In Her Mothers' Shoes

by Felicity Price

  ‘I wanted to be different and write a diary without writing to anyone in particular, but it was so impersonal – when I felt alone there was no one to share things with – and so I am writing to you. I have never met you, but somehow that makes it better; I don’t know your tastes or morals and so I don’t have to worry about offending you. Besides, I know that being my mother you will understand all that has happened, is happening or is about to happen. Unless your callousness in disowning me extends to the present and you don’t care what I do. But even then I should forgive you.

  It is to you that I owe my life. To you and no one else this book is dedicated.

  Your author and daughter,

  Kate.’

  She smiled as she refolded the page and put it away. How prim and proper and pompous she sounded. Prissy even.

  ‘Your tea.’ A smiling young woman deposited a slightly dented silver teapot, milk jug, sugar bowl, china cup and saucer on the table and departed, swinging the silver tray.

  ‘Thank you,’ Kate said as she left.

  She poured the tea. It was weak and watery and a stray tealeaf swirled around, following the trajectory of her spoon. She watched it slowly sink beneath the surface, still swirling clockwise on its way to the bottom.

  Chapter 3

  Wellington, August 2010

  It was happening at last. Kate couldn’t believe that in just a few minutes, she would meet her brother and sister for the first time. Her mother had promised she’d tell them the week before to give them plenty of time to absorb the news then her daughter Jessie would pick Liz up from home and take her to Liz’s sister Penny’s place in Plimmerton.

  Her letter set the appointed time. She would be there.

  At exactly half past three, Kate parked the rental at the kerb and pressed the bell beside the tall rimu front door of a sleek, well-designed, almost new two-storey house overlooking the sea. The strong smell of salt and seaweed underlined the sound of waves crashing on the stony shore. To the side of the entranceway, she caught a glimpse of the bay under a dappled sun as the southerly clouds scudded across the water.

  A woman, who was even shorter than her and perhaps five or six years older, answered the door.

  ‘Hello. You must be Kate.’ Her smile, welcoming, genuine, revealed teeth just like Kate’s, the same overbite, the same lips. The fringe, the glimpse of a streak of grey hair along the parting line, the chin, the neck – it was all hers. Even the eyes, though a different colour, looked the same, the loose skin over the eyelid, the glasses tucked on top of her head.

  It was like a genetic mirror had been held up to each of them.

  There was a long silence while they both took it in.

  For the first time in her life, Kate had come face to face with her reflective self. Suddenly, she felt a strong sense of connection.

  ‘Yes. I’m Kate. Kate Stewart.’ She smiled and held out her hand then let it drop; it seemed inadequate. Instead, she stepped forward and held out her arms. ‘You’ve just got to be Penny.’

  They embraced.

  Kate rubbed her stinging eyes with the back of her hand. This was almost too much.

  ‘There’s no doubt you’re Liz’s daughter.’ Penny invited her in with a gesture and Kate followed.

  ‘Liz told me her sister was much younger. I had no idea just how much younger though.’

  ‘Yes. She was twelve when I was born.’

  Kate did a quick calculation. ‘So that means you must be just six years older than me.’

  ‘Oh my God, you two are so alike.’ A woman, slim, pony-tailed, maybe in her early thirties, had come around the corner into the entrance hall and stood there looking at them, open-mouthed.

  Liz and Kate both laughed.

  ‘You even laugh like her.’ The woman held out her hands in an exaggerated shrug. ‘This is so spooky.’

  Kate stopped laughing abruptly and put her hand to her mouth. Could this be true? Was it possible she could laugh just like someone she’d never met? People who grew up together often spoke the same way, used the same inflections, the same words and phrases, the same tone. But there’d been no chance for her to copy Penny’s laugh. This must be what it was like to be part of a family that looked like you, sounded like you, laughed like you; was this where she belonged? And if she and Penny were so similar, what would her brother and sister be like? Even more similar?

  Kate studied the young woman. She didn’t see a likeness to herself at all and she was far too young to be her own half-sister. If it wasn’t her sister. Where was she?

  ‘This is my daughter Michelle,’ Penny said, touching Michelle’s arm. ‘She’s an architect and works in town, but she wanted to come and meet you.’

  Kate put her arms around Michelle lightly then studied her. She didn’t look much like Penny.

  ‘Mum never told me about you until last week,’ Michelle said. ‘It’s come as a bit of a surprise.’

  ‘I expect it’s been a surprise to you all.’

  ‘It certainly was,’ Michelle said. ‘I’ll leave you two to talk. I’m off to the kitchen to make the tea. I promised Mum I’d look after you both while you get to know each other. You’ll have a lot to talk about.’ She disappeared down the passage and Kate soon heard a tap running and teacups rattling.

  ‘It wasn’t such a surprise for me,’ Penny said, looking back at Kate as she led the way through to the lounge. ‘I found out about you some time ago.’

  ‘You did? How?’

