful.
“When you are adopted,” said Jem, “you are told that you are special. And that is true, in some ways. But as this essay is supposed to be about Beginnings, I thought that I should go back as far as I can. Maybe one day I will get to meet my real mum, and then I will be able to go back even further. I really hope so.”
There was a round of applause as Jem finished. I didn’t applaud, and neither did Skye. We sat, stiff and silent. Other people in our class were looking around, exchanging puzzled glances. They knew that wasn’t the essay Miss Rolfe had read out to us. Miss Rolfe herself, sitting at the side of the hall, had a face like a thundercloud. Jem was going to be in trouble.
“I told her not to do it,” said Skye. “I told her!”
We watched as Mia handed Jem an envelope containing her book token, which was what people got for being chosen to read out their essays. We could see that Mia was saying something. Was it just congratulations or well done, or was it something else? I wished I could lipread!
When Jem had left the stage Mrs Stanhope made a few closing remarks and Speech Day came to an end. Me and Skye immediately jumped up and rushed way down to the front to grab hold of Jem. Skye said, “Jem!” and I squeaked, “Did she say anything?”
Before Jem could reply, her dad had appeared.
“Right.” He took Jem by the arm. “Let’s go. Your mum’s waiting for you outside. She’s very upset. Come on!�
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Jem doesn’t as a rule take a whole lot of notice of her dad; it’s her mum who decides what’s what. Mr McClusky is very quiet, he never lays down the law or even raises his voice. But that evening, at Speech Day, Jem knew better than to argue. She sent one last despairing glance at me and Skye, then obediently trailed off with her dad across the hall.
“That went well,” said Skye.
She was being sarcastic. I hate when she’s sarcastic!
“See you Monday.” She flapped a hand.
I nodded. Skye went off to find her parents, and I looked round for Mum and Dad. I did so not want Mum to start going on at me! I even had this faint glimmer of hope that maybe she wouldn’t have noticed anything, but of course she had.
“What was all that?” she said. “I thought you told me Jem had written lovely things about her mum and dad?”
“She changed them,” I said. “I didn’t know she was going to!”
“No?”
“No!”
“Are you telling me you had absolutely nothing to do with it?”
“Not about changing her essay!”
“What about trying to find her birth mum? Are you saying you didn’t encourage her? Honestly, Frankie!” Mum shook her head. “When will you learn not to interfere?”
All weekend I waited for Jem to call, but she didn’t. I texted her, twice. R U OK? and W8ing 2 hear. Still nothing. In the end I rang Skye to see if she had heard. She hadn’t.
“D’you think we should call her?” I said.
“No.” Skye sounded very definite. “She knows where we are.”
“But she might think we’re just not bothering!”
“I thought you said you’d texted her?”
“I have, but it’s not the same.”
“Look, you asked me,” said Skye, “and I told you… read my lips: I DO NOT THINK WE SHOULD CALL. Wait till we see her.”
It was such a long wait. I was out of the house really early on Monday morning, racing down the road to our meeting point. Skye arrived a few minutes later. We both scanned the horizon, anxiously waiting for Jem to appear. I thought, if she’s late, it will be a bad sign. If she was bashing things with her bag, that would also be a bad sign. If she was dragging her feet, it would be an even worse sign. And then we saw her, turning the corner, coming towards us. She wasn’t dragging her feet; she wasn’t bashing her bag. She was swinging it. And skipping! Well, walking with a definite bounce.
“What happened, what happened?” I cried. “Did Mia say anything?”
“Nope!” Jem shook her head.
“She didn’t admit to being your mum?”
“Nope!”
Me and Skye exchanged puzzled glances.
“She didn’t admit it,” said Jem, “cos she’s not!”
Not? Then why was Jem so happy?
“I had this long talk with Mum… she’s told me everything.”
“So?” I jigged, impatiently. “If it wasn’t Mia, who was it?”
“Nobody knows. It’s a total mystery!”
Jem’s face was bright pink with triumph, though I couldn’t think what she had to be triumphant about. It all sounded a bit of a let down, if you asked me.
Skye looked at her, sternly. “You mean nobody knows anything?”
“Not very much. Just that I was abandoned.”
Well, that was something. At least we’d been right about that.
“Just not in the churchyard,” said Jem.
“So where?”
“In the hospital!”
There was a pause. Then Skye said, “In the hospital?”
Jem beamed, and nodded.
“What were you doing in the hospital?”
“Being born!”
“In hospital?”
“Yes. But only just! See, my mum – my birth mum, that is – she got there just in time. Another minute, it’d have been too late… I’d have come whooshing out in the car park! Cool, or what?” said Jem.
We gazed at her, solemnly.
“So what happened?” I said. “You got born and she abandoned you?”
“She ran off,” said Jem. “Just, like, totally disappeared.”
“But hang on,” said Skye, “surely they’d have got her name and address? They always get people’s names and addresses!”
Jem’s eyes sparkled, like she was about to let us into a big secret.
