Strays and Relations

by Dizzy Greenfield

  I watched as he took the bar to the forge, then quickly back to the anvil, where he brought it to life. It sparked its objection – now at its most vulnerable – as the fire had denatured its structure, turning it from red to yellow to defenceless white. The sulphate the bar released as it changed smelled of onions, rather than the normal musty odour reminiscent of domestic coal fires and what I witnessed certainly wasn’t a cosy homespun scene. Staring through the door into the forge was like looking into a bygone era. The environment for Will’s working world seemed, to me, to belong to a different century, more like the early 1800s – rather than 2004.

  With Sasha now at school I had more time. I was engaged in more gentle pursuits than Will, including the office work needed to support the forge; practical matters, like getting our new business line installed; and daily domestic chores, like the laundry.

  Leaving Will to his labours, I returned to the house, piled the newly-done washing into a basket and went out again. Merlin pounced about the garden, trying to uncover the voles and mice that nested in enticing places, just out of reach. I pegged out the assortment of clothes: Sasha’s blue school uniform, work overalls that didn’t look much cleaner, a red woollen dog blanket and twenty pairs of black socks.

  We had the best view from any washing line I’d ever seen; it overlooked the tract of an old hill fort. My eyes stretched up to the site.

  Although the fort had crumbled into the soil years before, the mound of earth was etched with faint horizontal lines, almost invisible, ingrained just beneath the grass, giving a clue to the plough lines of the past. Ley lines ran across that land, too, unseen, unchanging, hidden beneath the modern day veneer of farming.

  I planned the day ahead, which included a few jobs for the business, booking the holiday offer I had seen the night before, and thinking about Merlin’s dog training class that evening – though, of course, I didn’t expect that to go very well.

  I heard the postman’s van push the gravel further into the impacted soil as he careered down the drive and watched as he rolled down the window and handed Will a bundle of letters. These days, Kevin, the latest and most dog-wary of our postmen, didn’t get out of the van – Merlin had developed a particular dislike of him.

  I finished with the washing and went to collect the post. I was expecting a letter from my mum. Her advice notes were legendary. We hadn’t received one for a couple of weeks, not since a disagreement a few weekends back involving the tricky subject of MMR childhood vaccinations. A note was bound to be wending its way by now. Mum used assorted communications to get her point across to me, face-to-face chats, phone calls, but sometimes she preferred to write her feelings down, rather than saying them out loud.

  So, I really wasn’t expecting to receive a letter from social services that June morning – certainly not one that said someone was looking for me. It was carefully worded in case, I suppose, it fell into the wrong hands, but it didn’t take long for me to realise that it related to my adoption. Why now after all these years? – I was thirty-six years old. I was at a loss to know what to do. Sugar was at work, so I did what any girl would; I rang my mum.

  ‘Mum? There’s a letter, it arrived ten minutes ago. It’s from social services saying someone wants to contact me.’

  ‘Oh my goodness, Dizzy.’

  The first tears of many were waiting and I could no longer hold them back.

  ‘It’s okay, Diz, now don’t go upsetting yourself, my love, take your time. But do you think it’s your mother?’ she asked.

  ‘Well, no, I found that grave, remember?’

  ‘Well, that could have been wrong.’

  Mum had to wait for my reply. Unable to master the emotion, I couldn’t get the words out. ‘No, it’ll be my father. I have a feeling.’

  There was a pause, just long enough for the love to dart up the phone line between me and my mum.

  ‘Would you like me to come over, love?’

  ‘No, no, I’m meant to be doing jobs for the business.’

  ‘Well, I’m sure they can wait until tomorrow.’

  ‘Yes, they can, but don’t come over. I just need to be on my own for a bit. Are you all right about this, Mum? It must be a terrible shock for you too.’

  ‘Oh love, I’m pleased for you.’ I could hear tears now behind her words. ‘I never expected it, but I’m curious. I bet it’s your mum, Dizzy.’

