by Janet Pywell
Will we look alike? Will he have my blonde hair and blue eyes like our mother? If only she was still alive to know that we are meeting today. Forty-five years after she gave him away.
She was a drug addict. I was two when I went into care. I was fostered and eventually when I was seven my parents adopted me. She had died by then and I had forgotten her.
Karl was taken from birth. I wonder if he remembers her holding him but how could he? Who remembers the first few weeks of their life? I don’t remember her even being pregnant.
That’s the doorbell.
That’s Karl. ‘Ohmygod! Ohmygod! I hope he likes me.’ I smooth down my dress and pinch my cheeks for colour and open the door with a ready smile on my lips. I hadn’t realised I was holding my breath and it comes out in one excited burst leaving me breathless as I fall into his arms crying.
‘Karl, my goodness!’ I pull away. I register his curly long hair and deep blue eyes. His denim shirt is drenched in a masculine and heavy scent. His skin is soft and there are tears in his eyes.
‘Sandra, you look lovely. You’re my big sister.’ His voice is quiet and his accent is broad Essex. His arm is around my waist and he stares into my eyes as if looking for some familiarity.
‘Come in. Come in.’ I can’t let go of his hand although it’s calloused and rough. I wipe my laughing eyes noticing his are glistening too. I wipe mine with a tissue that I take from my sleeve hardly able to speak. ‘It’s like looking in the mirror.’
‘You’ve my eyes alright. We must take after Mum,’ he says.
‘Mum,’ I repeat. The name sounds funny on my lips. It’s so weird to think he’s speaking about the same woman - the stranger who gave birth to us - she wasn’t my mum at all.
‘Come in, we can’t stand on the doorstep. You must need a coffee after that drive. How long did it take you?’
‘Only a couple of hours.’ He follows me inside.
‘Tea, filter coffee or I can make a cappuccino or latte?’
‘You’re posh!’ He laughs and I don’t know if he’s referring to my accent, my home or to the coffee. ‘I grew up in a council flat,’ he adds.
‘You’re so good to come all this way.’ I had suggested we meet in a hotel half-way but he had insisted on making the whole journey.
I usher him into the living room but I can’t take my eyes from his face. I’m trying to find shades of the likeness in our features or his demeanour and I’m still holding his hand thinking of the blue eyes we share. ‘Do you think we look alike?’ I ask.
His smile is wide and warm. ‘Your nose is smaller and you haven’t got my big chin. You’re better looking all round,’ he concludes.
I laugh and trace his stubble with my fingers. My tears are flowing freely and he pulls me to him again and we are laughing.
‘I never thought this day would come,’ he whispers.
It’s been a long time since I’ve held a man in my arms other than my husband who spends most of his days sitting at a desk. In contrast Karl is strong and muscular and I like the reassuring feel of his warmth.
‘Me neither. I can’t quite believe it, Karl. Coffee?’ His name is beginning to seem familiar on my lips.
‘Sounds good, thank you.’
‘Come in the kitchen with me?’ I don’t want to leave him alone. I have so many questions. I pop on the kettle and we smile at each other for what seems a long time then I shake my head. ‘I’m all emotional, I’m sorry.’
He stands in the middle of the kitchen with his back against the counter. ‘I feel the same, Sandra. It is a big deal. It’s not every day you meet your big sister for the first time.’
‘When the agency contacted me to say they’d found you,’ I reply. ‘I couldn’t believe it. I’ve looked for you for years but there was no trace and I never stopped hoping they’d find you…’
‘We went to Scotland for over ten years but I hated it. We lived in the countryside, right up in the highlands but I’m a townie at heart. I like people. I like busy streets and places.’ His eyes follow me around the kitchen. ‘This is a lovely house, have you lived here long?’
‘Since the girls were small so, I suppose, almost twenty years now.’
‘And you have a son?’
‘Ben. He’s a lawyer.’
‘Grandchildren?’
‘Goodness, not yet,’ I laugh. ‘He’s only just qualified.’
