Authors: Mairi Wilson
She expected me to return with her, and in truth, I believed I would too. It was only yesterday, as we made the final preparations, that I realised I couldn’t. I couldn’t watch her take my son to Gregory, tell him my boy is hers, his. I couldn’t watch them become the happy family I thought might have been mine if Cameron had really loved me. If Cameron had had an ounce of honour in him. Honour. There’s a thought. Hardly for me to cast that stone. Not me, a coward of the highest order, not even brave enough to keep her own son. I can hardly cast aspersions on another’s behaviour. But it wouldn’t work, even if I had more courage. How could I keep my baby and my job, and if I didn’t work how would we survive?
And now I have neither. I don’t know what I’m going to do. Where I’m going to go. I’ll have to work. No reference from Matron Proudfoot will make it hard to find a position. She won’t have forgiven me for my abrupt departure. And too late I remembered she would know my ailing mother was a lame excuse. It would have been on my records, of course. No parents. No family as next of kin. Orphan. Dr Campbell, dear Douglas, might help me I suppose, if Evie asks.
But I can’t think of any of that yet. I have abandoned my child. Given him away. What kind of a woman does that? I’m every bit the monster Cameron is. What chance would any child of ours have? Better to be with Helen and Gregory – the faultless, perfect couple. They will give him a far better chance than he would have with me. And this pain, this wrenching ache, so raw, so … this is my penance. I don’t deserve to forget. I won’t forget. The curling grip of those small fingers, the perfection of his tiny toes! The soft warmth of his breath on my cheek as I held him against my heart, the gentle rise and fall of the coverlet as he slept. Oh dear God. There can be no forgiveness for what I’ve done, but please don’t let him be punished, my beautiful, beautiful boy, for the sins of his shameful mother.
Taigh na Mara, July 29th 1950
I won’t come back here, again, despite Evie’s generosity: her insistence on signing it over to me, that it should be my home. I don’t deserve it. I’m going to leave all of it behind me. Lock it up and keep it from seeping its poison into my new life. Perhaps I should throw away the keys and just leave it all to rot. A derelict memorial to my sinfulness.
But that’s an indulgence I can’t afford. The cleaning and clearing has been therapeutic in a way, and knowing that someone new will live here, someone who has no idea of the agonised ghosts that haunt its walls, will help. The solicitors said it will take time to find someone who wants to live out here, but that’s good. It will give the ghosts time to settle, move on, find me in Edinburgh. I could sell it, of course. But something holds me back. I don’t quite know why. Perhaps because it would seem ungrateful to Evie. Or perhaps because it feels too final to do that. Maybe, just maybe, one day things will be different. I’ll bring him here and show him the place where he was born and we’ll laugh and cry about it together. And heal. Oh that we might!
Helen sent me a picture of him. I know she means well, keeping her promise to share every step with me as best she can. But I can’t help myself. The jealousy runs so deep. And now too I am beholden to her for life. His life. A debt I can never repay and which makes me hate her.
Blantyre
September 27th 1950
Dear Ursula,
I write this in haste at Helen’s request and will write a fuller account later. We both want this to reach you as soon as it can, though. Such news – Helen is pregnant with a child of her own! Soon your dear boy will have a sibling, a playmate, someone to look up to him and love him as much as we all do. Oh, you can’t imagine how happy they all are – Gregory and Helen are wonderful parents and now with another child on the way it will make our secret all the safer. With children of their own, our little honeybird is less likely ever to be found out.
And fear not, my dear friend. Helen loves that boy of yours as if he were her own, as does Gregory. She promises me she will love him no less when her child is born, and such is the size of that woman’s heart, we know she will be true to her word.
I know there will be a small part of you that this news will hurt, but Ursula, what’s done is done and your boy really couldn’t be happier or better cared for. You wouldn’t want him to grow up a lonely child, I’m sure, so try to rejoice at this news. It will be good for him to have other children around him.
More next time, I promise. Till then take care, and know we think of you often.
Much love,
Evie
PS: Do so hope the Edinburgh position is turning out well for you. Douglas was sure you’d be perfect for it and was glowing in his reference – of course!
