✉︎ From Sarah
We’ve landed safely! At Manchester station waiting to get train home. Can’t believe nearly 3 weeks are over already. Should be home by 5. Catch up soon xx
I tapped in a response:
✉︎ To Sarah
Welcome back from honeymoon! Hope you had an amazing time. Loads to tell you. If you’re not too tired, give me a call when you’re settled xx
When 5 p.m. arrived, my stomach did a somersault. Sarah would be home now and could call at any moment. I distracted myself by preparing dinner but once I’d eaten it, I couldn’t stop fidgeting. I kept picking up my phone, putting it down, picking it up again. Despite half-expecting her call, I still managed to jump when Sarah’s name flashed up on the screen. She was my best and oldest friend. It was ridiculous that I felt nervous about speaking to her.
While walking along the beach with Elise yesterday, she told me that she’d confessed to Sarah about her pregnancy before Sarah left for her honeymoon. Apparently, they’d had a huge argument about keeping secrets. If she’d reacted that badly to a secret Elise had kept from her for five months or so, how was she going to react to something I’d kept from her for the thirteen years since we’d met on our first day at Manchester University?
As I accepted Sarah’s call, I toyed with whether I should be opening up to her face-to-face but it could backfire on me. Best get it done now.
It was the world’s worst phone call. I’d imagined all afternoon how it would go and nowhere in my imaginings had I called her a ‘selfish eejit’, yet that’s exactly what I did. I lost it. I’d gone for the pleasantries first – how was Canada/what was the best thing you did/favourite place/was it cold? and all that malarkey – but she gave really brief answers before changing the subject to Elise and Stevie. They’d just visited and told her they were moving in together. She was thrilled they’d got together but worried that they were moving in too soon. And, speaking of moving in together, her Auntie Kay and Philip were also setting up home. Philip was selling his house and Kay was putting Seashell Cottage on the market so that they could buy somewhere together. She seemed really shocked and upset about Kay selling up. As promised, I didn’t let on that I knew anything about it, but I didn’t get why Sarah was so bothered. It was Kay’s decision, not hers.
I should have left my confession for another time. I should have accepted that she’d already had an overload of surprise information that evening and was never going to be able to process what I said. Yet, I blurted it all out. It was the first opportunity to tell her, and I didn’t want her getting upset later that I hadn’t opened up to her as soon as I’d made the decision to talk about my past.
I’d like to say she was supportive but all I got was, ‘What made you confess all this to Elise? When did you two become the best of mates?’
We argued. Nasty things were said by both of us that couldn’t be unsaid. She slammed the phone down on me in tears.
In bed that night, I lay there staring at the ceiling, replaying our conversation, and I felt sick. I could see her point. We’d been friends for thirteen years and during all that time, I’d point-blank refused to speak about my past, yet I’d confessed everything to Elise who I’d only become friendly with over the past couple of months. That had to hurt. But surely Sarah could see that it was down to the timing. If she hadn’t been on her honeymoon, of course I’d have opened up to her rather than Elise. I just hoped we could put it behind us and move on. I needed my best friend more than ever right now.
15
I sat at the dining table back at Orion Point on Monday morning, staring at Shannon’s photo and the list of information about her and her adoptive parents that had accompanied Great-Aunt Nuala’s letter. Elise had been right: I was always going to try to find her.
I was meant to be working from home but I couldn’t concentrate. Between the letter and the call with Sarah, my mind was on anything but sales figures and promotional strategies. Coffee.
I closed down my spreadsheet, opened Google and typed in: how would I find a baby given up for adoption? I scanned down the list of results. ‘UK Birth Adoption Register’ – seemed like a good starting point. I clicked into it. ‘Information on what to do if you were adopted in the UK’. No. I wasn’t the one who was adopted. Ah, ‘Information on what to do if you gave a child up for adoption in the UK… Unfortunately, under UK law, it is illegal to try to make contact with an adopted child, at least until they turn eighteen years of age.’ Feck. She’s only sixteen.
