The Baby Laundry for Unmarried Mothers (24 page)
Read The Baby Laundry for Unmarried Mothers Online
Authors: Angela Patrick
I had wanted so, so much for him to bear evidence of me. And he did, he so gloriously did. He looked very much like me, like my brother Ray, so much one of us, so like Katharine – how
much, I couldn’t wait to show her! Everything about him was very obviously like us: the height – he looked so tall! – the olive skin, the smile, the dense black hair . . . It was
so strong, this family resemblance, that it made the back of my neck prickle. Here he was, the grown-up version of that tiny baby I’d had to part with. If I’d been overcome in the
aftermath of reading Frances’s first letter, it was as nothing to the wash of emotion I was drowning in now.
The other photo was of him again, this time with an attractive young woman: his wife, perhaps, or an adoptive sister? It was hard to say, but they looked close. But I would find out who she was,
I realised; it would all be in his letter. I propped the photos by my mug. Now I could devour the letter, which I did.
It was the Cambridgeshire address that caught my eye first. Cambridgeshire, I thought with a jolt – such a long way away. But then I scolded myself. I should be grateful. It wasn’t
that
far. I was lucky. He could have lived anywhere, couldn’t he? The North of England, Europe, Australia even. But instead it was Cambridgeshire –
not
so very far.
My eye travelled a little further down. The letter was pleasingly thick in my hands, running to several closely written pages. As with a novel you start reading and immediately fall in love
with, I didn’t want to leap ahead and spoil the ending. So I didn’t flick through it, or count the pages. I didn’t wish to know. I just unfolded the letter, as I had done with the
ones from Frances, and gazed upon it, this letter from my son.
His writing made me start, it was so lovely to look at: such elegant handwriting, gently right-sloping cursive, the tails of the tailed letters all finished with a uniform loop, lending it an
air of such grace. It was silly to dwell on style over substance, perhaps, but I felt like you do when you see anything that is decorative and also very meaningful – a wedding cake, say, or
the structure of an important molecule, something beautiful to feast your eyes on as well as your other senses, or like a holiday, perhaps. Some of the pleasure of a holiday, surely, is the sense
of anticipation you get from poring over pictures in a brochure, and the promise of the reality to come?
Most of all, I felt an overwhelming sense of maternal love. How could there not be, knowing that these words had been written by my child? Was it any wonder I wanted to savour them carefully?
They were the first steps towards knowing the man he had become.
I gripped the letter in both hands and began to read.
Dear Angela,
Since speaking with Mrs Holmes late last week, I have been looking forward to writing this letter, but have been unsure what to write and so perhaps this might arrive
later than I would have liked.
I have decided to write openly, as my feelings dictate, so I apologise if the letter appears disjointed. It seems strange to be writing to you after all these years, although I must say I
have often thought about you, hoping you were okay and that you were settled and had a family of your own.
My mother and father had explained to me as long ago as I can remember that I was adopted, telling me that my ‘real’ mother wasn’t, for whatever reason, allowed or able
to keep me and had therefore put me up for adoption. I knew your name was Angela Brown and that you had named me Paul – my name incidentally is James Paul – that I had been born in
Epping and that you were a translator and were tall, dark and attractive.
My parents loved me more than I can say, and my sister Vicky was also adopted through the Crusade of Rescue. I even had ‘my special day’, so did my sister, like a second
birthday, which in fact was the day my parents collected me from the Crusade of Rescue.
As a small child I was very happy and my thoughts never really strayed to my past until my birthday, when my parents at a private minute of the day would say ‘I bet someone else is
thinking about you’ (in a nice way, that is). Then I would think about you and hope as I do now that you spared me some thoughts.
It wasn’t until I was older, in my early teens, that I thought about you more and sometimes I resented what had happened to me, particularly as one does as a teenager, having fallen
out with my parents at that time. I used to resent you, thinking the worst, and this, I think, made me put thoughts of you out of my head, except, of course, on my birthday.
By this time the law had been passed to allow adopted children access to their natural parents and when suggested by my parents I was adamant I was happy not knowing.
As a child I even looked like my father in that I am slim-medium build, dark and tall, but now and for some years I have had a ‘swarthy’ complexion. The rest of my family look
typically English and I have often wondered if there is any foreign blood in me.
