Are You My Mother? (21 page)

So this is what it feels like, I thought. I really am going mad. I turned away and blinked owlishly a few times, taking off my glasses and rubbing my eyes, as much of a cartoon myself as the baby bird was. That was when Mack tapped me on the shoulder.

‘
Got something in your eye?’ He was idly scrutinising the Whiskas, picking up a tin of what looked like Chicken, inspecting it like a Weightwatcher reading the fat content of a sticky toffee pudding, and then replacing it again as he waited for me to answer.

I glanced surreptitiously behind me, but the bird seemed to have vanished. ‘Hi, Mack. No, I’m…fine. I think it’s gone now – whatever was in my eye, I mean. Since when have you had a cat?’

‘
I haven’t. I’m cat-sitting for my mate while he’s on holiday. It’s a nightmare – Brian spends all night charging up and down the hall, and he won’t eat, either.’

‘
Is that why you’re looking after his cat for him?’

‘
Emma, Brian
is
the cat.’

‘
Oh, right, of course – sorry.’ I laughed, and listened with gratitude to Mack banging on about Brian, feeling more grounded by the minute, until I decided that maybe I was just over-tired or something.

‘…
I had no idea that cats were so much hassle. I’m exhausted. He either sleeps on my head, or scratches and yowls at the bedroom door in between galloping up and down the hall all night if I shut him out, the little bastard. Anyway, it’s great to see you – I was going to ring you when I got home from here, actually. I’ve got some information for you.’

‘
Really? You’ve found something out? What?’

‘
Come round, and I’ll tell you. I need to get this on film. I’ll be home in about half an hour.’

I leaned on the handle of my trolley, absently pushing it back and forwards in tiny little ice-dance movements of excitement. ‘Brilliant!’

Maybe the baby bird was a – what were those mythological bringers of news called? A harbinger? Maybe it was telling me that I was finally on my way.

‘
Told Stella yet?’

For a moment, I thought he meant, had I told Stella about the bird.

‘
No, I’ve only just…..oh. No, not yet. I’m working up to it.’

Mack gave me the sort of look I imagined Brian might get after sharpening his claws on Mack’s chick-fur scalp. ‘I still think you should let her in on it.’

‘
I know you do. And I will.’ I turned away, pretending to be fascinated by the Pork and Liver Morsels. Then I noticed that the Jolene Crème Bleach, which Stella had added to the weekly shopping list, was sitting very noticeably next to a punnet of pears in my trolley. Bloody Stella and her non-existent facial hair. Stella had a few tiny little hairs on each side of her top lip - a minuscule amount of peach fluff not at all visible to the naked eye - which she obsessed about until anyone would think that she was in possession of a twirlable and luxuriant handlebar moustache.

Mack was a mate, but not one of those girly blokes who you could tell your period problems too, and I certainly didn’t want him thinking I had moustache issues. I’d never been one of those girls who could merrily pee with other people present, or who asked loudly around at parties if anyone had a tampon. Even Gavin rarely saw me naked – the first time he’d burst in and caught me shaving my legs in the bath, I was mortified, and had shouted at him to go away.

Luckily, a small fracas broke out in Catfood, centred next to the Kidneys and Heart flavour, during which a tiny and splenetic pensioner - one with far more verve and colour than the beige lady my bird had approached - managed to get her trolley tangled up with Mack’s. Whilst Mack was extricating himself and apologising needlessly, I quickly draped my loaf of Medium Sliced Wholemeal over the top of the Jolene, thinking that it was about time I grew out of this extreme body-consciousness.

‘
Right,’ I said. ‘I’ll see you round at yours in half an hour, then. If I’m going to be on telly, I’d better go home and get some slap on first.’ Not to mention try and recover from my unexplained hallucinations, I thought, waving over my shoulder at Mack and hurrying away before anything else untoward occurred.

