‘I know that. I don’t doubt that for a minute. But all I’m saying is, you have an opportunity now to tell her. It’s time.’
‘You make it sound so easy; it’s not easy.’
‘I’m sure it’s not. But it will probably be easier than you think. Most things usually are. Look, I can help you tell her, if you like?’
‘No,’ Stephanie shook her head gloomily. ‘This is something I have to do myself.’
***
Alice sat on the sofa in the front room of her flat. Tears of frustration filled her eyes as she thought back to the conversation she’d had with her mother. She lifted her bag from the floor and took out the telephone directory; as she did so, the photograph her mother had given her fell to the floor. She lifted it up and stared at it for a while.
If only there were a simple solution to her problem, she mused. If she kept her mother happy by not contacting her father, she would remain in this constant limbo of not knowing about him. She longed to know what he was like as a person, and whether she had inherited any of his personality traits. She knew she looked like him; that had been obvious from a young age as she had never really looked like her mother. Alice’s eyes were dark brown, whereas Stephanie’s were green; Alice’s hair was wavy and blonde whereas Stephanie’s hair was dark brown and straight. When she was younger, she’d wanted to look more like her mother, and had even gone through a stage where she’d insisted on dyeing her hair the same colour as her mother’s just so there would be something they had in common. Looking back, she realised that may have been her way of dealing with her father’s rejection; wanting to side more with her mother against the man who had left her.
Somehow, seeing his photograph today, made her more curious to meet him. Hearing people say that she looked like him was one thing, but actually seeing the proof with her own eyes was something else. It was almost as if she felt more drawn to him now that she could see the family resemblance.
Her excitement at the prospect of getting in touch with her father was hampered by Stephanie’s insistence that she shouldn’t contact him. She’d been looking forward to finding not only her father but maybe a sister; the picture of Jane Forester in the paper had spurred her on. But the way her mother had behaved had left niggling doubts in her mind. She knew her mother would be upset if she did find her father, but as far as she could tell there was no real reason why, except the fact that she didn’t want Alice to be hurt or disappointed. Alice already felt hurt and disappointed and doubted that she could feel any worse, even if he did refuse to meet her. All she did know was that she had to try, and she hoped her mother would understand.
Picking up the telephone directory, she wiped away the tears that were forming in her eyes so she could see the writing more clearly. She turned to the section for surnames beginning with “F”. She flicked through the pages until she came to “Forester”. Then, it occurred to her that she didn’t know if her father spelt his name with one “r” or two. Was it “Forester” or “Forrester”? There were three listings for “R. Forester”, and one “R. Forrester.” All the addresses were quite local. Alice was struck by the thought that she could have been living so close to her father for so long, without knowing him.
She couldn’t bring herself to dial any of the telephone numbers. She could hear her mother’s voice in her head, telling her that she didn’t think she should contact him; that he probably wouldn’t want to know her. Alice decided she would wait until Tuesday and talk to Jenny about it. Jenny always knew what to do.
Placing the telephone directory on the coffee table, she went to make a cup of tea. As she was sitting at the kitchen table, holding her mug and staring at the wall, the telephone rang. She didn’t want to answer it, not feeling up to talking to anyone. Eventually the phone stopped ringing. Alice stood up and went into the front room. She switched on the TV and sat down on the sofa. The telephone began to ring again. Sighing at the irritating noise, she wished she’d taken the phone off the hook. Picking up the handset to stop the ringing, she reluctantly said, ‘Hello.’
‘Darling, hello, it’s me.’
‘Hi,’ said Alice, quickly, trying to sound upbeat. From the sound of her voice, Alice could tell that Stephanie had been crying, and that made her feel bad again for upsetting her.
‘Listen, Alice, are you busy tomorrow evening?’
‘No, not really.’
‘Good.’ There was a pause and then her mother continued: ‘I’d like to cook dinner for you. There’s something I have to tell you; something I can’t tell you over the phone.’
Alice felt suddenly nervous. ‘Is it about my dad?’ she said, hopefully.
‘Please don’t ask me now, dear. We’ll talk tomorrow. About seven?’
She could hear disappointment in her mother’s voice, as if whatever she was going to tell her was something she would rather not tell.
‘Okay, I’ll come over after work tomorrow,’ said Alice.
‘I’ll see you tomorrow then, dear. Bye.’
Alice was left confused. Whilst it was possible that her mother had finally realised how important it was for her to see her father; she couldn’t help thinking that there was more to this. The way her voice had sounded—almost as if she were being forced to tell her something against her will—was unsettling.
An unwelcome thought invaded Alice’s mind then: what if he’s dead? Is that what all this is about? Maybe that’s why she’s trying to stop me looking for him... She shook her head as if to rid it of her suspicions. I’ll find out tomorrow, she thought.
Gloom descended, and she suddenly felt foolish for not considering all the potential outcomes of her search; she had never once entertained the notion that her father may have died.
***
When Stephanie put the phone down, she felt as if she was on the edge of a cliff being urged to go forward. She wondered whether she would be able to go through with telling Alice; after all, she was already putting it off until tomorrow...
