I sat with my parents on that Sunday and went through it all with them. I knew they would be upset and I really wanted them to understand that it was something I had to do because of the boys. I told them how much I loved them and that there was no way I wanted to start a dialogue or anything with my birth mother. I just wanted to set the record straight. They gave me their blessing. I drove straight home and phoned Canada. Susan said they were still working on it and to be patient.
The following week I was filming All Creatures and had chosen to stay in a B&B just outside Birmingham because I was taking the boys and the nanny and the dog. It was half-term so they were all off from school. It was about 7 p.m. and I was reading the boys a bedtime story, when the landlady came to tell me there was a phone call. It was Nunzio, in a great state of excitement, because Canada had rung to say they had the phone number for my birth mother. She was staying in a hotel in Victoria, British Columbia, with her sister, Shirley. I asked him if he would try and ring the number and at least warn the poor woman before I rang her. He rang back five minutes later in a grump saying he got the wrong number, and it was all too difficult, and he was missing the football on TV, and as it was my problem I should do it myself. So supportive. I sat for a good fifteen minutes trying to decide what to do. I had always seen these things on TV where there was either a counsellor present or the people had been primed beforehand. Could I really just pick up the phone and say, ‘Hi Mom!’
I asked the landlady if I could use the phone to make a long-distance call. She said of course. So there I was at 9 o’clock on a Tuesday night, ringing a number in Victoria, BC. I had checked the time difference and it was about 1 p.m. their time, which was perfect. I heard the distinct dialling tone that you hear on American TV films. The phone was picked up on the third ring: ‘Hello?’ An old lady’s voice with a slight Canadian accent.
‘Hi. Is that Marjorie?’
‘Who is this calling, please?’ I froze. What should I say? Where to start? It must have been a long pause because suddenly Marjorie was saying, ‘Is there anybody there? I’m sorry, I think you have the wrong number.’
‘Please don’t hang up!’ I cried. ‘Does the name Lynda Bellingham mean anything to you?’ I thought maybe she would remember the name Bellingham from the adoption papers.
‘No, I’m so sorry, caller. I think you have the wrong number.’
Before she hung up I quickly said, ‘Does the name Meredith Lee Hughes mean anything?’
There was barely a pause before she said, ‘Oh my Lord. May the 31st, 1948. Is it really you, dear?’
PART TWO
FOUND
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
MARJORIE
MARJORIE HUGHES WAS born in September 1918 in Calgary, Canada. Her father was a good man – the head of the Baptist church and a doctor. Marjorie was the youngest of three girls. Avis was the eldest, then Shirley, then Marjorie. She loved being the youngest because she was spoilt rotten, but as she got older she realised it had its disadvantages because she always seemed to have to rely on others. She was used to being looked after.
The social scene in Calgary was a little slow, as one can imagine, focussing especially round the church. Avis had found herself a husband who worked for petroleum oil. His name was Milton Moorhouse and his family were farmers from Edmonton. He was a good catch. He was hardworking and loved Avis. Shirley became a school teacher. She was rather a timid soul out of the classroom, and didn’t mix easily in society. Marjorie was the dreamer. She wrote a little and over the years did various secretarial jobs. In 1945, just as the war was coming to an end, she met Bruce Bond. He was a pilot with the New Zealand Air Force and was out in Canada on training sessions. They fell in love and became engaged to be married.
On their wedding night Marjorie was excited and nervous. She was a curious girl and had asked her eldest sister, Avis, to give her a hint as to what to expect. She well understood the mechanics of it all as she was a doctor’s daughter, but Bruce had seemed a little remote. On their wedding night his lovemaking was tentative and reserved. Marjorie was disappointed. She lay in the dark listening to his breathing and pondered. She decided not to pursue the matter for the moment. After all, the poor man was flying off in two days’ time, back to Europe. That must be playing on his mind. She prayed to God to give her strength and understanding and fell asleep, glad to have made a decision.
Bruce left and life pretty much returned to the same routine. It was as though she had never been married. Marjorie felt restless. Her sister Avis was down in Montreal and that seemed to be so much more exciting, and when Avis fell pregnant, Marjorie and Shirley went to visit. Marjorie loved the bustling city. It was full of French-speaking Canadians, which gave it a European feel. The old town had some lovely buildings quite unlike the stark, plain buildings of Calgary. Avis gave birth to a little girl and she was called Sylvia.
Milton was not around much as he travelled the world with the oil company but Marjorie loved to hear his stories of other countries. She especially loved to hear about England and she vowed one day she was going to travel, and England was top of the list.
On returning from her visit to Montreal there was a letter waiting for her from Bruce. He was going to be on a troop ship that was docking in San Francisco sometime the following month (he was not allowed to say when for security reasons). Could Marjorie come down and see him for a couple of days? Her heart skipped a beat. She was so excited. She talked to her parents and they agreed she should go down by train. She was only allowed to take $50 but she would be very careful.