Lexy had slept little so was at the hospital earlier than planned, thinking to have a coffee in the hospital canteen or a walk in the grounds until her appointed time with Evie. Her head was swimming, though, with what she had learned from the tea folder, and it had driven her back to the photo albums, where she’d scrutinised the faces of the women, the men who’d played the central roles in the drama that was unfolding in Ursula’s documents. It was so hard to reconcile what she was reading with her memories of the staid, respectable Edinburgh matron of Lexy’s childhood. With the warmth and love there had been for Izzie and Lexy herself, whenever they visited. That Ursula had been a caring, loving mother in everything but name to Izzie was evident. So how could that same woman have given up her own son, given him away to another woman … or was it because she’d abandoned one child that there was such an outpouring of affection for another?
Such an outrageous plan, and yet one, it would appear, that had succeeded. And Evie had been the one to suggest it. Ursula’s son had grown up loved and wealthy, so did it matter to the child? Had he known? The payments. Surely that was why … But when had he found out, and how? And how did it make him feel? Lexy’s own sense of betrayal, her anger at her mother withholding information from her paled into insignificance in the light of what Ursula’s son must have felt when he discovered his birthright, his true identity, had been stolen from him. And yet, he’d grown up more comfortably than he ever would have had his birth mother kept him. But Lexy couldn’t help but feel it was fundamentally wrong to lie, to deceive, and particularly about something as central to a sense of identity as the circumstances of one’s birth … and yet … and yet …
By the time she reached the hospital her impatience had gained the upper hand. She struck a deal with herself. She could go straight to Evie’s room and if the old woman was awake and would see her, so be it. But Lexy had to keep tight control of her emotions, remember that Evie was about to have major surgery and that whatever had happened all those years ago, Lexy couldn’t begin to know the full circumstances, or the toll it might have taken on all three women then and through the years that followed. In short, she must not judge. She would listen with an open mind, gather information impartially, academically. Danny would be proud. If she succeeded, that is.
As she walked down the corridor towards Evie’s room she could see that the door was ajar. Raising her hand to rap her knuckles lightly on the wood, she was surprised to hear Evie’s voice, just catching a few words before the door swung open at her touch.
“Remember what we agreed. Nothing about—”
“Hello?” Lexy’s smile stalled and she felt a lurch in her stomach as she realised Robert was in the room. Yesterday’s humiliation came flooding back. “Oh, I’m sorry. I hope I’m not interrupting?”
“Lexy, dear, you’re early.”
“Yes, I know. I was … I can come back?”
“No, no. Not at all, do come in child. Robbie boy, jump to it. Clear that clutter away and let the dear child have a seat.”
“Thank you, but really I can come back—”
“Nonsense. Robbie doesn’t mind sharing me. Now, how are you, dear? Why, you look exhausted. Our Malawian sun perhaps too much for you?”
“No, not that. I didn’t sleep much last night.”
“Really? You’re not ill are you, my dear? Robbie could give you something if—”
“No!” Lexy was appalled at the thought of Robbie tending to her, was beginning to wish she’d mastered the art of patience and was sitting sipping coffee downstairs. “I mean, thanks, but really I’m fine. It was just that I was thinking about what you’d said, Evie, and looking through the photos and reading more of the folder I found under Ursula’s chair and … well, it was quite overwhelming really. And then I was trying to put it all together with what the lawyers said and make sense of it, but I just kept coming up with more questions, and I … So that’s why I couldn’t sleep and then I didn’t know if you’d have your operation scheduled yet or not so thought maybe if I came earlier you’d be able to rest more before it because I really appreciate you seeing me at all when you … but I’ve so much to ask you and I’m sure you have the answers …”
Lexy drew breath, looked up at last, saw their faces still and watchful. “Sorry. I’m gabbling, and I know you have your operation on your mind, but it’s just so— Sorry.”
“Don’t worry, dear. I’m not the frail old stick Robert would have you believe, and I’m only too happy to have something to take my mind off the operation.”
