Finding Lucy

by Diana Finley

  She talked of the extensive police search, the stories in the papers and the television appeals. I detected a tiny note of pride in her account of how she had evaded detection and outsmarted the police investigation, even though she seemed to express – reluctantly – some admiration for Detective Inspector Lawrence Dempster.

  She told me of my “biological” (her word) mother and father, Shelley and Gary Watts, and their appeals for me to be found and returned to them. Hearing her speak their names sent something like an electric shock racing through my body. Cold sweat ran down my back. I shivered.

  ‘So, so … you’re really not my mother?’ I blurted, though I knew the answer well enough. ‘You’re not even my adoptive mother?’

  ‘My dear, darling girl,’ she said, tears now rolling down her own cheeks, ‘I cannot claim to be your real mother, in the sense that I did not give birth to you. And no, I did not formally adopt you. I have done something terribly, terribly wrong – something quite wicked, I see that now. But at the time, I honestly believed I was saving you from a cruel and unsatisfactory life, from neglect, and perhaps even from cruelty. As soon as I saw you – ridiculous as it sounds – I fell in love with you. Totally in love. I adored you then and I have adored you ever since – as any true mother loves her child.’

  Falling in love no longer sounded ridiculous to me.

  ‘So, all that story of adopting me, of choosing me out of rows of babies in their cots – so all of that was untrue? That was just lies; it was lie upon lie upon lie?’

  ‘I’ve told a lot of lies, horrible, dreadful lies, and I’m deeply ashamed of them now. But one thing has never been a lie, Lucy: that I have loved you from the moment I set eyes on you, and will love you as long as I live. That is the absolute truth.’

  ‘You think that’s enough?’ I screamed. ‘You loved me, so you stole me? You took me from a family who … who may have also loved me. What about my real mother? Didn’t she matter at all? Didn’t you think about her? What are you, a psychopath, a monster? What you wanted – is that all that matters to you? Does that justify what you did?’

  She stared at me in shock, tears spilling from her eyes. I clenched my fists and felt hot rage rising through me.

  ‘Damn you! Damn you! Fuck you! How could you do such a thing? How could you?’

  She cringed at my words and held her hands up protectively to her face.

  ‘You’re right, Lucy,’ she whispered. ‘You’re right to be angry. I’ve done a terrible, terrible thing, and loving you didn’t justify it. I was … misguided and stupid. Maybe I was heartless. I thought I was doing the right thing for you at the time, I honestly did.’

  I looked at her, frail and trembling, her face thin and drawn – a picture of misery. I drew her into my arms and we sobbed together.

  For a while, neither of us could speak. We held each other. We each felt the trembling of the other’s body, the juddering intake of breaths. An elderly couple wandered near and, seeing our tears, our distress, hurried quickly past. They paused a little way ahead and we heard a disjointed, murmured conversation. Then the woman returned hesitantly towards us, her face full of concern.

  ‘I’m so sorry, I don’t want to intrude, but are you all right? Is there anything I can do?’

  Mum straightened her back for a moment, took a deep breath, and looked up at the woman.

  ‘How kind of you to enquire,’ she said. ‘Most people would walk by. My daughter and I are a little upset. We have just heard that I am very unwell, you see. Thank you so much for asking.’

  A minute before, she had appeared in total collapse, an old woman, apparently broken, pathetic, at death’s door. What an accomplished liar she had become over the years, I thought, so adept at making use of “half-truths”.

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that …’ The woman paused. ‘Things aren’t always as bad as they seem at first, you know. I do wish you all the very best – you and your daughter.’

  She walked on and rejoined her husband.

  ‘You know,’ said Mum quietly, ‘after all these years, it still gives me a thrill to hear someone refer to you as my daughter.’

  I shook my head in disbelief. We watched as the couple continued slowly on their way together.

  ‘What are we going to do?’ I wailed bleakly, like a helpless child. I was a helpless child.

