by Diana Finley
The librarian indicates several on the map and circles them with a red biro. ‘Do you have experience working in that area?’
‘Well no, not exactly … but I get on well with older people.’
I expect her to say I don’t stand a chance of a job without experience, but she doesn’t. In fact she gives me some very good advice.
‘I’ve had quite a bit to do with the Job Centre,’ she explains, ‘and if you don’t mind me saying this, I suggest that first you ask what type of work might be available in the home, and whether they have any vacancies. Explain any relevant experience you might have, even if it’s not actual working experience. Then, crucially, offer to work on a voluntary basis for a month or two, so that they can see how you interact with the residents, and if necessary, they can train you in any aspects of the work in which they feel you might need more knowledge or experience.’
‘That seems a very wise strategy,’ I say. ‘Thanks for the advice. Do you think any of the homes are better than others?’
‘Hmm. They’re all pretty good, but this one here—’ she points at the map ‘—this is called Golden Days – terrible name!’ she says with a laugh. ‘But it has a very good manager, and a lovely, happy atmosphere. We have a volunteer delivering library books to some of the residents. That’s something else you could consider doing in time. Also, if you need any help putting a CV together, just come back in and ask. I or one of my colleagues would be happy to give you a hand.’
I thank her profusely for all the advice and information. I go home with an armful of books to read, and a feeling of hope in my heart. It’s been a long time since I felt so positive.
***
Three weeks later and I’ve managed to get a trial week working for Golden Days Care Home. The manager, Lorna Fuller is really welcoming.
‘The key is getting to know each resident personally, Robbie – understanding their background, personalities and interests. That’s what I tried to do when I first came here.’
After she’s shown me the ropes, I’m paired with Belle, an experienced carer, who I’ll be shadowing for the rest of the week.
‘What Belle doesn’t know about working with elderly people isn’t worth knowing,’ Lorna tells me.
***
I love the job at Golden Days. Lorna is a bright, caring woman. Not only does she make a point of getting to know the residents well, she also insists on having regular contact with family members, ideally in person, or on the phone if they live too far away.
Belle is generous in every sense of the word. Big in build, big in heart, and big in personality; she seems to genuinely love the old people she supports. She’s a very physical person too, always stroking and hugging the residents.
‘One of the things elderly people miss,’ Belle tells me, ‘is touch. It’s so important. Imagine having lived with a partner and family, and then losing them; coming all alone to a place like this – or even living alone at home – feeling that nobody loves you, nobody really cares for you, nobody holds your hand or touches you in any way.’
‘I can relate to that.’ I say it in a jokey way, but of course it’s true.
‘Oh, Robbie, you poor darling, you’ve always got me to love you,’ she says with a grin.
‘Thank you, Belle. Very nice for a poor boy with no one in the world wanting to touch him.’
‘’Course, Robbie, it’s got to be absolutely non-sexual touch, you understand. Just warm, affectionate, accepting touch. The sort of hugs your mam would give you.’
‘Oh, and I thought you fancied me, Belle.’
‘Cheeky! I’m serious. In a sense, even though they’re older than us – much older than you – we’ve got to be almost like a mother to them, a gentle, loving mother. That’s what they really need.’
‘I’ll do my best at being a mother, Belle. But never having known my mother, I’m short on experience.’
‘Oh, Robbie, I’m sorry. Didn’t you even have nice foster parents?’
‘Mostly no, but I did have just one set of lovely foster parents, Betty and Len. They were ace. They did love me and I loved them. The nearest thing I had to parents or grandparents. But I didn’t have them for long.’
Belle put her arm round my shoulders.
‘Well, thank heaven for Betty and Len, Robbie. You just think of what their love meant to you when you deal with our old folk. I know you’re going to be a great carer. You’ve got a good heart, believe me; old Belle can tell.’
