Authors: Elisabeth Rose
Olive waited. She swallowed the mouthful of tea and took another.
“Do you have any idea who adopted her?”
“I couldn’t tell you even if I did,” she said, meeting his eyes and holding firm.
“Do you know anything about them? Were they a local family? Did they come from the city?”
“I can tell you she wasn’t brought up around here. We all would have known, wouldn’t we?”
“But where did they take her after she left here?”
Olive sighed. “Why do you want to know this now, Shay? You never asked before.”
“I didn’t ask but I always wanted to know,” he replied. “All my life I’ve had in the back of my mind I would find her one day. I knew I couldn’t do it when I was a kid. I knew it had to be when I was grown up. It’s just always been there in my life.”
“You were a happy child, weren’t you?” She spoke as if somehow the town as a whole was responsible for his happiness.
“It’s got nothing to do with Stan and Amy and my brothers and sister.” He leaned forward. “It’s not about happy or unhappy. Of course I was happy. I couldn’t have had a better family, not in a million years. They
are
my family but she’s different. She’s my real sister, we had the same mother, Emily Grayson. We have something together no-one else has.”
Shay realised he’d begun thumping his clenched fists on Olive’s desk. He grimaced and flexed his fingers, gave a small, tight laugh. “Sorry.”
Olive smiled faintly. She held her bottom lip lightly between her teeth as she stared at the top most page on the report in front of her. She raised her head suddenly.
“She went to Sydney to a children’s hospital and from there she would have been given to her new family by the adoption agency.”
“I’m her family,” said Shay almost under his breath but Olive heard.
“Shay, she may not know that.”
“Not know she has a brother?”
“Not necessarily. Some adoptive parents choose not to tell their children about siblings. She was only two weeks old when they took her in, remember.”
“Olive, tell me which hospital she went to…please?”
Olive sighed. “I may as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb. The Madeleine Wright Children’s Hospital in Chatswood. It’s a small private one. I don’t even know if it’s still functioning. And I want my name kept right out of it.”
Shay leapt to his feet. “Thank you, Olive. You’re a saint of a woman.” He darted around the desk to plant a kiss on her cheek.
“Get out of here, you young trouble maker. You haven’t changed a bit.”
“Neither have you.”
Olive gripped his arm as he turned to leave. “Shay, I’m serious about this. Be very careful how you go about finding her. She may not thank you for turning her life upside down. You know nothing about her and you could cause a lot of pain to her family if you go charging in just because it suits you and you want to find her. You can’t afford to be selfish. There are proper channels to deal with this sort of thing. I don’t know why I let you con me into it—you with your big brown eyes.”
Shay laughed. “I promise I’ll be careful. I’m a doctor remember. I took an oath to help people.”
“Take care of yourself,” she said. “None of us wants you hurt through this.” She stood up.
“I know. I appreciate that but until I at least know where she is and what her name is I won’t feel complete.”
“I understand,” said Olive. She hugged him against her bony frame. “I’ve often wondered about her myself. Helping her into the world that way and then passing her on to strangers at that hospital. It was very hard, very hard.”
Shay frowned. “Who took her to Sydney? Was it you?”
Olive nodded. “Yes, I took her.” She pulled a tissue from her pocket and wiped her eyes quickly. “And I’ll tell you something else I don’t think you know. Jenny and I named her. We shouldn’t have because we knew we couldn’t keep her and her new parents would give her a name but we couldn’t just call her baby.”
“What did you name her?”
“Claire.”
The Madeleine Wright Hospital hadn’t the funding or staff with the time to update all its old records to a computer database. The information on the pre-1985 births, admissions, and adoptions were filed in a basement archive. An overstretched staff member, accepting his credentials as a doctor, left him to walk the rows of grey steel cabinets searching for that momentous year. Shay breathed in two deep lungfuls of cool air. Concrete and neglect.
Amazing and overwhelming to think that in one of those blank cabinets lay the answer to his questions, the end of his search. So easily. He ran his fingers over the drawer marked Jan/Feb 1981 and pulled. It slid open smoothly and there under G was her file. There was no indication the adoptive parents wanted to remain anonymous or wished not to be contacted. He wasn’t breaking any confidentiality after all. That was a relief.
