The sun’s warmth offered a little comfort. It travelled through her body and she stretched out, long and lean. As she took a deep breath in, a voice inside her told her to let go, to breathe out gently and let all her negative emotions out.
She did this a couple of times and felt strength spread through her. The heat tingling her arms and face caressed her and penetrated deep into her bones. Sunshine always brought positive vibes. Lifting her face to the rays, she closed her eyes and soaked them up some more, the heat on her body reassuring her like a comforting hug. Enough of the lows and depression, she thought determinedly. She still had an agenda, she still had a fight on her hands, and it was one she intended to win.
“Act now,” the voice within her whispered. “Take back control and take action. Remember, seek and you shall find.”
* * *
Aoife wasn’t sure her boyfriend was telling her the whole story. There was no doubt he was extremely annoyed with his family and still shocked at Lacey’s outburst. “She actually struck her sister! It was so reckless and uncalled for,” he grumbled, “and the language she used within earshot of other diners!”
But something didn’t sit right with Aoife. Lacey must have had a reason for such behaviour; it seemed so out of character. She recalled the quiet and soft-spoken girl she had met with Robert a few days before. Clearly disappointed by Aoife’s presence, his sister had nevertheless been pleasant and polite.
The Taylors were a private family; airing their troubles in public would be uncomfortable for them. Robert was so worked up. He paced around his office, slamming drawers shut and barking instructions. Aoife allowed him his tantrum and held off asking questions. He would tell her more if he wanted to.
Later that evening, over dinner – his apology for his outburst – Robert finally opened up.
“It is all falling apart,” he admitted. “Our lives are in tatters and I need to take charge before there are any more public displays. I’m the man in the family, after all.”
Over a few glasses of wine, the whole story tumbled out. Aoife listened in silence while his mind churned over question after question. Had his mother really needed to reveal all? Why hadn’t she kept her mouth shut? What had she hoped to achieve? For the first time ever, he was angry with his mother. Maybe she had a side to her that he had overlooked because she was his beloved mum. He should make a point of meeting Mr. Sherman and enquire a bit further about the whole bloody saga.
“Why didn’t you tell me this before?” Aoife laid a comforting hand on his when he paused. But she knew the answer. Robert needed time when it came to discussing his family; unlike hers, where everyone knew what the other thought at any given moment. They came from such different backgrounds.
She tucked her hair behind her ear and placed her chin on top of her palm, while her elbow rested on a table as she listened.
“I guess I wasn’t taking it all in, or else just burying my head in the sand.” His smile was weak as he gently squeezed her hand.
“But, Robert, Lacey must be devastated. I mean, her whole life has been a lie! Well, sort of, you know what I mean.”
“I know, I know, but why must she be the only one to get sympathy? We lost our mother.”
Aoife stared blankly at him. Had she heard him right? Where was the strong independent man who threw out orders and made brave decisions every day in a tough business world?
“Did you hear yourself right now?” she murmured softly. There was no point in raising her voice although she longed to give him a good shaking.
“Yes, ridiculous, isn’t it? I knew as soon as I said it that it sounded weak and pathetic. Lacey has lost a lot more than her mother. Aoife, what am I to do? My father was someone I looked up to, someone I admired and now, now I see how he cheated on his family and manipulated his wife.”
His brown eyes had lost their sparkle, his skin was grey, and Aoife saw how troubled he was. She sensed a definite shift in their relationship. It had progressed to a more intimate level. They were spending more time together, and taking her into his confidence on private family matters proved their new closeness.
“Look, Rob, your father was human. Sure, he made a mistake, but Christ, don’t we all? I mean, he looked out for his family. He didn’t abandon Lacey, like a lot of men do after they’ve had their fun. He didn’t change; you have. You had him up high on a pedestal and, while that’s okay, remember you put him up there. He didn’t ask you to raise the bar so high.”
Robert listened, remaining quiet for a few moments. “You’re right, of course.” He smiled properly, her words providing the comfort and reassurance he needed.
They enjoyed the rest of their meal without any more soul-searching, and Robert hugged her warmly as they left the restaurant.
“You’re good for me, you know,” he confided, as he took her back to her apartment. “I wish...I mean, I’d like…”
She looked at him, waiting to hear what was troubling him now. His next words came as a huge surprise. “What I’m trying to say is, would you consider moving in with me, Aoife?”
Her beaming smile left him in no doubt of her answer. Tonight had moved their relationship up a gear, and being held in his arms confirmed her desire to spend her future with him. She slept soundly that night and her dreams were the sweetest she’d ever had.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
SEPTEMBER
Lacey was excited when Mr Sherman’s secretary phoned to ask if they could meet at his golf club for coffee the next morning. She grabbed the chance to meet him again. Her determination to find her birth mother had grown within her and she thought of little else in any twenty-four hours, the Taylor side of the family pushed aside for now. She rehearsed again and again how she would greet her mother when the time came. Her real mother! There was no room for any “if not” or “she doesn’t want to”. In Lacey’s eyes, her mother would want to meet her as much as her daughter wanted to meet the woman who gave birth to her.