People have always, as a result, taken me to be Spanish or Italian or have family ties as such, and I have always played along with it, although I look nothing like my family.
It has taken me thirty years to decide to find out the real truth.
Although in my youth I was rebellious and felt resentful towards you, I have now grown up mentally and for a number of years have wondered what has become of you.
I have had great curiosity to find out what you look like, whether I’m like you, whether you are well and are okay or may need my help in any way. I even feel something for you, and
yet I don’t even know you.
I am so glad I have eventually done this. I am a very confident person but for years there has always been a little insecurity surrounding me and I think this stems from not really
knowing who I am or where I come from.
I have always prayed you are okay and have not come to any harm. To hear you are married and have a daughter is fantastic news for me. I am pleased, as it puts my mind at rest.
It has been good to hear more about you through Mrs Holmes, where you came from, etc. I never thought my mother was an Essex Girl! I have racked my brains trying to work out what a code
translator was.
On the forms Mrs Holmes has, it appears you have blue eyes and dark hair. It still hasn’t taken me any further forward as to my tanned appearance, so I must have to put that down to
my father.
When I revisited the Crusade, or Catholic Children’s Society, as it is now, I found the information on the forms fascinating but upsetting. It made things seem very real. I was
particularly touched, and visibly upset by a letter I was shown, written by you, asking if my name Paul had been kept. As you know now, it has.
The letter made me accept more easily that you had cared and didn’t really want to let me go, contrary to thoughts I had had as a teenager.
I must tell you now, I meant to at the beginning, that under no circumstances have I intended to put pressure on you and I certainly don’t want to interfere in your new life. That
is not my intention. I just want you to know now, as I do feel for you.
When Mrs Holmes told me you had replied to her letter I was ecstatic, and hearing her tell of your reaction was great; apparently the response is not always as good. I’m lucky and I
thank you.
You may know already that I am a policeman; my work now is based in special operations, drugs and serious crime. It is funny: when I joined the police force, I did my initial training at
Ashford. I wonder, did you live in Tenterden then?
I have my own house near Cambridge, where I live with my fiancée, Karen, who I have known for a few years. She is gorgeous and we are the best of friends. She has supported me
while I have decided to contact you – she accompanied me to the Crusade and has encouraged me.
We are to be married in Wales, where her parents come from, which I really look forward to.
I have enclosed a photograph of the both of us. Perhaps you will meet her soon – I would like that. I know she would, and I hope it is soon.
I am signing off now because I would like to tell you more about myself but in person. I really hope we can meet soon. I look forward to it. I enclose my telephone number, pager number
and you have my address. Perhaps you could write, or contact Mrs Holmes and leave a contact number for me. Or arrange a date with Mrs Holmes, if you would like to meet me. I would prefer not to
go to the Crusade of Rescue, please.
Please make contact.
Yours sincerely,
James x
I put the letter down. Then I picked it up again and reread it from the beginning. I must have read it a dozen times – perhaps more – by the time Michael came home
at 6.30. In fact, I can no longer recall any detail of that afternoon, apart from sitting there at the kitchen table, reading the letter over and over again.
‘I must tell Kate now,’ I said to Michael, once he too had sat down and read James’s letter. He had been stunned by how much James looked like both of us, and I knew he could
see how much I wanted to share this with her. But, perhaps thankfully, she had come home from school at the same time as he had – he’d picked her up from the station on his way –
and had immediately gone upstairs to change out of her uniform and make a start on her homework. I also knew it wouldn’t have been fair to Michael, having agreed that I’d wait, to have
presented him with a fait accompli when he walked in, if she’d come in earlier.
He was very insistent that I didn’t tell her – not yet. He shook his head. ‘Please just meet him first, sweetheart. Please let’s not involve Kate until you’ve done
that, at least. We know how you feel, and it seems clear from his letter that he’s keen to get to know you, but until you speak face to face you have no idea what’s going to happen
next. He might care about you – I’m sure he does – but that doesn’t necessarily mean he wants you – us – in his life.’
I knew where Michael was coming from. I knew it was important he protect his daughter. But I felt strongly – even more so, having read James’s letter, that he
did
want us in
his life. If anything, it felt as though his principal worry was that he wouldn’t be welcome in
ours
.
Please make contact
, he’d written. How much clearer could that have
been? ‘But he’s already said he’d like us to meet his fiancée,’ I pointed out.
