Finding Lucy

by Diana Finley

  There had been no means of appeal. As will be appreciated by anyone with a scrap of insight, I had been left with no choice but to take the matter into my own hands.

  Chapter Four

  By February, I was taking the first steps towards a fundamentally different future. I had decided on Newcastle for its distance from Nottingham, and as a fine, distinctive city in its own right. Only Newcastle’s proximity to Durham, with that city’s sad associations for me, made me hesitate over my choice at first. Yet the advantages were clear and I resolved to overcome my doubts, and to look firmly down at a book rather than out of the window as the train passed through Durham station.

  I made my very specific wishes quite clear to the Homefind estate agency. As a widow with a small daughter, I explained, I was looking for a smallish house, with three bedrooms, preferably detached, with a neat, easy-to-manage and secure back garden, to allow the child to play safely. I felt no qualms about presenting myself in this way – in my mind I was already Lucy’s mother.

  The agency soon found a very suitable house on a predominantly post-Fifties estate on the edge of the suburb of Gosforth. It was perfect for my needs, having one bedroom off the “half-landing”, and two further bedrooms with dormer windows set into the slope of the roof. It was described as a “Dutch bungalow”. I liked the term. It gave my new home a touch of the exotic, while retaining a wholesome image.

  The house was freshly whitewashed and stood at the end of a quiet cul-de-sac, its garden backing onto a pleasant area of trees and fields where people strolled and walked their dogs. There was even a small playground nearby – ideal for Lucy. The neighbouring houses were far enough away for me not to feel overlooked. My – sorry, our! – new home (I would have to get used to using the plural pronoun) had been well maintained by the elderly couple who were selling it. Certainly, the decoration was a little old-fashioned, but that didn’t matter to me. Thanks to Mother’s carefully invested estate, added to the anticipated sale of our house in Nottingham, and my own smaller savings, I was able to contemplate not working while caring for a young child. This was very important to me; far too many young children were placed in the care of nurseries or childminders. I had no intention of Lucy becoming a “latch-key” child.

  Fortunately, there were spare funds to put in a new kitchen and bathroom, and for fresh wallpaper and paint throughout. Mother had never been a great spender, but she would have enjoyed discussing decoration and soft furnishings with me, especially when it came to Lucy’s room. At times like this I missed her terribly. In fact, if I am truthful, not a moment went by when I did not miss her, but at least having so much to occupy my mind did help.

  It was vital to be able to come and go freely at the new house over the coming weeks, without arousing curiosity or suspicion. One of my first tasks was to visit the next-door neighbours on either side and introduce myself. I’d never been one for dropping in and out of other people’s homes, so I felt a degree of anxiety about these initial contacts. To the left was a youngish couple, Susan and Mike Harmon. They had a nice polite little girl of about nine called Claire, and a younger boy, Charlie, who seemed somewhat boisterous and over-excitable.

  ‘Come on in, it’s just lovely to meet you, Alison!’ said Susan, eagerly taking my arm as I hesitated on the doorstep. ‘Come into the kitchen and let’s have a cup of tea.’

  Susan didn’t think to ask what sort of tea I might prefer. In fact, she served what Mother would have called “builders’ tea”, but I drank it and made no comment.

  ‘So you see, we’ll be coming up in a while – my little girl Lucy and I – just as soon as the house is ready,’ I explained.

  ‘Ooh, how lovely! It’ll be so nice for all of us to have a younger family next door. Charlie – did you hear that? A little girl next door for you to play with!’ Susan turned back to me. ‘How old is Lucy?’

  I almost panicked for a moment. I felt a rush of colour swarming up my neck and cheeks. How could I know exactly how old Lucy was?

  ‘She’s … er … a bit younger than Charlie.’ I lowered my voice. ‘The thing is, Susan, we lost Lucy’s daddy recently …’

  This was a useful device to distract Susan from her question. Her eyes widened and she put her hands up to her face, which adopted a tragic expression.

  ‘Lost …? Oh no, how terrible! I’m so sorry … er … how …’

  ‘Accident …’ I whispered under my breath. ‘Yes, that’s why we had to move, you understand … to allow us to rebuild our lives together up here in Newcastle. A completely new start.’