  ‘Well,’ she said, ‘I have been thinking about this for some time. I think it’s quite clear, and all you have said just now confirms that to me. There is only one thing to be done, and that is to reveal the truth. I should have done so long ago, but I don’t think I was quite ready at the time and perhaps nor were you – not to accept the truth, nor the inevitable consequences. I was terrified of the effect of the truth on you, and I was terrified of losing you, Lucy. Now I think I should contact Detective Inspector Dempster.’

  ‘NO!’ I shrieked. Mum jumped and looked at me in horror.

  ‘No,’ I said more quietly, ‘not yet, not now. You can’t do that now. Not when you’re ill. Just think what would happen. The police asking endless questions. Maybe the newspapers too. You’d be arrested! You can’t go to prison when you’re ill. Do you want to die in prison? What would be the point?’

  ‘The point is, Lucy, as you have made very clear, I committed a crime – and it was not a victimless crime.’ She paused and looked thoughtful. ‘At the time, I felt nothing for your parents. At least, nothing but scorn and disgust. I genuinely believed they were not worthy of being parents; that they were neglectful at the very least, and perhaps even abusive. I still believe that your father – Gary – was … is … not a very admirable man. But, despite what you say, I have been thinking of your mother a lot lately, of Shelley. I realise now that I condemned her without enough justification. Having been a mother myself, knowing how much I love you, how it would destroy me to lose you, I came to see that she must have suffered terribly, losing you. How could I not see that before? I suppose I never wanted to consider her feelings, or even to acknowledge that she had feelings. She has a right to know you are alive and well.’

  ‘OK, OK … but not now, not yet. After all, she’s had to cope all these years. Let’s not rush into action just yet. We need to think this whole situation through properly.’

  * * *

  That night, over a simple supper, I told her about Guy. I’d rehearsed it many times, anticipating our discussion. Now the context had changed completely; our relationship had changed, for ever. I’d been expecting her to be stiff and cool about hearing of Guy. She’d never been keen on any of my boyfriends in the past, not even hearing about them. They were seen as a distraction from the true path of my future, and generally dismissed as inferior or undesirable. Perhaps, too, she’d seen them as coming between us; between her and me.

  She listened intently when I talked about Guy, and interspersed my account with questions; interested questions, not hostile ones.

  ‘A doctor? So he’s already qualified?’

  ‘Yes, but he’s planning to specialise as a psychiatrist.’

  ‘Mmm? A psychiatrist?’

  ‘He’s arranged to do his Psychiatry residency in Edinburgh, starting in the autumn. Actually, he and Cassie and Ed are friends, and have several friends in common. His parents live in south-west Scotland too, so Edinburgh makes sense for lots of reasons.’

  ‘South-west Scotland … so beautiful … do you remember, Lucy, those lovely holidays we had there when you were small?’ She gazed dreamily out of the window for a moment.

  ‘I do, Mum,’ I said quietly. She smiled that I still called her “Mum”. ‘If we’re living in Edinburgh, it’s only about an hour on the train from Newcastle – and it’s not so far to go and visit Dumfriesshire some time. Would you like that?’

  ‘I would like that, if it’s still possible … I’d like it very much. So you and Guy plan to live together in Edinburgh?’

  ‘Yes. I know it must seem to you as though we haven’t known each other very long, but we’re in no doubt. We
want to get married in time, but that may have to wait a while.

  ‘Yes, well, such details don’t seem to bother most people these days. What about your idea of doing a PhD?’

  ‘Well, if I get a good enough degree, I hope to be accepted for a Clinical Psychology PhD in Edinburgh.’

  ‘I have no doubt you’ll get a good enough degree. But what if you don’t get into Edinburgh for any reason? Would you consider anywhere else?’

  ‘I’ve kind of set my heart on Edinburgh. It makes sense in every way. It would be lovely to be near to Cassie and Ed – and to be in easy reach of you – but, to be perfectly honest, I have to be where Guy is.’

  ‘You love him?’

  Her question shocked me. She’d never asked about such personal or intimate feelings before.

  ‘Yes I do – I love him so much …’

  I couldn’t control my face breaking into a joyful smile, even if I had wanted to.

  ‘And he loves you.’

  It wasn’t a question.