“Have you news for me?” Lacey demanded impatiently, as soon as she saw the solicitor sitting at a quiet table in the corner of the bright, welcoming lounge. She couldn’t tell from his demeanour whether good or bad news awaited her. It had to be good, she reckoned, her positive streak jumping to the fore.
“Hello, Lacey,” he said with a gentle smile, and gestured for her to sit down.
“Sorry. Hello, Mr. Sherman.” She blushed at her bad manners and sat across from him, trying to still her excitement and appear calm.
“I’ve been looking up old files and have some minor details that may help you,” he began, taking a pair of reading glasses from his pocket.
She jumped forward in her chair, eager to hear it all, no matter how minor. “Anything at all would be great. I mean, any information you can give me will be welcome.”
“Lacey, before I tell you anything, I must advise you maybe to seek help professionally.” His tone was cautious, an even timbre that deflated her positivity a little.
“You mean a private investigator?”
“No, my dear, I mean perhaps some counselling.” He saw her stiffen and push back in her seat.
“I’m not crazy, I just want to find my mum,” she whispered innocently, the brightness from earlier dimming slowly from her eyes.
“I’m not suggesting you are crazy. What you’re about to do will affect you immensely and you may need some guidance or help dealing with it all,” he consoled her.
“I see. Well, I can address that issue when I find out something. Right now, I’m waiting.” She knew she was overly snappy and rude, and didn’t mean to be. The man across from her only wanted to help, but she was running before she could walk. The fight in her returned.
Lacey’s emotions were all over the place, and maybe there was some sense in his suggestion to seek help. Truth was, she didn’t trust herself to keep calm and together to handle all the new information that would come her way.
Cautiously, he continued as the woman before him squirmed in her seat in antici
pation. “Okay, your mother was in her early to mid-twenties. She’s Irish, from County Cork. What town, I don’t know. She and your father met through business meetings, or so he told me once. I remember the more I rattle this old brain of mine. I wasn’t ever told her full name, except he let her first name slip once or twice and it sounded like Karen or Carley, I’m not sure. You see, I didn’t handle your father’s affairs regarding your adoption. I advised him about contracts and business dealings. He never told me who he dealt with regarding personal matters, so I can’t help you with that.”
The sad tone of his voice surprised Lacey. He looked older than when she had first met him. She got the feeling that remembering his old friend was upsetting for him.
“Would you like some coffee?” Lacey surprised herself by offering him refreshments in his own golf club.
“A good idea, Lacey.” He smiled, his shoulders relaxing as he looked at the troubled daughter of his dear friend.
* * *
That evening at home, Lacey took out a new notebook she had bought, with a pale green cover. This would be her diary of events; the journey she would travel over the next few months. Or possibly years? So many questions crowded her mind. Flipping open the diary, she began to write a biography of sorts for her mother:
Name: Karen/Carley – Sounds like these
Nationality: Irish, County Cork
Age: Mid-twenties
Career: Business, but what?
It looked so meagre on the page. Not much to write really, it almost looked lonely. But Lacey was determined to follow through. This book would record her memory of events to show her children. It would be the start of her true family tree.
In bed that night, she remembered Mr. Sherman’s advice about counselling. Maybe she should look into it. Since her siblings wouldn’t understand what she was trying to cope with, at least a professional would be good to have as a listening ear. Lacey got out the notebook from her bedside locker and switched on her lamp. She would write down the many questions in her head. It might help her straighten her thoughts, put them in order, so that she would know what she wanted answered if she did seek help.
How would she react when she finally met her mum? What if her mum didn’t want to meet her? Could she, Lacey, cope with yet more rejection in her life? She shuddered with that dreadful thought. It would be like losing her mother all over again. She pulled the duvet up around her protectively, her mind whirring. What if she was ashamed of her mother? What if her mother was ashamed of her? Was she prepared for the answers she might receive from the woman who hadn’t wanted to raise her? What makes a woman give away her baby?
Mr. Sherman had mentioned contracts. What was in those contracts? Had Joe Taylor paid her mother off to leave and keep quiet? All the questions went into the small book. She poured her heart and soul into her writing.
She needed to go back home, to the house where she grew up. There might be something there –letters, photos, anything that could give a clue to Joe and Lillian’s life almost twenty-four years ago.
She put her diary away and turned out the light. In the morning she would phone Sally to apologise for her behaviour at the family meal, and ask if she could search the house for anything that may help her piece her true identity together. Of course, it meant telling Sally about her search for her mother. But she would not lie. There had been enough lies already – and all they ever caused was heartache.
Sleep avoided her. She lay awake and imagined all sorts of encounters with her mother. The whirring of the washing machine in the upstairs apartment was comforting, as were the odd shouts of late night revellers heading home. She didn’t feel so alone in the world. Listening to the machine change cycles and go into a top spin, she decided to sort out her own washing.
