Finding Lucy

by Diana Finley

I apologised later and we made up, but the pain and confusion was still there, for both of us.

  ‘Why don’t you have a day out with Cassie?’ Guy suggested.

  * * *

  We met by the river and sat on a bench, as close together as children, with coffee from one of the stalls. Our breath, heated by the drinks, made steamy clouds in the frosty air.

  ‘We’re like a couple of horses,’ she said, breathing more steam. We giggled and touched our heads to each other. It was so good to see her. My sadness hid away.

  She looked round at me.

  ‘You don’t look great, Lucy.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘Really, I’m worried about you.’

  ‘Don’t you start too.’

  ‘Is it to do with Alison? Is she worse?’

  ‘She’s … not doing too badly at the moment …’

  ‘Well then?’

  ‘Look, there are some things I need to talk about, but first I need to talk to Guy.’

  She looked intensely at me.

  ‘Everything OK with you and Guy?’

  ‘Yes, yes, it’s not that. Can we not talk about it just now? Can we just have a fun day?’

  Cassie leapt up and pulled me to my feet.

  ‘We sure can!’ she said in a fake American accent. ‘Come on, girl, a bit of retail therapy will sort you out. Let’s go and spend some money!’

  We headed straight to Jenners in Princes Street and wandered the fashion outlets.

  ‘Hey, Lucy, look at this top! You’d look great in it. Try it on, go on. With some slinky black trousers, just imagine! Go on, take it to that changing room. I’ll bring some trousers for you to try on.’

  So the time went, trying on extravagant and unsuitable clothes, egging each other on, giggling like teenagers. We had a wonderful time and emerged from the fashion department carrying large carrier bags, and rehearsing what stories to tell Guy and Ed. It was so good to be with Cassie. Even though a dark shadow still hid on my shoulder, I hadn’t felt so relaxed in weeks.

  Then off to the café for a light lunch and a glass of Sauvignon, or two.

  ‘Look at the cakes!’ Cassie crowed. ‘We’ve got to have one of those!’

  ‘I’ll never fit into those trousers …’

  ‘’Course you will …’

  * * *

  We sailed happily down the escalator and wandered out of the front exit. The cool air hit our flushed faces. We took some steps, arm in arm.

  ‘So what’s going on with you and Alison right now? I get the feeling something’s happened. Can you tell me, Lucy? Lucy!’

  Crowds scurrying past us suddenly moved in slow motion. The traffic seemed to stand still; buildings spun crazily. A wall of silence built around me as if I was under water. From far away, Cassie called to me, ‘Lucy! Lucy! What’s wrong? Come and sit down. Here, lean against me. It’s all right, you’ll be all right.’

  People seemed to be standing all around me. What did they want? I was trying hard not to be sick. I didn’t want to bring up that cake …

  ‘What’s the matter, Hinnie?’

  ‘Go get her some water.’

  ‘By, but she’s pale, poor lassie …’

  Then Cassie’s voice: ‘Just give her some space. Move back please. She’ll be all right …’

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Eventually, the Scottish winter set in with frosts at night and misty mornings clearing to crisp and sunny days. We were preparing for Mum to come and stay for a few days. We planned to take her to meet Guy’s parents. Guy wanted to tell them we were going to be married. We’d been together over a year and a half. I knew the time had come. It could not be delayed any longer. I told him there was something important I needed to speak to him about first. I was sorry, I said, to have held back for so long, and that I knew it had caused him stress, but he would understand once I spoke about it.

  ‘Are you unhappy with me? Have you had second thoughts about us being together?’

  ‘Oh, Guy, of course not! Please don’t think that. Nothing could be further from my mind. It’s just because I want us to go on being together always that I need to tell you something … fundamental about me, about who I am. I don’t think it will make you feel any differently about me. Well, I hope not … It’s … it’s something that’s very, very hard for me to talk about.’

  Guy looked so pale I worried he was going to pass out. He frowned and studied me with an anxious, questioning expression. What did he think I might tell him? What was he imagining? A criminal past? That I was already married? That I was actually gay, was pregnant, had been raped, was about to emigrate? I had to put him out of his misery – and fast.

