Half-truths & White Lies (24 page)

After Peter Churcher's dawn call and my initial decisiveness,
the journey home gave me time to reflect. Peter
could be very persuasive; that was his job for goodness'
sake. He was an expert in the art of making you think
exactly how he wanted you to and he had a very strong
conviction that he thought he knew what was best for
everyone concerned. His plan involved removing himself
and Derek from the picture completely so that
everything could return to 'normal'. In my opinion, this
seemed naive at best. What was 'normal'? From what
Laura had told me, I wasn't sure that there had ever
been a time when there hadn't been a third person in
her marriage. It also assumed that it was possible to turn
back the clocks and that everyone could conveniently
forget. And yet, at the same time, there was some sense
to it. Peter was motivated by the need to make things
right by Tom and, in doing so, he thought he could put
the family back together. I would understand, he told
me, when I saw Tom for myself. But, of course, Peter had
no idea what he was asking of me. He didn't know
when he asked me to help him deceive my sister that I
had given away my own daughter – his daughter – and
was already living a lie. He didn't know about my recent
misgivings after Laura had told me of Peter's desire to be
a father. And he couldn't have known that I didn't want
him to bring up Andrea in Tom's place. I was aware that
part of this feeling was born out of a childish and
selfish sense of injustice. 'If I can't have her then you're
not going to.' But I believe that we ignore these feelings
at our peril. I had no doubt that if Laura and Peter were
together in the long term, I would have had to cut off
my relationship with both my sister and my daughter
altogether. When Peter told me that I was a good sister,
under the impression I wanted to protect Laura and her
family, he had no idea what he was saying. I felt I was
being anything but a good sister. There was a part of me,
however small, that would have liked to say to Laura,
'There! We have both lost a child. Now you might
understand how I feel!' Who was it who said that there
are no unselfish acts in this world?

I suppose it was the one opportunity that I have had
over the years to come clean with Peter and tell him that
he is Andrea's father. Although his belief in Tom was
such that he refused to accept the possibility that Laura
might die, I wondered if we should have waited to see if
Laura would pull through. With Tom so ill and no
formal adoption ever having taken place, it would have
fallen quite naturally on Peter to take care of Andrea
and then it would have been possible to keep the
children together. Part of me had this romantic notion
that I might have had a role to play. But how would
Peter react to the news that he had been lied to for four
years by the people that he thought of as his closest
friends? It seemed possible that he would want nothing
to do with the lot of us, which, I suppose, would have
been a solution in itself. And possibly one that might
have cost him less in terms of sacrifice. And did I really
want to change my life so dramatically or did I just
like the idea of having a family of my own? And so
I took the coward's option of keeping quiet. Just as I
would probably have taken the coward's option and
told Laura none of this if I had had the opportunity to
see her one last time. The question that bothers me now
is the same question that bothered me then. Would I
have been forgiven? And not knowing is one of the
things that makes it so difficult for me to grieve for
Laura now. We were not the close sisters that everyone
thought we were. We were not even as close as
she thought we were. I deliberately dipped in and out of
her life. In a way, I dipped in and out of my own life. I
see that now. Maybe the question that I actually need to
ask is can I forgive myself?

I found solace in the fact that Peter Churcher, who
had loved my sister from the start, found himself
capable of so great a deception. Although he had convinced
himself that it was the right thing to do, it
involved breaking the law and lying. Perhaps the only
difference for him was that he then intended to remove
himself from the situation permanently, a luxury that
family members cannot lay claim to. Although my own
motives were not entirely pure, I had no doubt that his
were.

I simply asked, 'Have you really thought this
through?'

'I've racked my brains and this is the answer I keep
coming back to. It's the only way.' I could hear how
painful it was for him.

'If you honestly believe that, I'll help you. Do you
think we can pull it off?'

'Oh, yes,' he said sadly, almost as if he would have
liked to be caught out, 'everything's in place. You don't
need to worry on that count.'