‘Who looks after the garden? It's massive.’
‘It’s not so big - we have an old boy who helps us - he comes in once a week and cuts the lawn.’
I indicate for him to sit at the long table near the bi-fold doors that overlook the garden. We’ve had so many family meals at this table: birthdays, Easter lunches and Christmas and now Karl, my baby brother, is here in my home.
My hands are shaking and I feel silly smiling constantly at him but he shakes his head good-naturedly, as if it’s the most normal thing in the world.
He takes three heaped spoons of sugar using the wet spoon to dip into the glass bowl. He stirs his coffee noisily and sloppily and it spills out of the China mug and over the table so I mop it up with a cloth.
He watches me and leans back against the chair with his arms folded. ‘Were your parents rich?’
‘They were quite well off - yes. And yours?’
‘I grew up in a tower block where kids were injecting themselves at fifteen and smoking hash.’
‘I’m sorry.’ My smile fades. ‘It must have been awful.’
He shrugs. ‘I was lucky. I got out.’
‘Did you marry?’
‘For a few years. I’ve a boy of seventeen that I don’t see and a baby with my new partner. I’m divorced. I wasn’t a good role model for a number of years.’
‘You don’t see your son?’
He turns away. ‘I was confused about relationships for a long time. It’s better this way. But tell me about you. You have two daughters?’ he adds brightly. ‘It must have been lovely for them growing up here.’
‘It was.’ I watch him trying to see my home; the wooden oak floors, wide hallways, and expensive wood framed doors. I try to imagine my life through his eyes then I say, ‘How lovely you’re a carpenter. How did you get into that?’
He shrugs and slurps noisily from his mug. ‘I couldn’t find work for ages but then I made some shelves and bits and pieces. I trawled markets for stuff to do up and paint and sell on. And I found I had a knack for it and I enjoyed it. So bit by bit I started making stuff from scratch.’
‘You sound as though you love it.’
‘I do.’ His eyes shine.
‘I’m pleased you’re happy, Karl.’
‘I wasn't always. I found out I was adopted when I was sixteen and it was a shock. My parents were not getting on and my dad shouted that I wasn’t his before he stormed out of the flat. I thought my mum had had an affair or something but she sat me down and told me the truth. They adopted me at four weeks. She told me my birth mother couldn’t look after me, and that she was an addict and I’d been taken into care and so mum and dad adopted me. But dad had just left…’ he sighs.
‘It must have been difficult to find out like that. Such a shock.’
‘It was. I went a bit crazy and dropped out of school and fell in with the wrong crowd. It wasn’t a great time. I ended up getting this girl pregnant and then I left her and by the time I realised my mistake and went back it was too late. She’d lost the baby. She’d also met someone else and didn’t want me in her life. So I fooled around a bit more and got married and when my son was born I was freaked out. I couldn’t cope with the responsibility. I hadn’t grown up myself…’
‘How do you feel about that now?’
‘She moved away and I haven’t seen him since.’
‘But you have a new baby.’
‘Lilly, yes. She was the reason I went to the agency. I felt ready to find our mum.’
‘What can you do about your son?’
‘I hope the boy will come looking for
me as I did when I went to find out about mum - our birth mother. I couldn’t believe that you had been looking for me.’
‘It wasn’t easy to get any information. It’s taken me years to find you.’
‘I couldn’t believe the agency were looking for me. I didn’t even know I had a sister.’
‘We’ve found each other Karl but mum’s gone.’ I lean over and take his big hand in mine.
‘Yes.’
‘They said she died of an overdose twenty years ago.’
He nods. ‘We might have helped her had we found her.’
‘We are the age now that she was when she died,’ I sigh. ‘I understand her despair and how she must have felt.’
‘You do?’ he laughs. ‘What do you know about drugs and hardship?’
‘You’d be surprised.’ I take my hand away and raise my coffee mug to my lips and he looks out of the window.
‘What does your husband do?’
‘Mark is a business analyst in the city.’