Marjorie loved the freedom of travelling by herself. People were so kind and helpful. She arrived the night before the ship was due in and booked into the YWCA. She prayed and prayed everything was going to be all right. On the train coming down she had decided to write her husband a note describing her feelings about their honeymoon night. It was a difficult subject and had to be handled with delicacy, but she was not someone to hide her head in the sand. If they had a problem, she thought it was better to face it now.
The morning arrived bright and clear. Marjorie made her way to the docks, marvelling at all the sights and sounds of the wharf. She was very early so she bought a coffee and sat in a diner and watched the world go by. She didn’t feel quite so cavalier this morning, and as she had her prayer book in her bag, she brought it out and read until her heart slowed down.
On checking her watch for what seemed like the fiftieth time, finally the time had come to meet Bruce. She walked to the barrier and waited, hand shielding her eyes, straining for the first glimpse of her beloved. Finally, Bruce appeared at the end of the quay and she ran towards him, arms outstretched. He gave her a huge hug and swung her in the air, while she laughed delightedly and kissed him on the lips right there in public. Well, why not?
Then she noticed there was another man beside them, who had been standing back and letting the newlyweds enjoy their reunion. Bruce introduced him to Marjorie, explaining that they had flown together on their last tour and would be together for the next. Bruce suggested they all did some sightseeing together before they went back to the hotel. Marjorie wasn’t thrilled at the idea. She had planned their day together down to the last detail and it didn’t include some man trailing round with them. But she showed no signs of her disappointment and smiled brightly. So be it.
As it turned out they had a wonderful day. They all got on well and laughed and fooled around all afternoon as they explored the city. Eventually, they said their farewells and Bruce and Marjorie made their way back to their hotel. Marjorie lay on the bed while Bruce took a shower, and thought about the night ahead. She took out the note she had written and laid it beside the bed. She undressed and caught sight of herself in the mirror. She had a neat little body. She was only five foot but she was in proportion. She traced her fingers down her throat and let them linger across her breasts. She had very soft, olive skin; it was one of her best features.
Tonight would be full of passion and r
omance, she had decided. If Bruce was a little shy, God would give her the courage to take control and show him the way. She brushed her hair and climbed into bed. Bruce came in drying his hair, with a towel wrapped round his waist. She watched him admiringly: he was a fine figure of a man, was her beloved husband. Marjorie indicated the note to him and suggested he read it. Bruce looked puzzled but sat down, opened it and read it. After he had finished reading, he sighed very deeply and turned and studied Marjorie.
‘Darling Marjorie, you know I love you, don’t you?’
‘Of course I do, Bruce dear. I only wrote you that note because I wanted you to know that although I have no experience, I felt we were not as free together as we could be, and I wanted you to know I’m aware of that and want to help.’ She looked at him sitting there on the end of the bed and realised how tired he looked. Almost grey with exhaustion. She felt guilty for bringing it all up now.
‘Oh, Bruce, don’t mind me. I am so sorry I brought it up. Let’s go to bed. You look so tired.’
‘No, you’re right,’ Bruce sighed. ‘We need to get things straight. If I’m to expect you to travel halfway across the world to come and live with me after the war is over, the least I can do is give you an explanation. Marjorie, I am tired. You’re right. But it is not just a physical tiredness. It’s a mental thing. I’ve seen so much in the last three years. Seen my friends die. Seen terrible things. I’ve lost my faith in God and humanity. Being with you makes me realise how jaded I’ve become. It’s so hard to let myself go. Please bear with me. Once the war is over and I get home, I’ll be fine, I promise.’
Marjorie moved across to him and laid her head on his chest. She listened to his heart beating and tried to give him all her loving thoughts and hopes. They lay like that in the half light until Marjorie could feel his breathing had grown heavy. She slipped out from under his arm and looked at him lying fast asleep.
‘Please, dear God, make him better. Keep him safe and bring him back to me.’
In the morning they made their farewells at the hotel and as she watched him walk away, Marjorie turned away to hide her tears.
Marjorie never saw Bruce again. Six months later she received a letter expressing great sadness in having to tell her that her husband Bruce was missing in action.
IT WAS A difficult time. Not only was she now a widow, but the family were all in shock at the news that her sister Avis was very ill. She had a tumour and was going to need treatment.
There was also a feeling of anticlimax hanging over the country. What was going to happen next? After the euphoria of the end of hostilities in Europe, there was an air of expectancy. People knew the world was going to change, but how? Marjorie decided to go and visit her husband’s family in New Zealand. It was the least she could do to show her late husband some respect. She had a nagging feeling of guilt about her and Bruce’s last night together, and maybe she could resolve things if she went and made her peace with his parents. So Marjorie joined the other wives and widows on the long voyage to New Zealand.
Bruce’s family greeted her with open arms. They were so kind and friendly that Marjorie stayed for six months, but Avis needed her support back in Canada so she said her farewells and was back on the boat going home. She felt her loss more acutely now. Here she was on a boat going to nowhere. Home, yes, but home to what? Life in Calgary in her parents’ home? Her sister, Shirley, was settling for the life of a spinster, but that was not for her. She couldn’t bear the thought that this was it. She leaned against the railings on deck and watched the waves swelling around her. Suddenly, she felt someone at her elbow.