Baby Grayson, female. Born February 10, 1981. Birrigai, NSW. Mother Emily Rebecca Grayson, dec. Father unknown. Delivered by Dr Jennifer Cross.
Admitted on February 16th, 1981. Accompanying nurse Sister Olive Newsome, Birrigai Medical Centre.
Shay scanned the baby’s medical summation. She was healthy, a reasonable weight considering her mother’s youth and condition. No allergies detected. Feeding well. Etc.
He flipped the page. Cleared for release a fortnight later by an illegible signature. Release from hospital signed by Child Services Officer Mary Wilson and adoptive parents William and Natalie Paice of an address in Sunshine Point.
Paice. Claire Paice. No, not Claire. They would have given her another name.
She’d grown up in Sunshine Point, by the sea. Just an hour and a half south of Sydney in a small coastal community now almost absorbed into Sydney’s greater sprawl. People commuted daily to work in the city. Did William Paice?
That evening Shay sat in his narrow terrace house in the inner Sydney suburb of Glebe, nursing a glass of Shiraz and staring at nothing. The phone book lay open on the coffee table. They were still there, the Paice’s. They hadn’t moved in all those years. Tomorrow he could quite possibly meet her. His sister. His real flesh and blood sister. Crunch-time.
What did she look like? Him? Or their mother? He must take after his father because Emily’s eyes had been grey not brown and Dad said she was a small, fragile girl with clear pale skin and reddish blonde hair. “Like gold,” he’d said. “She was beautiful.”
Since he’d decided to use his fortnight’s holiday and pursue this quest, he’d never dreamt of such rapid success. He still had four days left. The question was what should he do? Should he ring first or should he go and have a look at the house and see what sort of place it was? Maybe he’d catch a glimpse of the girl. But she may not live at home. Unlikely at her age. She could be anywhere. Anywhere in the world for that matter. His spirits, previously soaring, nosedived.
Shay sipped the wine and placed the glass on the table by the phone book. If he didn’t contact them he could speculate all he liked and get absolutely nowhere.
Phoning was probably best but they could easily hang up on him. He hadn’t done this the legit way after all and they’d be within their rights to be angry. But how would they know that?
Claire wasn’t a child any more. He and his sister had rights too. They’d been separated with no say in the matter.
Appearing at the door might prove too much of a shock. He knew nothing about them, about their state of health. But, he was a doctor. If one of them had a heart attack he’d be right on hand to save them. Shay laughed softly to himself and shook his head.
The correct thing to do was write to them and wait for a reply. What if they didn’t reply? How could he wait a second longer with the information staring him in the face. Telephone. Eight-thirty wasn’t too late at night.
His stomach churned. The red wine sloshed and gurgled. His fingers shook as he grasped the phone in a clammy palm. He took a deep breath and peered at the number, which wavered and blurred on the page, exhaled, blinked, shook his head and tried again.
“Courage.” he ordered himself. “The worst they can do is hang up.”
He dialled and barely heard the ringing over the thud of his heart.
Joelle started, glanced up and frowned in annoyance when the new bell over the door clanged. That thing was far too loud. Customers got the fright of their lives every time they opened the door. She could see it on their faces—pure shock as though two saucepan lids had crashed together and were about to land on their head. Someone would keel over soon. The woman who’d just left nearly dropped her bunch of roses.
“We’ll have to change that darn bell,” she muttered to Viv who, back turned, was elbow deep in the greenery ordered for the Lanzini wedding. Joelle frowned.
“Have they sent the right amount? It looks like an awful lot.” So much that Viv had had to bring two buckets through from the back room because they were overflowing out there.
“It’s fine. Remember she wants lot of greens on the tables to reflect the bridesmaids’ dresses.” Viv turned and dried her hands on a paper towel. “No accounting for taste but the Lily of the Valley will go well with it. Tracey’s almost made those up.”
“Okay. I’ll leave it to you but I’ll need Tracey as soon as I’ve got that last order ready for the hospital.” Joelle grinned at Viv. “These darned customers keep interrupting.”