Chapter 17
1996
Marie
We haven’t seen that much of Barry recently. I know he’s busy with his job, and it’s right that he wants his independent life. What young man of twenty-six wouldn’t? But I do miss the regular contact with him, and I know Erna does too. Just now he’s having his flat redecorated so I offered for him to come and stay at Erna’s for a few nights. To my delight he’s accepted.
There’s been a particular tension, a distance between us lately. It’s very painful to me. His moods seem very up and down. Some of the times we have met up, he doesn’t seem quite with it. I’ve even wondered if he’s been drinking. Those pressured City jobs can be so stressful.
I’m hoping these few days together will be a chance to straighten out some of the problems and renew our closeness. I know I’ve got to talk to him about his brother, and I want to, but I’m anxious about how he’ll react; he can be so unpredictable. Maybe I should have told him long ago, but I suppose I was afraid he might be very critical of my decision. He might hate me for it. So I delayed and delayed; it never seemed to be the right time. I endlessly question the rights and wrongs of that decision.
***
Barry appears to be in a good mood when he arrives, which delights me – in fact, he gives me a big hug that lifts me right off the ground!
‘My goodness, Barry, what a strong man you’ve become!’
‘Didn’t you notice? I’ve been quite grown up for a few years now.’
‘Yes I had noticed, of course I had. Listen, Barry, why don’t you go down and see Erna first? She’s dying to talk to you, and she tires easily these days, you know. She goes to bed early. I just have to finish making supper; it’ll only take ten minutes. It’s a vegetable lasagne. I got a pile of beautiful vegetables at that market just round the corner from your flat. Have you been there? It’s lovely fresh stuff. You and Keith should eat more fruit and vegetables. They’re good for you.
‘Yes, Mummy!’ he answers in a little boy’s voice, and goes stomping down the stairs noisily.
Hopefully, when he gets back from seeing Erna, we’ll have a relaxed meal and time for a proper conversation. I hope he’ll tell me more about his work. I know he thinks I don’t understand any of it, but I wish he’d try to explain it to me.
***
I put some music on in the background, and light candles on the table to try to make the atmosphere peaceful when Barry comes back.
‘Auntie Erna seems much older these days, Mum. She’s getting really frail now, isn’t she?’
‘Yes, she’s very frail, in her body at least. But, maybe that’s not surprising at ninety-six. Her brain and her spirit are as robust as ever, though.’
‘Mmm. Part of me expects her to go on for ever. She’s an amazing woman.’
‘She really is. I’d love to hear more about your life, Barry. How is the job going?’
‘Oh it’s OK. It’s hard work, making money for the clients and the bank. I don’t have a lot of spare time.’
‘So what do you actually do?’
‘Oh, let’s not talk about it, Mum. It’s basically shifting money from one fund to another. Assessing clients for investments, that sort of thing. You wouldn’t really understand.’
‘Well, I might, if you explained it, Barry.’
‘Maybe another time. I’m quite tired.’
‘I expect they work you too hard?’
‘It’s a culture of long hours for everyone. There’s not much time for leisure activities
… Mmm, this lasagne is really good, Mum.’
‘I’m glad you like it, son, but you haven’t eaten very much. You’re nearly as thin as Erna. Have another helping.’
‘I’ve had plenty thanks. A coffee would be nice though.’
We move from the supper table to the comfortable armchairs. Barry carries in the tray with coffee for him, and green tea for me. I’ve started drinking it lately. People say it’s good for your health. I don’t like it much, but at least it’s hot.
I pass Barry a cup of the strong coffee he likes.
‘Doesn’t it stop you sleeping?’ I ask him.
He smiles. ‘Not really, I guess I depend on my regular fix of caffeine.’
‘As long as it’s nothing stronger,’ I say.
He turns his head to look at me, as if shocked by my comment.
‘A joke, darling.’
‘Oh right, yeah …’
His long body relaxes into the armchair. What a handsome young man he is. There are times it quite takes my breath away. Suddenly the image of another handsome, dark-haired young man flashes through my mind … a young man with those same brown eyes flecked with gold. I shake my head to push it away. Not now … keep a clear head.
