The Secret Daughter (16 page)

I was in such a panic when I realised that Tania was telling the truth. I ran from the dining room and all the way to our bedroom, but then I was scared that she would follow me and mock me for being stupid, so I ran back down the stairs and out into the out-of-bounds stairwell behind the home.

All that I wanted was to be alone. It is such a basic dignity to have enough privacy to cry. But even there, in the one place in the home no one is supposed to go, Mrs Baxter was waiting. As soon as I stepped onto the landing I saw her, sitting on the cement stairs one level up.

At first I did not actually register that
she
was crying, all I knew was that I had believed her to be a friend, but now I realise that she
works here
and it’s actually her job to figure out how to take my baby. I was so angry with her that I could have hurt her, if I’d had the presence about me to coordinate any physical action. You know I’m not one to yell, but in this situation, I think I might actually be capable of anything – I’ve never
felt
so outraged before. But when she finally realised I was there too and looked down at me I swear to God that looking into those red eyes of hers was like staring at a corpse.

I feel no shame about my situation, but you know what, in that regard I think maybe I am actually better off than Mrs Baxter. There was no denying the pain she’s in. She doesn’t want to be here anymore than I do, and I can’t even begin to guess why she stays. Seeing how upset she was shocked some sense into me and I climbed the stairs and sat beside her. For a while we sat in silence, and then she suddenly wrapped her arms around me and all of our tears started all over again.

After a while, she pointed out that I had to go to bed, or I’d be missed by the night nurse and Mrs Sullivan would be informed. I was still crying, and Mrs Baxter wiped away the tears on my cheeks with the pads of her thumbs and told me that I have to be brave for the baby. Beneath the dull resignation and the self-loathing in her brown eyes, there is still kindness there. I begged her to help me. There has to be a way, surely, and if anyone could do it . . . well, maybe
she
could.

She promised to think about it, and she told me to do this; to go somewhere when I could, and quickly write another letter to you, to make as blunt as I could the desperation in my situation.

So here I am, James. I am laying it all out before you. There is no ‘brave face’ over these words this time, just in case my brave face until now has fooled you somehow into thinking that I am okay.

I am
not
okay, James.
We
are not okay. Our family is in terrible danger, and there isn’t much time. This just isn’t right. We can’t let it happen, can we? We won’t, will we?

James, if you really can’t get away, and I can’t think why you wouldn’t but . . . if that’s the case, then please just contact your parents. I know they will help.

Please, James.

Lilly

FIFTEEN

Sabina—April 2012

I was still in bed the next morning when Ted went to leave for work. He had been in to kiss me to say goodbye and I was lying semi-awake in a tangle of sheets and blankets, wondering at the slight curve to my tummy.

It was easy to forget that something quite miraculous was happening while we rushed about our lives, distracted by all of the drama with my parents. I slid my hands over my lower belly several times, trying to measure the angle of any potential bump that might be emerging. I wondered if the baby was moving around beneath my hand, and if it was bothered at all by the stress hormones that had no doubt been pumping through my body lately. Would it look like me? I hoped it inherited Ted’s metabolism and my voice. We hadn’t talked about it, but I had a feeling that Ted was hoping for a son. I was starting to form a mental list of potential boy’s names when I heard Ted open the front door, and I paused, waiting for the sound of it locking behind him. When I didn’t hear the slam, I rose reluctantly and pulled on a gown over my night shirt, thinking he’d left it open.

I found him sitting on the step beside my mother, his arm around her thin shoulders. For a moment, he didn’t realise that I was behind them, and the expression on his face was pure agony. I stopped and watched them, thinking about how quickly the landscape of my family life had changed. I’d been doing a lot of talking since my parents had told me the truth about my birth. I hadn’t thought nearly enough about the impact all of this was having on my husband.

‘Come inside, Mum,’ I said softly. Ted glanced up at me.

‘I can’t,’ she whispered. I had startled her, and now she pulled away from Ted and rose. ‘I don’t deserve your hospitality . . . and I don’t deserve your forgiveness, Sabina. I’ll never even ask you for it. I wanted to do this weeks ago, but we were so scared, and Dad . . .’