  ‘My brother Jerry knew. He’d known all along, it turned out. He overheard our parents talking about Lizzie after she’d been sent away.’ Penny stopped walking and turned to Kate. ‘Typical Jerry. He was always sticking his nose in. And once he knew, he couldn’t help ask Mother if it was true. But she swore him to secrecy and he only told me after the Adoption Law changed. He said he was worried you might turn up and thought I should know.’ Penny paused in the hallway beside a long splashy, boldly-coloured triptych taking up most of the wall.

  ‘A few years after you were born, when Lizzie was having Jessie, he asked her, as only Jerry would, if it was a boy or a girl. She tried to pretend it hadn’t happened, but then she realised Jerry knew. “A girl,” Lizzie said. And she told him the name she’d given you: Felicity Frances Hamilton.’ She smiled broadly and put an arm round Kate’s shoulders. ‘Welcome to the Hamilton family, Felicity Hamilton.’

  Kate gasped. It was the first time anyone had called her by her original name.

  ‘Thank you.’

  They continued to walk slowly down the hall, Penny with her arm still around Kate.

  ‘Jerry found some letters Liz wrote to you when she was still living at home. She got a job for a couple of years until she got married and she must have felt your loss very much during that lonely time. I remember Jerry coming round to visit one day with his baby son and watching Liz cradle him in her arms like she didn’t want to let him go. I didn’t know at the time, of course, but she would be missing you terribly then.’

  ‘But I never got any letters.’

  ‘No. They were never sent. Jerry found them when he was cleaning out our parents’ house after Father died. There was such a jumble of things in boxes in the attic and that’s where your letters were. Tied in a pink ribbon in an old shoebox with Lizzie’s diaries and photos from school. Jerry said they choked him up That’s quite something for him. He’s a real rugby head, your Uncle Jerry. A man’s man. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him cry.’

  ‘You don’t know what I would have given to see them when I was a teenager. I wrote a diary to my mother – to Liz – every night.’

  ‘I expect she would have liked that.’

  Penny led the way into a vast, arched lounge with a sweeping view across the sea to Mana Island. Sun was streaming through the window highlighting the steel grey carpet and the fat charcoal cane chairs and couches arranged to capture the view. Bright aqua and sky blue cushions and a large sea-coloured oil painting highlighted the marine theme.
r />   It was a lovely room but it was empty. Where was Liz? Where were her brother and sister?

  ‘Is my mother here?’

  Penny looked uncomfortable. ‘No. She couldn’t make it.’

  ‘But she was going to bring her kids. She said she was going to tell them about me and I could meet them.’

  ‘She never told me that.’ Penny looked even more uneasy. ‘She said it was just her you were expecting; she didn’t say about Jessie and Rick.’ Penny paused, looked out to sea then back at Kate. ‘She must be scared of telling them. She must be terrified of the shame she was made to feel when she was pregnant with you – the shame of disgracing her family and herself. She’s put that shame into a box and screwed the lid down tight, and now she feels it slowly escaping again and threatening to envelop her.’

  ‘But people don’t feel like that any more. Her kids wouldn’t want her to be ashamed.’

  ‘I know. But we can’t possibly understand what it was like for her then. The legacy of that time is that she doesn’t want anyone else to know. She found it hard enough telling me about you, asking me if I’d see you instead.’

  ‘She chickened out,’ Michelle said matter-of-factly as she came into the room. ‘She does that sometimes.’

  Michelle was carrying a tray of cups and saucers, a teapot and milkjug. She set it down on the coffee table and started pouring the tea. ‘Mum wanted to do it properly. She’s been baking.’ She indicated a plate of plump almond biscuits.

  ‘I’m impressed.’ Kate accepted her tea with milk and selected a biscuit. ‘Thanks Michelle . . . and you too Penny.’

  Penny laughed. ‘It’s nothing. Hopefully it’s better than the supermarket.’

  ‘Okay, Mum, I’m off now. I’ve done my bit.’

  ‘Won’t you stay for a cuppa?’ Penny asked.

  ‘No. I came to meet my new cousin and now I’m going to leave you two in peace.’

  After saying goodbye, Michelle returned to the kitchen and a few moments later Kate heard the front door close.

  ‘Let’s sit down.’ Penny gestured to one of the chunky charcoal cane chairs and sat in the other.

  Kate perched on the edge of the seat and put her bag on the floor.

  Penny started pouring the tea.

  There was a moment’s awkward silence before Penny said ‘I can’t believe that you . . .’ and Kate said ‘Isn’t it funny how you and I . . ?’ and they both laughed, that same warm, hearty chuckle – the one Kate’s kids gave her such a hard time about.

  ‘Don’t sit next to Mum at the movies,’ Kate’s son James would say, ‘especially a comedy. You can hear her laugh all over the theatre.’

  And her daughter Amelia would dig her in the ribs at the funny bits in 101 Dalmatians and wriggle down in her seat and cover her eyes with embarrassment.

  Kate waited for her aunt to go first.

  ‘I was just going to say I can’t believe that I’ve found someone else who looks so like me.’ She handed Kate a cup and studied her closely. ‘I mean, you look like Liz in so many ways, but she’s quite a few years older than you – and me. With my other sister Jilly dying young, and Jerry looking much more like his father, I haven’t experienced this before.’