In the end, of course, I had relented. I was to be the sole subject of Mack’s documentary – on the strict understanding that there would be absolutely no on-camera reunions, faked or otherwise, and I could pull out if I was in any way unhappy with the way things were going. I’d given it a great deal of thought, and on balance, the appeal of having Mack’s assistance and shared responsibility in the quest outweighed the horrific prospect of being on TV. Also, I secretly rather liked the idea of being part of a team; helping Mack create something, hopefully, of profound benefit for his career.

And now here I was, staring transfixed at the envelope lying on Mack’s kitchen table. I wasn’t even self-conscious that the camera held to Mack’s eye was registering my every expression; since, to my surprise and relief, he’d been right about that - after the first few sessions, I had almost succeeded in pretending that the camera wasn’t there at all. I no longer dried or fluffed, or any of those terms which sounded laundry-related, but which actually applied to public performance. I still had absolutely no wish to see myself in the finished product, though.

‘
Sure you want to go ahead with this?’ he asked, as my hand wavered over the envelope. This was typical of Mack, to bother putting it in an envelope and sealing it. Anyone else would have just handed me the sheet of paper. Still, I supposed, it was for dramatic effect.

‘
Well, it’d be pretty hard to resist having a look at what’s in this envelope, even if I didn’t. But yes, I do want to go ahead. I’ve read all the stuff, and I’m ready, for whatever we find. I don’t want her to know I’m looking for her until I find her, though. Then I decide. And if none of the names you’ve tracked down – assuming you have – turn out to be the right Ann Paramor, then I’m going to put it all behind me, stop wondering, and forget about it – her – once and for all. It’ll be a shame for your documentary, but that’s the way it’s going to be. Reading all those articles you printed off for me has made me even more certain: I don’t want it to take over my life. I don’t need to know badly enough to spend years and years searching, and possibly never get an answer. If I don’t find her within six months, that’s it.’

Mack snorted faintly, but I chose to ignore it, instead taking a deep breath. ‘So shall I open it, then?’

‘
Go on, then,’ he said. ‘It’s like the Oscars, this, you know, the bit where you have to make an embarrassing speech and cry all over your Versace frock.’

I flapped the envelope gently up and down in front of me, agitatedly, rapidly losing my nerve again. God, I was such a coward. It was only a piece of paper. What on earth would I be like if I ever came face to face with the actual woman? Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a flash of yellow, and started, but when I looked more closely I realised that it was just a sponge lying beside Mack’s kitchen sink.

‘
Are there many of them? Ann Paramors, I mean.’

‘
Just a few. Open it, Emma, for God’s sake. The suspense is killing me, and I already know what’s in there!’

A few. He had really found a few people with my mother’s name! I realised that I had began to doubt that there would be any Ann Paramors at all, after drawing a blank on the on-line phone directory. I took another deep breath, almost hyperventilating, and ripped open the envelope.

It was a single sheet of A4 , on which was a very short typed list:

Paramor, Ann: 39 Dewhurst Gds, Nottingham, NG8 4FX

Paramor, Ann: The Old Forge, Ellesmere Road, Shrewsbury, Shropshire

Paramor Ann B.: Number 8, Back Lane, St.Aubin, Jersey

Paramor, Ann H: 7 Andover Road, Harlesden, London NW10

Paramor, Ann S: Lowgill, Iwerne Minster, Dorset

I stared at the word Paramor so many times that it ceased to become a word, or a potential parent, or a red herring; but a hieroglyph, an abstract pattern; wallpaper, plastering the inside of my mind with Paramors. I felt excitement and nausea spiral up inside me, and accidentally jogged Mack’s camera with my elbow as he was slowly panning down the list over my shoulder.

‘
Wow. I don’t know what to say, Mack. Did you get all these off the Internet then?’

‘
Actually,’ he said, so sheepishly anyone would have thought he’d been looking for pornography, not parents; ‘I started to use the on-line phone directories and things, but the really comprehensive ones are all based in America, or else you have to pay for them. Then I found some information about this CD-Rom you can get. It’s based on the Electoral Registers as well as the phonebooks, and so it lists people by their Christian names and surnames. I just went down to the library and – ‘

‘
You went to the library for me? That’s so sweet of you!’ It was undeniably great, to have all this research done on my behalf. I momentarily forgot that he was actually doing it for his documentary.