  ‘Yes. We want to be together always. Mum, I really want you to meet Guy.’

  ‘And I would very much like to meet him. I’m delighted you have found someone special, Lucy. That gives me great comfort.’

  ‘But, remember, Mum, Guy doesn’t know anything about you, and my background, and I don’t intend to tell him until the time feels right – and that may be some time from now.’

  Chapter Forty-Four

  The meeting with Guy was arranged for two days later. It was a far greater success than I could have hoped for. I was amazed that Mum was not just compliant, but actually eager to meet him. He invited us to his flat for tea. I’d explained to him about her illness, and also tried to describe something of what she was like as a person. While trying not to prejudice him against her, I told him she was “a bit complicated”; that she could be tricky and sensitive, and that her thought patterns were not always like those of other people.

  He couldn’t have been kinder and more considerate towards her. He prepared a tray of tea and had even baked a coffee and walnut cake! I could tell she was impressed. She seemed to take to him immediately. There were some slightly awkward silences at first – well, awkward for me. It didn’t seem to bother them much. Mum was engrossed in studying Guy’s bookshelves, her head bent to the right as she walked along the row, studying the titles. Then we all sat down, passing cups of tea and plates of coffee cake, like children pretending to be grown-ups.

  Neither of them was great with small talk. They quickly got into deep discussions concerning serious issues, about ethics and the rights and wrongs of different types of research, and about the merits of a medical approach versus a psychological one in treating various mental disorders. She seemed more at ease with him than I’d ever seen her in company before. She asked him about his interests, his background and his family. I had a sense that she was building up to something important. Despite what we’d agreed, I was horribly afraid she might be planning to reveal my “history” to him.

  ‘Well, Guy,’ she suddenly announced, making me jump, ‘it has been a pleasure to meet you. I can see you are very fond of Lucy.’

  Guy nodded. He gave her his full attention. He didn’t flinch. I squirmed with apprehension, and intense embarrassment.

  ‘But … fondness … even love, by themselves may not be enough …’

  ‘Mum!’ I exclaimed, horrified.

  She raised her hand to me, to quiet me.

  ‘I don’t want to appear a Victorian parent, but I do need to be sure what your intentions are with regard to Lucy.’

  ‘Mum! You can’t ask that of Guy!’

  ‘It’s fine, Lucy,’ Guy said equably. ‘I understand.’

  ‘Lucy is very special to me, you see. Very special,’ she continued.

  ‘Of course she is,’ Guy said with a smile, glancing in my direction. ‘She’s very special to me too. She always will be.’

  ‘I believe that, and I find it deeply reassuring. For all sorts of reasons. It makes me happy. Lucy will have told you about my illness, and as a doctor you will understand better than most people that I may not live a lot longer. It is important for me to feel confident that Lucy will be all right when I am no longer here to support her. Having met you, I’m so glad to know she will not be alone.’

  ‘Thank you, Alison,’ he said. ‘I can’t promise you that our lives will always be easy and free of troubles, but I can promise that I will always love and care for Lucy.’

  I could hardly believe that Mum was talking about emotions in this way.

  ‘Hang on a minute,’ I said, feeling a bit left out, ‘it’s not just a one-way relationship, you know – we’ll be there for each other.’

  ‘That’s just how it should be,’ said Mum briskly. ‘Now I think we should go back, Lucy.’

  * * *

  Outwardly I tried to maintain an appearance of normal life, without revealing the huge burden I was carrying. Strangely, Mum appeared to manage it better than me. But it was never far from my mind. I woke each morning with a jittery feeling in my stomach, deeply anxious. The only thing that worked for me was concentrating my mind firmly on my studies – perhaps another way in which I resembled Mum.

  The term ended. Mum was unbelievably pleased and proud when I got a First, despite the huge distraction and strain of her revelations, which she acknowledged had changed my life for ever. Academic achievement always meant a lot to her. It was one of the few areas about which she was competitive. She was delighted, too, when I heard that I’d been accepted to do my doctorate in Edinburgh.

