Nora looks up, swollen-eyed. ‘They told me to just forget her. I thought she’d been adopted, and I tried to think of her being happy and healthy out there somewhere, with new parents who loved her, but then I found she’d died the same day as she was born. But she was alive, Dr Humphreys, I know she was alive. So, if it wasn’t the quinine, why did she die?’
Janet freezes. She knows what used to happen. What can she say?
As Nora recounts her memories of the birth, Janet listens, aghast. By the time Nora finishes, her voice is hoarse. ‘Even though I never even held her, I called her Angela when I found out later that she was a girl.’
Janet turns away slightly to compose herself. No matter how often she witnesses a catharsis, it always gets her. But if it no longer affected her, it would mean she had lost her humanity and would be no use to anyone any more.
‘Even though it’s many years ago, your grief is still as fresh as though her death happened just yesterday.’ Janet reaches out and gently places her hand over Nora’s. ‘I’m so sorry, Nora.’
Nora weeps silently, and when she eventually lifts her face she looks ravaged yet somehow at peace. ‘I’ve never been able to talk about any of that. Nobody ever asked me how I felt about it. But I don’t think I could have told them anyway.’
‘I’m honoured that you were able to talk to me,’ Janet says, squeezing Nora’s hand.
Nora looks down, then a whisper creeps out of her mouth. ‘They did something else.’
Janet tenses. What else could have happened to this poor woman? ‘What else did they do, Nora?’
‘They said I was having my appendix out, but that’s not what they did. They did an operation so I could never get pregnant again, so I could never have had another baby, even if I’d wanted to.’
A flame of rage flares in Janet’s heart. And she can hardly maintain her composure. But she breathes and tries to settle down since that would be of no use to Nora. ‘I’ve heard that that happened and I tried not to believe it could be true. No one ever had a right to do that to you, Nora. I hardly know what to say except that I feel ashamed of anyone of my profession who could countenance such a thing.’ She squeezes the hand she’s still holding as Nora’s eyes flood with gratitude and hold her own.
For what seems a long moment, Janet is speechless, then she sits up straight.
‘Nora, I have an idea. I think that there might be something we could do. Nothing can bring Angela back, nor undo the dreadful things that you suffered, but . . . let’s see . . .’ Nora looks at Janet sceptically, but there’s also a question in her eyes and Janet pushes on. ‘Back then, you weren’t able to have any kind of ceremony to mark either Angela’s birth or her death.’ Janet pauses, keeping her voice steady. ‘But maybe you could have one now.’
‘A funeral?’
‘Well, not exactly. Maybe more like a memorial ceremony.’ She gauges Nora’s reaction before continuing. ‘You could do something really beautiful – whatever you want to do, in fact.’
‘How?’
‘Well, I don’t know right now. It needs to be something that you would like. For instance, you could have some candles and flowers and say some lovely words.’
‘Prayers?’
Janet looks at the small, hopeful face and feels suddenly hopeful herself. ‘If you like. Or just whatever you might want to say.’
‘Would you do it with me?’
Janet smiles. ‘Yes, if you’d like me to. Or, if you’d prefer, you could do it by yourself.’
‘No. I don’t think I could do it on my own.’ Her voice takes on an anxious edge.
‘Well, maybe you’d like to think about what you’d like to do and we can discuss it next time. How does that sound?’
But Janet can already see the cogs whirring behind Nora’s eyes. ‘Could we do it on Angela’s next birthday – 30 April next year?’
Janet smiles. ‘Yes. I think that would be a lovely idea. I’ll make a note in my diary.’
Nora looks wistful but at peace as she stands to leave, but just as she opens the door she hesitates and turns back. ‘Even though she wasn’t baptised, do you think Angela could still go to heaven?’
‘I’m sure she could.’
