by Karen Osman
15
Angela
The call had come one Monday morning while Angela was sitting at her desk preparing for another presentation to management. She’d come back late the previous night from another weekend in Tetbury and once again was playing catch-up at work. She was so engrossed that when the phone’s shrill tone pierced her concentration it made her jump. Absent-mindedly, she picked up the receiver.
‘Angela Steele speaking.’
‘Hello, Angela, this is Susan. How are you?’
‘Susan…?’ It took Angela a moment to realise it wasn’t a client or colleague. ‘Susan, yes, of course! So sorry, I’m knee-deep in paperwork!’
‘No problem,’ responded Susan. ‘I’ll get straight to it as I know you’re busy, but I wanted to let you know as soon as possible.’
Angela swallowed, the presentation forgotten. Surely, they couldn’t have located her birth mother already?
‘We’ve found her,’ announced Susan almost triumphantly, leaving no room for doubt.
As her words sunk in, Angela was reminded of the time she had almost fallen off a horse. She’d just turned sixteen and her parents had given her a riding lesson as a birthday present. She’d never ridden before, but it seemed easy enough: pull the reins to stop and press gently with your heels to go. She’d been assigned a gentle horse but when a large green bin bag had blown past during their slow trek, the animal had panicked and bolted, metal-shod hoofs scraping and sliding across the asphalt as he leapt into a gallop. Angela held on as tightly as she could, but her terror intensified as she saw the main road ahead of them, cars darting past, oblivious to the oncoming danger. Even if she didn’t fall off, she was now certain they were going to be hit by a car, or even worse, a lorry. By some miracle, just moments before the horse could cross the main road, she felt a tug on the reins and saw one of the instructors riding alongside her, pulling them both to a stop. She’d survived but she’d never ridden a horse again. She experienced similar feelings of panic and helplessness now and she floundered.
‘I’ll be honest,’ continued Susan when Angela didn’t respond, ‘we were surprised that we managed to find her so quickly, but she’s right here in London, living in Archway.’
‘London?’ All this time, her birth mother hadn’t been more than a few Tube stops away. Angela felt a prick of resentment puncture her pride.
‘Yes,’ replied Susan. ‘Look, I know it’s a lot to take in – especially when you’re at work. Why don’t we meet after the adoption group session tomorrow and we can talk it through?’
Angela forced herself to sound normal. ‘Yes, that sounds good. OK, I’ll see you then.’
Slowing replacing the receiver, Angela sat back in her chair, trying to absorb the news. What would happen now? Would they meet? Would they like each other? What did she look like? Perhaps she was a free spirit, wearing flowing skirts and stacks of exotic gold bracelets. She would have long, silky hair in a plait and spend her days in writing classes and doing pottery. She would live in a pretty detached house, full of eclectic knick-knacks and paintings, which she had gathered from her travels all over the world. She would open the door to Angela and gather her in a hug laced with incense and—
‘Angela!’
Startled, she opened her eyes. Clive Mooring was leaning over her cubicle, his face red and bulbous. From other desks, she could see heads bobbing up, like meerkats, eager for gossip to be used as currency.
‘What the hell are you doing?’ he bellowed. ‘We’re waiting for you in the boardroom. Get in there now – we’re late.’
Glancing at the clock, Angela saw that he was right. Quickly gathering her things, she hurried after him, the romantic daydream getting further away with every step.
*
Later that day, Angela went to put the kettle on in the staff kitchen. She felt in need of a large coffee. She’d had to work even harder in the meeting to make up for her lateness, but she had succeeded. Her plan that she had presented to the senior partners was solid. By the end of the three hours, Clive was crowing over Angela like a proud mother hen, telling everyone how he was grooming her for stardom. Raymond had glowered in the corner.
‘Not bad for a girl, eh, Raymond!’ Clive had said at the end of the meeting to the chuckles of the other partners. It was hardly a secret that they liked to goad associates in order to make them more competitive, so while Angela had seethed she had ignored the backhanded compliment as best she could. However, she knew Raymond would be planning his next move. He wouldn’t let this go lightly.
With the meeting over, Angela’s thoughts turned back to the call with Susan. She was anxious to talk it through with her tomorrow. So far, Angela had attended four adoption support meetings and as she talked with various members and listened to their stories, she had to admit that she could identify with some of their feelings. During her life, she sometimes had moments of what she called ‘blind anger’ – a fury that gripped her at the oddest of times. For example, she could be relaxing in bed, reading a book or watching TV, and unexpectedly a rage would course through her body, making her clench her fists. It was only for a few moments and she had learnt to breathe and let them pass – and so far, that’s all they had been: moments that occurred sporadically and infrequently. But the anger had always been there. Growing up in the children’s home, she had channelled her fury into books and it had propelled her, giving her a surge of energy to overcome her challenging circumstances. During the adoption support group meetings, she had discovered how some members also experienced this rage but they had struggled to control it or it had increased over time so that it was a constant companion, driving them to create trouble wherever they went. She also saw how some adoptees were reluctant to have children, or if they did, they experienced depression. In some cases, it was the opposite effect, such as Katie, who openly admitted she wanted a baby so she would have someone to love and someone to love her in return. One woman, Tracey, had adopted several children and wanted to adopt more but her husband had refused. It had got to the point where her marriage was on the line. Fascinated, Angela had watched as Susan gently probed and prodded, eventually leading Tracey to what everyone in the room knew but Tracey herself: that she wanted to ‘save’ children from the fate she herself had encountered – a horrifying tale of maltreatment and neglect. Of course, Angela had read about the current investigations into the abuse that had swept a plethora of children’s homes across the country since 1960. In fact, Mitchell, clearly frustrated, had brought it up at the last meeting.
