Rita couldn’t meet her eyes.
‘I just can’t imagine telling
her. I can’t imagine it.’ Stephanie’s eyes had become distant again. She sighed
deeply.
‘It would be better coming from
you than from Roger,’ said Rita. She stood up and approached Stephanie.
‘Listen, why don’t you invite her for a meal and tell her you have something
important to tell her.’
Stephanie looked at her with
wide eyes. ‘Are you sure I should do this? I’m still not sure—’
‘Only you can make that
decision, Steph, but in my honest opinion, I think you should have told her
years ago... Sorry, I know that’s not what you want to hear. I was surprised
when you first told me that Alice didn’t know the truth. It’s no good to have
secrets.’
Stephanie sat on the sofa and
sighed. ‘I’ve been alone, and I’ve had to make all the decisions about Alice on
my own. No one ever helped me. I only did what I thought was best.’ She looked
up at Rita, who smiled sympathetically.
‘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 getting 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.