Chapter Nine
1983
Forty-four years
Nora wakes early in her narrow bed and, for a split second, wonders why today feels so different. Then she remembers: it’s the last day of April, the forty-third anniversary of that wonderful but dreadful day when Angela was born. She pushes against the anxiety that immediately threatens to engulf her. Historically this anniversary has always sent her on a downward spiral. She tries desperately to maintain every inch of solid ground she’s fought so hard for, while the usual dark squadrons of memories gather to torment her and the voice she’s tried to quash refuses to be silent.
You’re stupid. You’re wicked. You don’t deserve anything.
But then there’s that blessed new voice. Nora. Stand up. You can do this. It sounds a bit like Janet.
She sits on the side of the bed and clasps her hands together, her lips resting on her fingers. She notices that they are trembling. ‘Please, Lord, let it be OK,’ she mutters.
She glances at the clock and her heart lurches. She could make it there and back before breakfast if she hurries.
She makes her way through the walled orchard garden, then squeezes through the narrow gap leading out to the woods, disturbing a frolicking squirrel and a wriggling earthworm trying to hide its nakedness. The scent of bluebells and periwinkles assails her, and she pauses to draw in a deep, calming breath.
She kneels at this place she knows so well and presses her hands to the earth as though to touch Angela’s body sleeping below. ‘Hello, my love,’ she whispers. ‘I have lots to tell you. We’re going to have a birthday celebration for you today and I’m bringing some nice people to see you. So, I’m just going to tidy things up a bit.’ She takes deep breaths in and out, in and out, steeling herself to say what she knows needs to be said. ‘Angela, I think at some time, I might be going away . . . I don’t know yet, but maybe. But I want you to know that even if I do, I’ll never leave you really, and I’ll always love you and always be your mother.’
Then, tenderly, as if not to wake her, Nora clears the leaves and twigs that have accumulated since the last time she was here, and traces a little heart-shaped area with pebbles she brought in her pocket – she hopes no one saw her take them from the gravel path.
Now everything is prepared. She smiles at her handiwork, kisses her soiled fingers and presses them to the earth, then hurries back to the ward to change – today deserves her best clothes.
An hour later, Nora waits close to the entrance to the ward in her navy skirt, green blouse and cardigan, her raincoat draped over her clasped hands. Audrey is coming at ten to take her to the flower shop and, for the umpteenth time, she counts the money in her purse, hoping she has enough for the flowers she wants.
Ellen comes and sits with her. ‘Big day, Nora. Are you excited?’
She nods. ‘But a bit scared as well.’ She pauses. ‘What time is it?’
‘Just twenty-five to. I’m sure Audrey won’t be late.’
Nora smiles. ‘Yes. I’m sure. And if she is, I’ll just be patient.’
Ellen touches her arm. ‘Nora, you’re always patient. I don’t know how you do it.’
‘I’ve had years of practice,’ she says.
As Nora finally approaches the florist, she is hit by a wall of fragrance that steals out of the door to lure passers-by with the promise of scented and visual delights. A riot of colour awaits them as agapanthus jostles with lily of the valley; carnation competes with campanula and gerbera rivals gladiolus. Roses preen, certain that they are supreme. But Nora wants none of this. She stands still, grateful that Audrey is hanging back, giving her the time and space she needs.
Finally, a smile breaks over Nora’s face as she spies the smaller flowers in a little galvanised bucket on the floor. A
nemones – purple and pink and blue. Just right. She smells them, opens her purse and hands the exact money to the assistant.
‘Shall I wrap them for you?’
‘Yes, please. Do you have any pink paper?’
‘I think I can find some.’ The motherly woman smiles. ‘Let me see. Yes. How about this one?’
‘Perfect, thank you.’ Nora watches as the flowers are swaddled in the pretty tissue paper.
‘Are they for someone special?’
‘Yes. Very. They’re for my daughter.’
Audrey blinks and turns away.
‘I’m sure she’ll like them,’ the woman says.
Nora, composed, smiles. ‘I’m sure she will.’