She felt a lump forming in her throat. She knew the real reason she was delaying telling Alice: she knew that after she told her, their lives would all be changed for ever. There was no way to escape that. Her reason for not telling Alice was simple; it was the same reason as it had always been and it tore at her heart. Her reason was that she wanted—no, she needed to be Alice’s real mother. By keeping the truth from Alice, she had succeeded for some time in fulfilling that need. Now it was clear, she was only going to be Alice’s mother for one more day. She could feel the time ticking away furiously, marking the end of her dream.
Chapter Eight
Monday 18th August 1997
As Alice was getting dressed for work, she heard the familiar sound of the post arriving. On the front doormat, she found a brown envelope and a postcard. Flipping over the pretty beach scene, she smiled as she read the postcard:
Having fun in Spain! Wish you were here, Alice! It’s sooo hot. I’m very brown! See you in uni! love, Sonia xx
Sonia was one of her best friends at university. Alice flipped the card back over and stared at the photograph of a beach, with a crystal clear blue sea, foaming waves beating against the white sand on the shore, the sun reflecting over the perfect scene from a cloudless sky. For a moment, Alice felt as though she were there, and wished she could be somewhere far away.
Alice’s attention then turned to the brown envelope that bore the frank of the local health authority. She realised at once that it was probably the appointment letter Dr. Small had said she would receive for tests at the local hospital. Since last Wednesday, Alice had felt no further pain in her arm, so as she opened the envelope she wondered whether she had overreacted about the pain. She didn’t really feel that she needed any tests done. Looking at the letter, she saw that there was an appointment for her to attend the hospital next Tuesday, 26th August. She put the letter on the kitchen table and attached the postcard to her fridge with one of the magnets that was on there, then she returned to her bedroom to finish get
ting ready for work.
***
Whilst stacking some books in the General Reference section of the bookstore that afternoon, Alice spotted one of the books that Rob Bairns had told her about on Saturday: Private Investigations. She felt curious and wanted to look through the book right then and there, but she looked about her and saw that the bookstore was quite busy, and as her eyes met those of one of the customers who was standing nearby, Alice blushed, feeling sure that the customer had seen the title of the book and put two and two together. It was absurd, but Alice felt paranoid, as though if she looked through the book, all the customers would know it was because she was looking for her father.
‘Alice!’ Charlotte’s voice rang out above the quiet chatter in the bookstore.
Tearing her eyes away from the customer, Alice looked towards the cash desk. There was quite a queue forming.
‘Alice! Are you free?’ came Charlotte’s voice. ‘Can you come and serve a couple of customers, please?’
Alice took the book with her, and made her way to the counter.
She placed the book face down on the counter, feeling self-conscious and not wanting anyone to see the title.
‘Phew, that was busy for a Monday afternoon!’ said Charlotte, looking flushed, after she’d served the last customer in the queue. ‘I need some water... you?’
‘Er... yes, please,’ said Alice, one eye on the book she had placed on the counter. When Charlotte disappeared into the staff kitchen to get the water, Alice saw a chance to look through the book.
As she was looking through the contents page, Charlotte came up behind her. ‘Here you go, a refreshing glass of water.’
Alice placed the book back on the counter, knowing she would have to wait until later to look at it again. She took a glass from Charlotte and sat down.
Charlotte drank her water quickly, hardly taking a breath, and then wiped her mouth with her hand. ‘That was what I needed,’ she said, smiling. As she put the glass on the counter, her eyes rested on the book. It was a large A4 hardback book. As Alice held her breath, Charlotte picked it up. ‘Private Investigations,’ she said, reading the title out loud. ‘Sounds interesting. I wonder what it’s doing here?’
‘Oh, one of the customers decided not to buy it,’ said Alice jumping to her feet. ‘I’ll put it back on the shelf.’ She reached out her hand to take the book from Charlotte.
‘No, wait,’ said Charlotte, flicking through the book. ‘This has got some interesting stories in it, look,’ she said, pointing a gold-painted fingernail at one of the chapter headings that said: “Locating Missing People”. ‘The film I’m starring in at the moment is about this boy who’s been adopted, and he traces his mother. It’s a real tear-jerker. I have a few lines in the film. I play the woman at the adoption agency who helps him find the right room where he can search their records. You know, I’m sure this will be the film that launches my career.’ Charlotte’s eyes twinkled with thoughts of stardom. Then she smiled at Alice, but her demeanour quickly changed and she looked as though she was about to relate something important. ‘My ex-boyfriend was adopted. His name was Peter. He traced his mum. I went with him when he was going to meet her. He went into the house by himself and I waited outside. He was in tears when he came out... but he was happy... Really happy. I hadn’t seen him that happy in ages. He was usually so miserable, which was part of the reason we broke up. I mean, who wants to go out with a misery guts, hey?’ She laughed, but there was a sadness in her eyes, an almost wistful gleam. ‘Oh, well. I sometimes wonder what he’s doing.’
‘But if he was happy after he met her, why didn’t you stay together?’ Alice felt confused.