  ‘Let’s sit down, Guy. But first, get me a drink; get both of us a drink.’

  * * *

  Once I started, it was surprisingly easy. It was a story that had been lying in wait for this moment for so many years. Guy sat next to me on the sofa and squeezed my hand as I spoke, occasionally shaking his head or gasping, occasionally stroking me. I told him everything, everything that Mum had told me, all that I knew and all that I felt, from start to finish. It all came pouring out; I hardly had to think what I was saying. I was grateful that Guy made no attempt to interrupt. I omitted nothing. Guy put his arms around me. He nestled into my neck. He stroked my hair, my face. He wept with me.

  ‘Oh Lucy, Lucy, I’m so sorry you’ve had to carry this … this confusion and pain for so long, you poor, poor girl. How could you bear it? Thank God you’ve been able to talk to me about it at last.’

  We talked about it late into the night. I was so thankful that at no stage did Guy condemn Alison or pronounce judgement on her. His only concern was for me, for my feelings.

  Knowing how long Cassie and I had been friends, how close we were, he asked me if she knew. I explained that she’d had suspicions about Mum and her relationship with me. She had sensed that something was not right, but that, no, she didn’t know what really lay behind her feelings. We agreed to ask Cassie and Ed over, so I could speak to them as soon as possible, but that no one else should be told for the time being.

  By the time we went to bed, I felt drained, completely washed out – but overcome by a lightness, a huge sense of relief.

  * * *

  We invited Cassie and Ed round to the flat for paella supper. As we prepared the meal, chopping the vegetables, adding the rice and mixing the salad, my tension rose. Guy glanced frequently and nervously at me, as if I were a bomb about to go off at any moment. He poured us each a glass of wine.

  ‘I think we could both do with this,’ he murmured.

  We all hugged warmly when they arrived. Cassie embraced me particularly affectionately. I guess she suspected there was some significance in the evening’s gathering.

  ‘How’s Alison doing, Lucy?’

  ‘Not too bad. She’s very frail, but still in remission.’

  ‘Yeah, Mum said she’d lost weight. She and Susan are taking turns to go with her to her hospital appointments.’

  ‘I know. I’m so grateful they’re doing that. It means a lot to her to have a good friend with her. She told me it’s really important to have another pair of ears listening to what the specialist is saying. She said it’s impossible to take in all the information, you know, in the heat of the moment. Those appointments are so stressful.’

  ‘At least she’s responding positively to the treatment, for the time being, anyway.’

  ‘Mmm.’

  Cassie gave me a penetrating look.

  ‘And how are you, Lucy?’

  ‘Oh, I’m all right.’

  She cocked her head to one side, as if to say “really”? Guy and I had agreed to leave the serious conversation until after the meal, but what with Cassie giving me meaningful and questioning looks, it was hard to relax. There was a definite – and atypical – tension during the meal. Everyone must have been aware of the atmosphere, not just me. Conversation was stilted, unlike our usual laughter-filled get-togethers. I could hard
ly eat a mouthful. I felt sick with apprehension. It was a relief when everyone finished eating. Guy had opened a second bottle of wine. He suggested we abandon the table and move to the comfortable chairs with our glasses. He went to the kitchen to make coffee.

  Just as when I revealed everything to Guy, once I started, the story flowed without difficulty. When I finally stopped talking, Cassie came over to me and put her arms around my neck. She stroked my hair, my face.

  ‘Wow, Lucy, this suddenly makes sense of everything. But what a revelation for you to have to deal with. How long have you known?’

  I explained about Mum’s visit to me at university. She whistled.

  ‘So long!?’

  Ed stretched his hand across and grasped mine.

  ‘Jesus, that’s a terrible thing she did. It’s a wicked thing she did to you, your mother – I mean your not-mother, I mean Alison.’

  ‘Oh come on, Ed – blame and condemnation’s really no help,’ said Cassie. ‘She’s a disturbed woman. Anyone can see that. At least, she must have been seriously disturbed at the time when she took you, Lucy. She has always seemed … unusual. It’s all so complex … I mean, once she’d taken that initial action, I suppose there was no undoing it, no going back.’

