Hearing a weak cry, Hilary got up from the corner where she had been reading beneath a dim lamp and clutched the transparent hand, its skin traversed by blue veins, pumping with the persistence of a heart that refused to give in. With one hand she caressed Ellen’s porcelain cheekbone, brushing the white hair off her forehead. Ellen never opened her eyes.
“It’s okay mum, darling, I’m here. You’re doing so well, so very well. Just sleep, darling, just sleep.” The old lady settled and after a few minutes, Hilary went back to her chair. The earlier visitors had gone home to their families and their beds, but Hilary refused to leave her mother’s side. She was exhausted, this was the fourth late evening she had spent alone with Ellen. Every night she thought it would be the last, and every night she was proved wrong. She felt so guilty, but she wanted it to be over, wanted the cancer to win the battle in which Ellen had put up such a courageous fight.
Two weeks ago Hilary had been summoned to their mother’s bedside in the little terrace house that had been her home for more than 60 years. It won’t be long, the doctor said. Perhaps hours. But the hours had stretched to days, then over a week. The family, who never left her alone, even dared to hope that she might be improving. But since last Wednesday she had not come out of this seemingly endless sleep. With no nourishment or fluids her family, doctors and nurses were amazed she was still alive. She had a strong heart, the doctors said.
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Phlegm rattled through Ellen’s chest. She tried to cough it up but did not have the energy, her whole body heaving with the effort. In seconds Hilary was at her side, rubbing her back, thinking for the hundredth time that night that this was to be her mother’s last breath. Yet Ellen’s chest continued to rise and fall, laboured, but still in rhythm. At her scrawny neck a pulse beat defiantly.
At midnight a Marie Curie nurse arrived, and urged Hilary to go and grab some sleep in the spare room. Knowing the nurse would call her if there was any change, she kissed the old lady’s cheek. “Sleep well, my darling mummy. I love you,” she murmured.
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The ring of the telephone followed by the nurse’s voice woke Hilary out of a disturbed sleep which was haunted by demons of her past. Faces of people she had once known, a blue-eyed boy, her father, and as always, a tiny baby crying.
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Ellen Johnston was well known in the town and beyond, and news of her death spread rapidly. Hilary, her husband Jack, and children Nicole, Chris and Michael, busied themselves with preparations for the funeral and catering for the many callers who went out of their way to express their condolences. All were agreed she had had a long and wonderful life, and wasn’t it a comfort that she was reunited with her Thomas.
Hilary nodded her agreement. No one had ever known how she had really felt about her father, not while he was alive, not while Ellen was alive. She did not intend to tell them now.
At the funeral, Hilary’s attention was drawn to the elegant young woman dressed totally in black, purely because she came to the church alone, and that was unusual. “Who’s that mum?” Chris asked, seeing her staring at the stranger. Hilary winced, turned white, and stumbled almost into a faint. Chris clutched her arm. “Mum, are you okay?
“Clare,” he called out to his wife who was carrying their two-year-old son in her arms. “Clare, mum looks like she’s taken a funny turn.”
“No, I’m alright Chris, just tired and emotional. I’ll be much better when the service is over.” She joined Jack and they made their way into the church.
The woman dressed in black watched the coffin being lowered into the ground from a distance. Despite her pain as she tossed a single red rose from the graveside, Hilary could not forget the woman’s presence. For she knew this was no stranger. This was her past come back to haunt her.
They came together in a quiet corner of the graveyard. The thick trees and darkening sky meant few would have witnessed their meeting. If mourners inside the church hall wondered where Hilary was she didn’t care. For 37 years she had been dreading this moment ever happening.
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She had her father’s eyes – that was the first thing Hilary noticed. Very blue. And her father’s height. The thick dark hair was Hilary’s though, and the set of the nose and mouth. If anyone had looked closely they would have known immediately that this young woman had just watched her grandmother being buried.
“How did you find me?” Hilary was angry and fearful. “How did you know about mother? How did you get here?” She had so many questions.
“Does it matter, I’m here now. Mum.”
Hilary recoiled at her use of the word. “Don’t ever call me mum. You have a mum, a good mum, somewhere else. England, is it not?” She didn’t give the girl time to answer. Her tirade continued, the words almost tripping over each other. “Go back to her. You’ve no right coming here, upsetting me. My children know nothing about you. I don’t want them to. Isn’t it enough that I’ve just buried my mother, without dealing with this too. I cut you out of my life 37 years ago. You got a different life, a better life than I could ever have given you. How dare you come back now?”
“I had a right to find out who my mother was. Or is,” the woman replied. There were tears brimming those blue, blue eyes.