“Yes. Sorry. I know. But I shouldn’t be bombarding you with—”
“No, you shouldn’t.” Robert finally spoke, frowning at Lexy in clear disapproval. “You need to remember—”
“That I’m bored rigid lying here all day with only the prospect of a trip to some old sawbones to look forward to, so the longer you can spin out the distractions, Lexy dear, the better.”
“Gran, you really mustn’t let her—”
“Shush, Robbie. Leave the girl alone. I’m fine.”
“No. I’m sorry. I’ve just jumped in again and haven’t even asked you how you are.” Feeling a little ashamed, Lexy made a real effort to slow herself down. “Robert’s right.” Much though it pained her to say it.
“But I’m fine, dear.”
“No, she’s not, actually.”
“Robbie.”
“Gran, you’re the one who’s exhausted. I’m really not sure you should be doing this at all, you know, raking over the past and what have you.”
“Robbie, we agreed.” Evie looked hard at her grandson, as if communicating something other than the words themselves. “Remember. We agreed. So don’t fuss.” What exactly was it they’d agreed, Lexy wondered, remembering the snatch of conversation she’d heard as she came into the room.
“I’m expressing an opinion – a medical opinion.” He shrugged. “That’s hardly fussing.”
Evie’s hand dismissed him with a flutter. “Lexy, pull your chair nearer. Tell me more about these albums, this folder or whatever. They’ve clearly got you quite excited.”
“Gran, please. Enough. Lexy, you really shouldn’t be putting her through this. She’s not strong enough.”
“Robbie, I think that’s for me to decide. And I’m sure it’s time you were getting along to your clinic. We will be perfectly fine, and frankly it will be much less stressful talking to Lexy without your well-intentioned but quite unnecessary supervision.”
Lexy looked down in case either of them saw the amusement in her eyes. That told him, she thought, and was delighted to see that it worked. Like a sulky adolescent he scooped up his jacket and document folder and swept out, with only a scowl in their direction.
“That’s better.” Evie patted the bedclothes down around her. “Now, dear, you were saying?”
“Yes, right.”
Easy does it, Lexy,
she reminded herself. “So. I’m beginning to piece it all together now, about Ursula’s son. I brought some paperwork with me from Ursula’s flat. None of it really made sense before, but now it’s beginning to, or at least what I’ve looked at so far is, with your help of course. There are gaps still, and bits that don’t make sense, but I’m hoping you will be able to help me with all that. And also, all I’m getting are bare facts and none of the why or … or anything.”
Evie’s eyes had narrowed a little and she was watching Lexy closely.
“I’ve brought the albums with me. I thought you might like to see them.”
“Oh, I would, dear, very much. Always such fun reviewing one’s youth.”
“And I’ve got some of the documents – diary entries and letters and so on – that were in the folder. She’d marked it for my mother and it’s some kind of record of … of … Well, an explanation of sorts. You see, they’d fallen out, Ursula and my mother, years ago when I was still quite young. But maybe you knew that. I hadn’t really understood what was going on back then, but it’s beginning to make sense now. I think they must have fallen out about Ursula’s son because that’s what the folder seems to be about.”
Evie was very still, apart from one thin index finger rubbing at the white cotton bedsheet.
“And there’s something odd about the folder. If I hadn’t spilt my tea, I wouldn’t have found it. It was tucked under the cushion of Ursula’s armchair. At the time, I just put it down to her wanting it near her, an old woman’s habit, tucking things down the side of her chair. But this was actually under the seat, as if she, maybe, wanted to keep it hidden.”
Lexy looked up at Evie, whose face was still giving nothing away.
“But then I thought, why would she want to do that?”
“Well, quite. Why indeed?”
“Unless it was something that mattered very, very much. Unless it would give away the identity of her son, Cameron’s son.”
“I’m really not sure—”
“Of course, it could be argued that Ursula was deranged when she wrote those diary entries, some sort of postpartum depression or delusion. But there was independent corroboration. There was your letter. Your letter, to Ursula, which she kept all these years and included in her folder: your letter helped me finally believe it, even though it’s been staring me in the face on every page of this album since I picked it up.” Lexy took one of the albums from her bag and laid it gently on the other woman’s lap.
“Really, dear?” Evie sounded uninterested, as if this wasn’t anything important at all, didn’t even glance at the album.