'I take it the less I know the better.'

'You're a good sister, Faye.'

'Let's not go that far. And, Peter Churcher, don't you
dare screw things up before I get there.'

It was the hardest thing I've ever had to do. Far harder
than learning to understand my father. Far harder than
admitting to the woman you love that you have slept
with her sister. Harder than giving Laura away on her
wedding day and pretending to be happy for Tom.
Harder even than leaving. Some things are made easier
by the knowledge that what you are doing is right. Not
this. I'm sure that some people would consider me very
cruel. Watching Tom sit by Laura's bed, patchy stubble
growing back (his hair would never grow back as it was
before), his face unshaven, his eyes blinking under the
hospital lights, I knew what had to be done. I had to put
the family that I had pulled apart back together. It was
to be a painful process for all of us.

In my line of business, I've met the good, the bad and
the downright nasty. I called in a few favours. And
quickly – I had no time to waste. Faye owed me no such
favours, but despite her absence in recent years, she was
as close to Laura as any two sisters are. What we were
about to do was not the sort of thing that you could
admit to after the event. I had taken a huge gamble by
asking her. If she hadn't agreed to help me, I'm not sure
that I could have relied on her discretion. With the help
of some of the keenest craftsmen in the land and their
imaginative paperwork, I prepared to give Derek up for
adoption, with Faye posing as an unmarried Laura and
skilfully forging her signature. Laura was so recognizable
in her home town that I chose an adoption
agency in Newcastle where, up until a few short weeks
beforehand, I had been resident, nurturing a reputation
as a solicitor who could be trusted. My instincts led me
to an agency that professed to have a strong Christian
ethos. Even though I had no strong beliefs, I wanted to
ensure that Derek ended up in the safest possible hands.
Whilst there were no guarantees, I felt comforted by the
idea that he would be placed with a couple with strong
family values.

We were required to appear before the adoption
board, one of whom had consulted my firm on a family
matter and recognized me on sight. He was joined by a
white-haired lady whose spectacles kept on sliding
down her nose, giving her an appearance of disapproval.
The final member of the board was a younger
lady with a more kindly looking disposition.

'Mr Churcher.' The gentleman greeted me with a curt
handshake. 'We've met before.'

'I hope this doesn't place you in a difficult situation,'
I said.

'Perhaps you'll both be so good as to take a seat while
I check with my colleagues.'

They huddled outside the door and spoke in low
tones. Their body language was neutral. I glanced at
Faye and saw her exhale deliberately, trying to keep her
nerves at bay. I wiped the palms of my hands on my suit
trousers.

'Sorry to have kept you,' he said on his return as they
took their seats opposite us. 'I've explained how we
know each other and we can't see any reason not to
proceed.'

Maybe there was less checking of paperwork than
there might have been otherwise. I can't say, never
having been in that situation before.

'Perhaps you can tell us what brings you here today?'
the lady in spectacles asked, looking from one of us
to the other.

Faye cleared her throat. 'Derek was the result of a one-night
stand,' she said frostily. 'We hadn't met before and
there is no relationship between us to speak of. I hadn't
planned to be a mother and I'm in no position to bring
up a child on my own.'

'Financially?'

'Financially, emotionally. You name it, really.' Her
arms were folded tightly over her chest, but it wasn't
enough to contain her shaking.

'There's no going back once you've taken this step,'
the younger lady said. 'It's important that you realize
that. You will leave here without Derek today and you
won't be allowed contact with him again.'

I avoided looking at my son. I couldn't trust myself. I
tried not to think about all of those uncertain couples
who would have caved in at that stage in the process.

For a while, there seemed to be concern that we had
not decided to have Derek adopted until after his birth.
This was quite unusual in their experience. There was
whispered conferring and an exchange of notes as Faye
described how, early in the pregnancy, I persuaded her
that she would have my full support if she had the child,
but that I seemed to change my mind after she felt it was
too late to consider the alternatives.

