The House by Princes Park (30 page)

‘I suppose you don’t know what to say,’ remarked Olivia Appleby when she went in. She was sitting uncomfortably on the very edge of the settee, clutching her knees, as if she too found the situation difficult. The fur coat had been thrown on a chair and she wore a smart black suit underneath.

‘How did you find me? How long have you known where I live?’ Ruby asked. She was curiously empty inside, as if all emotion and feeling had drained from her body. She felt nothing for this well-spoken, well-dressed woman, neither love nor anger, but there was a vague sense of resentment that she’d turned up to disrupt her life after all this time.

‘I’ve known about you for two months. Since then, I’ve been trying to pluck up the courage to come.’ There was a slight tremor in her voice. ‘I found you through, well it’s a long story, but I’ll tell you in as few words as possible.’ She took a deep breath. ‘When I was expecting you, I lived in Bristol with a woman called Madge Cookson. She was a
midwife of sorts. You’d only been born a matter of hours when someone took you away.’ A look of pain passed over her face. ‘Madge swore she’d no idea where you’d gone.’ She shrugged tiredly. ‘We stayed in touch with the occasional letter, Christmas cards, that sort of thing. Earlier this year, in August, Madge died. When her son wrote to tell me, he enclosed a letter. On the envelope, Madge had written it was to be sent to me on her death. It said, the letter, that she’d promised never to tell where my baby had been taken, but didn’t want to carry the secret to her grave and you’d gone to the Convent of the Sisters of the Sacred Cross in Abergele. She also said you’d kept your real name, Ruby O’Hagan.’ She smiled wanly at Ruby. ‘My first thought was truly horrible – I wished Madge hadn’t lived until almost ninety, that she’d died years and years before, when you were still a child.’

‘Who was the someone who took me away?’

‘My father. He dragged you from my arms.’ She cradled her arms and shivered violently. ‘Do you mind if I smoke?’

‘There’s an ashtray around somewhere.’ Ruby found one on the sideboard and put it beside the untouched tea. ‘Have you been to the convent?’

‘I went as soon as I read Madge’s letter. It’s no longer an orphanage, hasn’t been for years.’ She paused to light a cigarette, breathing in the smoke with an expression of relief, as if she’d been aching for a cigarette for ages. ‘At first, I thought they’d refuse to give me the information I wanted, but the Mother Superior was young and very understanding. She couldn’t see the harm after so many years. There was a mad search in the basement for files, and the long and short of it is I learnt you’d gone to live in Liverpool with an Emily Dangerfield.’

‘Emily left, years ago.’ Ruby felt as if she was listening to the story of some other child’s life, not her own.

‘I found that out straight away. I then resorted to the telephone directory, though thought it unlikely you’d be
in. You’d have married, I reasoned. But say you’d had a son? He’d be an O’Hagan. All I had to do was ask his mother’s name. I found an R. O’Hagan at this address and drove here straight away, stopped the car outside.’ She stubbed the cigarette out and immediately lit another. ‘I saw you at an upstairs window. You’re so like your father, I wanted to cry. I went away and cried somewhere else, then I drove home. That was September. Since then, I’ve been trying to pluck up the nerve to come back.’

Ruby knew there were dozens of questions she should ask, but couldn’t think of a single one.

‘I’m surprised you never married,’ commented the woman who claimed to be her mother.

‘I did. His name was Jacob and he was killed in the war. I kept my own name. It would take too long to explain why.’ She didn’t want to. All she wanted was for the woman to go away and never come back because it was disquieting to discover she had a mother when she’d managed quite well without one for thirty-eight years.

‘I’m so sorry about your husband. Have you any children?’

‘Two girls; Greta and Heather. They’re getting married in December. It’s a double wedding.’

‘I suppose you’re up to your eyes. I remember when my own daughter...’ She broke off, embarrassed. ‘I meant, my
other
daughter. Oh!’ she cried. ‘I don’t suppose there’s any chance of us becoming friends? It’s been too long.’

‘I reckon so,’ Ruby said slowly and felt ashamed when she saw the look of anguish on Olivia Appleby’s pale, unhappy face.

‘Perhaps I should go. I’m sure you’re very busy and I’m probably holding you up.’ She reached for her coat.