Mack fidgeted with embarrassment, as if he wished he had his computer chair to twirl on. ‘It was nothing…..Anyway, where was I? Oh yeah, I just did a search on Ann Paramor, and these came up. Unfortunately there’s only a phone number listed next to two of the addresses. Still, it should be easy enough to check them all out.’

I flung my arms around Mack’s neck and hugged him, and for a moment our ears pressed together. I felt a rush of heat transmitted from his earlobe to mine.

‘
Oi! Mind me camera,’ he grumbled good-naturedly as I pulled away, adjusting my glasses. ‘It’s not going to look very professional if the picture’s wobbling all over the place.’

‘
Sorry. I’m just so excited that I’ve got something concrete to work with now. You’re fantastic. Let’s have a drink to celebrate.’

Mack looked at his watch, and then switched off the camera, placing it carefully on the table next to him; an oversized black carapace. I could see the sweaty imprint of his hand already evaporating off the side of it.

‘
Actually, I can’t stop. I’ve got footie practice tonight. Why don’t you decide which one you want to try and contact first, and we’ll go on Saturday? Oh, and if you want something to do in the meantime, could you ring Directory Enquiries, and see if you can get any more phone numbers? I don’t think I’d need to film that – although when you actually phone them up, I’d like to be there.’

‘
Sure,’ I said, beaming at both Mack, and the mothers in my hand.

Chapter 19

No time like the present, I thought, as I unpacked the shopping I’d dumped in the kitchen before running over to Mack’s. I felt light, elated, almost euphoric, as I loaded up the freezer with already-defrosting oven chips, and fish fingers in slippery wet cardboard containers, which I half-expected to wriggle out of my grasp and escape in a flash of silvery fins across the quarry tiled floor, as if excitement was animating my groceries as well as myself.

‘
Directory Enquiries first, then maybe just call one of the numbers,’ I muttered, as I stuffed empty plastic bags into the kitchen cupboard which seemed to exist for that sole purpose, until the cupboard was full to bursting and we threw all the bags away. Stella and I never had got to grips with the local council recycling scheme, and it always made me feel guilty. Mum had been very eco-minded, with her composting and recycling. She even went through a brief phase where she used to bring Betsey’s family’s manure home for our garden. Orang-utan shit made excellent mulch, but after a while the boot of our car started to smell so bad that Dad and I made her desist.

I felt a pang of missing Betsey, wishing it could have been her I’d seen in Sainsbury’s and not a stupid little bird. Why didn’t one get a choice of hallucination? It wasn’t fair.

No, I decided. I mustn’t phone up any of the Anns yet, not after I’d told Mack that I’d wait until he was there to film it. But now the ball was finally rolling it was too tempting, like being seven and alone with a massive pile of Christmas presents all addressed to me. I’d have to make do with calling Directory Enquiries for a start. Double-checking that Stella really was out - she’d told me she was going swimming, but I wanted to make sure she wasn’t skulking in her bedroom unbeknownst to me – I dialled 192. As I pressed them, the digits played a tinny synthesised rendition of the first three notes to the tune of Big Ben, before it struck the hour.

‘
Which town, please?’ droned the operator, sounding bored witless.

‘
Ann Paramor,’ I replied, not listening properly. This was getting to be a very bad habit – not listening to people when they spoke to me. Perhaps it was a trait I’d inherited from Ann Paramor… It would be so nice to know.

‘
Which
town
, please?’ said the voice, with more animation.

‘
Oh – sorry. Well, there’s one in Harlesden, one in Nottingham, and one in Shrewsbury.’

There was a pause. ‘Thank you, madam, but I’m afraid I can only give out two numbers at a time. You’ll have to ring back for the third. May I have the address of the first one?’

As I read out the first address, I felt like a baby bird myself, unable to fly, teetering on the wire rim of a supermarket trolley. I couldn’t see over the top, but I knew that it was a long way down.