'He had a change of heart when reality hit him,' she
said. 'I had let myself believe that things would change
when he saw the baby. But he didn't even get in contact
after I wrote to him to tell him that Derek had been
born. Can you imagine not wanting to see your own
son?' She brought her hand up to her mouth and
stifled a sob. 'I'm sorry,' she faltered and the younger
lady stepped forward offering a box of tissues. I tried
to fix my face in the type of stare that I thought would
suggest that I was being subjected to emotional
blackmail.

'I offered an appropriate level of financial support,' I
cut in. 'You chose to have the baby. It was your decision.
I made my feelings on the subject perfectly clear, but
you only heard what you wanted to hear.'

When Faye spoke again it was to the board and not to
me. 'It's not just a question of financial support. He
can't give me what I need. The truth is,' she blurted out,
'he won't tell you this, but he's been in love with someone
else all along. He doesn't want to jeopardize that,
so he will never admit publicly to being Derek's father.'

All the while I avoided the direct gaze of my client,
but I could feel his eyes on me as if to question how I
was qualified to deal with issues of family law.

'No!' Faye commanded herself to maintain an
element of control. 'Although I thank God that I chose
to have Derek, I feel foolish to have been taken in by
that man and his promises. I've always believed in
family and Derek is entitled to one of his own. A
real family. I'm not in a position to give him the home
and the life that he deserves. I hope that you can see that
I want what's best for him.'

She was so good that I found myself wanting to tell
her that I would make a greater effort and do more to
help. Instead I fixed my expression in an angry gaze. The
panel reached the conclusion that our relationship was
so strained that, even though my income would allow
Faye and Derek to live comfortably, it would create an
unhealthy atmosphere for a child. It was clear that we
could not get on. Papers were drawn up and signed. I
gave away my son. The only son I am ever likely to have.
When we were asked if we wanted to say goodbye to
Derek for the last time, Faye agreed and clung to him
tearfully, telling him how he would have a better life
than she could ever offer him. I declined and left the
two of them without a single word, under the harsh
gaze of my client who clearly thought I was unfeeling. I
heard one of the women say to Faye, 'You've done the
right thing. The boy will go to a family who desperately
want a child. He'll have a new name, a new start. It's for
the best.' I prayed to God that it was so.

Faye was still crying when she left the building. We
held each other for a moment.

'You were very convincing in there,' I told her.

'Yes, well, it looks as if I succeeded in convincing
myself.' She shuddered. 'Those acting classes must have
been better than I thought. Is that it?'

Yes, I thought to myself, that really is it. Derek was
gone and my reputation in ruins. It seemed fitting that
I should receive some form of divine retribution for
deceiving the well-meaning folks of the adoption
board. If my career was to suffer, so be it. Work was very
low on my list of priorities. Many times since, it has
struck me that if I had had the opportunity to cross-examine
us, I would have asked some far more probing
questions and given us a much harder time. But more
than that: I have to ask what did they see in the two of
us that made them decide we would be unsuitable
parents?

With a falsified death certificate, we then broke the
news to Mrs Albury. I had no problem putting on a convincing
act myself. The pain, the tears and the grief were
real. The explanation I gave was cot death. I have found
from experience that people do not ask too many
questions when a baby dies, particularly one who was
premature. They jump to their own conclusions.

'It wasn't meant to be,' Mrs Albury repeated over and
over again, patting my back. 'The poor little mite.' But I
could tell that she was distracted, presumably by the
thought of how we would break the news to Laura when
she woke, and how this would affect her recovery.

'Do you think that I should wait before making the
arrangements until . . . ?' I asked Laura's mother.

'No, dear,' she replied, her eyes full. 'You go ahead. We
have no idea how Laura's going to be when she comes
round. I hope you won't mind if I give it a miss. The
girls don't know this, but I lost a child at a similar age
the year between them. We chose not to have a service.
But you must do what you think is best.'