“They did,” she said, “but they were false.” Jem paused, dramatically, to let it sink in. “She made them up! When they tried to trace her they found the address didn’t even exist. Neither did she! Not under the name she’d given them.”
There was another pause, longer this time, while me and Skye thought about it.
“So is that all your mum knows?” I said.
“It’s all anybody knows.” Not just a bit of a let down. A total let down. Although, on the other hand… “It still could have been Mia!”
“No.” Jem shook her head. “She was Irish. Oh, and she had red hair and freckles, so I obviously don’t take after her. Mum thinks maybe my dad might have been Italian, or something. But probably,” said Jem, “I’ll never know.” She sighed, though she didn’t sound too upset. “Mum says she’d have told me earlier if I’d asked… she wasn’t deliberately keeping it from me.”
“I did say,” said Skye.
“I know, but I couldn’t have asked her! You know I couldn’t. I was too cross with her.”
She plainly wasn’t cross any more, so that was one good thing. But all that hard work! All for nothing.
“Well, at least now you know,” said Skye.
I felt like saying, know what? But I didn’t, cos I wouldn’t have wanted to upset Jem. She was just so happy now that she and her mum were friends again, she didn’t seem to mind about Mia.
“I s’pose there isn’t anything much more you can do,” I said.
“Well, I could,” said Jem. “Mum says if I wanted I could write a letter and send it to the social services people, then if my birth mum ever gets in touch they could give it to her and she’d know where to find me.”
I brightened up. “That’s a good idea! Why don’t we do that? Me and Skye could help. We could do it this weekend, round your place!”
“I dunno.” Jem scrunched her face up. “Not sure I want to.”
“But you’ve got to! You can’t just give up.”
“Maybe one day… when I’m older. I don’t feel like it right now cos it really hurt Mum, me saying all those things. I don’t want her to think I don’t love her! I do love her. Lots. I know she won’t let me be a model, and Liliana’s got this TV commercial that will probably make her famous, but I don’t care any more! I’m happy just being with Mum and Dad… my real mum and dad. I don’t want anyone else.”
Jem swished her bag, as we walked through the school gates.
“Well, I suppose, as it happens,” said Skye, “things actually worked out OK. In the end.”
I had to agree. We might not have solved the mystery, but Jem and her mum were friends again, and that was what mattered. And in some ways, as I had to keep reminding myself, it was all down to me. After all, I was the one that had discovered the bit about Mia in the local paper. I was the one that had set it all off. If it hadn’t been for me, Jem and her mum might still not be talking!
There was just one tiny thing that kept niggling at me.
“If it wasn’t you that was left in the churchyard,” I said, as we made our way home at the end of school, “then who was it?”
“Ah. Well. Yes!” Jem gave a snort, which turned into a giggle. She seemed a bit embarrassed. “It wasn’t really anyone.”
“You mean, it was all just made up?”
“N-no. Not exactly.”
Definitely embarrassed.
“You might as well tell us,” said Skye.
“Yes. Well.” Jem did a little hop off the kerb and back again. “The thing is… that wasn’t why Mum kept the cutting! I showed it to her, and she laughed. She told
me to look at what was on the other side.”
We waited.
“You know her chocolate cake?” said Jem.
You’d better believe it! We are all gluttons for Mrs McClusky’s chocolate cake. It’s gooey, and sticky, and totally yum.
“Well, that’s what was on the back of it,” said Jem. “My auntie sent it to her. Ages ago! For the recipe, you know? But Mum doesn’t need the recipe any more, she says she could do it blindfolded she knows it off by heart, so it got stuffed in a drawer and forgotten about. She says she never even read the bit about the baby being left.”
“I see.” Skye nodded, gravely. “So when we went on our pilgrimage, it was all just, like, make-believe?”
Jem hung her head.
“Doesn’t matter,” I said. “It was fun! And the article did say St Peter’s. Not like it was St Oesophagus, or something. I mean, there’s loads of St Peter’s! They’re all over the place.”
“I know.” Jem gave another little hop, not embarrassed, this time. “Mum says it’s a mistake anyone could have made. Oh, and she says if you’d both like to come to tea on Friday she’ll make an extra-special cake with three layers of icing!”
Things had definitely worked out. And all down to me!
I said goodbye to the others and whizzed on my way, impatient to get home and give Mum the good news. The minute I opened the front door Rags came bounding downstairs, all big and goofy, with this great doggy grin on his face. He flung his hairy arms round me and we collapsed in a heap on the floor, with me squeaking and Rags making the silly little yelping noises that he does when he’s excited.
“What’s going on?” The door of the front room had opened and Mum had appeared. “Oh, it’s you! I thought a herd of cattle was stampeding down the stairs. Frankie, come and see Emilia in her dewdrop dress.”
I pulled a face. Did I have to?
“Come!” Mum held the door open. Reluctantly, I followed her through into the front room. I was a bit nervous in case I took one look and did something unforgivable, like giggling. Not that I would giggle on purpose, but sometimes these things come rushing at you without warning.