‘Barry, love, I want to talk to you …’
‘I’m glad to hear it, Mum. I didn’t think we were going to sit in silence all evening.’
‘No …’ I take a deep breath. ‘Barry, there are things I maybe should have told you about long ago. I didn’t keep them from you to be secretive or to hide the truth from you, but just to wait for what seemed the right time, a time when you were old enough to understand … understand properly. I suppose I wanted to protect you. Maybe I was wrong …’
‘Mum, what on earth are you talking about? Whatever it is you want to tell me, just say it. You’re starting to scare me.’
‘Well, there’s nothing to be scared of, but I do want to tell you about what happened when you were born. I’ve never told you the whole story.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Yes … well, the time when I became pregnant, as a young girl of only seventeen. I’ve told you a bit about it, but now that you’re a grown man, I need to – I want to – tell you the full truth about how it happened … and who your father was … and what happened after you were born.’
‘OK …’ he says slowly.
‘You know about my ma and da and all the rest of the family back in Ireland. You know about what simple folk we all were, deeply religious and old-fashioned. I’ve told you how your dad charmed me and swept me off my feet. Perhaps he took advantage of my innocence, but I can’t put the blame on him alone; I wanted him, Barry, I can’t pretend I didn’t.’
I hold nothing back. Barry sits motionless in his chair, his face grim and inscrutable.
‘I was so frightened when I realised I was pregnant, and even more so when Ma told me to go to England, to London, to have an abortion, or my da would never have had me back.’
Barry nods a little wearily, like he’s saying, I’ve heard this bit.
‘So I went to London all right, but I’d already decided that no way would I “get rid of” my child. Instead, I found out about a mother and baby home run by nuns. I was convinced they would be kind, that they’d support me.’
Barry listens in silence. His face is unreadable. He stares straight ahead.
Trembling, I continue with my story. I tell him about Sister Bernadette, who was strict and unsympathetic, and about Sister Aileen, who was so kind and protective towards me.
‘It was a great struggle,’ I tell him, ‘but, oh, what a joy it was when you were born, Barry, when I held you in my arms – a perfect, darling baby. I loved you the moment I set eyes on you.’
‘Well, I’m glad it ended positively anyway,’ he says with a small smile. He looks ready to stand up.
‘But, Barry, that’s not how it ended … There’s something else.’
His face changes. He looks uneasy. ‘What now?’
‘After a few minutes, the labour pains started up again, and a second baby was born.’
Barry frowns at me, his eyes narrowed. ‘You mean … I had a twin?’
‘Yes, Barry, I had twin boys; identical twins.’
‘So … he died?’
‘No, oh no, he didn’t die. You were both small, but healthy. I tried my best to feed and care for you, my two darling little sons, but Sister Bernadette was very mean. She told me there was no way I could keep and sustain two babies. She insisted I would have to give one of you up for adoption.’
Barry was watching me carefully, barely blinking. He’d gone white as a ghost.
‘I had no money, just one friend, Elsie – you remember Elsie, Barry? She’d had her little girl there, in the mother and baby home, just before you were born. She was kind to me, a good friend, and we’ve stayed in touch from time to time. Sister Aileen was kind too, but Sister Bernadette insisted that I had to give one child up. She said there was a couple waiting to adopt a baby, rich people who desperately wanted a child. I had no choice in the matter. I had to agree, or I’d have lost both of you.’
‘How did you choose? How did you choose which of us to keep and which one to give up?’ His voice is hard and grating.
‘I didn’t. The couple who adopted Donal – that was your brother’s name, Donal – it was their choice … I don’t know why they chose him. Sister Bernadette said it was because he was smaller and more needy, so they felt they could help him more. I only know I had no say in the matter.’
I take a few moments to wipe my eyes and collect my thoughts.