  I was getting into my stride now. I noted Susan’s agonised expression and continued. ‘I’m looking forward to making a happy, loving home, for Lucy’s sake. That’s what I’ll live for now.’

  Susan nodded at me knowingly. To my astonishment, her eyes filled with tears. She squeezed my arm tenderly. I gulped and looked at my lap.

  ‘Right now,’ I said, inserting a slight tremor into my voice, ‘Lucy has been staying with … um … an aunt back in Nottingham whenever I make these visits to the North East to get things sorted. She’s been very supportive, but I’m hoping we can both settle here properly soon.’

  Susan continued her nodding, while biting her lip in a rather foolish way that I supposed was intended to denote empathy. I took a deep breath, and concentrated on brightening my facial expression.

  ‘I’m sorry, Susan – I didn’t want to upset you with all this gloomy talk. Just listen to me, I’ve done nothing but talk about myself! How rude of me – please tell me more about you.’

  Susan didn’t need asking twice; she looked relieved to change the subject. She was a naturally talkative person, and seemed keen to tell me all about the family; her husband Michael (‘most people call him Mike’) was a GP and she herself was a part-time solicitor. There was an excellent first school on the estate, which Claire attended. She had the rest of that year there before moving on to the middle school. Charlie had started going to the nursery part-time.

  Susan was sure Lucy would love it too, when she started. I quickly intervened and explained that I felt Lucy was too young for nursery just at the moment. She would need some time to settle down first.

  ‘Of course she will, Alison. Dear little Lucy will need her mummy more than anything at the moment,’ she said, ‘but don’t forget she can come and play with Charlie any time, any time at all – and Claire will just love playing the older sister. Also, we know most of the people around here and can easily introduce you. That’ll help you to settle and get to know people. Everyone’s really friendly.’

  I wasn’t at all sure I liked the sound of these introductions, but decided that at least it showed that Susan and Mike were welcoming and accepting.

  The neighbours on the other side were an older retired couple, Frank and Molly Armstrong. They were equally warm, rushing about to produce tea and homemade scones for me when I called. I told them the same story as I’d told to the Harmons. Molly Armstrong shook her head and patted my hand sympathetically. Frank said if there was anything he could help with, anything at all – he was handy with tools or a paintbrush – just to let him know.

  They both said how nice it would be to have a little girl growing up next door, and they would be happy to babysit at any time – they didn’t go out much. I almost responded that I didn’t go out much either, but decided it was best to reveal as little of myself as possible.

  Chapter Five

  I found the next stage of the preparations highly enjoyable. I got up early, took the train to York, and spent the morning in the city centre buying the necessary items: a navy blue gabardine coat (a bit dull) and some clumpy navy shoes; a more stylish, pillar-box red, lightweight wool coat; and black knee-length boots for me. Then I went into British Home Stores and Marks and Spencer for a number of sets of girls’ clothing, including pyjamas and underwear, all sized for age two years, and one set of boys’ clothes: dungarees, jumper, hat and parka, also for age two years.

  Next, I a
llowed myself a break – a delightful light lunch and pot of tea at Betty’s Tea Room. Mother frequently said I should allow myself more “treats”. As always, she was right – I found I could relax and enjoy myself as I nursed a good cup of my favourite Earl Grey tea in the comfort and warmth of Betty’s.

  It was pleasant strolling through the historic lanes and looking in at the shop windows. Mothercare was not far. With some helpful advice I selected a lightweight Maclaren pushchair, which the assistant referred to as a “buggy”. I also bought a potty, some nappies (just in case), a set of child’s plastic crockery and cutlery, and a few toys and books. This was all I could manage, but by putting several of the carrier bags into the buggy I was able to make my way back to York station, and from there I caught my train to Newcastle.

  The next day I ordered a child’s bed, mattress and bedding, a wardrobe and chest of drawers, a little table and two chairs to match, some cheerful pictures, and a few more toys, all from Bainbridge’s excellent department store in Newcastle city centre. These items were to be delivered to my new house the following Friday, by which time Lucy’s room would be decorated and carpeted.