Charlotte seemed to snap out of her reverie. ‘I wasn’t going out with him at the time he found his mum. He just needed someone to drive him to her house. He never learnt to drive. That was probably another reason we broke up, come to think of it. I used to have to drive us everywhere, and that usually meant driving him home from pubs when he was drunk. He only ever seemed to be happy when he had a few drinks. Of course, the next day he’d be miserable again.’ Charlotte rolled her eyes.
‘Um... Charlotte. How did Peter find his mother?’ Alice looked at her hands as she spoke.
‘Through the adoption agency.’
‘Oh.’
‘You’re adopted, aren’t you?’ said Charlotte.
Alice blushed. ‘Er... no.’
‘Oh, sorry. I must be mixing you up with someone else. But didn’t you tell me once that you’ve never met your father?’
‘Yes.’ Alice stood up and took the book from the counter hoping she could get lost between the bookshelves and not have to talk about this now.
‘Have you ever tried looking for him?’ asked Charlotte.
‘No.’ Alice forced a smile and shook her head.
‘You should,’ said Charlotte, smiling back at her.
‘Well, I have been thinking about it recently.’ She held the book closer to her as she spoke as if for reassurance. ‘My mum’s invited me to dinner tonight and I think she might have some news about my dad, because I mentioned to her that I wanted to look for him.’
‘Oh, wow! That’s exciting! Your life is just like a Hollywood movie. Mine’s boring... no divorced parents, no long lost father. Wow! I envy you, Alice.’
Alice felt the adrenaline course through her as she noticed the time on the clock. In less than three hours she would know what her mother wanted to tell her.
***
Stephanie looked at her face in the hallway mirror. Her eyes were sunken and black around as if she had been crying for ever. She reached for her handbag that was dangling over her coat on the coat-hanger behind the front door. She fished around until she found her concealer. I really need to clear out the mess in this bag, she thought, as a stray receipt fell onto the floor. She absent-mindedly picked it up and looked at it. The top of the receipt showed that it was from the café across the road from her salon, where she had taken Alice for lunch on the day they’d bumped into Rita. She scrunched up the receipt and placed it in the pocket of her cardigan, thinking she would throw it away when she went into the kitchen.
Placing her bag on the side table, she took off the lid of her concealer and carefully covered up the signs of the sleepless night before. She had tossed and turned knowing that she would be seeing Alice and telling her about Miranda, and about the surrogacy agreement. As she struggled to get some sleep she couldn’t shift the fears that were at the forefront of her mind: If only I’d told Alice all of this when she was a little girl; when she needed me. She doesn’t need me now. She could easily walk away and leave me.
It seemed logical that as Alice was determined to find her father, she would also want to find her real mother when she knew the truth. The more Stephanie turned things over in her mind the more she felt that she had been selfish by keeping this secret from Alice. And lately, it was as though every word she uttered to Alice was a lie. Rita was right. It was time to reveal all. She would have to live with the consequences.
Telling Alice the truth would, Stephanie knew, be one of the hardest things she had ever done in her life. Most of her sleepless night was used up trying to think of the best way to tell her. She finally decided that she would start from the beginning; explain that she could not have children, and that Miranda was a last resort. Surely, Alice would work out that it was Stephanie and not Miranda who had loved her from the start. Miranda had sold her own child. But then, Stephanie realised that she had bought her; she was just as much to blame for treating Alice like a commodity. How would Alice take the news that she was bought and sold? The night had left Stephanie in a state of exhaustion. By the time the morning sun had begun to peep through the gaps in the curtains, her head felt like it could explode. The brightness did nothing to lighten her mood, instead it began to wind her up even more knowing that not only would she have to reveal a painful secret, but she would have to do so after a fitful night when she had been unable to rest.
/> Her alarm clock sounded at 7 a.m. She had been due to go to the salon, but she did not feel up to it. She phoned in and left a message on the answer-phone to explain that she would not be going to work; she felt guilty momentarily, because that meant her clients would be disappointed having to have their appointments re-scheduled. Sighing, she turned over in bed pulling the duvet over her head to block out the light, and tried to get some sleep. It was 8 a.m. when she finally fell asleep.
She awoke at 2 o’clock in the afternoon, in a cold sweat. She had been screaming in her dream, calling after Alice who was running away from her. It was becoming darker and darker, until she couldn’t see her anymore. ‘Come back, Alice! I love you!’ she had screamed, and then woken up to find herself in bed, as the midday sun battled to get through her curtains into the room.
Alice had been a child in Stephanie’s dream, about eight years old. The child-Alice had shouted at her: ‘You’re not my real mum!’ Roger had also been in the dream. Alice had said to her: ‘I don’t love you anymore. You lied to me. I’m going to live with my daddy.’
Roger had taken Alice by the hand and said: ‘Miranda is her real mother, not you.’
When Stephanie opened her eyes, at first she had felt relieved that it had been a dream, but then she worried in case it was some kind of warning against telling Alice. But she put that to the back of her mind. She would have to tell her. There was no alternative.
***
Stephanie took the home-made Lasagne out of the oven; Alice’s favourite meal. She sighed deeply. She had prepared the dish in the hope of putting Alice in a good mood, but deep down, she knew that food would be the last thing on Alice’s mind when she heard the truth.
She almost dropped the hot dish on the kitchen floor when she heard a key turn in the front door.