  ‘But I won’t just want to do Psychology in the abstract – I want to apply it in the real world, with people who actually need psychological help.’

  ‘People like me, do you mean?’ said Mum.

  ‘Yes! People like you,’ I said savagely. ‘People who cause psychological pain to others. People who are feeling psychological pain too. For whatever reason.’

  * * *

  Guy went to stay with his family in Cumbria for a few days and then went ahead of me to Edinburgh, to arrange somewhere for us to live. I spent a couple of weeks staying with Mum. She looked better than during her time with me in Birmingham. The treatment seemed to be working, but we both knew it was likely to be a temporary remission.

  Now that I no longer had my studies to occupy me, I was increasingly absorbed by Mum’s revelations. Any thoughts of the future, of what she, and I, might have to face, set off feelings of absolute terror – of near panic. I could concentrate on little else. In comparison with what lay ahead, everything else seemed irrelevant, insignificant.

  Guy found us a two-bedroom first-floor apartment to rent in a lower Morningside tenement. The rent wasn’t too pricey, and it gave us a chance to take our time about buying somewhere. We went to look round it together for the first time. I knew Guy was excited about it, and expected me to feel the same.

  ‘Look, Lucy, I love these high ceilings; makes it seem so spacious and light.’

  ‘Mmm? Could be expensive to heat.’

  ‘Well … these main rooms face south, should get plenty of sun. That’ll help.’

  ‘When the sun chooses to shine, of course.’

  Guy glanced at me.

  ‘Come and look out of the window – there’s a great view of the city.’

  ‘I wish Edinburgh wasn’t so grey. It’s a bit depressing, isn’t it?’

  Guy put his arm round me and hugged me close. ‘No, Lucy, I don’t think it’s depressing, I think it’s a fine city, and I thought you did too. You seem down though. What’s the problem?’

  ‘Who said there’s a problem?’ I snapped. ‘Just because I think it might be cold or … or draughty?’

  ‘OK, OK,’ said Guy. ‘You just don’t seem quite yourself at the moment, Lucy. You will tell me if there’s anything wrong, won’t you?’

  ‘Nothing!’ I said, louder than I meant, tears starting to spill over. ‘There’s nothing wrong.’

  I hugged him and he ki
ssed me gently.

  Thoughts whirled round my head. I couldn’t deal with them – I hadn’t the mental energy. Guy and I were so close and discussed everything together, yet I still hadn’t broached the most central concerns about my background with him. Somehow I thought it was possible to bury the whole issue in some remote corner of my brain, until later, until some “suitable time” that I hadn’t yet defined. The truth is I was terrified. It began to prey on my mind constantly. What effect would it have on our relationship? I wanted nothing to change. Yet once the truth was out, everything would have to change.

  The unshared knowledge became a barrier between Guy and me. There were times when I was preoccupied, fearful and depressed. Guy, increasingly aware there was something I was concealing from him, was becoming deeply troubled. It troubled me too. We’d had no other secrets from one another. Here I was, living with the man who meant most to me in the whole world, and I hadn’t shared with him the secret that defined – and blighted – my whole life.

  My moods were very up and down. On several recent occasions I couldn’t get out of bed. I could barely eat. I was drinking to blunt my feelings, blur my thoughts. I knew Guy was anxious about these changes, and particularly about my reluctance to speak honestly about their cause. Often I felt him watching me with concern, and hated it.

  Whatever we were doing, it was there between us: as we chose colours to paint the flat, picked out rugs for the floors, and discussed what furniture and equipment we could afford; as we sat side by side on the sofa; as we walked up Arthur’s Seat; as we made love. It was not just “the elephant in the room” – it was the elephant that imposed itself between us at all times.

  One weekend night, we were sitting on the sofa together. Guy was peaceably stroking my neck and shoulder.

  ‘Shall I make a stir-fry tonight or would you rather have a takeaway?’ he asked.

  I was shocked by my own response. It came out of nowhere. ‘What does it matter! Nothing is important!’ I shrieked.

  ‘OK, Lucy, we can decide later,’ Guy said quietly. He looked deeply hurt.