Broken Places (17 page)

‘Well, I can’t wait to see where your famous Miss Mays worked. Eat up, darling, then we can get off.’

‘It’s OK, I’ve finished.’ He pushed his plate aside. Today’s emotional rollercoaster had left him with scant appetite.

The cold slapped them in the face as they emerged from the over-heated pub and turned into the High Street, on their way to the town hall.

‘Wow! What a fabulous place.’ Mandy stood gazing up at the Victorian clock-tower and the handsome building adjoining it, with its stained-glass windows and carved stone frieze.

‘Yes, it’s a big Arts Centre now, as well as the new library, but, in my day, the adult library was behind us in Mint Walk. That’s where I worked for twenty years. But the children’s library was
here
, on the site of the present entrance hall. It’s a pity it’s Sunday, otherwise I could take you in.’ He peered through the locked and barred glass doors, seeing only an empty lobby, but, in his mind, transforming it into a treasure-house of books.

‘It’s funny, I can feel the spirit of Miss Mays still hovering around the place. She used to let me help with little tasks – you know, like sticking date-labels into new stock, or putting books back in their proper places. She’d tell me where they went and why, so I was learning all the time. And sometimes she’d take me upstairs to see Braithwaite Hall, which was the reference library in those days. You can see how grand it is’ – he stepped back a pace or two and pointed to the storey above – ‘just from the outside. But inside it’s even better, with a huge hammer-beam roof and a minstrels’ gallery and stained-glass figures in the windows, depicting
high-flown
things like “Thought” and “Art” and “Science”. They use it for weddings nowadays, and concerts and what-have-you. But I used to imagine it was my parents’ home and the three of us lived in all that
splendour
and owned shelves and shelves of leather-bound books, and had troupes of minstrels singing to us non-stop.’

‘Honestly, Eric, you seem to have spent your whole life in a
fantasy-world
!’

‘Well, it’s often a darned sight better than the real one.’

‘I disagree. In fact, my goal, as far as you’re concerned, is to try and show you that real life can be pretty good.’

‘You’re showing me already. Here, give us a kiss.’

‘Well, only a quickie. We ought to leave for Violet’s now.’

His elation immediately switched to apprehension, which increased to wild proportions as they made their way to Frith Road and found
themselves
, at exactly 3.01, standing on the well-scrubbed step of a small, neat terraced house.

The door was opened by a spry but elderly woman, with soft, white,
thistledown
hair and sharp eyes that belied her age.

‘Eric!’ she exclaimed, holding out a welcoming hand. ‘I recognize you by the hair. It’s exactly the same shade as when you were a baby.’

He laughed, relieved that she’d broached the awkward subject straight away. He’d imagined a stressful silence, or endless pussyfooting about, before any of them confronted it.

‘And you must be Mandy. Lovely to meet you both. Do come in and sit down. It’s perishing out there!’

They followed her into a small, chintzy room, overstuffed with furniture and crowded with china ornaments. An old-fashioned gas-fire popped and purred in the hearth, giving off a cosy orange glow.

‘I hope you don’t mind cats?’

‘I love them,’ Eric said, making for the chair already occupied by a
well-upholstered
tabby, whom he transferred to his lap. Any cat brought a pang of loss for Charlie, but Mandy was already on the lookout for Erica’s new kitten. ‘And Mandy likes them, too.’

‘Well, this is Caesar and he’s seventeen, which is almost older than me!’

They all laughed again, and Eric actually felt himself relax, as he sat stroking Caesar’s fur.

‘We’ll have a cup of tea in a wee while, but I thought we’d get down to business first, since Mandy says you’re very keen to know something about your first few weeks of life.’

‘Well, I have to admit it’s all a bit of a blank.’

‘You’re lucky that I remember it so well.’ Violet settled back in the chair, her thin, blue-veined hands clasped loosely in her lap. ‘But then it was quite a big event, what with the police and the ambulance-men turning up at the hospital, and the old park-keeper at the head of the whole cavalcade, holding you as if you were Baby Jesus Himself! We had quite a job prising you from his arms. Apparently, he’d recently suffered the loss of a grandson, and he obviously saw you as a replacement – sent by God, he claimed. If the police hadn’t intervened, I reckon he would have spirited you off home!’