‘The government needs to do more,’ he urged. ‘These are heinous crimes that have been going on for the last twenty years and continue to go on unless someone does something.’
Angela admired his passion. While she herself had always tried to look after and protect the other children, she never hesitated to put herself first. Life in a children’s home was an on-going battle and you learnt to be street-smart from an early age. If you weren’t quick enough, you missed out on everything, from food and toys to getting the most comfortable bed.
‘I understand why you feel this way, Mitchell,’ replied Susan. ‘What can we all do to help?’
‘Well, for starters, we can get a petition going,’ responded Mitchell. ‘I’m also happy to talk to the newspapers to see if anyone is interested to investigate further and put pressure on the local government.’
‘I wouldn’t bother. You know it’s all going to be a waste of time,’ said Katie emphatically, her small hands holding her sleeping baby to her closely. ‘Why should they do anything? Why should they care?’
‘Because it was wrong,’ said Simon quietly, a shy boy just out of his teenage years. He continued looking at his shoes. Angela had never heard him speak before and she wondered about his story.
‘So?’ said Katie, turning to him with scorn. ‘When has that ever meant anything?’
‘We should at least try,’ urged Mitchell.
Katie ignored him and went back to rocking her baby.
‘I agree,’ said Susan. ‘Is anyone else willing to help?’
The members nodded, some more enthusiastically than others. Only Katie didn’t respond, lost in the world of motherhood as she breathed in the sweet scent of her baby.
‘What about you, Angela?’ asked Mitchell. ‘You work in law – is there anything you can do?’
Caught off guard, she hadn’t known how to respond. ‘I’ll give it some thought,’ she promised him. And she had. She had also reached out to some people of influence, but so far she hadn’t accomplished very much – she had been too busy with all her other work. She reminded herself to follow up but she actually agreed with Katie. Who would care?
*
‘Well, as you may have gathered, it wasn’t too difficult to locate your mother,’ said Susan, as they sat down after the adoption meeting. Everyone else had left and it was just the two of them. Susan had led her into a small office at the back of the church hall. It had no windows but someone had tried to make it cosy with two armchairs, a desk and a lamp. The desk was piled high with paperwork and Angela was reminded of her own cubicle, each file meticulously organised and numbered. Susan had no personal memorabilia – no special photos or trinkets.
Angela approved. She frowned upon her colleagues who plastered their cubicles with pictures of their latest night out or, even worse, those small posters from Athena with trite sayings, such as ‘Girls Just Wanna Have Fun’. Angela knew how important first impressions were and thought them incredibly unprofessional. Instead, she had treated herself to a luxurious black cashmere wrap, which she kept handy on the back of her chair. Each evening before she left, she would carefully fold it back in its tissue paper and place it in her office drawer for safekeeping. It was the first thing Angela had bought for herself with her first salary from Kings and she loved the feel of it. She had a low-maintenance palm plant (she’d read that plants purify the air and sharpen concentration), a list of phone extensions pinned to the cubicle partition and two small drawers where she kept stationery and healthy snacks. She idly wondered what Susan kept in her desk drawers – a few crystals, probably.
Susan indicated for her to sit down and Angela noticed the box of tissues on the small coffee table in front of her. She wondered how many times Susan had had a meeting such as this one. Who had sat in the armchair before her? Katie? Mitchell? Tracey? How had they taken the news that their birth parents had been traced? Shocked? Angry? Relieved? Curious? Guilty? Nervous? Angela examined her own feelings and found herself to be undecided. She’d worked so hard to build up her life to where she was today, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to be reminded of where she came from.
‘So, just to recap,’ started Susan. ‘Your birth mother lives in a flat in Archway. Here, with her permission, I’ve written down her address and phone number for you.’
The news became tangible as Angela took the yellow, square piece of paper, astounded that a mere Post-it note held the details to her past.
‘Of course, you already know her name – Evelyn Harris – thanks to your adopted parents. I only wish all parents were as helpful.’
‘Thank you,’ said Angela distractedly, her gaze still on the slip of paper. Questions competed for attention. Had she been there all this time? Had they bumped into each other on the street? Waited at the same Tube station, perhaps?
‘We take adoptee privacy very seriously,’ continued Susan, ‘and our top priority is always to protect our members. The only thing Evelyn knows about you is your first name and it will remain as such until you decide to share any personal information. You have various options now, but I would suggest as a first step that I get in contact with Evelyn to set up a meeting. Are you happy for me to do that?’ Susan’s modulated tone filtered through to Angela.