  ‘Me neither. It’s funny isn’t it? It’s the first time I’ve seen anyone else behind my face.’

  ‘You look like your sister too, in some ways. Have you seen a photo of her?’

  ‘Yes, when she was in England.’

  ‘Goodness, that was years ago. ‘I’ll show you the family photos.’ Penny set down her cup on the coffee table, picked up an album nearby and opened it at the first page of sepia-coloured photos. ‘Look at these.’ She pushed the album towards Kate revealing an array of individuals and family groups from what appeared to be the early part of the twentieth century.

  ‘That’s your grandmother, my mother Helena Hamilton, when she was younger. They always used to tell me I looked like her and now I can see that you do too.’ She let go the album and looked up at Kate. ‘You know, my husband Graeme didn’t believe it. He thought you must be making it up, that you were a con-woman, trying to muscle in on the family fortune.’ She snorted derisively. ‘As if there was one.’

  ‘Oh?’ Kate picked up her cup and took a sip. Making it up? Her ability to tell fibs had long gone.

  ‘Lizzie doesn’t know Graeme knows now. I haven’t told her. I never told her I already knew either, and neither did Jerry. But as soon as Lizzie asked me to come today instead of her, I just had to let Graeme know about you turning up at long last. You’re family, for heaven’s sake.’ She smiled and patted Kate’s arm gently. ‘Graeme’ll see how foolish he’s being as soon as he claps eyes on you. There’s no doubt at all you’re one of us.’

  ‘One of us? You don’t know how much that means to me.’

  ‘How did you find Lizzie?’ Penny was pointing at a photo of Liz in the album and looking at her questioningly. ‘Did you have to search for a long time?’

  ‘I’ve been searching all my life.’ Kate realised this sounded a bit grandiose and laughed. ‘But I only made headway after the law changed in the mid-eighties and it became legal to search. There’s a standard letter you write, in case someone else reads it. I think Liz must have wanted to get the letter, deep down, or she would have put a veto on me. You know, put an official ban on me finding her.’

  ‘And that was, what, twenty years ago? She put you off meeting your brother and sister all that time?’

  ‘I promised her I’d wait until she was ready to tell them. But she always had an excuse. And when she got sick, she said it would be too much for her, make her worse. So she never told them and I kept my promise,’ Kate said.

  ‘She thought no one knew about you. There’ve been so many times I was going to tell her I knew. When she was really depressed, I was going to talk to her about it. I thought it might be the cause of her depression, keeping something like that inside her all these years, especially since the law changed, and not being able to talk about it with anyone. But it’s hard to get inside her protective shell. She pushes you away when you try to get close. Just changes the subject. She didn’t used to be like that when I was little. But she’s done it for years now.’

  ‘She seems to be a very private person.’ Kate took another sip of tea then bit into a biscuit, catching the crumbs before they fell to the floor.

  ‘She’s shy in public.’ Penny turned the page on the album. ‘Not like our mother. Helena Hamilton was always having people round for her National Council of Women meetings. But Lizzie used to hide upstairs, even when she was old enough to be introduced around. She’s not good in crowds or with new people, so she avoids going out as much as possible. But when she’s just with family, she can be the life and soul. Her family is everything to her.’

  ‘Mine too.’ Kate’s strong sense of family – even if she didn’t look like any of them – had been instilled by both Mum and Dad. Mum had continued to run round for years after the dreaded Great Aunt Doris who was Mum’s closest relative, while Dad spent as much time as he could with his brothers, his nieces and nephews, even when they lived out of town. She remembered long hot summers on her Uncle Leslie’s farm, endless sundowners with Uncle Trevor – while Dad nursed a single sherry for hours – and Christmases with cousins in Golden Bay.

  Penny nibbled on a biscuit then said, ‘What was it like, meeting Liz for the first time?’

  ‘Not at all what I expected.’ Kate put down her cup and thought about it for a moment. She couldn’t tell Liz’s sister the truth – that they hadn’t got on. ‘She told me about her family and showed me some photos.’ Kate thought for a second then ploughed on, figuring it would all come out sooner or later. ‘It was the weirdest thing, but when she showed me a photo of your brother, Rick, I realised I’d met him before.’

  ‘No!’ Penny laughed incredulously.

  ‘Yes.’ Kate smiled. ‘He’d written a play called A Trap for Young Players. They brought it to Christchurch and I got t
o interview Rick for radio.’

  ‘I suppose in New Zealand, there are sometimes very few degrees of separation between us.’

  ‘They say this country is just one big village.’ Kate shrugged. ‘She also told me about the family’s medical history, and especially about the cancer gene that seems to lurk everywhere.’

  ‘My sister Jilly, my aunt and eventually my mother – they all died of cancer.’

  ‘It was a worthwhile warning for me,’ Kate said. ‘A few years after I met Liz, I took myself off for a mammogram, just in case. I think I must have been about forty. They say you should start having tests at fifty, so I’d never have bothered if I hadn’t learned it was in my genes.’ Kate picked up her cup and took a fortifying sip. ‘And there it was – a tiny lump at the base of my left breast.’