I scrolled further down the page, clicking on various related websites, but nothing seemed helpful. Then I spotted a link to an adoption-search message board. Interesting. I clicked on it and waited a moment for it to load. A stack of messages appeared and I started scrolling through, but it was going to take forever. There had to be some sort of search facility. It wasn’t in an obvious place but I found one and entered her name: Shannon O’Connell… No! Shannon Kitteridge. I triple-checked the spelling on Great-Aunt Nuala’s note before I pressed ‘return’. Surely there couldn’t be many Shannon Kitteridges out there? A page full of messages loaded and my heart leapt, then sank again. All Shannons. No Kitteridges. Bollocks!
I tapped my fingers on the keyboard, then returned to Google and typed in: Shannon Kitteridge. A record of a Shannon Kitteridge living in Bognor Regis came up. With shaky fingers, I clicked on it and the first thing I noticed was the age guide of ‘65-plus’. Bollocks again! I returned to my Google search, but there was nothing. Absolutely nothing. I slumped back on the sofa, arms folded. What next?
As my eyes scanned the table, I clocked the letter from Bowson, Higgs & Crane. They’d offered to help, hadn’t they? I reread the letter. It was probably just a polite standard line in all their correspondence, but what the heck? I dialled the number and quoted my great-aunt’s name.
‘Hello, Ms O’Connell, this is Angela Crane. I was your great-aunt’s solicitor. Am I right in thinking you’ve received her letter?’
‘Last week. You said to call you if you could help me…?’
‘Of course. What’s your query?’
‘It’s a long shot…’ I explained about the content of the letter.
After I’d finished, Angela said, ‘Unfortunately, under UK law, it’s illegal to search for a child you’ve given up for adoption until they’ve turned eighteen and are therefore classed by law as an adult.’
‘I’m aware of that, and Shannon won’t be eighteen for another eighteen months. Is there anything else that can be done?’
‘I’m assuming you’ve Googled her name?’
‘Yes.’
‘And those of the adoptive parents?’
‘Muppet! I never thought of that. Thanks, Angela.’ Before she could respond, I hung up and quickly typed in the names of Paul and Christine Kitteridge, plus Northampton, where Great-Aunt Nuala had said they lived.
The search revealed several newspaper articles. I’d found them. ‘Ooh. They’re both dead.’
I called Angela again.
‘I think we got cut off,’ she said, a little sharply.
‘I’m sorry. I hung up in my excitement. Are you by a computer?’
‘Yes. Why?’
‘I know this may seem a little unusual, but can I ask you to Google something and see what you make of it? You can bill me for the time I’ve taken up.’
There was a pause and a sigh. ‘Okay. You have my attention, but only because my ten o’clock has failed to show. What do you want me to Google?’
‘Paul and Christine Kitteridge of Northampton.’ I heard her tapping on a keyboard. ‘Click on the article a few results down that says, “Tragic couple leave daughter” and tell me what you make of it.’
The line went quiet. As I waited impatiently for her to speak, I scanned down the article again. They had to be the same family.
‘Hello, Ms O’Connell. It would seem that these are the same people who adopted your daughter. The problem is, it gives no indication of where she went next. Fost
er care is most likely, as it says that neither Mr nor Mrs Kitteridge had siblings.’
‘So, what do I do next?’
‘All I can suggest is that you make contact with Social Services in Northampton. They may not be able to help, given the law, but they’d be your best starting point. Because Shannon’s adoptive parents are deceased, it puts the law into a different context, but the law is there to protect the child as much as the parents, and the fact still remains that Shannon is under eighteen. I wish I could help further but I’m not a specialist in this area. Would you like me to recommend someone who is?’
My heart sank. It was over. Well, for now anyway. ‘I might come back to you on that.’
Angela gave me her email address in case I did want a recommendation, then wished me luck again before hanging up. I reread the article. Shannon’s adoptive mother had been active in fundraising for heart disease after losing both parents to it but had died prematurely herself after a massive heart attack, leaving behind an adopted ten-year-old daughter. Three years later, her adoptive father dropped dead from an aneurysm. Absolutely tragic.