There was an aching sadness in her smile but she held out her hand, and I reached for it automatically. I felt the tremors running through her, transmitted to my skin via the piece of paper she clutched, now sandwiched between our fingers. There were thirty-eight years of guilt in her red-rimmed eyes.

‘We so loved pretending that you were really ours, Sabina. It was like a wonderful game, and after a while, we forgot that we were only ever playing. Dad doesn’t want to let that go, but I know that you need us to.’

She withdrew her hand from mine, leaving the paper behind.

‘C-come in,’ I pleaded. ‘Come in and talk to me.’

‘No, Dad will be upset if he wakes up before I get home.’

‘
Don’t worry
about Dad!
I
need you!’

The last of my sleepiness had disappeared. My hands shook when I looked down at the paper. Mum’s handwriting was uneven. I could see that she’d been shaking when she wrote.

Liliana Wyzlecki

3rd September 1973

My breath caught.

‘This is her? This is
me
?’

Mum nodded.

‘Mum, t-thank you,’ a sob overcame me and I pressed my hands against my mouth to stop myself dissolving completely.

‘I . . .’ Mum tried to speak, but couldn’t quite form the words. She looked to Ted helplessly, and he pointed to a box on the ground beside our door.

‘Megan brought some photo albums for you. So that if you can find her, you can show her what your life has been like.’

I stared at the box. It contained a collection of mismatched photo albums that I’d never seen before.

‘Where did these come from?’

‘I made them for her,’ Mum choked. She took a step backwards and away from us. ‘Good luck, Sabina. I really . . . I really wish you
luck,
love.’

She turned away and started to walk towards her car. Ted caught my arm as I moved to give chase.

‘Bean, let her go.’

I thought about it. After all, I had in my hand the thing that I needed most from her.

I didn’t have what I
wanted
though. I wanted comfort and assurance. I wanted an open chat, and some easy answers.

‘I
can’t
let her go, Ted
.
’

I shook his arm away and took off at a half-jog towards my mother’s car. She was fumbling with the key button to open the door. Her brave face was gone now; she was a mess of ugly tears.

I snatched the keys from her hand and then we stared at each other in the early light. I was furious and I was grateful and I was devastated and relieved. I didn’t know where to start explaining all that – my emotions were running so high and fast that words barely seemed big enough to funnel them out.

‘You
did
know her.’

Mum nodded, and wiped at her eyes. God, she looked so old – painfully thin, drowning in her own tears. I felt like Mum had undergone a physical metamorphosis in the weeks since she’d told me the truth.

‘She wanted to keep me, didn’t she? That’s why you never told me.’

‘Sabina, I told you, it wasn’t as simple as that—’

‘I
know
, Mum. I just need to hear it. She wanted to keep me. You wouldn’t let her. You took me yourself. That’s what happened, wasn’t it?’

‘If you need to simplify things that much, Sabina, you will never understand this.’

‘I would
hate
anyone that took my baby from me,’ I whispered, thinking of the blissfully calm moment I’d just abandoned, lying in my bed thinking about my pregnancy. I hadn’t intended cruelty and hadn’t realised how hurtful my words had been until I heard Ted’s stifled gasp behind me. Mum suddenly met my gaze again.

‘And you’d have every right to,’ she said flatly.

‘I almost get Dad’s part in this – I can
imagine
him deciding what was best for everyone and then pulling all of the strings like some sick puppet master. But
you
? You were the one who taught me that
every
person matters. You taught me to
always
tell the truth.
You
were apparently even keeping these photo albums for her – you obviously knew that I’d have to find out about this one day, but you kept it from me for my whole life anyway? None of this makes sense Mum, and now you’re leaving me to deal with it all on my own and it’s just not fair!’

Mum reached towards me, and for a moment, I thought she was going to take my hand. I read this as an act of contrition or a softening of sorts and almost whimpered in relief, but froze again when I realised that she was only reaching for her keys. She was still crying silently, her face still a crumpled, blotchy mess, but there was a determination in her gaze.

