sUnwanted Truthst (31 page)

‘Yes.' She wanted to be away from him.

Ross lifted the phone. ‘Sue, would you mind making Mrs Maynard a strong cup of tea? Thank you.' He replaced the receiver and looked down at the file. ‘There doesn't seem to be any information about the agency that arranged your adoption. Often they have more information, perhaps about your father. But sometimes in these older cases there wasn't an agency involved. Yours may have been a private adoption, arranged by your mother's family doctor. So, I'm afraid that's all the information I can give you.' He closed the folder. ‘Just one more thing; now we've had this meeting, you can order a copy of your original birth certificate. It will have on it the information I've just given you. If you feel that you need to talk about any aspect of this, you can always make an appointment with me, or there's an organisation that's very good. They can also help with tracing your birth relatives, if you decide that's what you want. I can give you their number.'

‘No, no,' she said. There was a knock on the door and Sue with the long cardigan was standing in the doorway holding a cup and saucer.

‘Go back into the waiting room, Jenny, and stay as long as you need to. If you're lucky Sue may even make you some more tea.' He smiled at Sue who glared back at him. ‘I'll bring the form for the certificate out to you; you'll need to sign it.'

*

Jenny lay on top of the bed; stared at the sloping ceiling and digested the information she had been given.
It must be a different woman
,
the gravestone definitely said Ellen Mary.
Her head throbbed with the effort of trying to recall the day she had met Martin's mother. She could remember the argument between Martin and Anna clearly. But the only memory of his mother was of a dark-haired woman wearing an apron with a frill around the edge, pouring out glasses of cream soda. Her face was the same as the one in Ricco's photograph, blocking any earlier memory that she might have had. So much had happened to her in the years since Anna's party, she would have to undergo hypnosis to recall any further details. Photographs – that's what she needed to see. She remembered when she was separating from Robert, how carefully she had divided up their photo albums, and other acquisitions of their years together. It was as if, by being scrupulously fair, that would compensate for leaving him. She got up, went over to a chest of drawers and swallowed two paracetamol tablets with the cold remains of a mug of tea. She went back to the bed, slipped underneath the duvet and closed her eyes.

*

‘Lorna said you were up here. What are you doing in bed? You look as white as a sheet.' Martin stood in the doorway, his head almost touching the wooden lintel.

Jenny rubbed her eyes, pulled herself up and leant against the pillows. ‘Oh, I had a terrible upset stomach after you left this morning.'

‘Probably nerves, how did you get on at the meeting?'

‘I cancelled it. I can always make another appointment; there's no rush, not after all this time.'

‘You cancelled it! I came home early. I thought you'd want to talk about it.'

‘That's really sweet of you.' Jenny stared at him; his shape, his dark hair. Was that why she had been so attracted to him, and he to her; a recognition of the same, a genetic connection? Her eyes were green though. ‘Can you come a bit closer?' He moved to the end of their bed.

‘Why are you looking at me like that?'

‘Like what?'

‘As if you're seeing me for the first time.'

‘You don't regret leaving Marilyn do you? I know it hasn't been easy.'

‘Of course not; we deal with problems together, don't we? I love you. I've never been happier.'

‘Me too,' she smiled, noticing a thickening around his waist. He had mentioned it last week, telling her that it was because he was content. ‘Did your father have a sister or sister-in-law?'

‘He only had the one brother, and as far as I know, he never married. Why are you asking?'

‘I was just thinking back to the photos he has on his sideboard. I was interested. Do you have any of yourself and Anna when you were young – and your mother?'

‘I think the ones I had are still at Marilyn's. I didn't have many. Most of them are with Dad or Anna. You don't want them now surely?'

‘No, not this minute, but I'd like to see them sometime.'

‘Well, I'm starving, so I'll go and get something on for dinner. Lorna's in her bedroom, supposedly doing her homework. Do you fancy anything?'

‘No, I don't want anything. Just do something for yourself and Lorna.'

‘Are you coming downstairs later?'

‘I might do. Martin – was your mum always called Ellen?'

He gave her a puzzled look. ‘I never heard Dad call her anything else, apart from when he lost his temper with her. He didn't call her by her name then.'

‘He never called her Helen – always Ellen?'

‘What's all this about? No, always Ellen, look I'm off downstairs.'

Jenny remembered Ricco had said ‘my Ellen' when she had met him the other week, but he did have a slight accent. She waited until she heard Martin in the kitchen, and then reached for the ball of tissue under her pillow and blew her nose. Music that she couldn't put a name to bounced off the wall that separated their bedroom from Lorna's. Turning on her side, she pulled the pillow over her ears and shut her eyes.

Her birth certificate arrived nine days later. She took the buff envelope to her bedroom and pulled the bolt across the door. The more she had thought about her meeting with Ross, the more she wondered whether he hadn't said Helen Barretti at all, but Helen Barretto, or Helen Barretta, and that in her heightened emotional state she had heard only the familiar.

Sitting on the unmade bed she ripped the envelope open and pulled the certificate through the torn edges. She saw her name Georgina Ann, written in small black handwriting in the column next to her date of birth. Her eyes focused on the writing in the next column – Helen Barretti formerly Neale of 11B, Cannon Place, Brighton. She stared at the cream painted wall, and decided that her first reaction must be right after all. There must have been another women with the same surname, especially as the certificate didn't show any middle name.
Yes, that must be the answer,
she thought, in a large town, of course there could be. There are lots of women called Smith, Walker and other surnames. It was just a weird coincidence. She poured over the rest of her certificate. A single black line was drawn under Name and Occupation of Father. Her mother had put 11B, Cannon Place as her usual place of residence. So, she had been born at home, and her birth registered two weeks later. In the space at the end of the columns – as if an afterthought – was the word “Adopted” and signed H. Wade, Registrar of Births, Deaths and Marriages.