‘So, not short of a bob or two. You’re pretty much protected here aren’t you. I imagine you've led a happy life?’
I nod. ‘Yes. Very.’
‘With all life’s comforts; good schools, safe neighbourhood, foreign holidays, golf, horse riding lessons…?’
‘Yes.’
‘So how would you ever understand what our mother went through, what it was like to be thrown out of your home, pregnant and hanging out with the wrong crowd? How would you know what it’s like to have no money and nowhere to live? You’ve only ever known luxury like this.’ He laughs, ‘You live in an ivory tower. You have no idea about hardship, fear, squalor or dirty lives.’
‘Don’t I?’
‘Look at you. Your jewellery, the white grand piano in the living room, the coffee machine, the big fridge, cars on the drive and two garages - ordinary people don’t live like this.’
‘No.’ I place my mug on the table.
His blue eyes are burning like they’re on fire. ‘Not where I come from.’
‘Are you angry that I was adopted into a wealthy family?’
‘Not angry. But I wonder what it would have been like if you’d had my parents and I’d had yours. How would you have survived? What would you have done finding out at sixteen? How did they tell you?’
His coffee mug leaves wet rings on the wood and I wipe them away as I speak. ‘They told me from a baby. They told me they’d chosen me deliberately. They told me how lucky they were to have me and I felt happy and blessed to be so loved.’
‘You didn’t need our mum. You didn’t need a drug addict in your life. You didn’t bother looking for her.’
‘I was always curious but I didn’t want to be disloyal to my own parents. When I searched for you they told me she had died.’
‘How did you feel?’
‘Sad, not to have known her.’
‘Are your parents still alive?’
‘Yes.’
‘Do they know about me?’
‘Of course, and they’re very happy. They’d like to meet you.’
His shirt hangs out of the back of his jeans and he stands quietly at the glass door staring out into the September garden. The leaves are turning their magical autumn colours and the grass is damp from the rain overnight. I take out smoked salmon, prawns and filo pastry tarts and salad that I’ve prepared for our lunch and place them on the table thinking I should have cooked potatoes or baked bread.
He stares at the array of food on the table. ‘We don’t have a lot in common do we, Sandra?’
‘We haven’t had a chance to find out,’ I reply handing him a napkin. My heart begins thumping and I’m upset by his tone.
He pulls out his wallet and takes out a photograph. When he turns it to face me there’s a picture of a black girl with her baby. ‘This is my partner, Iris.’
‘That’s a lovely photograph.’
‘She has two other children with two other men.’
I stare silently at him.
‘That shocks you doesn't it?’
‘Not really.’
‘Does it disgust you?’
‘It makes me sad.’
He puts the photograph away silently and I wonder if he’s disappointed with my answer so I say:
‘There are so many children growing up in dysfunctional families and sometimes with no family at all. I consider myself lucky that we have a lovely family and I’m pleased you are here, Karl. Please help yourself. I hope you’re hungry?’
He piles food onto his plate taking half of everything and begins to eat before I have served myself. He wipes mayonnaise from his mouth with the back of his hand.
‘I could say you’re a dysfunctional family,’ he argues. ‘All this isn’t normal, is it? No-one has this. Are you happy?’
‘Happy?’ I repeat unnecessarily. ‘I’m blessed to have two lovely daughters, and a hardworking son and a loving husband.’
‘You’ve had everything on a plate, Sandra. You were one of the lucky ones. I’ve had to scrimp and save and graft hard and even now my flat is only rented. We don’t own it.’
‘But you have a lovely daughter and a beautiful partner.’
‘But I don’t have any of this. We don’t eat like this. We have pies and potatoes and jerk chicken and rice and pasta. Sometimes if I have a good week we get an Indian. We don’t have these luxuries.’ He eats quickly and with his mouth full, and I wonder how I can help him.
‘Iris helps at the local shelter and sometimes I volunteer too. We try to help others less fortunate than us. Can I smoke in here?’
‘If you like.’ I hate smoking but it seems churlish not to let him. He is my brother. He lights up and blows a plume of smoke in he air.