‘Please, don’t.’ If she left, Ruby would kick herself later for not asking things she’d always been curious to know. It would also be very cruel. This woman had clearly grieved for her lost child far more than the child had grieved for its
mother. She tried to imagine how she would have felt if one of her daughters had been torn from her arms when only a few hours old and she’d never seen her again, but it was impossible. ‘Tell me about my father?’ she said trying to make her voice sound warm and friendly.

The woman smiled properly for the first time, a sweet, almost childish smile. Her eyes lit up. ‘His name was Thomas Gerald O’Hagan. We met in France towards the end of the First World War. I was a nurse, he was my patient.’

‘Did he know about me?’

‘No, he died before I knew I was pregnant. He was an American, born in Boston.’

‘An American!’

‘His father had a bookshop where Tom worked. We were going to get married after the war.’ Her head drooped. ‘He was my one and only love. I never fell in love again. I married Henry Appleby for companionship. He was a widower, much older than me. I never told him about you. I was only forty when he died.’ She twisted the wedding ring on her finger. ‘It was a good marriage. We were content with each other. We had three children – a daughter and two sons, all married now, leading their own lives, and providing me with grandchildren. I have eight,’ she said with a touch of pride.

‘Ten.’

She flushed. ‘Ten, counting yours.’ She leant forward and looked at Ruby anxiously. ‘Tell me, have you been happy? I’ve thought of you constantly over the years; on your birthday, or whenever I saw a girl your age. Madge told me this would happen. I’d wonder what you were doing, where you were living, but most of all I longed to know if you were happy.’

‘I’ve been happy most of the time.’

‘I’m glad. Now, I really must be going. I’ve intruded long enough. All this must have come as a terrible shock.’
She was putting on her coat, lighting another cigarette. ‘You need time to think, get used to the idea of your mother appearing out of the blue. Perhaps we could meet again sometime. I’m sure we have loads of things to say to each other.’

‘Perhaps we could,’ Ruby said politely.

Olivia Appleby winced. ‘I’ll leave you my card. I’d love to have a photo of your daughters’ wedding.’ Her lips twisted wryly. ‘My
grand
daughters’ wedding. Oh, and I brought you something. I nearly forgot.’ She fished in her bag and brought out a little velvet box. ‘This is the ring that Tom, your father, gave me. It belonged to his “grandpop” – that’s how he put it. It’s engraved, “Ruby to Eamon, 1857”. It’s exactly one hundred years since Ruby and Eamon got married. Now you know where your name came from.’

‘Thank you,’ said Ruby.

They went towards the door, shook hands. Olivia Appleby was walking down the path towards a large, gleaming car Ruby hadn’t noticed before. She opened the gate, turned and waved. There was something terribly sad about her bent shoulders, her wan face.

This woman was her
mother
! Yet she’d treated her like a stranger. She wouldn’t have expected Ruby to fall into her arms, shower her with kisses, but she must have hoped for something more than the cold welcome she’d been given, some enthusiasm towards the idea of them meeting again.

She must be bitterly disappointed. How far did she have to drive, feeling as as she did? Ruby glanced at the card – Bath. She hadn’t asked all sorts of things, important things, about her father, Olivia herself.

Ruby wanted to run down the path, persuade her mother to come back, ask the questions now. But she couldn’t. There was still a feeling of faint resentment that she’d come at all.

Olivia had reached the car, opened the door, was about to get in.

‘Just a minute,’ Ruby shouted.

The wan face brightened hopefully. ‘Yes, dear?’

‘Why don’t you come to the wedding? It’s the third of December, a Saturday.’

‘I’d love to.’

‘I’ll send an invitation to the address on the card.’

Her mother got in the car, smiling and nodding. ‘Thank you very much.’ She closed the door and drove away.

‘You’re very quiet,’ Chris said that night. Larry and Rob had taken the girls out in the Volkswagen and they had the house to themselves, not counting the lodgers upstairs.

‘I’m thinking.’

‘Could you think aloud? It’s more sociable.’

‘Sorry.’ She wrinkled her nose apologetically. For some reason, she couldn’t bring herself to tell him about her mother’s visit. Later, after he’d gone, she’d write to Beth, with whom she’d always shared the closest of her secrets.

‘I hope you’re not still cogitating on what colour frock to wear for the wedding?’

‘No.’ She laughed. ‘I’ve decided I don’t care. Any colour will do apart from khaki. Fuchsia would be nice.’ She’d always been drawn to bright colours.