This is madness, she thought. Washing clothes at two am; maybe old Sherman wasn’t far off the mark when he recommended a counsellor! Putting on the kettle, she made a cup of camomile tea and looked out onto the street below, watching the amber-coloured night. By four am, Lacey had nodded off, curled up on the sofa, until the banging of car doors of workers leaving for their offices awoke her.
Her journal lay open on the coffee table. Nothing had changed magically during the night. The contents were the same, a few scribbled lines with simple words, not giving much life to her unknown mother. So many questions waiting to be answered. Sighing, she reached for the portable phone.
When there was no answer, she decided to leave a message. “Hey, Sally, I want to say sorry for last time we met. I know I shouldn’t have slapped Willow. I don’t suppose we could meet? I mean, could I call over to see you, at home...your home. Can you ring me when you get this message please? Thanks.”
She laid the phone down gently, afraid she would hurt Sally if she just placed it back normally.
Somehow Sally seemed to have remained neutral in all the high-jinks. It was as if she detached herself from the altercations and created a boundary wall that protected her from all the hassle. Lacey wished she could build the same wall and keep certain people outside it.
Like her, Sally had been in awe of Willow growing up, but did she still have the same respect for her now? The older sister was supposed to be watching out for all of them and directing them, but really she had been a bully. Yes, Willow had been a clever tormenter, manipulating them in everything, even in the games they had played, the music they listened to. Her influence was stamped over their childhood.
What she and Sally had thought was sisterly love, was really Willow getting her own way. She was such a sly, cunning person. Lacey would point that out to Sal if she tried to defend the old battleaxe when they met.
Lacey’s anger gathered in her stomach, a tight knot of annoyance and hurt rising in her throat. To hell with Willow, she thought, I’m going to put her out of my life forever! It was laughable really that she had mistaken her sister’s concern all those years as love, when it had only been the bitch’s way of suiting herself. Did Sally feel that way, too? Did she go travelling overseas to escape from the reality of her sister? Was that why she was always so quiet in their company? Maybe Sally felt her opinion didn’t count; Willow always had the last word.
Desperate to keep herself occupied and avoid the building frustration, Lacey headed out to the nearby express supermarket. Throwing bread, bacon, sausages, apples and teabags into the basket, she joined the slow-moving queue at the checkout. Despite the express sign over the checkout, the customer in front of her held a basket which overflowed with much more than ten items.
“Excuse me, this queue is for ten items or less,” she said to the big man standing in front of her.
“So?” he replied sarcastically. He flexed his well-worked muscles, hinting at her to back off, then turned away. When she tapped him on the shoulder, all six foot of him turned to face her again, his eyes flashing annoyance at being accosted in this way.
Lacey squared her shoulders and spoke firmly, keeping eye contact at all times. “So? So move your ass to another checkout, you have almost two baskets there.”
The man just stared at the angry young woman before him, and was about to turn away from her when she continued to berate him.
“Want me to call the manager? Or is it like most men, you’re a bit thick at times?” she continued to stare him down. Shoppers around them stopped what they were doing and watched. It was High Noon time in the supermarket.
The big guy was now reddening in the face, as he took in the muttering and whispering of the other shoppers. Leaning in to her personal space, he stared right back at her but Lacey stood on tip-toes and smiled. She was determined.
The whispering got louder around them. After a few minutes of stand-off, he stepped away, muttering “hormonal bitch” under his breath. Lacey smiled at his words, and watched as two other people in the queue quietly slipped off to take their overloaded baskets to another checkout.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Sally returned Lacey’s call as soon as she got the message, and sugg
ested her little sister come over for lunch. She had the kettle on and sandwiches prepared when she heard the gravel outside crunching as Lacey pulled into the driveway.
Greeting Lacey at the door, the two hugged.
“Hey, how are things? Glad you made it.”
“Hi Sally, you look great.”
Her sister was wearing a cream jumper and pale blue summer skirt, with a small Paisley-style detail. Her auburn hair was sun-kissed, with blonde and caramel strands poking through, and her blue eyes looked so kind and soft.
“Okay, are you going to stand there all day or are you coming in?” Sally felt a little embarrassed at her sister’s silent stare. Without warning, tears gathered in Lacey’s eyes and she began to blubber out words, her breathing too quick to make her understood.
“Oh Sal, help me please. My life is such a mess,” Lacey cried, and her sobbing grew stronger.
Taken aback by this sudden outburst, Sally gathered Lacey into her arms and led her to the familiar kitchen and sat her down. While her little sister got her breath back and finished crying, Sally made two cups of tea and placed them and the plate of salad sandwiches on the table. They ate in silence.
“Have you been sleeping okay?” It was Sally who spoke first. She stood up and placed her cup into the sink, then turned and rested against the counter.
“Some nights,” Lacey replied. “I’m sorry for the whole thing at the restaurant,” she continued “but Willow pushed the wrong buttons that night.”
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