“Well now you know,” Hilary spat. “You’ve seen me and you know I don’t want you in my life. So go away. Away!” She was almost shrieking. Fortunately the wind whistling through the trees in the graveyard carried her voice away from the church hall.
“Don’t you even want to know the names of my children, your grandchildren?” The woman’s voice was filled with desperation.
“I have grandchildren. Your children are someone else’s grandchildren.” They stared at each other, both crying as the wind pulled at their thick dark hair. Hilary took a deep breath and tried to sound more reasonable. “Just go. I appreciate it took courage to come here but I want you to go. And please don’t come back.”
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Head bowed, and without another word, Hilary’s firstborn walked away. She turned and crossed the cemetery, stopping briefly at the newly dug grave. She took something from her handbag and knelt at the grave, as if to say a prayer. Then she walked in the direction of the nearby car park.
It was only when she heard the sound of an engine driving off into the distance Hilary found the strength to move. She had to check what the girl had left on the grave. What if it carried an inscription which revealed a secret kept so well for so many, many years.
She found a single white orchid. No inscription. More tears came as she looked down at her mother’s grave. What would Ellen have done had she been here. Would she too have told the girl to disappear, or would she have reached out and held her in her arms as she did when the baby was just minutes old. Before she was taken away.
Ellen carried huge guilt about the way they had treated her during and after the pregnancy. Hilary knew that. But she was loyal above all else to her husband. It was Thomas who insisted Hilary live in England for the duration of the pregnancy, on the pretext she was studying a specialist course in nursing. Thomas wanted to cover up the whole embarrassing situation, afraid the scandal would affect his standing in society. He was, after all, a prosperous farmer and member of the local council.
After the birth, Hilary had not been allowed to hold the tiny bundle that had lived in her womb for nine months. Ellen had taken the little girl, for Hilary had known all along it would be a girl, and held her for what seemed like an age, but in reality was only five minutes, before they had taken her away. Hilary had seen tears in Ellen’s eyes then.
When she returned home, Thomas forbade the subject to be mentioned. As the years had passed Hilary had eventually stopped trying to speak to Ellen about the baby, or the blue-eyed boy who had fled to Dublin the minute he heard of the pregnancy. It was over. A closed chapter. Ashamed and guilty, it seemed Ellen had chosen to block it out.
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Hilary had told Jack, after the engagement, but before the wedding. He was shocked, but above all saddened. No, she assured him, she never thought about the child, never imagined her face, wondered how tall she was growing, what her hobbies were, what her name was. Not in her waking hours anyway.
There had been tears at the birth of Nicole, almost 30 years ago, and Chris and Michael. A river of tears, joy and sorrow mingling with each small cry which marked the beginning of new life. She had never forgotten that first experience of childbirth, but she had numbed herself to the pain.
Now it was back. She cursed the laws that entitled adopted children to seek out their real parents. She could only hope that she had scared the girl off for good.
“Mum?” Nicole stood behind her. Beautiful Nicole, whose hair too was thick and dark, but she had Jack’s brown eyes and her mother’s height. “We wondered where you were. A lot of people are heading home, most want to say goodbye. Are you alright?”
“Yes, dear,” Hilary attempted a smile. “I just wanted some time alone, some air, I’ll come inside now.”
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Nicole had not been altogether surprised when her Gran had told her about her older sister. For years she suspected Hilary had a secret of some sort. Gran had finally told her the truth about six months ago, when she was in hospital for her first dose of radiotherapy. They held hands as Ellen revealed how Thomas had insisted Hilary travel to England for an abortion. Ellen had refused. They were not murderers. Thomas was angry, so very angry. So in the end they sent Hilary to a house in London where unmarried mothers stayed until the birth, when their baby was taken away for adoption.
“She was only 18, and so very naïve. She had a career ahead of her, a baby would have ruined her life,” Ellen told Nicole. “But more importantly it would have ruined her father’s life, at least that’s what Thomas believed. He preferred everything brushed under the carpet. He was proud of what he did, right up to the day he died.
“Hilary puts on a brave face, but I know it’s something she’s never got over. She had me swear I would never tell you or the boys, but I believe God will forgive me. I’m a mother. I know what it is to have the love of a child because, no matter what age they become, they will always be your child. But I was a daughter too once, and I remember what it was to have a mother’s love, the way you do now.
“That wee baby deserves to know her mother loves her. And though she won’t admit it, Hilary will never be happy until she can take that child in her arms.
“Nicole.” Ellen had looked at her intently through those faded blue eyes. “You must decide whether to share this secret with your brothers, or whether to act on it. Maybe you think your mother would be happier with things staying as they are. It’s up to you.”