‘You’d look lovely in khaki, but even lovelier in fuchsia.’ They were on the settee in each other’s arms. He traced the outline of her face with his finger. ‘You’ve got a very determined chin.’

‘You’ve got holy eyes. You’d have made a good priest. The women parishioners would have fallen madly in love with you.’

‘I doubt if having holy eyes will advance my career in the police force,’ he said drily.

‘I’ve never got anywhere with my determined chin.’

He kissed her. ‘There’s plenty of time. Until then, could
you point your chin in the direction of the bedroom and we can continue this conversation there? Better still,
dis
continue it and concentrate on other things.’

Two hours later, a blissfully exhausted Ruby and Chris were in the kitchen innocently drinking tea when the young people arrived home – it probably never crossed their minds they did anything else.

The day was bitterly cold. Tiny flakes of ice were being whipped to and fro in the bone-chilling wind, confetti for a winter wedding.

Heather’s short veil was flung into a halo around her regal head, while Greta had to cling on to her longer one for fear she’d take off, be blown away, as it spread around her like two great, lacy wings.

There’d been a gasp from the watching crowd when Ruby’s girls came out of the church. They had never looked so beautiful, and probably never would again, Ruby thought with tears in her eyes. Memories chased each other through her brain; Greta’s first words, Heather’s first determined, stumbling steps, playing with Jake in the garden of Mrs Hart’s house, starting school.

But now her girls were married women. They belonged to someone else, two very nice young men whom Ruby felt convinced would make them happy. Their mother was no longer the most important person in their lives.

‘Sad?’ whispered Chris who was standing behind her while the photographer took pictures.

Ruby nodded and he slipped his arm around her waist and squeezed. ‘It’s only natural to feel sad, but I’ll cheer you up tonight, I promise.’

‘Not tonight. Beth’s staying.’

‘And you’d prefer me out the way!’

‘If you don’t mind. Only tonight. She’s staying a week, but you can come tomorrow. Get to know her.’

‘I mind so much, I’m busting a gut, but I’ll just have to
put up with it.’ He grinned. He was the most understanding man she’d ever known and she was the luckiest woman in the world. There wasn’t a single reason to be sad.

‘Who’s the lady in the mink?’ Chris asked.

‘Olivia Appleby, a friend from long ago.’ She hadn’t known the coat was mink until Martha Quinlan had remarked on the fact.

Her mother had asked for their relationship to be kept to themselves. ‘I hope you don’t mind,’ she’d said over the phone, ‘but I’m not up to the questions, the explanations, the accusing looks. Perhaps later...’

‘I’ll introduce you as Olivia Appleby and say you’re a friend.’ It was the way Ruby preferred. She wasn’t up to facing people’s reactions, either. Even the girls didn’t know their grandmother was at the wedding. Only Beth knew the truth.

Beth! She looked across at her friend who was standing with Connie and Charles. She’d lost weight and her lovely hair had been brutally shorn to tight little curls close to her scalp, reminding Ruby of a convict. Above the exaggerated cheekbones in the once plump face, her eyes held an expression that a convict might; desperate, lonely. She was wearing a lovely mohair coat with fur trimming and suede boots. Beth clearly wasn’t short of money, but she was short of other, more important things. It was obvious from her eyes.

The photographer had almost finished and some of the shivering guests had begun to pile into cars to drive to the hall where the reception was being held. Ruby and Chris were being taken in an official car. Charles had offered to take the Quinlans, her mother was bringing Beth.

Ruby made sure everyone was being looked after before getting in the car herself.

‘Gee, Rube! I had a great time.’ It was almost midnight
when Beth threw herself into an armchair with an exhausted sigh. She already had a touch of an American accent.

Ruby collapsed wearily on to the settee. She’d danced herself silly and had kissed more people than she’d done in her entire life. It had been an enjoyable day, but highly emotional.

‘I can’t remember when I last enjoyed meself so much,’ Beth said, ‘though for all the expense, it wasn’t as good as Connie and Charles’s wedding all those years ago.’

‘Martha said the same – and Connie and Charles.’

‘That day will stand out in me mind for ever.’ She looked curiously at her friend. ‘I’ve often wondered why you got so ratty with me when it was over.’

Ruby made a face. ‘Because Jim Quinlan asked you out.’

‘You were keen on him?’