Trio

Epilogue

The conference reception area was lined with exhibitions from adoption charities and organisations. And there were tables laden with leaflets and booklets, petitions and contact sheets. The place was filling up with people arriving. Some came alone, others in twos or threes, some even in coach parties. All ages, and men as well as women.

Helen, the counsellor, accompanied Caroline to the registration desk. They were greeted warmly and given a room plan and timetable. Keynote speeches in the large hall at ten, one thirty and three, workshops and discussion groups in-between.

‘Tea and coffee over there,’ the volunteer told them, ‘do help yourselves.’

Caroline felt another swirl of trepidation, doubtful about the wisdom of coming here. She hated crowds, hated talking in front of people. Heat flushed her forehead and the nape of her neck.

‘I’m going outside,’ she told Helen, ‘get some air.’

‘Fine. We don’t start until half past ten, we’re just in there.’ She pointed to a door at one end of the foyer. It was labelled with a notice, large black letters. Room 4 Session 1a: Birth Parents – Breaking the Silence, 10.30-12.30

Caroline made her way through the crush and out into the damp, drizzly day, past the knots of smokers lingering on the steps. She walked slowly round the courtyard, breathing in the smell of wet stone. She studied the old walls and architectural details to avoid looking at all the people. Helen had told her there’d be people from all aspects of adoption, of the triangle as she called it, and professionals too. The whole thrust of the day was to hear from people about their own experiences and to learn from that what services should be developed in the future.

A shriek of laughter made her turn. There were three women coming through the gates, two middle-aged and one younger and heavily pregnant. Were they related? They didn’t look particularly alike. Were they adoptive parents, social workers, birth parents, adoptees? Impossible to tell. Caroline wondered about the pregnant woman, did she really want to be here? Did she feel at all awkward? She didn’t look it. There was a crêche too, Caroline remembered, so there’d be children here, maybe babies. Which was what it was all about: babies. Losing them, finding them.

Panic made her stomach lurch. She could not do this. She’d have to tell Helen. It had been a stupid idea. She walked quickly inside, intending to make her excuses and leave, wander round the unfamiliar town centre while the rest of them got on with it.

It was busier than ever in the building and she couldn’t see Helen among the many faces. Above the hubbub someone clapped hands to quieten them and asked them to take their seats in the hall. People began to move that way.

Still no sign of Helen. Caroline was annoyed, her jaw tightened with tension. She couldn’t walk out without a word, not after all Helen had done for her.

A hand touched her arm and she turned to see a diminutive old woman, frail, with wispy white hair and thick glasses. ‘Would you mind,’ her voice quavered, ‘I need to get a seat but I’m not so steady… I’m so very sorry to be a bother.’

‘Not at all, here…’ Caroline offered her arm and helped the woman through the throng.

‘I’ve never been to anything like this before,’ the woman said.

‘Neither have I.’

‘I’d no idea there would be so many people. Just look at them all.’

Caroline nodded. ‘Here we are.’ She guided her into the second row.

On the dais at the front, three people sat and behind them a projected message welcomed them all.

‘Thank you so much. Elsie Carr.’ She held out her hand, reaching up to Caroline.

‘Caroline.’ She hovered in the aisle.

The people on the dais were still chatting to each other and adjusting their papers.

‘Have you come far?’

‘Somerset, a couple of hours.’ She hesitated, the last few delegates were taking their seats. ‘What about you?’

‘I got the coach, from Newcastle. I had to come yesterday. The people in the booking office sorted me out with a bed and breakfast.’

‘That’s a long way.’

Elsie nodded. The lights began to dim. ‘Ooh!’ She turned her attention to the front then glanced back at Caroline, who was still standing. Elsie pulled a face, a mix of excitement and apprehension, and patted the seat beside her.

With a feeling of misgiving, Caroline slid into it and watched as the woman at the podium began by thanking them all for coming.

The half hour flew by and then people were asked to leave the hall and join their morning sessions. Caroline helped Elsie once again and when they reached the foyer she asked her which session she wanted.

Elsie ran her finger down the printed sheet. ‘Room four.’ She looked about.

‘This way.’ Caroline led her over.

‘What about you, dear?’ Elsie cocked her head and looked up at Caroline.

It was ridiculous, Caroline thought. If Elsie had been in any other session she could have taken her there then nipped back to explain to Helen and ducked out of the session, but she felt some stupid sense of responsibility for Elsie and she couldn’t lie to her.

‘Same as you.’

‘Good.’ Elsie patted her hand. ‘Good. You can hold my hand.’ And she gave Caroline’s hand a squeeze.

‘And you mine,’ Caroline muttered.

Inside Room four a circle of twenty chairs had been set out and at the back a table with tea and coffee. Helen was there, talking to a small group of women, and she nodded hello to Caroline across the room. Caroline got teas for herself and Elsie and joined her to wait as the room gradually filled up. The tea was watery and she didn’t know whether drinking it would make her feel better or worse. She fiddled with the cup and saucer. The place was hot and a rush of saliva in her mouth made her stomach heave. She put her drink down and told Elsie she was nipping out for a minute.