Nora carries her bunch of anemones, Audrey holds fragrant pink carnations, and Janet has yellow freesias, as well as tea lights and matches. Joe, in his best jacket and a white shirt, wheels himself alongside Nora until the wood becomes too wild, and then she takes over pushing his chair. She tries to avoid the tiny star-shaped scarlet pimpernel that hovers close to the ground, then manoeuvres the chair around the buttercups that nod to each other in the gentle breeze stirring the flowering grasses. Eventually, the group is in the woods, and spread out before them are masses of bluebells. Despite everything, Nora can’t think of a more beautiful resting place for her baby.
The little party slows as it approaches the weathered marker on the spot where her baby was buried forty-three years ago. Nora and Janet create a circle of candles on the cleared area around the grave, and Nora kneels to light the first one.
Her voice is strong and steady. ‘I light this candle for you, Angela –’ Nora’s voice catches – ‘my daughter. Happy birthday. Know that I’ve always loved you and always will.’ She gently places her flowers, then wipes her eyes and takes her place back in the little circle of people who care for her.
Janet goes next. ‘I light this candle for Angela and Nora, that they will both have peace and know that they are loved. Happy birthday, Angela.’
Audrey places Joe’s candle for him as he takes a paper from his pocket and reads in a quavering voice. ‘There’s a time to be born and a time to die. Sadly, Angela lived just a little time in between. I wish I could have known you, Angela, because I know your lovely mother. She’s a good woman and my friend. I hope you can both rest now, and that the pain will finally go away.’
Nora puts a gentle hand on Joe’s shoulder, and he covers it with his own.
Audrey lights her candle and her eyes take on a new softness in its light. ‘I dedicate this candle to all the mothers and children who, like Nora and Angela, have been separated by death. May they find solace and peace and healing for their broken hearts.’
The gentle breeze toys with the tiny flames and Nora weeps silently. Janet puts an arm around her shoulders. ‘Can you read your poem?’ she whispers.
There’s a pained pause but then, in a soft but clear voice, Nora begins.
I never got to hold you, but right from the very start
I’ve held you always, but only in my heart
I’m sad I never heard you laugh, or heard you chatter and play
But I’ve seen in my own mind’s eye and know it would be that way.
I never had chance to see your eyes, but I know they’d be deep blue
I never was able to touch your face, but . . .
Her voice falters and she scrunches up the poem and kneels down. ‘I love you, Angela. I’m sorry I could never say that to you in person, but now I know you’ll know.’ And she crumples, her forehead almost touching the ground. ‘Happy birthday,’ she whispers.
Janet takes a small oval stone from her pocket, upon which she has written: Nora and Angela, parted for a while, together for ever. She touches Nora’s shoulder and – from her flat palm – offers her the stone.
Nora looks at it and then directs her gaze into Janet’s eyes. Though she says nothing, Janet understands the depth of her gratitude. Nora takes the stone, rubs it gently, then without a word, digs a little hole with her fingers and buries it close to the marker.
Joe blinks and gives a gruff cough, then reaches for Nora’s hand, which he squeezes gently. ‘Nora, I brought you something else.’ As though performing a magic trick, Joe produces a cassette player. He presses a button and the soaring notes of ‘Ode to Joy’ fill the clearing. Her eyes hold his and a gentle smile lights up her face as silent tears stream down her cheeks.
Chapter Ten
1984
Forty-five years
Something’s amiss. Nora, who has, over the last few months, learned the value of the social smile, walks into Janet’s room with a stiff face, trailing a cloud of anger. She takes her chair without a word of greeting and folds her arms. If it weren’t for the wrinkles and the greying hair, she could be a petulant child. ‘You told me I could trust you,’ she blurts out, her eyes stone cold.
Janet looks back, astonished, but also glad that Nora has come far enough to confront her about something. ‘Did I?’
‘Yes. Well , you made me think I could. And now you might leave me.’
Janet’s heart falters, but she tries her hardest not to let it show. ‘Who told you that?’
‘It doesn’t matter. Are you leaving?’
‘Not at present, but even if I were, that wouldn’t mean you couldn’t trust me.’
Nora stares mutinously at Janet, and Janet feels a flicker of impatience.