I was both surprised and relieved. Although I had
researched how to stage a fake funeral, it was the part
that I would have been least comfortable with. It
seemed strangely out of character for Mrs Albury, who
liked to be in charge of every aspect of her family's lives.
I could only presume that her focus was on the living
and that she felt there was nothing more she could do
for poor Derek. The Alburys were not a religious family
and it seemed that she considered a funeral to be a
formality that she could take or leave. My parents
certainly would have felt they had a duty to go, putting
personal feelings aside. There was no one else I had to
consider. Although there was relief, it also dawned on
me how alone I was. Other than Laura and Tom, and
with my mother unable to leave the Home, I had no
close friends or family. They were my whole life.

I went through the motions of selecting a small plot
in a memorial garden and having a small granite stone
engraved, hoping that this might bring Laura some
comfort in the years to come and, at the same time,
praying that it would not bring Derek bad luck. I was
sufficiently superstitious that I took care not to lie when
choosing the wording, referring not to his death, but the
joy he brought us – however brief.

'No dates?' the stonemason asked. 'It's customary to
have the dates.'

'No dates.' I was adamant.

In keeping with the other children's plots, I placed
some of the toys that we had bought him there. Weeks
later, when I took Mrs Albury and Faye to show them
the plot, it was the sight of those damp and faded toys
that Mrs Albury seemed to find the most distressing. I
have visited many times over the years when I think of
Derek as I find that I feel closest to him there.

Despite Andrea's reluctance to accept a little brother,
I was surprised by her lack of questions at his disappearance.
Her verdict was that now that the baby who had
been so much hard work had gone, her mummy could
get better and come home. There was some logic in this,
however warped it might seem to an adult mind, and I
clung to the hope that she was right.

The three of us took turns to stand sentry at Laura's
bedside in eight-hour shifts, Mrs Albury, Faye and I. At
the first shift after my return from Newcastle, I told the
staff nurse in Tom's hearing that we had lost Derek.
Outwardly, Tom seemed to react very little, although he
blinked several times rapidly and his eyes darted about.
The nurse, still confused about the relationship between
Laura, Tom and me, reached out to both of us with
a heavy hand, unsure which of us to offer her
condolences to.

'Well then, we'll have to make sure we look after this
one for you. But it's going to come as quite a blow to her
when she comes to. Are you going to tell her?' She
addressed her question to me and I nodded my
response.

'Telling's always hard. I've had to do it as part of my
job for years and it never gets any easier. But you'll find
the right words when the time comes.'

Mrs Albury had decided that Andrea should not see
her mother as she was too young to understand what
was happening. I question if this was the right decision,
as to have your father then your mother disappear must
have been confusing enough. At least if she had seen her
mother in hospital she would have known that she
hadn't been abandoned completely. To have three new
parental figures thrust upon her must have been
difficult. Two, if you think that Faye took over after her
bedtime and left as she was getting up, claiming that she
wasn't good with children. I disagreed. Once or twice, I
caught Faye looking at Andrea and I could tell that she
longed to go and pick her up, but just didn't know how.
Maybe she, too, had been plagued with doubt after her
experience with the adoption board.

'Children are just like dogs,' I tried to joke with her,
misjudging her mood. 'They can smell your fear.'

'Two weeks and you're suddenly the expert,' she fired
back at me, obviously unaware of the times when Laura
had brought Andrea to stay. I had learned by watching
Tom with Andrea. Faye had very rarely seen Andrea, let
alone with family members. I saw that she regretted
being short with me immediately after her outburst, but
Faye being Faye couldn't bring herself to say anything.
We were bound together by our conspiracy, although it
wasn't a bond that would bring us closer together.
Whilst Faye didn't express regret, her role in the
deception had obviously left her feeling vulnerable and
she seemed to be angry with me for involving her.
Coupled with her fears for her sister, I wondered how
far I could rely on her and felt constantly sick with
nerves that we would be found out.