I shook my head, sent the article to print and emailed a copy to Elise to get her take on it. I was still sulking too much to share it with Sarah. My head throbbed and I felt emotionally drained. Very emotionally drained.
‘Hi, Elise,’ I said, turning down my music in the car on Saturday morning.
‘Are you driving?’ she asked.
‘Yes, but I’m on hands-free. I’m actually on my way to Whitsborough Bay. Thought I’d pay a surprise visit to Sarah and see if we can get things back on track.’ I’d decided that, with everything else that was going on, I didn’t need the stress of falling out with my oldest friend right now.
‘Do you fancy meeting me first to chat about the article you sent me?’
‘You don’t mind me taking more of your time?’
‘Of course not. That’s what friends are for.’ There was a pause. ‘There’s also something I need to tell you.’
My stomach lurched. ‘Are you okay? Is the baby okay?’
‘We’re both fine. It’s something else, but it’s not a conversation for the phone. Could you come to the house?’
‘Sounds serious. I’m pulling into a lay-by. You can give me the postcode for my sat nav.’
Half an hour later, I pulled up outside Elise and Stevie’s home – Bramble Cottage in Little Sandby. I gave Stevie a quick hug. He made drinks, then muttered some excuse about work before heading upstairs.
‘Spill,’ I said, sitting down on the sofa. ‘I can’t stand the suspense.’
‘Please don’t be mad at me. I know you said you didn’t want to find Daran but it was such a romantic story, and curiosity got the better of me, so I Googled him.’
My heart thumped and I felt a little light-headed. I slumped back in my seat. ‘Elise! What did I say to you just last Saturday?’
‘I know. I was being nosy and I had no plans to share my findings with you. Only, I think you should know what I found out.’
I sighed. ‘If you’re going to tell me he married a nun and spawned the next von Trapp family, I’m really not interested.’ I realised as I said it that I absolutely didn’t want to hear that he’d got married. That was what we had wanted. It wasn’t right to think that he’d done that with someone else.
Elise bit her lip. ‘After he left your village, he went to Thailand to do some sort of missionary work.’
‘And he shacked up with a ladyboy?’ It felt inappropriate to say it, but after a decade and a half of trying not to think about Daran, discussing him like this was a bit overwhelming, and humour was the only defence mechanism I had in me.
Elise shook her head. ‘He was there in 2004.’
‘So?’
‘Christmas, 2004.’
‘So?’
‘Boxing Day, 2004. Thailand.’
My hand went to my mouth. ‘The tsunami?’ I whispered.
Elise nodded. ‘I’m so sorry, Clare.’
My mouth went very dry. ‘He’s dead?’
‘I found this article online.’
Elise handed me a crumpled piece of paper, but my eyes couldn’t seem to focus on the words. ‘What does it say?’
She perched on the edge of the coffee table. ‘Do you want me to read it to you?’
I reached for the Claddagh ring I now wore on my right hand and twisted it around my finger. Somehow, I found the strength to nod.
Catholic Online
16th January 2005
A service was held yesterday in St Mary’s Pro-Cathedral in Dublin to commemorate the thousands who tragically lost their lives during the tsunami that hit Thailand, Indonesia and the surrounding area on 26th December 2004, or during the days that followed.
Among those specifically remembered was humanitarian Daran Seamus McInnery. Mr McInnery had been working tirelessly with local communities in Sumatra for three years, having previously supported community work in Counties Wicklow and Cork.
Mr McInnery was the eldest of eight siblings. His three sisters and four brothers all attended the service, along with his mother. His father had passed away shortly after his youngest sister was born.
I felt as if I were swimming in glue, unable to move or breathe or think straight. I listened to Elise’s fuzzy words, my mind saying over and over, ‘It might not be him,’ but the facts were there: the middle name, the communities in Ireland, the seven siblings, the deceased father. It was definitely him. The last thing I heard was Elise shouting for Stevie to help her. Then the room went dark.