‘Nora, you’re part of my life, but only part of it. Everyone should have the right to live their own life without judgement from anyone else. I know it hasn’t been like that for you, and I’m sorry that’s so, but we have to learn to give other people freedom to be who they are, and the opportunity to do what they want to do.’ Nora still looks like thunder and Janet watches this new face she hasn’t seen before. She tries again. ‘The fact that we have different things to do and different places to be doesn’t mean that we don’t care for each other.’
The tension in Nora’s tightly clasped arms eases a fraction and she tilts her head slightly and peeps upwards, like a curious little bird. ‘Do we care for each other?’
‘Yes, I think we do, though I’m not your mother, I’m not your sister and I’m not really your friend. I’m your doctor. But as long as I’m able, I’ll support you in whatever feels right for you to do. But I will also live my own life, and I don’t expect to have to explain that to you again.’
Nora pouts. ‘You sound angry.’
‘No, I’m not angry, I just want to be very clear.’
‘When you say you’ll support me in whatever it seems right for me to do, does that mean that you can choose what I can do and what I can’t?’
Good for you, Nora.
‘No, not at all. But if I thought that you were going to do something to hurt yourself – like, you were going to take an overdose, for instance – I wouldn’t support that. But in most other things, yes, of course, I’ll support you.’
‘But why can’t I choose what I want to do?’
‘You can. But there are consequences to every choice we make. And the other thing is that, though I will accept what you choose, I don’t have to like your choice and, as I said, if I thought it was dangerous or misguided then I’d probably try to dissuade you.’ She takes a breath and studies Nora intently. She can see she has confused her, and compassion flows through her. This must be a lot to have to deal with when you’ve hardly been allowed any power over your own life since you were an adolescent. Janet tries to soften her tone. ‘I know that for much of your life you haven’t been able to, but that doesn’t mean it will always be like that. I think you do have choices now about some things and, bit by bit, you need to start making them.’
Nora scowls. ‘I don’t think I want choices. You should just tell me what to do.’
‘No. I can’t and won’t tell you what to do,’ Janet says, impatience creeping into her voice again. ‘You have all the answers inside yourself, somewhere.’
‘No, I don’t,’ she sn
aps. ‘I need you to tell me.’
‘Nora. Listen to yourself. I think you’ve hated always being told what to do, and it’s left you sometimes unable to think for yourself. But you can make decisions. And, as far as I can, I’ll try to guide you if you ask me, but I want you to grow and live your own life.’
‘I don’t have a life,’ Nora screams suddenly. ‘What do I have to live for?’ And just as quickly as it flared, her anger turns to tears and she slumps in her chair, her face in her hands.
Janet sits silently for a moment, giving Nora time to settle. ‘Nora, I’m hoping you can build a life now and find something to live for,’ she says gently.
‘Like what?’
‘I don’t know. But I hope you’ll make friends and find something to do that pleases you, and that you’ll learn to enjoy yourself. There was a time, albeit a very long time ago, when you knew how to enjoy things.’ But even as Janet says this, she knows it’s not that easy. She herself is trying to restructure her own life and fill a hole she never expected to find in it. Her heart aches. But that doesn’t belong here this morning, and she forces her mind back to the task at hand.
‘Nora – let’s look at what it means to make choices. You’re making them all the time. You made a choice to come this morning.’
‘Well, it’s my appointment. I have to come.’
‘Yes, kind of . . . but you still could have chosen not to come.’
Nora looks baffled. ‘But that might have made you angry.’
‘Yes, it might. And we wouldn’t have been able to have this conversation. Those would have been the consequences of making a different choice.’
‘But that’s not fair.’
Janet smiles and makes a helpless gesture with her hands. ‘Yep – I agree it doesn’t always seem fair. But it’s still your choice.’
Nora throws up her hands in angry despair. ‘That’s stupid.’
Janet laughs. ‘Most of us are making choices all the time and nobody else has to like them. But with the freedom to choose comes responsibility. You can’t have one without the other.’
The Girl Behind the Gates Page 21