I know the girls will smell it later so I stand up and open a window. Karl pushes his chair back from the table and sits with his legs sprawled.
‘Would you like a dessert?’
‘No.’ He exhales another plume of smoke then takes another gulp of smoked air. His eyes are creased in a dark frown. ‘Aren’t you going to tell me they’re bad for me?’
I smile. ‘I’m your sister not your mother.’
His laugh is bitter. ‘Are you disappointed?’
‘With you or with myself?’
‘I’m not what you were expecting am l?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Or hoping for?’
‘I didn’t hope. I was happy when I found you and of course, I was excited and curious to meet you.’
He stands up, takes a deep breath and lets out a long sigh. ‘Perhaps it was a mistake me coming here. We don’t have much to say to each other and we have nothing in common. Maybe I’d better go.’ The cigarette dangles from his lips as he tucks in his shirt.
‘I was hoping you’d stay and meet the girls. They’ll be home soon.’
‘I’m probably not the best uncle. Not a great role model to have around.’
‘You haven’t given yourself much of a chance. Besides they’ll never forgive me if I don’t make you stay.’
‘They're twins?’
‘Yes.’
‘I bet they’re beautiful. Do they take after you with blue eyes and that wide smile?’
‘See for yourself.’ The front door opens and there’s a cacophony of giggling and excited voices in the hallway as they call out.
‘Hello..’
‘Hi.’
‘That’s them. They’re here. They’re home.’
He scowls. ‘I don’t want to meet them. I’m not ready. They’ll think I’m the poor relation. The bloke who speaks badly and stinks the house out with HIS fags.’ He stubs his cigarette into a crumb-filled plate. ‘I’ll be inferior and they’ll look down on me just as your sort always do. I’m what you call a tradesman. A handyman-’
‘Jesus was a carpenter and you are my brother.’ I put my hand on his arm.
‘Jesus didn’t have two illegitimate children and a black girlfriend.’
‘No-one is perfect.’
The girls’ voices fill the corridor and I hear the bubble of their excitement as they close the front door, calling out and laughing.
‘Anyone home?’
‘Hi…’
‘We’re in the kitchen I call back.’
The door opens and my two gorgeous daughters are staring openly at Karl, smiling and happy to meet their uncle.
‘Oh my god,’ he whispers.
‘This is Ellie and,’ I move to stand beside the wheelchair. ‘This is Samantha.’
Ellie’s face lights up and she throws her arms around her uncle’s neck. She hugs him hard then she leans down and says to her sister. ‘This is our uncle Karl.’
Ellie is still holding her uncle’s hand and she pulls him closer to the wheelchair.
Samantha’s face is filled with excitement and her brown eyes are so pure, innocent and sweet that it brings tears to my eyes.
Beside me, Karl is visibly moved. He smiles at Ellie and then bends down to speak to her twin. But Samantha can’t see him. She was born blind. A lack of oxygen at birth caused her to be brain damaged.
I put my arm around Ellie and hug her tightly. She’s studying to be a nurse at the local college and she works at the hospital. On her day off she looks after Samantha, as she’s always done. They are twins after all.
When Karl looks up his eyes are filled with pain and I put my hand on his shoulder to reassure him. I can’t tell him that their mother didn’t want a disabled child or that I could never have adopted one without the other but I will one day.
Ellie says to me. ‘Have you had a lovely time together, Mum? Did you catch up on all those missing years?’
‘We will, my darling. Everything takes time…’
Karl stands up and pulls me into a hug. His lips are twitching as he holds his emotion in check but he can’t stop the tears escaping down his cheek. ‘I’m sorry. I thought you had…had it all.’
‘I do, now that you are in our life. We have it all.’
Samantha’s pronunciation, although very slow, is better that it used to be. ‘Can we meet your baby?’ she asks.
Karl bends down and places his hand on hers. Kneeling beside him, I brush away his tears with my fingers. When he replies his voice is a hoarse whisper. ‘I’d like that very much.’