‘Do you know what would happen to us if anyone ever found out?’ Daran kissed my forehead as he wrapped his arms more tightly around me. I leaned back into his embrace.
‘What could they do? Order us to stop being in love?’
‘They could order it, but it would never happen. I know I’ve said it before but I really will love you until the end of forever, Clare. I hope you know that.’
‘And I’ll love you longer than that, you great big eejit.’
‘I’m serious, though,’ he said. ‘There’d be consequences. Big ones. For both of us. They’d send me away. You too.’
I stroked his strong forearms. ‘Then I’d jump in me da’s car and chase after you.’
‘You can’t drive.’
I lay in Daran’s arms in silence, trying to imagine life without him. ‘I really would follow you,’ I said. ‘To the ends of the earth.’
He kissed my forehead again. ‘You know where I’d really like to go?’
‘Where?’
‘The Far East. Places like Thailand, Malaysia, China, Vietnam, the Philippines.’
‘Why there?’
‘It sounds daft, but I had a dream many years ago where I was standing on a beach in Indonesia and it was like paradise on earth. A small boy came up to me and asked me to help his family. He led me to a village, where he lived in a shack – corrugated iron and bits of wood hammered together. It was a world away from what I knew, yet I felt God’s presence more strongly than I’d ever felt it before.’
‘I could come with you,’ I said. ‘Let’s leave this place. Run away. Be together where nobody knows us and nobody will judge us.’
Daran turned my face gently and kissed me. I melted into his kiss as always. ‘I want to take you up on that right now. I really do. But you need to finish school first. Do you hear me?’
‘Why?’
‘Because an education opens doors. It’s only two more years. It’ll fly by. You’ll see. But finish your education. Do you hear me, Clare?’
‘Do you hear me, Clare? Can you hear me?’
‘Daran?’ I whispered.
‘It’s Stevie. You fainted.’
‘Drink this.’ A glass was pressed against my lips and I took a sip of cold water, then another. I opened my eyes. Elise and Stevie were both crouched on the floor in front of me.
‘You had us really scared there,’ Elise said. ‘I was about to call for an ambulance. Should
I still do that?’
I took another couple of sips of water. ‘Bollocks to that. I know I like drama but that’s going a bit far, even for me. You know, Daran told me he wanted to go to the Far East to help the communities there. I was going to go with him when I finished school. I’d forgotten about that conversation.’
Stevie handed me the glass. ‘I’m sorry.’
I sighed. ‘I’m sorry too. He was a very special person.’ I took a few more sips of water. ‘I can’t believe he’s gone.’
Elise took my hand. ‘Did I do the right thing in telling you?’
I nodded. ‘Can I read it myself?’
Elise handed me the article. I read it over and over again and shook my head as tears streamed down my cheeks. Still the same words. Still the same message. Still gone. I wiped my tears again and looked at Elise. ‘Hard as it was to hear, I’m glad I know. I told you last Saturday that I hadn’t thought about Daran much over the last five years or so, and I really haven’t. But this week I haven’t stopped thinking about him. I’m sure I’d have searched eventually, so I’m glad I know.’
‘What are you going to do now?’ Stevie asked.
‘You’re not the only one who’s been going mad on Google. I found out this week that Shannon’s adoptive parents are dead. Seems there’s a lot of it going around. I’m going to call Social Services on Monday and find out my options for tracking her down, especially as she’s officially an orphan now. After that, there’s something very important that I need to do.’
‘What’s that?’ Elise asked.
‘Go back to Ballykielty and confront my da.’ I winced as I felt my nails digging into my palms, but I couldn’t unclench my fists. ‘I thought about writing that letter you suggested, Elise, but it wouldn’t be enough. I need to look him in the eye. I’m owed an apology and I’m owed a hell of a lot of answers. When I saw him a couple of weeks ago, I crumbled before him, but I didn’t know that Shannon had lived or that Daran had died. I hold him personally responsible for both of those things and, even if I get no answers, I want him to know what I think of him.’
Coming Home to Seashell Cottage Page 8