She read and re-read every single word.

‘Jenny, Jenny, what are you doing? You've been up her for ages.' The black latch was moving up and down. ‘Why have you locked the door?'

‘Just coming,' putting the certificate back in the envelope, she stuffed it under her pillow and walked over to the door and released the bolt. Martin stood facing her.

Jenny took a deep breath and ran her fingers through her hair. ‘I'm just about to make the bed. I'll be down in a minute.'

‘I came up to give you this. I found it in the letter rack unopened.'

‘Oh, I forgot all about it,' Jenny said, taking the letter from him.

‘You've seemed a bit distant lately, as if you're worried about something. You would tell me, wouldn't you? It's not about that appointment you cancelled is it?'

‘No, no, I'll make another this week.'

‘Don't forget you're taking Lorna over to meet Robert. I hope we're not going to have a repeat of last time, it was terrible.'

‘Has she said that she doesn't want to go?' Jenny asked, avoiding his eyes.

‘No, but she's hiding away in her bedroom. You better go and speak to her. I thought we could talk about our holiday when you get back.'

Jenny nodded. ‘I'll speak to her in a minute. Can you get some salad ready for lunch?'

Hearing the clatter of his feet on the wooden stairs, she took her birth certificate from under the pillow and slid it inside her handbag. She picked up a nail file from the chest of drawers, sat on the bed and opened her aunt's letter…

The letter slipped through Jenny's fingers onto the floor. Normally, with news like this, she would have rushed to tell Martin about it – but not now. She didn't even want to read any more. She picked the letter up, walked over to the chest and stuffed the letter at the back of the top drawer.

*

The early morning rain had passed, leaving behind a blustery wind. Jenny fought her way across The Steine and into Royal York Buildings. Passing an oblong mirror set in green and amber tiles she followed the sign along a corridor. On either side the walls were plastered with wedding banns. She pushed through the swing doors, and walked up to the counter.

‘I've ordered two birth certificates,' she said to the bespectacled clerk.

‘What name?' the clerk responded as he had done many times before.

‘Maynard, Mrs Maynard.' He strolled over to a wire tray.

Jenny's middle fingers on her right hand beat an urgent rhythm on the top of the counter that corresponded to the thumping inside her chest. She watched him flick through about a dozen buff envelopes.
He looks bored stiff
.
How can he be bored by something that has so much significance for me?

‘Here you are.' He handed Jenny an envelope.

‘Thank you,' she whispered, suddenly regretting her decision and thinking that she should hand it back. She could say it was a mistake and she didn't want them after all. It didn't matter to him. He would just think she was crazy and go and eat his lunch. Why does she want to be certain? Surely uncertainty is preferable? But she couldn't give the envelope back. She pushed through the swing doors and sat down on a seat in the corridor. The envelope was unsealed. Her hands shook as she removed the first birth certificate. It was Martin's. Her eyes went straight to the name of his mother – Helen Mary Barretti of 11B, Cannon Place, Brighton, maiden name Neale. Her stomach heaved. She swallowed hard to stop herself from retching. So there was only one. It would be too much of a coincidence if there were two women of the same surname and maiden name, living at the same address. Written in black ink under the heading – Name of Father – was Enrico Guiseppe Barretti. She saw Martin's birthday, 2
^nd
February 1944. She opened the other certificate – Anna Veronica, born at the same address in July 1947 to Helen Mary Barretti. Again, Enrico was entered as the father.
So
,
Ross was right about her husband not being my father.

Jenny sat heavy as stone. The certificates hung from her hand as she stared at the marriage banns on the wall opposite. She tried to decipher the names, but was too far away. From the corner of her eye she was aware of a couple walking towards her. The woman was carrying a baby wrapped in a blanket. The father's mouth moved as they stood at the end of the seat. Jenny stared at him not hearing his words. They sat down. Jenny felt the pressure of the woman's body against her own, but didn't move to make room for them on the bench. She continued staring straight ahead. Then she realised she was alone again, but couldn't remembering them leaving. She sighed, put the certificates inside her handbag and left the building.

‘Could you put me through to Moira please?' She leant for support against the door of the phone box.

‘Hello Moira, it's me. I'm sorry, but I won't be back after lunch. I don't feel well, so I‘m going home. No, I'm sure I'll be fine by Wednesday,' Jenny replaced the receiver. She imagined Moira's concerned face peering at her, as she probed into her personal life, thinking correctly for once, that it was making her ill. Jenny took a deep breath and walked slowly northwards, to where she had left her car earlier that morning.

Traffic was light, and high waves pounded the shingle as she drove along the seafront and turned into Cannon Place. It had been one of many regency terraces in the centre of Brighton, but a shopping centre now graced the top end. A few of the original houses remained on the left hand side. Jenny parked and walked up to the one numbered 15. A dirty half curtain and a banner hung across an upstairs window. ‘Squatters,' she muttered. 15B was a basement, and Jenny assumed that 11B, when it existed, would have been the same. She stared at the shabby exterior and remembered the day of Anna's birthday. Had her birth mother recognised her then? No she couldn't have. Had she said something to make her suspect that she was her daughter? She couldn't remember, it was too long ago. Was that why they moved away so suddenly? Martin said his aunt hadn't died until a long time afterwards
. Perhaps that was just an excuse to stop us being together.
‘My sister always bit her lip when she was worried about something'
and
‘my mother always called my father that,'
Martin's words replayed in her mind again and again as she walked back to her car.

Jenny drove past the Peace Statue that marked the boundary between Brighton and Hove, and turned northwards until she saw the renovated sails of the windmill above the rooftops.
Nearly there
, she thought.