  * * *

  At home, I tried on the navy coat and shoes for the third time, together with the dark brown wig I’d ordered previously from a discreet company dealing mainly with cancer sufferers. I’d never taken great interest in fashion, much to the scorn of my schoolmates, but I knew exactly what I liked in the way of clothes.

  I gazed at my reflection in the mirror. The effect on my appearance was immediate and striking. I was totally transformed – how very satisfactory. I even felt different in my new outfit: older and, it has to be said, somewhat dowdy. Removing those clothes, I delighted in observing the metamorphosis wrought by switching to the red coat, the delicious high boots, and the return to my natural fair hair. Not exactly a “scarlet woman”, but certainly a more lively and attractive persona.

  The following week I arranged for some of my furniture and household possessions to be moved from Nottingham to Newcastle. I had stocked the new kitchen cupboards and the freezer with suitable food for me and a young child. The house was ready.

  I invited Mike and Susan Harmon, together with their children, and Frank and Molly Armstrong to come in for drinks to celebrate. Mike and Susan opted for a glass of wine and I’d got in Kia-Ora and Ribena for Claire and Charlie. I’d laid out some toys, books, paper and drawing pens and crayons on the dining table for them, as well as some crisps and snacks. It pained me a little to see Charlie sift through the objects I had so carefully ordered. He seemed to have no thought for rearranging the colours of the crayons, nor the size order of the books and toys. Oh well; I resolved to do it myself later.

  ‘Oh, aren’t you thoughtful, Alison!’ said Susan, looking around.

  ‘Well, I know what it’s like for children when adults are talking together.’

  ‘’Course you do. We can’t wait to meet Lucy, isn’t that right, children?’

  Claire looked up from her drawing and smiled. ‘It’ll be nice to have a little girl next door,’ she said emphatically, glancing at her brother.

  ‘Have you got a photo of Lucy, Alison?’ asked Mike, looking around the room. My mouth dried up suddenly.

  ‘No … well … yes, of course I have … er … but they’re still in boxes. Lots of things still to unpack – or at my other house, you see.’

  Charlie was looking around too. What would they ask for next? ‘Alison … got no TV?’

  I don’t approve of children being allowed to use adults’ names without permission, but I let this pass.

  ‘No, sorry, not yet, Charlie. But it won’t be long before Lucy’s here for you to play with – just another two or three weeks, I hope.’

  After all my preparations, I thought, all Charlie could think about was television! Never mind. My Lucy wouldn’t be glued to a screen – I was certain of that. I turned to the Armstrongs.

  ‘Now, what would you like, Molly?’

  ‘Eee, I’d love a cup of tea, pet, if it’s not too much trouble, and Frank’s noticed you’ve got some beer over there. He’s not really a wine man, are you, love?’

  ‘Yes of course. Here, Frank, here’s the opener and a glass. Just help yourself while I get Betty’s tea.’

  ‘Thanks, pet, that’s grand. I hope we’re going to get the guided tour after, are we?’

  ‘It’ll be a pleasure, Frank.’

  ‘You’ve done an amazing job here, Alison,’ said Mike, looking around the sitting room.

  ‘Thank you, Michael … Mike. I’m pleased with the way it’s turned out. That’s partly down to the decorators you recommended. They’ve been wonderful – completely reliable. I’m really grateful.’

  Mike followed me out to the kitchen. The back of my neck began to prickle uncomfortably to feel his physical presence so close behind me. However, he seemed rather a nice man – quieter than Susan, and thoughtful.

  ‘Wow, what a difference!’ he said, looking around.

  ‘Well, it was basically a sound house, and the Turners had left everything in pretty good condition. All I’ve done is a bit of window-dressing.’

  I put the small teapot on a tray with a milk jug.

  ‘Can I get the cups, Alison?’ Mike asked.

  ‘Just in that cupboard above the bread bin.’

  It was a relief to watch him walk to the other side of the kitchen.

  ‘Oh, that’s very tidy,’ said Mike, opening the cupboard and smiling back at me. ‘You’re a woman after my own heart.’