Eric sat dumbstruck. A whole new life-story was opening up – a doting, elderly park-keeper as Dad.

‘Anyway, you were rushed into the maternity ward, where I happened to be on duty, and my heart went out to you immediately. You were such a
dear little thing, with your bright red curls and your big blue eyes looking up at me as I cuddled you.’

‘You … you cuddled me?’

‘Of course. All the time. I knew it was important and, fortunately, you were healthy enough not to have to go into an incubator.’

‘But I thought I was very small.’

‘Well, just under six pounds, but very hale and hearty. Of course, you had all the proper medical tests, and the paediatrician checked you over
carefully
, to make sure you hadn’t suffered any harm. And he was the one who calculated your approximate date of birth as two days previously.’

‘Yes, February 13 – that’s on my birth certificate.’ A peculiar birth
certificate
, with no parents’ names or details.

‘He reckoned your mother was probably very young, because teenage mothers tend to have low-weight babies. And the cord had been roughly cut, so she probably gave birth alone, without a midwife in attendance.’

He drew in his breath, the usual pity he felt for his mother intensified still further.

Violet smoothed the skirt of her dress – obviously a ‘best’ dress, put on in their honour. ‘Actually, the park-keeper wasn’t the only one who wanted to take you home. I felt such a bond with you, Eric, that I’m afraid I got quite shirty if anyone looked after you but me. And, even on my days off, I’d come in to see how you were and feel jealous of the staff on duty. You see, I was already in my thirties and unmarried, so I knew I might not have children of my own – which, sad to say, I never did. I suppose a
motherless
child and a childless mother naturally gravitate towards each other. And you certainly seemed to take to me – far more so than to any of the other nurses. I always got the biggest smiles and coos! Mind you, I had to fight off a fair bit of competition. You’d become the star of the unit. The police had put out an appeal for your mother to come forward, so your story was public knowledge and people began sending in teddy bears and toys and cards and things. One dear old soul – she must have been all of ninety – spent half her pension on a rocking-horse. In fact, you must have had more presents than any baby in the world!’ Violet smiled,
remembering
. ‘And the older Eric kept turning up, telling anyone who’d listen the story of how he found you and gave you his own name, and how God
meant
for you to be saved.’

‘Perhaps He did,’ Mandy murmured, almost inaudibly.

Violet reached out to switch on a table-lamp, as the light outside was
fading. ‘I knitted you a bear myself, and made it a little hat and scarf. Your foster-parents took it home – Arthur, it was called, after my late father – so maybe you still have it?
And
the rocking-horse.’

He shook his head. If only. ‘So I stayed in quite a while, then?’

‘Yes, it must have been a good four weeks. They didn’t want to discharge you until you’d put on weight – which didn’t take too long. In fact, I’ll never forget giving you your first bottle. You suckled at a quite frantic rate, then, when you’d finished, you looked around, as if to say, “Yes, that was nice, but how about some more?”’

‘He’s not much different now,’ Mandy laughed.

‘Well, in that case, I’d better fetch the tea. And I could do with a cup myself. I’m not used to talking quite so much!’

Mandy jumped to her feet. ‘Let me help.’

‘No, it’s all prepared. I just need to re-boil the kettle and wheel the trolley in.’

‘I’ll do that,’ Eric offered.

‘What, and disturb poor Caesar? He’d never forgive me. He’s enjoying all that fuss.’

Once Violet had left the room, Mandy came over and squeezed his hand. ‘Aren’t you glad you came?’

He nodded. More than glad – enchanted. He now had the crucial
knowledge
that he’d been pampered, cuddled, fêted, fed – showered with love, in short. Even more important, he’d learned the fact, unknown before, that he’d spent two whole days with his mother.

As they heard the wheels of the tea-trolley trundling along the passage, Mandy jumped apart from his embrace.

‘So when are you two getting married?’ Violet asked, manoeuvring it through the door.

‘He hasn’t asked me yet,’ Mandy said, with a mischievous grin.

He stared at her, confused. Had she told Violet they were
engaged
? Was she expecting a proposal? Surely not, when they’d known each other less than a month.

‘No, we’re just good friends,’ Mandy added, ‘as the celebrities tend to say!’

