A glass of water was pushed into my hands. I hadn’t realised Father Doherty had got up. I sipped it slowly.
Father Doherty looked at me with the saddest eyes I’ve ever seen. ‘May I say a prayer?’ he asked.
‘I don’t believe in God,’ I said. ‘I never felt He had a place in my life after He took my baby. Or supposedly took my baby.’
‘I can understand why you’d feel like that. I shouldn’t have suggested it.’
He seemed to have aged 20 years since we’d entered his flat. I sighed as compassion overcame me. ‘Actually, a prayer might be good. Thank you.’
‘You’re sure?’
‘I’m sure.’
Aisling and I bent our heads and he placed a hand on each as he prayed for Daran, Shannon and forgiveness. ‘May you give back to this child what she thought was lost and help her find a way back to happiness and contentment,’ he finished. ‘Amen.’
‘Amen,’ we both whispered.
‘We should go,’ I said. ‘Can I have these?’
‘The letters are yours, my child. They always were. I’m sorry they’re with you too late.’
‘You weren’t to know. I blame my da for all of this. Not you. So if it’s forgiveness you want, you have it. Part of me wishes you had passed on our letters, but I have no doubt that Da would have called the guards on Daran. What good would that have done anyone? You did the right thing in the circumstances.’
A flicker of what I could only describe as peace passed over the old man’s face. ‘What you do next is entirely up to you, Clare, but I implore you to draw a line in the sand and move on. What’s done is done and we can’t change the past, but you have a chance for a new future. Find Shannon and don’t waste a further thought on your father. He’ll be judged by the Lord when the day comes. You don’t need to waste the energy on judging him yourself, so you don’t.’
Aisling and I hugged him goodbye, then left his flat and walked to the car park in silence.
‘Thank you,’ I said to her, when we reached the cars. ‘I’m glad you made me do that.’
‘I told you he’d changed,’ she said. ‘What happens next?’
I shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I feel drained.’
‘I’m not surprised. Will you be reading the letters, do you think?’
I screwed my nose up. ‘Not sure I’m strong enough for it today. Do you know what? I never cry, but I’ve barely stopped since finding out about Shannon. If I start on these today, I think I may unleash the Hoover Dam.’
Aisling smiled and patted my arm. ‘The main thing is that you have them. You’ll know when the time is right. Will you go back tomorrow?’
‘Probably. I booked a Sunday flight in case I bottled seeing the parents today, but the deed is done so I’ll see if I can change it for the morning.’
‘I understand if you want to head home, after what you’ve been through today, but I’d love it if you’d stay. I know a couple of kids who’d be thrilled to spend a day with their long-lost Auntie Clare.’
‘They know about me?’
Aisling grinned. ‘Not the full family scandal, but they know I have a baby sister who lives in England whom I lost touch with. They’ll be thrilled.’
‘You’re sure it wouldn’t be too complicated for you if I joined you?’ I said.
‘It would be a pleasure.’
‘If I spend the day with you, I have one condition.’
‘Name it.’
‘We don’t talk about the past. I’ve had my fill of history today. Tomorrow I just want to focus on getting to know my big sister, my nephew and my niece.’
‘You’re on.’ She flung her arms around me. ‘Jesus, Clare, I’m so glad you came back. The rest of the family may be bloody eejits but I want my baby sister in my life.’ Her voice cracked. ‘I hope you want me in yours.’
The tears started again. ‘Of course I do. You’re the only family I have.’
‘You get three of us for the price of one. Not bad, eh?’
As I drove back to my hotel, I glanced at the box of letters on the passenger seat and shook my head. What a day. Of all the ways I’d played it out in my mind, I certainly hadn’t expected to end it having gained a sister, a nephew and a niece. For the first time since I was 16, I had a family. I had real-life blood relatives who wanted me in their lives. Most unexpected.
Chapter 17
‘Will you stop passing me from one department to the next?’ I snapped on Monday morning. ‘I’ve been on the phone for 40 minutes and I’m going around in circles.’