  ‘Cups in the front, saucers at the back on the left.’

  ‘Thanks. I’m so sorry you’ve had to do all this on your own, Alison. Susie told me … It can’t have been easy.’

  I sighed tragically and nodded. ‘I’ll be very glad when Lucy joins me up here at last – it has been a bit … lonely … on my own.’

  Mike gently touched my shoulder, sending a shock down my spine as I carried the tray through. I gripped the handles tightly.

  I decided that the evening was turning out to be a great success, although I worried that Charlie might break something with his frenetic racing about. I hoped Lucy wouldn’t turn out to be quite so lively. I wasn’t sure I could deal with that. The children were both thrilled to see Lucy’s room, though.

  ‘Oh it’s so pretty. Look, Mum – all the animals on the bed! Lucy’s got her own little desk. Look how tidy it is! Can we sit on the chairs, Alison?’

  Even Claire was using my first name.

  ‘Of course you can. I’m sure it won’t stay as tidy once Lucy gets here.’ Everyone laughed. Although I secretly hoped it might.

  Chapter Six

  1985

  Next came the trickier part of the plan. After weeks of research I had decided on Riddlesfield. All the indices showed it to be one of the most “disadvantaged” towns in the country, with certain districts such as Thornhough, Hollerton, Woodhope and Frainham consistently reported as areas of the highest child poverty in England. Studying a map of the town and its surrounds, it was Frainham that stood out as most suitable for my needs. Not only was there street after street of small, tightly packed terraced houses, but the area was easily accessible from the city centre, and more importantly, from Riddlesfield railway station. I pored over the map so often that soon I was able to close my eyes and picture the exact pattern of streets, squares and landmarks required for my purpose.

  The morning after the house-warming party for the neighbours, I returned to Nottingham for a few days, awaiting rain. On the third day, I woke to a dank and gloomy morning. By the time I’d had breakfast it was drizzling steadily. A solid bank of lowering grey clouds sat over the houses and foretold of more to come – perfect.

  I put on my navy coat and shoes, and the brown wig. Then I tied a large paisley headscarf over my head, using kirby grips to make sure all the hair was firmly tucked in beneath it. For extra anonymity, I put up a large umbrella as I emerged from the front door. If I’d been of a more drama
tic inclination, no doubt all this would have been a source of great entertainment, but not for me. I felt sick with anxiety. Over and over again, I rehearsed in my mind exactly what I had to do. Nothing must go wrong.

  I needn’t have worried. By now the rain was falling heavily. The few pedestrians I encountered on my way to the bus station hurried head-down to their destinations, clutching their collars around their necks, striving only to get out of the wet as quickly as possible, and scarcely glancing in my direction.

  Nottingham to Riddlesfield was not a straightforward journey, but I felt that this was in my favour. The number of necessary changes – though daunting – made it less likely that I would ever be linked to my destination. After a bus ride to Derby station I bought a day return to Leeds, where I had about forty-five minutes to wait for a direct train to Riddlesfield.

  Thankfully, by this time the rain clouds had cleared and I was able to dispense with the unpleasantly damp headscarf, revealing my dark hair. The train to Riddlesfield was not too crowded. I tried to read the newspaper, but found I couldn’t concentrate. Nevertheless, I kept the paper open, and sheltered behind its protective screen. An hour and a half later the train arrived at Riddlesfield.

  I found myself increasingly nervous as I stepped onto the platform and made my way out of the station, my heart pounding unpleasantly. I had to pause a few moments, breathing deeply, while I calmed myself by picturing the map with which I had become so familiar. Sure enough, the layout of the actual streets before me precisely matched the image in my mind.

  I quickly crossed the road and walked southwards until I came to Churchill Square, with its shops and cafés. One café looked bright and welcoming. I noted it as somewhere I might allow myself another cup of tea later on that day. I continued along Holbrook Street and, after a few minutes’ walk, turned right into City Road. After perhaps a quarter of a mile, I turned left and soon found myself in precisely the right area of narrow streets, densely built with mean and coal-blackened terraced houses, just as my research had indicated. This must be Frainham, I thought, recalling the map, this must be it.