  ‘You’re my mum.’

  ‘I don’t mind, nothing can take away what we have. I love you and Ellis more than anything. If this helps make sense of the past it’s a good thing. If you and your brother are all right, I’m all right.’

  This was typical of our mum; she always put herself last.

  ‘I wasn’t looking anymore, Mum. This isn’t my choice. I don’t need any other parent but you.’

  I later realised, with the benefit of hindsight, that surely anyone would want to find out, once they’d received such a letter. But, although it was shocking to receive the news, it was also the start of the most exciting journey – like falling in love. Those first moments when you find out about the other person, hanging onto any glimpse of a spark of similarity.

  My priority now was to make contact with social services. But everything moved slowly. It took three days to get an actual phone conversation arranged with the social worker. Three long days, during which I paced the floorboards. But finally the phone call came and Lyn, the social worker, explained to me that it was my father Tommy who had been going to a fair bit of effort to track me down.

  I wasn’t given Tommy’s email address or any contact information directly. I was, however, given the number of a private detective that my father had hired. The detective, Emma, was to be the go-between. Emails, then letters, sped between home, Emma and the Middle East where my birth father was spending three months.

  I fell upon the first email she sent me from Tommy. After all the years of wondering, to at last have some correspondence, to have a glimpse into his character, was staggering. Speculation would soon be a thing of the past.

  Emma kept a rein on events, slowing down our correspondence so we could take it all in, but Tommy and I just couldn’t get enough information about each other. After about two months, a little nervously, we decided to exchange email addresses. Without Emma’s eyes to steady our relationship, we felt released from constraint. With our new-found freedom, we wrote emails almost daily. Tommy had a lot to write about; he’d had a jam-packed life, achieving more than most. It was wonderful getting to know him.

  And then, at last, the long-awaited phone call came in the early autumn. It was with a mixture of surprise and gritty reality that I heard his voice for the first time. As a Yorkshire man, he had a way of speaking that could come across as abrupt. When I asked anything from him or tried to get clarity, he punctuated sentences with remarks such as “of course” or “obviously”. When I didn’t understand his explanations, it made me feel stupid to have to ask again. Consequently, I was left without many of the answers.

  ‘I won’t tell you all of the information about your past right away,’ he said. Remarks like this led me to believe that Tommy was trying to control the situation.

  Looking back now, through kinder eyes, I’m sure he was trying to shield us both. He did tell me, though, during one of our first phone calls, that he’d really loved my mother and that they were together for eighteen months – engaged, even.

  ‘You weren’t the result of a fumble down a back alley,’ Tommy explained.

  ‘What happened, then?’ I asked him.

  ‘I was young, and I chose the Army over your mother. But, I never stopped thinking about you both. It was whilst I was posted out in the Falkland Islands, during the conflict, that I knew I would have to find Marie. And you,’ Tommy said. ‘You see, I met this ornithologist on the island. It was just the two of us there, waiting it out. We had some deep talks about life, like
you do in those sort of situations. She told me she never knew her father; it was after talking to her that I decided to start the search one day. I had never seen you or your twin. I regret my actions, the way I treated your mother. I let her down badly.’

  He sent photographs from his album so that we could piece together the family tree. He also posted to us various newspaper clippings, one telling of his adventure dry-skiing, from Lands End to John O’Groats to raise money for charity.

  Sure enough, the photos and newspaper articles made sense of his many achievements. It was becoming apparent that Tommy had had quite a life, including a long career in the Forces, then training to be a social worker. He had gained three degrees – probably during his spare time – and he was writing a book. His hobbies included open water swimming, coaching young people in sports, and travelling the world. He had several children. The precise number would be revealed at a later date.

  Tommy phoned weekly; we weren’t like father and daughter, but nevertheless, we were becoming friends. Still, I had a longing for him to step up to the mark, for him to give me some fatherly advice for one of the many dilemmas we faced. These included dog behaviour.