  ‘That’s right. Just imagine maintaining that story for more than twenty years,’ said Guy, his arm around me, holding me firmly but gently, as if I were a fragile vase likely to fall and shatter at any moment.

  ‘Alison must have been terrified that any action she did take would result in her losing you,’ Guy continued. ‘What she did is unforgivable, but it’s clear she loves you very much, Lucy, even if that love had seriously misguided foundations.’

  ‘Unforgivable is right. You’re all being very understanding about it – perhaps no one wants to condemn her … I mean, knowing how sick she is,’ said Ed, ‘but at the same time it’s hard not to feel that there was a lot of selfishness in the way she lied to you, Lucy, over and over again, from when you were a small child up to a year ago. And the other thing I find hard to stomach is her complete lack of sympathy for your birth parents. I for one would be perfectly happy to go straight to the police about this.’

  ‘Well, please don’t, Ed! Don’t even think of revealing any of this to the police!’

  ‘No, Ed,’ said Cassie. ‘This is no one’s story to tell, except Lucy’s – if and when she’s ready.’

  I shot her a grateful look.

  ‘I do understand what you’re saying, Ed. Even though I don’t know my birth parents, I haven’t found it easy knowing that to Alison they were just “non-people”. It was like she genuinely believed they didn’t deserve to bring up children; they were unworthy. I think she got so caught up in the story she’d created, that after a while she actually came to believe in it herself – or at least, she justified it to the extent that it became the only acceptable reality for her.’ My voice became a strangulated croak as I fought back tears.

  ‘You’re very generous, sweetheart,’ said Guy.

  ‘It’s not generosity … The thing is …’ I said, gulping and gasping as I tried to hold on to control, ‘of course I love her too. I love her,’ I repeated. ‘I mean, I know what she did is terribly wrong … but she’s the only mother I’ve had … or at least the only one I remember having – and she did the best she could for me over the years, even if she could be strange at times.’

  There was a pause as everyone grappled with their thoughts. It was Ed who broke the silence.

  ‘So what are you going to do now, Lucy? Are you really saying you’re not going to the police?’

  ‘No, no! I’m not going to do anything that causes her further stress and pain at the moment. Having discovered her conscience, she’s really suffering enough from that – as well as from her cancer. I’m so scared of what might happen to her once the police know who she is. I’m so scared of losing her too. I’m scared of everything right now.’

  ‘What are your feelings about your birth mother, Lucy? Shelley, was it?’ asked Cassie.

  ‘Yeah, that’s another whole minefield I don’t feel ready to explore. Just now I don’t have any strong feelings for her or about her, except maybe slight curiosity. It’s as though … she’s a stranger to me. I’ve no picture of her in my head at all. Maybe if I’d been older when Mum – I mean Alison – took me, I’d remember her – my birth mother, I mean. Oh Jesus, see how complicated it gets: my mother, my birth mother, Mum …! Anyway, I don’t think there’s much scope for an ongoing relationship with my dad, by all accounts. Oh God, that sounds strange to me – “my dad”!’

  ‘You can’t help feeling dead sorry for your mum – Shelley, that is. Just imagine what she’s been going through since you disappeared. She must have spent years and years worrying about you and longing to see you. Parents always say losing a child is their worst nightmare, worse even than a child dying in some ways. Do you think you’ll try to get in touch with her?’ asked Ed.

  ‘I don’t know, maybe, some day. This is all so new for me. There are lots of emotions … lots of reactions I have to sort out. My feelings are all over the place at the moment. One minute I’m getting on with day-to-day things as if everything’s normal, the next minute it hits me, and it’s like my head’s exploding. I’m going to need some help with it all – Guy’s been great about it all since I told him, and I know I can rely on you both to support me. But to be honest, it hasn’t properly sunk in yet. It feels like a dream – no, a nightmare – a lot of the time. I don’t think I can do anything for a while.’