“Nuisances. Don’t they realise we’ve got work to do?” Viv’s bulky body disappeared through the bead curtain screening the workroom from the shop.
Still smiling Joelle reached for the order book to check the requirement for the bouquet she was about to assemble. The man hadn’t had much of a clue what he wanted.
“She loves carnations—pink ones,” he’d said. “Can you do something nice with that? Something cheerful. But add in a few other things as well.”
Joelle loved carnations too. She loved flowers and she loved arranging them. The myriad colours and delicate shapes, the individuality of plants, their leaves, stems, buds and flowers fascinated her. Especially the incredibly delicate work of the Japanese and Chinese artists whose arrangements transcended the realms of craft and became spiritual expression. One day she’d go to Japan and study Ikebana properly. Her savings were growing slowly but surely.
But right now this arrangement had to be finished and loaded into the little delivery van with all the other orders to be scooted about town by Tracey. Then they all had to prepare the Lanzini wedding flowers, for as long as it took and well into the night at the rate they were going, because in the morning a nervous and excited Lucia Lanzini would be expecting everything to be ready for her big event. Or heaven help them all. She’d seen the Lanzini temper in action.
Clang. Clang.
Joelle shuddered. Why on earth had Tracey thought an Indian cowbell was a good idea?
“It’s an original,” she’d announced proudly as she’d held it aloft. “I bought it in a bazaar in Bombay.”
“It’s big,” Joelle had said dubiously, eyeing the monster bell. It wasn’t even attractive like their previous cluster of little silver chime bars. The Indian bell was a dull brown with dents here and there where, presumably, the sacred cow had trodden on it. But Tracey had fastened it above the door somehow and Joelle had promised to see how it went for a while. The while had lasted two days and was fast running out of goodwill.
“Hello, can I help you?” she asked. Half-turned, the customer had frozen in place by the door. “Sorry about that,” she added. “I think we’ll have to take it down before a customer dies of fright.” He glanced up then closed the door gently, minimising the din.
The man turned to face her. He smiled and Joelle’s stomach reacted the way it did when she went on the Big Dipper at the showground—a plummeting fall followed by a lurch and a bounce. He was crossing the floor towards her and saying something. She knew because his mouth was moving but she couldn’t hear a word over the roaring in her ears and the chaos in her chest, which had something to do with the way her lungs had seized up.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
She heard that. Joelle blinked and placed a steadying hand on the counter. He was mere feet away now, watching her through the most gorgeous pair of dark brown eyes, she’d ever seen in her life. Her mouth opened and closed, air rushed into her lungs and she gasped, swallowed and laughed all at the same time.
“Sorry. Yes, yes, I’m fine. I just…I don’t know. I just…” She stopped in confusion. How could she say she’d been knocked off her feet by his smile? How could she say he was the most handsome, sexy man she’d ever laid eyes upon and when he looked at her, her whole body simply ceased to function? “Can I help you?”
“I was just wondering the same thing,” he said gravely. His gorgeous brow creased in concern. “Can I help you? Are you sure you’re all right? I’m a doctor so if you’re not feeling too good…”
“There’s absolutely nothing wrong with me,” Joelle stated firmly. “I just—something went down the wrong way, that’s all. I was eating and a crumb went the wrong way.”
Brilliant.
“I see.” He continued to stare at her. She knew he knew she was lying but he wasn’t bothered enough, or interested enough to call her on it. What would he care? “Umm. I want a bouquet. Something medium sized, not too fancy but nice.” He looked around the displays. “Like that? Or that?” He pointed to the mixed bunches.
“Would you like something made up specially? You could choose from what we have here already.”
Joelle walked around to his side of the counter and forced herself not to stand too close and gaze into his face adoringly. Tanned skin from being outdoors, the type of body that had developed its strength and physique through rough and tumble sports rather than a gym. A doctor, he’d said. Smart as well as sexy. A lethal combination, he must have female patients queuing up for physicals. Imagine those strong fingers sliding over your skin…
“Could you mix a couple of those together for me into one bunch, please?”
“Of course.” Joelle dragged her lurid imagination out of the consulting room and selected several bunches from the plastic buckets. She held them together for his approval.