‘It’s illegal for a mother to try and find out about her adopted child before they’re 18,’ said the woman on the end of the phone. She had a strong Glaswegian accent, but something about her tone told me I might finally be speaking to someone more senior and with more common sense than the others I’d been passed around so far.
‘Will I tell you something? You are the eighth person to tell me that this morning and, as I said to the other seven, I’m very aware of the law already. However, I would like you to listen to what I’m saying to you about the circumstances of my enquiry, instead of repeating the words that I’ve already found online. Will you do that? Please?’
There was a pause and a sigh. ‘Okay, Ms O’Connell. I’m listening.’
At last!
‘I see,’ she said, when I finished. ‘Quite an unusual set of circumstances.’
‘I know. Thank you for listening to them.’
‘You’re welcome. I’ll tell you what I’m not going to do, Ms O’Connell. I’m not going to pass you onto anyone else. I’m also not going to lie to you. I don’t know the protocol in this case, as it’s unusual. What I am going to promise you is that I’ll personally find out what we can do in these circumstances. May I take your phone number and assure you that I will call you in an hour’s time? I suspect I won’t have an answer in an hour, but I’ll definitely call you to update you on my progress. Would that be acceptable?’
‘That would be far more acceptable than any other offer I’ve had today,’ I said. ‘Thank you.’
‘My name’s Valerie Sinclair. I’ll call you back within the hour.’
And she did. But only to tell me that she’d hit a few brick walls and was unable to get hold of the people she needed to speak to. She asked me to leave it with her and promised me she’d come back to me by the end of the week. Let the waiting commence.
I put the phone down and made myself a coffee, glad that I’d booked a long weekend off, because my mind was on anything but work.
Despite the hideous confrontation with the parents, the weekend had ended up being pretty special. I’d had a long soak in the bath, then ordered room service on the Friday evening, before falling asleep in front of the TV. I met Aisling, Torin and Briyana for lunch on Saturday, then spent the day with them. The avoid-the-past pact worked well. Despite the six-year age difference, Aisling and I seemed to have loads in common. She was a strong, confident woman who also had a very fragile relationship with our parents because she wasn’t afraid to challenge their views and opinions. She worked in the local comprehensive as a biology and chemistry teacher from Monday to Thursday and usually spent Fridays doing shopping and housework so she could devote her weekends to her kids. Torin and Briyana were an absolute joy to be around: funny and vivacious yet polite at the same time. They immediately accepted their ‘long-lost auntie Clare’ as someone they felt comfortable being around.
All too soon, it was time to fly back to the UK, start my search for Shannon and hope that she wasn’t harbouring a 16-year-long hate vendetta towards the woman who had abandoned her at birth.
I sighed as I pressed the intercom button at around seven on the Friday night of that week. ‘Yes?’
‘Ah! You are alive. Can I come in?’
‘It’s not really convenient, Ben. Sorry. You should have called fi
rst.’
‘I tried, but someone’s been ignoring my calls.’
‘Sorry, Ben, but I have loads to do. I’ll call you next week.’
‘Okay.’
I returned to the dining table and the pile of letters from Daran. A two-day trip to Newcastle, followed by a day in Edinburgh, had provided a welcome distraction but now, with no news from Valerie Sinclair (bloody typical) and no plans for the evening, I felt that it might just be the right time. I hoped that the years apart really had helped me get over him and I wasn’t about to rekindle strong feelings that had lain dormant but not forgotten.
A knock on the door made me jump. I peered through the spyhole: Ben stood in the corridor looking at his watch. I reluctantly pulled the door open. ‘I thought I said it wasn’t convenient.’
‘And I thought that was rude, so I decided to ignore you. Someone was leaving so they let me in. What are you doing?’ He walked past me and into the apartment.
‘Won’t you come in and make yourself at home?’