  ‘Take him out running. Get on your bike, chuck, you need to wear that dog of yours out,’

  As the months wore on, it was natural to want to meet up. Tommy wasn’t backward in coming forward on the arrangements front, but I had my reservations.

  ‘When we finally meet, do you want it to be at your twin sister’s grave?’ he asked. ‘I want to go there anyway.’

  ‘No, it’s too much, that’s not the place. If I want to go there, I’ll do it alone,’ I said.

  ‘Well, suit yourself, but I want to meet you as soon as possible – when you’re ready, of course.’

  So, that October, Will and I met Tommy near Bristol.

  ‘I want to hold your hand, chuck,’ he told me.

  I’d got ready for some big occasions before, but so far nothing had topped this. We saw him as we nervously entered the pub. He was walking across the room towards us, hand outstretched. He was very smartly turned out, wearing a shirt and tie.

  I sat opposite Tommy so that I could soak in every last one of his features. My first impressions were of a gentle, kind man. He answered our many questions as best he could. All the time, Tommy’s pale blue eyes watched us carefully.

  We talked about Sasha. ‘I understand why you don’t want to confuse her with introducing me at this stage,’ he said. And I couldn’t talk about Marie, or ask anything about her, because Tommy had his wife with him.

  We hugged and had our photos taken outside in the car park, as you would on such an astonishing occasion. Another one for the family album, I thought.

  As we drove home, it was Will who broke the silence. ‘There are no family resemblances between you and Tommy, Diz – nothing similar about the two of you, except you both turned up and put your diaries on the table before sitting down. That’s hardly a genetic link; I don’t think he’s your father.’

  I cast Will a suspicious glance; it had all been enough to take in without now thinking we had the wrong fellow.

  ‘Mind you,’ Will went on, ‘he was smartly dressed. That’s his Army background, I expect. He seems a decent bloke, but I don’t believe he’s anything to do with you.’

  So, over the next few weeks, I kept correspondence with Tommy, but in the back of my mind I wondered if what Will had said could be right. Perhaps Tommy wasn’t really my genetic father after all, but with no mother to ask I would never know.

  All went quiet. We tried to return to some sort of normality. It was a relief to have got the whole episode cerebrated. I didn’t realise then that this was just the start of things, that more of a shock was to follow.

  The fire was lit and the dogs were snoozing away their autumnal evening on another of those ordinary days. It was Saturday; I’m sure X Factor had just started on the TV. I heard the phone ring. When I answered it was Tommy’s voice that I heard at the other end of the line.

  ‘All right, chuck? Thought I’d give you a ring. Are you busy?’

  ‘No…’

  ‘Good, because I’m outside a bar in Sheffield and inside is your birth mother.’

  Completely astounded, I couldn’t take in the news.

  ‘What! But I thought she was dead…’

  ‘No chuck, she’s alive and well. D’you want to speak to her?’

  ‘No, Christ… no.’

  ‘Your sisters are here as well.’

  ‘Sisters? There are sisters?’

  I repeated the word to myself; if I said it again, it might sink in.

  ‘You have three half-siblings from Marie. Two sisters and one brother.’

  ‘I already have a brother,’ I replied.

  This was getting serious; tummy butterflies that were normally cocooned hatched simultaneously; they went into a flying fit, free-falling towards my feet. Instead of feeling pleased with the startling news, I was horrified – another side of the family might want to be met. We might have to go through the whole darn thing again!

  At that moment, all I could think of was that they might just appear, they could all suddenly arrive on the doorstep.

  ‘Have you told them where we live?’ I asked.

  ‘No, of course not.’

  But panic made fun of rational thought. Feelings overwhelmed me, feelings that told me not to believe him. After all, Tommy had kept my mother’s identity a mystery over the past few months, when all along he knew she was alive, so I wasn’t sure I should trust him. With Marie back from the dead, I began to wonder if it had been easier on my mind when I thought she’d passed over to the other side.