‘I’ll save your seat for you.’

In the ladies’, Caroline splashed water on her face and rinsed her mouth. She felt ghastly. She stared at her face in the mirror. Daft, wasn’t it. Inside, she was still fifteen, still the girl who was happiest running free up on the tops or trotting after Grandma, not this middle-aged woman with grey hair and bags under her eyes and her face the colour of putty. She found a mint in her bag and hoped it would help settle her stomach. She could just stay here, hiding in the toilet, but Elsie was expecting her back… and Helen. And how would she ever explain to Paul or to Theresa, who both knew she was coming.

She steeled herself and set off back. As she rejoined the corridor she almost collided with another woman who’d come hurtling from the other direction.

‘I’m sorry, I’m terribly late, not sure if I’m going the right way. Are you all right? You don’t know…’ She broke off. She was staring at Caroline.

Caroline looked at her. Petite build, red hair, face sprinkled with freckles, deep lines round the mouth and the eyes. Bright eyes, vivid blue. Caroline frowned. ‘It’s not… Megan?’ It couldn’t be.

‘Oh, Jesus!’ Megan’s hands flew up to her face. ‘I never…’ Her hands went out to grasp Caroline’s. ‘Caroline?’

‘Yes.’

‘Oh, my God! You’ll give me a heart attack!’ She shook her head, her eyes filled with tears.

‘Long time.’

‘A lifetime. How are you? Are you… Did you… What… Oh, Jesus!’

Caroline couldn’t help laughing at Megan’s verbal con tortions.

‘We’ll have lunch,’ Megan told her, ‘we’ll talk.’

‘Yes.’ Caroline didn’t hesitate. ‘Your boyfriend… Declan?’

‘Brendan. Still together. Got married, had three more. Oh, Caroline. You?’

‘I’m married. Two boys, all grown up now.’

The question they both wanted to ask hung unspoken. It was Caroline who surprised herself by breaking the pause, speaking quickly. ‘I met my daughter, we had a reunion.’

‘Oh, I’m so glad.’ Megan’s face relaxed with relief. ‘So did I. Well… mine not yours. Turned up on the doorstep. We’ve had our ups and downs, but -’ she smiled and nodded her head – ‘I wouldn’t have it any other way.’

Helen appeared at the end of the corridor. ‘Caroline?’

‘Sorry,’ Caroline gasped.

‘Sorry,’ Megan added and they stepped apart guiltily. ‘Remember Sister Vincent?’

‘Oh, don’t,’ Caroline laughed.

They walked back with Helen and explained to her how they knew each other. Caroline sat with Elsie on her left and Megan on her right. Helen opened the session but Caroline found herself assailed by memories: pulling the heavy laundry cart with Megan, the porridge at breakfast, the cold bedroom they had shared, Joan comforting her after they’d told her about Grandma, the terrifying labour and that first glimpse of her baby, red and streaked, a shock of hair, overwhelming, lovely. She remembered watching as the babies in the nursery were moved round closer to the door as each was taken and the night when they pulled Theresa from her arms.

She wrenched her thoughts away and back to Helen, who was now asking them to introduce themselves and say a little about their situation. Helen asked Elsie to start.

Elsie cleared her throat. Caroline felt her nervousness, saw her misshapen knuckles whiten as she tightened her hands, which were clasped in her lap. Caroline put out her hand and rested it on Elsie’s arm, gave a gentle squeeze. Elsie nodded. ‘I’m Elsie, Elsie Carr. I had a baby, a little boy, back in 1943. His father was a GI.’ Her voice wavered. ‘I’ve never told anybody about it. Not until today. Thank you,’ she added.

‘My name is Caroline. I had a daughter when I was very young. We’ve had a reunion.’ She stopped abruptly. What else should she say? There were a million things. She turned to Megan. Megan gave her a smile.

‘I’m Megan. I was in the same Mother and Baby Home as Caroline, a place in Manchester. I wanted to get married and keep my baby but they wouldn’t let us.’ She paused and pressed her lips together, swallowed. ‘She traced us as soon as she reached eighteen. Her dad and I, we did get married and we had three others. That’s me.’

‘I’m Gloria…’ The next person began.

‘I feel all… I don’t know, inside out,’ Elsie remarked when the session was over.

Megan laughed. ‘You’re not wrong there.’

Caroline blew her nose again. She had been in tears several times as people recounted their stories and shared their grief and anger and hopes and despair. She hadn’t been the only one either. A room full of people who knew exactly what you were talking about. She felt completely drained. And she wouldn’t have missed it for the world.

Helen came over. ‘Lunch?’

‘We’re going to have a proper catch up,’ Megan told her, smiling affectionately at Caroline.