‘Awesome, isn’t it?’ said a voice. She looked around and into the eyes of a tall, handsome man. His gaze rested discomfortingly on her. She could not put her finger on it but he made her feel uneasy, yet excited.
‘Hi, I’m Carl Hutton, I’m part of the crew. If there’s anything I can do for you don’t hesitate to let me know,’ he said and he turned and was gone.
Over the next few weeks, Carl Hutton would magically appear at her side every time they disembarked at some exotic location. She would allow him to escort her round because he made her laugh and he made her feel safe. He seemed to know everything about everything. He would offer her strange and wonderful cocktails, which she always refused because, as she kept telling him, she had taken the pledge at a young age. Her father had warned her of the dangers of alcohol.
Carl would laugh and say, ‘Christ, Marjorie, I have no hope, then, of seducing you!’
‘Don’t blaspheme Carl,’ she would scold. But she couldn’t be angry with him for long. He was so charming and boyish and full of life, he made her feel there was a life to lead. A life full of fun and colour and laughter.
When they docked in New York, Marjorie was going to stay with some friends of the family for a few days and do a bit of sightseeing. Carl offered to take her round. What harm could there be in that? She accepted his offer and the next day she met him at his hotel and they set off. He was the perfect companion; again, he knew everything there was to know about New York. He flirted with her outrageously and kept trying to hold her hand or throw his arm around her and squeeze her waist. She would rebuff him playfully, but not before she felt the frisson of excitement between them. Was this what she had missed with Bruce?
Carl steered her through the crowds at the Statue of Liberty. He lifted her up to see over the railings at the zoo. He held her tight, up high on the Empire State Building and then he kissed her long and hard when they came to say goodbye at the door of his hotel room. She melted into his arms and all her fears and frustrations melted, too. It was as if she had spent her life waiting for this moment. She was frightened by the power of her emotions but it was so exciting. She could feel every hair on her head tingling. Her arms went round him and she pulled him to her. He carried her to the bed and made love to her. This was what she had known, deep down, that it was all about. All along, she had tried to catch this feeling with Bruce, but this was Carl and he was here and he loved her.
Each day was a blur to her. She was full of him. He took over her every waking hour. He was so intense. He devoured her greedily. He watched her every move, chiding her if she looked away. Pulling her back into him if she stayed to look in a shop window.
There were moments when he frightened her. His sarcasm when she wouldn’t have a drink. What had been a joke between them on the ship now seemed like a wall. He loved to drink. He loved bars and the people in them. They would sit at night in a crowded bar and Carl would hold court to those around him. He was witty and charming and good-looking. People liked him. Women loved him. Sometimes Marjorie felt pushed out, especially when he made jokes at her expense. One night, he spiked her drink then told everyone about it and mocked her for being so pompous about being a teetotaller. She saw another side of him, a cruel streak that she didn’t like, but she put it aside. She wanted nothing to spoil these few days.
All too soon, it was time to leave. Carl woke her with roses and a proposal. She was to go home and tell her parents she was to be married. He would travel up later. They parted at the train station. She was amazed to see he was crying as he ran beside the train waving goodbye. He must love her very much.
Her family was delighted. Her sister Avis was recuperating at home with her parents so the sisters were together again, and excitedly began to make wedding plans.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
DOING THE RIGHT THING?
SHE STARED AT the doctor.
‘Pregnant.’ She whispered the word, though not as a question, because deep in her heart she had known the truth. Had known the exact moment in the hotel room in New York.
The doctor interrupted her thoughts: ‘You must be so thrilled, Mrs Bond. Congratulations!’
Back outside, Marjorie walked along the streets. Winter was coming and the leaves were deserting the trees, their reds and golds turning to dirty brown on the sidewalk beneath her feet. She could feel the baby inside her. God’s miracle. Why h
ad He done this? Why had God decided to ruin her life? This was not supposed to happen. Would Carl be angry with her? Surely not? They were getting married anyway. The shame would be terrible for Mother and Dad, though. She would have to tell them because she never lied. That was one thing she never did. She never lied. And her father was a doctor; he had respect for life. She would be married as quickly as possible and maybe nobody would notice.
When she reached home she went straight to her room to gather herself before she told her parents. Avis appeared at the door and, looking at her, said, ‘What’s wrong, dear? You look so pale.’
‘Can you get Shirley and bring her here?’ Marjorie decided to start with her sisters and test the water.
The girls gathered round their sister and waited expectantly. There was no way to do this but come straight out with it: ‘I’m pregnant.’
Shirley gasped and sat down on the edge of the bed. ‘Oh dear, Marjorie, what have you done?’ Avis shushed her quiet and kneeled down beside Marjorie.
‘You poor girl. But don’t worry, we’ll get through this. But first of all, let me beg you not to tell Mother and Father. It would destroy them. I know you can’t tell a lie, Marjorie, but we have to find a way that you don’t tell them. First off, you need to tell Carl. I’ll drive you to a phone booth so no one hears your conversation.’
She drove Marjorie to the phone booth on the corner by the coffee shop. Marjorie dialled the number and heard the connection. After a couple of rings a man answered.
Lost and Found Page 20