‘Yes, of course,’ replied Angela.
‘All being well, you can then meet with Evelyn yourself or we can act as an intermediary to facilitate contact. Or…’
Angela looked up at the pause.
‘Or,’ Susan continued, ‘there is one more option and that is that you do nothing with this information and simply go about your business. It’s entirely your choice.’ Knowing that she now had Angela’s full attention, Susan let her words sink in before resuming.
‘Reunions can be wonderful, but they can also bring a lot of disappointment. Expectations often run high on both sides, and they aren’t always met,’ she cautioned. ‘On the other hand, meeting your birth mother can also bring a lot of joy and for many people, it really is a gift.’
Angela wondered which category her reunion would fall into. She hoped the latter although she didn’t see how. There were too many questions with unsatisfactory answers. Still, she thought of her dad and she knew how important this was to him. He was right in that she’d always said she wanted to find her birth mother but as she was slowly beginning to realise, there was a huge difference in saying it and actually doing it.
‘I understand,’ replied Angela. ‘No, do set up the meeting.’
‘OK. I’m so pleased for you. It breaks my heart when someone decides they want to meet a birth parent and we’re unable to locate them or they’ve passed on.’
Changing the subject, Susan asked, ‘How are you finding the meetings?’
Time-consuming was Angela’s first thought, but she instinctively knew she should say what Susan wanted to hear.
‘Good, thanks – really helpful. I have to admit, at first I was a bit sceptical, but hearing everyone’s stories has really helped me sort out some of my own feelings. I’m luckier than most, that’s for sure.’
‘I’m so glad to hear that,’ replied Susan. ‘You’ve been attending for almost two months now. Believe it or not, some of our members have attended for years. It’s an invaluable support system for them.’
‘I can well believe it,’ complimented Angela, secretly shuddering at the thought.
‘How’s your dad doing?’
Angela nodded non-committedly. ‘OK. He’s tired a lot of the time but that’s to be expected. Hopefully, we’ll have some good news soon.’
‘I’ll keep everything crossed for you.’
‘Thank you. Well, I’d best get off,’ said Angela, keen to have some time alone to get her thoughts in order. ‘Thanks again.’
‘You’re welcome, and if you need anything else, I’m just a phone call away.’
Leaving the church hall, she paused in the doorway before stepping out into the evening to walk back to her office. After just a few minutes she heard panting and footsteps behind her. Heart pounding, she turned, ready to lash out.
‘Angela!’
It took a moment for her to realise it was Mitchell’s voice.
‘Mitchell – you scared me! What are you doing?’
‘Sorry,’ he said, catching his breath. ‘I decided to wait for you after the meeting, but when you didn’t come out I guessed you might be with Susan. I thought you might be in need of a chat after it,’ he said sheepishly.
Regretting her snappiness, Angela smiled back at him.
‘Thank you – that’s so thoughtful. Sorry, I was a bit on edge!’
‘No worries. Do you fancy a chat before you go home?’
‘Thanks, but I’m going back to the office. I won’t be going home for a while yet.’
‘To the office – whatever for? It’s almost half-past nine!’
‘I know but—’
Mitchell cut her off. ‘That’s not healthy. Come on, let’s go for a drink instead – much more enjoyable.’ He grinned at her and for the first time in a long time, Angela was tempted to leave the work until the next day.
‘I really shouldn’t; I have so much to do,’ she protested.
‘Look, there’s a pub right round the corner. Just one drink and then you can go back to the office. Deal?’
‘OK,’ she relented. ‘One drink, and then I have to go.’
*
Angela looked at her watch. There was no point going back to the office now.
‘I’ll walk you to the Tube station,’ said Mitchell. ‘Will you be all right getting home from there?’
Angela nodded happily. She had enjoyed her evening. As one glass of wine had turned into two and then they’d decided to order a bottle, she had forgotten all about work. Mitchell was funny and interesting, and they had a lot in common. As well as both of them being adopted, she quickly discovered he was as much of a go-getter as she was.
‘Mrs Pattison took me under her wing,’ he reminisced. ‘She ran the home with her husband. She really was a good ’un – all the kids loved her. It also helped that I was wickedly charming,’ he added.
Angela laughed. ‘I can just imagine! So, you were adopted when you were five?’
‘Yep, Mrs Pattison came in one day to tell me I had some visitors, and would I like to meet them? She put me in my best clothes, smoothed down my hair, and that’s when I met Max and Laura. It was love at first sight,’ he joked, although Angela heard a touch of irony in his voice.
‘Being adopted at five was strange as I was really sad to leave Mrs Pattison. She was all I had really known but I have a lot of respect for Max and Laura. I gave them some tough times, but they always stood by me.’
Angela thought about her own parents and how they had done the same. It was such an incredible act of love for people to give so much of themselves to children who weren’t their own.
‘Well, I’m sorry you didn’t make it back to the office,’ said Mitchell as they arrived at the Tube platform.
Angela laughed. ‘Really?’
‘Nope! You got me. I enjoyed getting to know you,’ he replied with a smile. ‘Life’s too short to spend so much of it working!’