Michael nodded. ‘I know that, and I’m sure that’s what he does want. But there are other people in this equation, don’t forget – his adoptive parents. He might want
all sorts of things, but, in the end, find it too difficult – too hurtful to them, too many divided loyalties. After all, can you imagine how all this might be for them?’
I had thought of them, and just as it had been my dream that this day would come, for them, perhaps, it had been the opposite. They would not wish for the day when it wouldn’t seem enough
that they were his parents. I knew how much
I’d
thought about that when we’d decided to adopt a child. This would be hard for them, all of it. I knew that. I said so.
‘Exactly,’ Michael said. ‘So this will be new territory for his family, too. Which is why I think you should leave it till after you’ve actually met him to tell Kate. I
know it’s hard, but just so you know you can be sure. It’s only a matter of days, that’s all.’
‘I know, but—’
‘And you could perhaps try to arrange to meet him while Kate’s away in Lyon on her school trip. That will give you a few days to play with, won’t it? And you can tell her the
wonderful news the minute she gets home.’
I wanted to argue my point further, because by now I was desperate to tell her, but was I being selfish, careering about in my giddy whirlwind of excitement, not thinking straight? I must be
fair to Michael, I realised, and respect his views too. So I agreed. We would wait until I’d met him.
N
ow it was time for me to sit down and write, to reply to James’s letter, and so begin the process of getting to know each other, but try as
I might, each beginning seemed to founder. There was so much to say, and I couldn’t get the words right. I kept starting, and then abandoning it, and then starting again.
‘I can’t do this!’ I wailed to myself, sitting amid the detritus of my many false starts at the kitchen table, an envelope and the three photographs I’d selected to go
with my letter sitting in neat pile in the middle of it all, waiting. But I couldn’t seem to find the right way to say what I wanted to. Knowing how much I’d pored over James’s
every word to me, it really mattered that I get it right. Perhaps that was the problem. Perhaps I shouldn’t even try. There was too much to say, and too much emotion involved. Maybe I should
abandon trying to commit my heart to paper, and wait until I could tell him how I felt face to face.
Dear James,
It was so wonderful to receive your lovely letter. I have read it at least a hundred times just to reassure myself that it isn’t all a dream. I can’t begin to tell you how happy I am that you have contacted me.
After several attempts at a reply, I find it impossible to relate in a letter the events of the past and the circumstances of your birth. That time was for me a very sad, lonely and
unhappy one, and full of painful memories that I have kept buried deep inside me. To try and explain in a letter, with the depth of emotion involved, is impossible, and I think would be best
left till we meet. For that reason I have decided to write only of my life as it is at present. I hope you can understand.
I have been married to Michael for twenty-seven years. He is a wonderfully kind, considerate and thoughtful person. He has made me very happy and is thrilled that we are to be reunited.
We have lived in Tenterden since 1968 and moved to our present house almost a year ago.
We have a daughter, Katharine (Kate to us). She is seventeen and, although a stroppy teenager at times, is generally a very caring and sensitive young lady. She is not unlike you, as you
can see from the photograph of her. She is still at school studying for her A levels in French, Russian and Spanish. She speaks Spanish like a native and looks very much like one too.
Both Michael and I now work in Tenterden. Michael is a financial consultant and investment manager with a firm of solicitors. I am assistant town clerk with the town council, working in
the town hall every morning.
I have two brothers: Raymond, a very youthful sixty-one, and John, who is fifty-four. They are both married with children and grandchildren too numerous to mention now.
Thank you for sending the photographs. You and Karen look a gorgeous couple. I am so pleased to hear that you are happy and that you are to be married soon. I am glad she has supported
you while you were trying to contact me. I am so looking forward to meeting her.
There is such a lot for me to tell you but little of it would be appropriate in a letter except to say that you were right in thinking I did care about you, so very much.
I can’t wait to meet you and, like you, would prefer not to go to the Crusade of Rescue. I think we will have to speak together on the telephone to arrange a time and place. Because
of your work, it might be easier for you to ring me, perhaps at home on any weekday between 2 and 5 p.m.
You will see from my photograph that my hair is no longer dark – the blonde highlights were an attempt to camouflage the grey! Also, I don’t have blue eyes, but dark green.
These fortunately didn’t change with age!
I look forward to hearing from you very soon.
Yours, always,
Angela x