  ‘I expect this news is a bit of a shock,’ Tommy said, ‘but I didn’t want to bombard you with it all when you and I first started corresponding.’

  ‘A shock, yes.’

  I put down the handset, and stared at it for a few moments, then I lifted it up once more, then replaced it again so I could listen for the click, making sure I was disconnected. I could hear Will, in the next room, the kitchen. He was standing with his back to the Rayburn, the oven door open, warming himself.

  ‘Dizzy, love,’ he said, ‘what are you going to do?’

  ‘Not tell Sasha yet, it’s too much, isn’t it? I can’t even get my head round it, so how could Sasha begin to understand?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Will. ‘I heard you talking to Tommy. You must ring your mum in the morning – you must tell her.’

  ‘Well, of course.’

  ‘I thought we were getting to the end of all this,’ Will said. ‘Are you sure you’re ready? Are you going to contact Marie?’

  ‘I don’t see I have much choice. You must be getting fed up with it all,’ I replied. ‘You’ve been very patient.’

  ‘I’ve tried to see why it’s so important, and it was probably my fault you went looking in the first place,’ he said, ‘but it’s taken such a toll on us all; it’s been all-consuming for months, hasn’t it? I mean, I just wish it was all over.’

  ‘Will, I’ve spent years thinking Marie was dead.’

  ‘Yes, I see all that. But you have a wonderful mum, and stepdad; you have Ellis, me, and Sasha. Are we not enough?’ he asked.

  ‘It’s not about all of you not being enough. I thought you understood why it’s so important, but perhaps nobody can get that. I’m just asking, please, that you give me a bit longer, then we can get back to normal.’

  That night I expected sleep not to be forthcoming. There was no point in keeping Will up, and I didn’t feel like getting in bed with him after our disagreement. I preferred Merlin’s company; he understood. So, I decamped to the spare room where my dog was waiting. He would be my protector should any strange relations turn up at the house. Tommy’s phone call had messed everything up. The news of Marie’s reappearance was a situation th
at left us feeling out of control. I tried to breathe away the fear – but the empty feeling that lingered in the pit of my stomach would not dissipate.

  ‘If the Sheffield lot turn up, you’re to get them by the ankles – if I shout BURGLAR that’s your clue,’ I told Merlin as we snuggled down under the duvet together. He rested his head on the pillow next to mine and let out a dog-tired sigh; eyes tight shut, he drifted off.

  That night, my dreams had to be re-arranged. Now that I knew Marie was alive, I began once more to imagine the mother that I’d never met.

  Chapter 10

  Scared of my own shadow

  First thing on the following Monday morning, I shut myself into the office and contacted Lyn the social worker.

  ‘You need to feel in control over this,’ she said. ‘It must be very upsetting for you, Dizzy, but it’s all too common, unfortunately, for things to get out of hand, to move too quickly in situations such as yours. My advice would be to email Tommy to tell him how you feel.’

  ‘Yes, you’re right. Thank you so much, you’ve been such a help. I can’t imagine what Marie must be feeling, though, waiting to hear back after all this time. I feel like I should get in contact.’

  ‘Quite, but you need to do this in your own time.’

  I sent a brief, but somewhat cold email to Tommy.

  Hello Tommy,

  I’m writing to Marie today. I will post the letter to you, so you can forward it to her as you have her address. Send the letter on to her straight away would you please? It isn’t my intention to make her feel ignored – Marie has waited long enough!

  Kind regards,

  Dizzy

  Even if I hadn’t wanted to contact Marie, it felt like there was little option now. But there was another, more pivotal person to contact first. I phoned my mum, again… I had to tell Paula that Marie was alive.

  ‘So, you’re saying that Tommy was actually with her when he rang you – that Tommy has known all along that Marie was alive?’ she asked.