‘Well, Eric
is
a celebrity. Look, here’s a picture from
The Times
, no less.’ Violet took a yellowed press cutting from the lower shelf of the trolley and held it out to them. It showed a picture of a young, slender, dark-haired nurse, holding a surprised-looking infant, swaddled in a shawl. ‘You were a
bit thrown that day, bless you, with all the photographers milling round and the flashbulbs making you jump. It was quite an event for me, as well. I had my hair done specially. It’s not often that I get to meet the Press.’

He took the cutting from her, handling it with reverence. This was an original – faded, tattered, flimsy – and thus more precious than a printout.

‘Pity it’s not in colour. Then you could see your hair. It’s most unusual, you know, for babies to be born with bright red hair. Future redheads are normally blond, as infants, or with just a reddish tint. And you had these brilliant blue eyes, like—’

‘I always thought they were rather pale and boring.’

‘Get away with you! You were a really bonny baby – everybody remarked on it. And, look, more cuttings here – from the
Telegraph
, the
Mail
and the
Express
.’

‘Fantastic!’ Mandy said. ‘I’d planned to get all these myself, so you’ve saved me a long slog to Colindale.’

‘Well, you’re welcome to take them home, if you want.’

Eric craved to drink in every word –
now
, this very minute – not wait till he got home; wished he could be rude enough to turn his back on the other two and ignore his role as guest.

‘But we mustn’t let our tea get cold. Milk and sugar for you both?’

Mandy answered for him. He was still gazing at the four very similar photographs, struck by the devoted way Violet was holding him; his face against her cheek; her arms circling him protectively.

‘And I hope you’ll try my home-made sponge. This is quite a treat for me, you know. It’s ages since I’ve had anyone to tea.’

‘Well, you must come and visit us,’ Eric offered, forcing himself to look up from the cuttings, ‘if it’s not too much of a trek.’

‘Not at all. I’d love that. In fact, I wanted to stay in touch with you right from the beginning. But I heard you’d been adopted, so I didn’t think it right to interfere.’

How ironical, he thought. Had she known that both adoptions had
actually
fallen through, she might have remained a presence in his life – a sort of loving aunt, perhaps.

‘I’ve thought about you so often, and wondered what became of you. I was truly sad you never found your birth-mother, but you mustn’t think that people didn’t try. The police checked out all the midwives in the area, and all the doctors who’d been doing antenatal work, and they put out calls for anyone who might have seen a woman with an infant,
especially
 
in the Park Hill district. But I’m afraid to say all their efforts drew a blank.’

She paused to cut the cake; pass them plates and napkins. ‘And, while the searches were in progress, the gifts for you kept pouring in. Of course, the one thing people wanted to give you wasn’t in their power to give – your mother. I suspect she was too frightened to come forward. It’s a criminal offence to abandon a baby, so she might have feared she’d be arrested, although in point of fact such fears were pretty groundless. Even in those days, people had some understanding that a poor young girl might have felt abandoned herself and simply acted out of panic.’

Eric deliberately started reading the
Telegraph
account; unwilling to hear another word about his mother’s tragic predicament.

‘
Eric Johnson, 63, a local park-keeper, had the surprise of his life just yesterday, when he came back from his rounds to find a newborn baby lying in front of the stove in …’

Mandy and Violet were talking – he could hear them somewhere, far away – but
he
was in the bothy, being picked up by fatherly Eric; held securely in strong and loving arms.

‘Now, I’m just going to refill the teapot.’ Violet eased herself from her chair. ‘And give Caesar a drop of milk.’

As the cat sprang off his lap, Mandy came to sit beside him, squeezing his arm affectionately. ‘Isn’t this just great? And we can probably get a load more stuff. Why don’t we have a bash at tracking down the police who conducted all those searches, and the ambulance-men who brought you in, and maybe even the photographers? Some of them are bound to be alive still. We could try the National Archives in Kew. Or there’s this special “search” service, I’ve just discovered, run by the
Daily Mail
, which helps you find—’

He clasped her hand, uncertain what to say. However grateful he might be for her enthusiasm, some instinct made him want to call a halt. There was enough to digest already, without going any further. Besides, whatever she might say, fantasy had its value. Safer, for one thing, and easier to control.