‘I fully intend to,’ he said, heading for the sofa. Then he stopped and turned around. ‘I’ll stop now. You know I’m nowhere near that cheeky. If it really is inconvenient, I’ll leave, but I’m worried about you. I haven’t seen you since before my trip to Birmingham. You haven’t returned my calls or texts; you haven’t put anything on Facebook…’
‘I hardly ever put anything on Facebook.’
‘I know, but you’ve put even less than your usual very little.’ Ben grinned. ‘So the Facebook thing is rubbish, but you definitely haven’t returned my calls or texts. I just wanted to come round to say that I’m here if you want to talk about what happened at New Year, what happened on your trip to Ireland, or anything else for that matter. Or if you just want someone to share a curry and a cold beer with.’ He looked so sincere and so keen to help.
‘How did you know I’d been to Ireland again?’
Ben shrugged. ‘I didn’t. I was talking about after New Year.’
‘Oh.’
‘You’ve been again? When?’
‘This weekend just gone.’
‘Oh. Two trips to Ireland in the space of two weeks sounds like a story…’
Feck it. It was time to let Ben in too. ‘Why don’t you sit down?’ I said. ‘You’re making the place look a mess.’
He smiled as he took a seat on the sofa. I curled up on the other end. ‘I went to Ireland at the weekend to confront my da about why he kicked me out when I was 16. I know the fact that I was pregnant with the local trainee priest’s baby wasn’t exactly welcome news, but sending me to Cornwall and telling me I was dead to him was a bit harsh, don’t you think?’ I watched Ben’s expression carefully. If he was surprised or shocked, he gave nothing away.
‘Definitely a story,’ he said. ‘Do you want to tell me it all from the beginning?’
‘I may be able to help you find Shannon,’ Ben said, when I’d finished.
‘How?’
‘You know what I do for a living?’
‘Saintly stuff?’
‘Ha ha. What do I really do?’
I shrugged. ‘Fecked if I know. Other people’s jobs bore me senseless. You do something with a charity.’
Ben raised his eyebrows and cocked his head to one side.
I frowned. ‘You do, don’t you? I’m sure I’m right. I’m buggered if I know what sort of charity it is, but you definitely work for one, so stop winding me up.’
Ben laughed. ‘Yes, I do work for a charity. We help find missing persons, but I focus particularly on young people who have probably run away from home. Consequently, I have a really good relationship with Social Services, adoption agencies and various other parties that could help.’
‘You really find missing people?’
Ben nodded.
‘Why didn’t you tell me?’
‘I swear I’ve told you loads of times.’
I studied Ben’s face and realised that, although I’d spent a lot of time in his company over the years, I’d never bothered to really take the time to talk to him. It was always good craic being out with Ben, but that was mainly because we took the mickey out of each other all night. Suddenly, I could see him as a very interesting person and I regretted all the times I must have switched off or cut him short. Was I really that bad a person? ‘I’m sorry,’ I said.
‘For what?
‘For not listening to you. Tell me more about your job. And I’m not saying that just because I want to know how you can help me. I’m genuinely interested.’
As Ben talked about his job and the families he’d reunited over the years, I became filled with admiration for him. Although I’d jokingly called him Saint Ben over the years, he really was a saint, someone who genuinely did good and made a massive difference to the lives of others. It must be amazing to feel like that. My own career in PR seemed pretty insignificant. A few hours’ work from me could increase a client’s Twitter following, put a positive slant on a bad-news story and increase the cash in the shareholders’ pockets. A few hours’ work from Ben could reunite a family, take a teenager off the streets or save a child from abuse. They simply didn’t compare.
‘If your contact comes through with information first, you keep the king,’ Ben said. ‘But if I get answers first, I get him.’
Bollocks. I suspected I was going to have to hand the king over. But, right now, information on Shannon was far more important, and I had every confidence in Ben that he was going to come through for me. He always did.