What a responsibility. After a week of anguished contemplation, Nicole had sat Chris and Michael down and told them what her grandmother had revealed. Then the search for their half-sister began.
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Nicole first contacted the General Register office and placed her family’s details on the Adoption Contact Register in both England and Northern Ireland. She knew that if her half-sister had not registered, or didn’t want any contact with her birth mother, then her search might be futile. But one day Nicole received a call from a woman claiming to be Hilary‘s daughter. The call was brief, all Nicole was given was an address.
That day, as she stood outside a pleasant semi in Bangor, County Down. Nicole had felt sick with nerves. But when the tall woman with the blue eyes and the thick dark hair opened the door the nerves vanished. Nicole burst into tears, and the two women clung together sobbing with joy, not caring who saw them.
Colette, for that was the name they had given her, had begun her search for her real mother almost 18 years ago. That was why she had come to Belfast to study at Queen’s University, and it was there she met her future husband. They had settled in Bangor and had three children. Colette had continued to search for her mother, and had eventually found out where she was living.
“When I heard she was married and had three children, I couldn’t pluck up the courage to go and see her,” Colette admitted. “I’ve had her address for years, I’ve written so many letters that I’ve never posted. I was just too scared she wouldn’t want to see me. When the General Register‘s office contacted me to say that the family had registered I couldn‘t believe it. I was just so happy to know at least you wanted to see me.”
“I don’t know how Mum will react,” Nicole admitted. “Gran seemed to feel that denying you exist is the only way she could cope with the guilt she feels. She thinks we don’t know about you.” Nicole paused. “I don’t know if now is a good time, mind you. Gran is very ill. Cancer, and it’s getting worse.”
“I’m sorry,” Colette said softly. “Will you let me know how she is?”
From that moment, Nicole and Colette had spoken frequently on the phone. When the time came, Colette wanted to be at the funeral of the grandmother she had never known, and Nicole felt she had a right to be there. She had not told Chris or Michael that Colette planned to come, and she had no idea if Colette would approach Hilary, or if Hilary would recognise her daughter. It was out of her hands.
But watching her mother’s face on the day of the funeral, she knew it had been a mistake. And as she observed them in the shadows of the graveyard, and Colette’s lonely departure, she knew that the meeting had not gone well. Her heart ached for both mother and daughter. She had to do something.
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Hilary was doing the ironing when the doorbell rang on a Sunday afternoon less than a month after Ellen’s funeral. The sadness was still poignant, touching on everything she did, but she had quickly been able to fall back into the routine of work, housework and quiet nights in front of the TV with Jack. Those long nights at her mother’s bedside already seemed an eternity ago.
“Get that Jack, will you,” she shouted.
She heard her husband exclaim as he opened the door. “Why are you ringing the doorbell? What do you think the back door’s for?” Jack asked in a mystified voice. “I know its Sunday, but……” His voice trailed off and Hilary strained her neck to see around the partially closed kitchen door into the hallway.
“Hello mum,” Nicole kissed her mother across the ironing board. “I’ve brought a very good friend to see you. You’ve met briefly before, but I would like to introduce you to her properly.” A figure followed her into the kitchen. Hilary gasped and leant heavily on the ironing board. It was her again. Dressed in jeans and a pink jumper this time, but as tall and dark as ever, the blue eyes darting nervously around, like a hunted hare.
“How…?” Hilary couldn’t go on. Her head was spinning. Her baby was here in her house, with her Nicole, and Jack standing looking bemused in the background.
“Mum,” Nicole took charge. “This is your daughter Colette. Colette, this is your mum.” She pushed Colette forward. There was only the ironing board between them.
“I’m not trying to force my way back into your life. Nicole has invited me and I want so much to accept that invite,” Colette’s voice was trembling. “But if you still don’t want me I’ll go back to that separate life with memories of that other mother who was so good to me, but who died when I was just 17, and who I grieve for every day.
“I know you don’t know me, don’t love me, but I have missed you all my life, since they took me from you. I found you but was scared to reach out to you. Then Nicole came to me. Please… give me a chance.”
Silently, Chris and Michael entered through the open door. They had met Colette that morning. But their mother had to make up her own mind.
Still resting on it with both hands, Hilary edged her way round the ironing board. She looked up into Colette’s blue eyes. “My baby,” she said, in a scarcely recognisable voice. The voice of a teenager who has had something precious stolen away. “I had to cut you out. I had to, my father said I had to. Then I couldn’t hurt my children. But I’ve always loved you, always, at night… especially at night.” Hilary held her arms out and Colette almost stumbled into them. Burying her head in her mother’s dark hair, she said in a voice that only Hilary could hear, “Mummy, I love you.”
The end
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