‘I need to go home now, Sabina.’

‘The worst part of all of this isn’t that I’m
adopted
,’ I spoke in desperation, and the words sounded much harsher than I’d intended them to be. ‘It’s not even that you hid it from me. It’s that I’ve realised that you were never the person I thought you were.’

Mum snatched the keys from my hand.

‘I’m sorry that you feel like that,’ she whispered. ‘I know that I’ve let you down. I know that what we’ve done is unforgivable. I only hope you can move on and build a new future, now that you have some answers.’ She sat quickly in the car, then put the keys into the ignition and started the engine, staring ahead at the road instead of me. ‘Take care, my love.’

Ted slipped his arms around my waist and rested his cheek against mine, and we watched her car pull away.

‘At least you have her name now, Bean.’

‘I know,’ I whispered. I watched until Mum’s car was out of sight then turned to him and returned his embrace. ‘At least now I have her name – and I am going to find her, Ted. It’s too late to make things right, but maybe at least I can find some closure – for us
all
.’

SIXTEEN

Lilly—August 1973

Dear James

You won’t believe this, but lately, I haven’t felt like eating. I am watching the calendar and the days are disappearing. It feels like the clock is ticking faster and faster, and while I can’t wait to get out of here, I also can’t bear to think what’s coming and so I feel trapped and on edge and scared all of the time. The fear takes up all of my energy, and I can’t concentrate. I try to eat for the baby, but I don’t even want to. For the first time in my life, it is too much effort to open my mouth and put food in there.

I just want to go home.

So, I have been going to the meal times to have my name marked off by the nurse, and sometimes I sit and pick at my food, but mostly when I am not at work, I sit alone in my room and stare out the window at the road. I’ve imagined you getting out of a car at that kerb so many times that I feel like I can remember it happening for real.

Tania has made some mean comments about me not eating, and tonight while dinner was on, she actually followed me to our room. At first I thought she was going to demand I return for dinner – that perhaps she was taking my lack of appetite as a personal insult against her cooking. Instead, she withdrew a small black canvas bag from the very back of her locker and told me that I must come for a walk with her.

I tried to resist, but Tania is a very forceful girl. I am a little scared of her, to be honest. In the end, I followed her only because I thought it might be quicker to just do whatever she wanted to do than to argue with her against it.

She took me to Eliza’s room. Eliza works in the kitchen, and I don’t know her very well, but we
all
heard the commotion from her room in the small hours last night. Her quiet moans became grunts and screams, and a nurse came to check on her and found her in the late stages of labour. The ward men came and took her away and after she was gone, the home seemed too still.

Poor, shrunken Eliza came back to the home this morning. Her belly is deflated, and the rest of her with it. She has spent the day in her room alone. At least she does not have to work now – she is only here for a few days until her parents arrive to take her home.

I have gone out of my way to avoid Eliza in the hallways because I don’t have a clue what to say to her. She is spending all of her time grieving her loss, I am spending all of
my
energy
resisting
mine.

Tania explained what we were doing as Eliza and I followed her towards the front door. The three of us were going to the maternity ward in the hospital across the road. If there were kind midwives on, they would allow us to spend a few minutes with Eliza’s baby. This is apparently something that Tania does whenever she can for the girls, and although it’s totally against the rules, Mrs Baxter must know that she does it. The black canvas bag houses a Polaroid camera that Mrs Baxter gave us, so that if we have the chance to say goodbye to our babies, we can at least take home a small memento of that moment.

I asked Tania why
I
had to come. It seemed an intensely personal journey, and I felt awkward tagging along. I thought maybe she was being cruel, just trying to ensure that I really
understood the true horror of what was about to happen to me.

But Tania explained that not all of the midwives are kind enough to allow this mercy mission. She would go inside the maternity ward first, and look into the staff room to determine who was on duty. If the awful midwives are there, or if for some reason Mrs Sullivan was in the office, I would need to feign an emergency to distract them so that she could sneak Eliza in. Tania suggested I groan and moan as if labour pains had started, generally to make as much noise and fuss as I could to get the attention of all of the staff.