Shortly after he left, a text came through:
* From Aisling
Saw Da this morning. He banned me from being in touch with you. I told him where to stick his opinion. The kids can’t wait to see their auntie Clare again and I’m dying to spend more time with my baby sister. This time 3 weeks, we’ll be with you. Hurray for mid-term break! Any news on Shannon yet? xxxx
* To Aisling
No news. Hoping next week will bring something. Not a very patient person ;-)
I smiled at the thought of Aisling and the kids coming to stay. I wouldn’t have predicted that at the start of the year.
I returned to the letters. Picking up the first envelope in the pile from Daran, I stroked my finger lightly over his curvy writing, a lump blocking my throat. I shook my head and returned the letter to the box. I wasn’t ready, after all. I wasn’t sure if I ever would be.
Valerie Sinclair phoned me first thing on Monday with an apology. She’d been off sick all week, but she said she’d definitely get onto it and come back to me by the end of the week. Ben rang at the end of the day to tell me that he’d had some good conversations but had come up with nothing concrete yet. He also promised a deadline of the end of the week. He was definitely going to win the king.
Chapter 18
‘I’ve got news.’
I buzzed Ben in and stood with the door wide open, waiting for him to come up in the lift, my heart thumping uncontrollably.
‘What is it?’ I said, ushering him into the lounge area. I could tell by the anguish in his eyes that it wasn’t good news.
‘I’m so sorry, Clare. There’s no easy way to say this so I’m just going to have to blurt it out. Shannon was in a car crash a few days ago.’
‘She’s dead?’ I whispered. ‘She really is dead this time?’
He shook his head. ‘No, but it doesn’t sound good. Apparently, she’s in a coma. She was on the M1 when a lorry jack-knifed and hit the car she was travelling in.’
‘Are you sure?’
He reached into his jeans pocket and pulled out a couple of sheets of A4 paper, which he unfolded and handed to me. ‘I’m sure.’
I scanned the words on the computer printouts of newspaper articles about the accident but found myself struggling to take it all in. ‘Jesus wept! The driver was her boyfriend? And he’s…?’
‘Okay, I think.’
‘Where on the M1 did it happen?’
‘Close to Junction 43.’
My eyes widened. ‘Junction 43? But that would mean…’ I couldn’t bring myself to say the words, in case I was wrong.
‘It would mean that they were rushed to Jimmy’s. Clare, your daughter’s in Leeds.’
‘Can you not drive any faster? I knew I should have driven.’
Ben indicated to change lanes. ‘You don’t know the way, which is why I’m driving and, no, I can’t drive any faster. There’s a red light, in case you hadn’t noticed. And stop biting your nails.’
‘I’m not.’
‘Yes, you are. I can see you out of the corner of my eye.’
‘I’m not biting my nails,’ I insisted. ‘I’m nibbling the skin around them.’
‘Urgh. Don’t do that! You’ll hurt yourself.’
‘I can’t help it. I’m full of nervous energy.’
The lights changed and Ben did his best to accelerate, but the flow of traffic wouldn’t allow him to get up to more than 20mph.
He gave me a sideways glance. ‘You know I’m normally an optimistic person, but you do realise we probably won’t be able to see her, don’t you? Stop biting!’
I sat on my hands. ‘I know, but I can’t just sit in that apartment knowing she’s in the same city as me and doing nothing about it. I’d be climbing the walls.’
‘Just as long as you’re prepared for the reality.’
‘It’s worth a try.’
My stomach twisted and turned as the car edged ever closer to St James’s University Hospital, affectionately known locally as Jimmy’s. What if we were too late? What if she’d already passed away? No. I mustn’t think like that. It could have gone the other way. She could have come out of her coma. How amazing would that be? But what if she refused to see me? How would I feel if I’d been given up for adoption and my biological mother turned up 16 or 17 years later? Would I want to see her?
‘Are you ready?’ Ben took my hand as we dashed across the car park. He’d already found out that she was in the Intensive Care Unit. I gripped his hand tightly as we made our way up lifts and down a maze of corridors.
Dreaming About Daran (Whitsborough BayTrilogy Book 3) Page 11