‘You were at St Ann’s at the same time?’ Helen said.

‘Had our babies on the same day. Three of us, us two and this other girl, Joan. They reckoned it was a record.’

‘We all shared a room,’ Caroline said.

‘Shall I take you to get something to eat then, Elsie?’ Helen said.

‘Oh, thank you. I’m famished.’

Megan and Caroline had already learnt something of each other’s lives from the workshop but there was so much more to say. They were talking furiously, the conversation jumping from memories of St Ann’s and the weeks after they had left to later years. Caroline told Megan about meeting Paul, her depression, the horrors of hospitalisation, the years of waiting to hear from her daughter, marking each birthday, the fact that Paul had been told about her secret. Megan talked about the lean years when Brendan was laid off and they had lived from hand to mouth, about Aidan – ‘He went right off the rails and he never came back’ – and the bitterness she had harboured towards her own father for refusing them the right to marry. And they spoke about their daughters, what they were like, looks and personality, compared them to their siblings, related how they first met, the whole rollercoaster ride.

Their intense talk was interrupted by Helen. ‘Sorry to butt in but there’s someone who would like to meet you both.’ She stepped aside.

Megan and Caroline looked up at the younger woman. Shock rippled across their features.

‘Joan!’ Caroline whispered. ‘I mean…’

‘You must be…’ Megan started.

‘This is Pamela,’ said Helen. ‘Joan’s birth daughter.’

‘You’re so like her,’ said Caroline, taking in the deep-blue eyes, the long nose, the jet-black hair, the identical features.

‘Spitting image,’ said Megan, ‘really.’ She shook her head. ‘Sit down.’ She pulled a chair round and Pamela joined them.

‘Is Joan here?’ Caroline asked her.

‘No, she died. Cancer.’

‘Oh, God, I’m so sorry.’ Caroline said.

‘Oh, no.’ Megan echoed.

Pamela nodded. ‘I… never got to meet her. Helen said you knew her, at St Ann’s.’

‘We shared the same room: Joan, Caroline and me,’ said Megan.

‘You traced her, then?’

‘I was a year too late.’

Caroline’s eyes watered and she blinked rapidly.

‘I got photos and other things but I’ve not been able to find out anything about when she had me or before that. She never talked about it. If you could tell me anything…’

‘Of course,’ said Caroline.

‘We thought she was the bees knees,’ said Megan. ‘She was older than us, she had a good job, shorthand typist.’

‘She was very kind as well, not gushing or anything, just in a quiet way. My grandma died while I was there and I wasn’t allowed to the funeral or anything; Joan was great, she smuggled tea up to the room for me and got me to talk about my gran, I remember that. It meant a lot.’

‘She couldn’t knit for toffee,’ said Megan and they all laughed. ‘No!’ she protested, ‘I did it for her. Made you a matinee jacket. White, baby mix so it was nice and soft and pearly buttons.’

‘Megan knitted for everyone there.’

‘Do you know what time I was born?’ Pamela looked from one to the other.

‘You were first,’ Caroline said.

Pamela frowned.

‘You were all born the same day.’

‘Twenty-fourth May?’

Caroline and Megan nodded.

‘I started first and finished last,’ said Megan. ‘Thirty-three hours. Can you imagine? And you,’ she said to Caroline, ‘yours was really fast.’

‘You were tea time,’ said Caroline to Pamela. ‘I remember Joan saying later that she was getting hungry and she didn’t want to miss tea. I don’t know exactly what time.’

‘Five o’clock they served tea,’ said Megan, ‘and she had some, didn’t she? So you must have been a bit before then. She called you Marion.’

‘I don’t know why.’

‘I think she just liked the name. You are so like her.’ Megan shook her head again.

‘Were you looking for her long?’ Caroline asked.

‘No, I only found out that I was adopted when my mum died. It was an awful shock.’

‘They never told you?’ Megan asked.

‘I think they were going to when I was older but then my Dad died when I was seven and I think my mum… I don’t know, maybe she was scared of how I’d react. I don’t know.’

‘What else?’ Megan looked at Caroline. ‘Joan was the last to arrive.’

‘She had a beehive, very fashionable.’

‘And suits, we called them costumes then. This lovely blue suit.’

‘She could play anything on the piano.’

‘And she’d make these verses up for people’s birthday cards, d’you remember that?’

‘She became a song writer.’

‘Did she?’

‘You know “Walk My Way”?’

‘You’re joking!’ said Megan.

‘Really.’

‘Crikey!’

‘She wanted to go to London,’ said Caroline. ‘She’d a friend there I think already… Is this the sort of thing…’ She spread her hands wide in question.

‘Oh, yes,’ said Pamela, her cobalt-blue eyes hungrily searching first Caroline’s then Megan's, avid for anything they could remember. ‘Yes, please. Just tell me everything. I want to know it all.’

And the three heads, the trio of women, bent close together once more.