‘I was told the couple would change his name, and I could never know what that new Christian name was, nor his surname. Sister Bernadette said I’d never be allowed to trace him, never. She said I wasn’t to even try to trace him.’
‘But did you ever try?’
‘I did … and Erna tried to help me. We hired a researcher to try to trace him, but it seems all Donal’s birth and adoption records were destroyed, most likely by Sister Bernadette. She was onto a good thing. Finding rich people who were desperate for a child, who’d make a big donation to the mother and baby home. She wouldn’t have wanted anyone looking into the finances. The researcher was clever in uncovering some dates in a ledger at St Agatha’s though. Every little step took a long time to achieve. I decided not to tell you about Donal until we found him. Maybe that was a wrong decision …’
Barry looks darkly at me but doesn’t comment.
‘Anyway, by checking the dates the researcher found it was clear when Donal was adopted, and then we discovered that the adoptive parents decided not to keep him.’
‘So, if those rich people had chosen to adopt me, and not … Donal? You would have let them?’
‘Darling, I had no choice, no power in the situation. That’s how it was. Things were different then.’
Barry makes a face. ‘What did you actually do to stop them?’
‘What could I do? I was seventeen, I was all alone, far from home, and I had no money.’
‘Maybe you could have tried to get some help.’
His expression seems to say you didn’t really try, or maybe it was just my own feeling of guilt interpreting it that way.
‘Barry, you must believe how totally heartbroken I was to have to give up your brother. I nearly died of grief when they took him. It was the worst day of my life. My only comfort was the thought that Donal would be with people who really wanted him, who would dearly love and care for him. I felt sure, that as wealthy people, they would cherish him and give him a good and full life; better than I – a penniless young girl – could possibly give him.’
Barry stares at me in silence for a moment after listening to this account.
‘But you felt that that life was good enough for me, did you?’
‘No, Barry, that’s not fair. I loved you then and I love you now. I would much rather have kept you both with me, whatever my limitations. I would have done my best to look
after you both – as I have tried to do for you …’
He stares down at his knees.
‘In any case,’ I say, ‘the worst thing the researcher managed to discover was that Donal did not have the happy, full and good life I imagined for him. Those people gave him up when he was just two years old, and returned him to the local authority. I wasn’t allowed to know his name, or where he’d been moved to. I only know he was in the care of the local authority, which means in children’s homes, and perhaps with foster parents.’
Barry stands up abruptly.
‘I know it must be a shock for you, Barry … but I hope you understand …’
‘Well, thank you for telling me. Better late than never, I suppose. That explains a lot. I’m tired. I think I’ll go to bed now. Goodnight.’
‘But wait a minute, Barry, I did do something – I wrote a letter to each of you, to try to explain, and to tell you how much I loved both of you, and would always love you. I wrote it while you were still a baby. It was for you and Donal to read when you grew up, or if anything happened to me … Of course I never had the chance to give Donal his letter, but this is yours … if you want to read it?’
I take an envelope out of my bag.
He stares at the envelope. Then he shrugs and takes it. ‘OK … I’ll look at it in my room.’
Chapter 18
1996
Barry
My hand trembles when I slide the letter out of the envelope and gaze at the page of Mum’s childish handwriting.
London, June 1972
My darling Barry,
If you are reading this, you will already know that you are one of twins, and that your twin brother is called Donal. Whether you have known this for some time, or have just learned it, I want to tell you a bit about your birth and Donal’s and the weeks that followed it.
The days immediately after your birth were happy, joyful days. You were such adorable, beautiful babies, both of you, and I loved you so very much. St Agatha’s – the mother and baby home – was a dismal place, but I thought nothing of that. Although I was only a young girl, and without the support of my own mother, I wanted to be the best mother in the world. I spent every minute of each day with you – cuddling you, feeding you, singing to you and playing with you. I can’t tell you how much I loved you; I adored you both.