  ‘I think that’s the right decision for the moment,’ said Guy. ‘There’s no need to rush into any action immediately. You need time, lots of time, to let it sink in. A good counsellor might help when you feel ready.’

  ‘I agree. It’s going to take a while to figure out exactly what you do feel,’ said Cassie, ‘but I think one thing that’s really important is that you don’t ever allow yourself to take on responsibility for what happens to Alison, Lucy. You’ve got to remember that none of this is your fault. I mean, absolutely none of it! You didn’t do it. It was done to you – when you were a tiny child, and completely powerless.’

  Chapter Forty-Six

  2005

  We’d agreed that I’d go to meet Mum off the Newcastle train on my own and take her home for a light lunch. I needed time alone with her. Guy wouldn’t be home before teatime. Her train was due at 11.57. I’d been waiting for nearly half an hour, wandering around Waverley station, checking the arrivals board every few minutes. I wouldn’t normally get there so early, but the idea of Mum – in her present state – arriving and not finding me there was unbearable.

  For some reason, since discovering my mother was not really my mother, my feeling of protectiveness towards her had increased, not decreased. Counter-intuitive perhaps. I thought about her constantly; I worried about her constantly.

  A bitter wind blew down the platform, penetrating my coat. Why are stations always so cold? I stamped my feet and gazed down at my new boots. Guy had bought them for my birthday and I loved them. Calf-height, black leather, fur-lined, with criss-cross lacing and neat heels. She’ll notice those, I thought. It’ll be one of the first things she’ll comment on. Anxiety was starting to build up. My stomach was churning. I felt hot and cold at the same time. My spine tingled unpleasantly. Little spasms nipped at my hands. Why get so worked up? She’s just your mother, for Christ’s sake, I told myself. And then I remembered. I shook my head and smiled bitterly to myself.

  Feeling a stiffness spreading through my joints, I stretched my shoulders and rotated my neck, first to the left, then to the right, as the Alexander technique trainer had shown me, to release tension. The train appeared at the southern end of the platform, looming large as it approached and rumbled slowly to a halt. I checked my watch. It was 11.58, only one minute late. Jesus, I’m getting as obsessive as she is.

  Train doors were opening and people pausing as they descended the steps, looking around to orientate t
hemselves, then scurrying along the platform, streaming towards the main body of the station. I stood firm, forcing them to separate to one side of me or the other, like ducks swimming round a rock in a river.

  I scanned the length of the platform for her. Then I saw her emerging from the train about halfway along. A middle-aged man had lifted her small, wheeled case onto the platform. He was reaching up to help her down the step. She allowed herself to be handed down – something she would never have done some years ago: a curt ‘I can manage, thank you,’ would have been her most likely response.

  I saw the man hesitate and watch her take hold of the handle of her case. She gave him a brief smile and nodded, as if to reassure him that she would be able to propel herself and her luggage onwards without further assistance. He raised his hand in a gesture of farewell and walked briskly away.

  ‘Mum!’

  I waved at her and started to walk towards her. She smiled. She reached me and we hugged. I thought I detected a small convulsive sob as we embraced, but when we broke apart she sniffed and pulled herself upright, like a child determined to be brave.

  ‘Lucy, dear Lucy – how lovely! You look tired, my dear. Are you looking after yourself?’

  ‘Of course I am, Mum. It’s you who needs looking after.’

  ‘What nonsense!’ She shivered. ‘Oh, but it is cold here, isn’t it? What a wind! Let’s walk, shall we?’

  She stood still and looked down at my feet for a moment.

  ‘What nice boots! Are they new?’

  ‘I thought you’d like them. Guy got them for my birthday.’

  ‘Mmm, lucky girl. He’s got good taste. They suit you.’

  ‘Well, we chose them together, of course.’

  ‘Of course.’

  I reached for her case. She raised her hand as if to stop me, but changed her mind and made no further protest. We walked slowly up the ramp to the bridge. The slope was clearly an effort for her. She hung on to my arm and we had to stop every twenty metres or so.

  ‘What an old wreck I am these days,’ she wheezed. She gave me an apologetic smile.