Cath Staincliffe - Trio

At the age of eleven months she had a second fit. It was a mild Tuesday morning. Theresa went to the lounge, where Ella was asleep on her playmat, a loose cotton blanket covering her. Theresa heard a strange sound and when she went to investigate she found the child wracked by spasms, her eyes glassy and protruding like marbles, her legs quivering. She dialled 999 and went on to autopilot.

The stay at the hospital was like a rerun.

‘If only we knew why,’ Theresa told the doctor. ‘It’s not knowing what’s wrong that makes it even worse.’

‘I’m going to order a CAT scan – that’s where we take a picture of the brain – and I want to refer you to a neurosurgeon.’

Theresa went dizzy with fear, she laced her fingers tight with the strap of her handbag. A brain tumour? Brain disease. She tried to listen while he talked on about being cautious and keeping things in proportion and all she could imagine was a tiny coffin. It was all she could do to stay in the room.

‘Good grief, Tess!’ Craig said as they walked back to the ward. ‘How do people cope?’

‘How can I go back to work with all this?’ she said to him some days later.

‘What are your options? You can stay here, at home with Ella, and leave your career on hold indefinitely, or go back to the department, get on with your life. The nursery’s in the next block, we can make sure the staff are fully briefed. Your call.’

She frowned.

‘Tess, giving up your work won’t make her better. It’s not about sacrifices. If you want to stay home because you’d rather do that than go back to the university that’s a different issue.’

‘I don’t. I want to go back. There’s a lot going on in the department. I want to be part of that, and they’ll let me do part-time.’

‘There’s your answer. Try it at least, see how it works out.’

‘Yes.’ she nodded, raked her fingers through her hair. She’d had highlights put in to pep up the colour, which she always thought of as boring brown. She still wore it long, often with a stretchy hair band that held it off her face and covered her ears. She put her hands on her hips and stretched her back, which was tight with tension. ‘Craig, about Caroline. There’s days you can go to St Catherines’ House, they help you find marriage certificates and all that. I’m going to go.’

‘Good.’ He nodded.

‘I thought last night… what if she’s dead?’

He made a noise.

‘Then we’ll never know, will we?’

‘We might not anyway,’ he pointed out. ‘There may be no epilepsy or anything else in the family.’

‘I keep thinking about it, more and more, what I’ll do if we find her. Things I’d like to ask her, not just health stuff. Maybe… I don’t know… see her face to face.’

He looked surprised. ‘Really?’

She nodded. ‘Unfinished business.’ She smiled ruefully.

‘Would you do it if Ella was OK? If they found out what was wrong?’

She considered, stroking her hair over her left ear. ‘Yes,’ she said at length, ‘I think so. Not like this, not immediately, I’d want to take it more slowly, but yes, I think I would now. It seems… inevitable – if she’s still alive. If she’s willing to meet me.’

‘Jeez, Theresa. Been a hell of a year.’

She blew a breath out. ‘You could say that.’

Kay

How on earth did you break the news to your children? She’d practised the phrases – Daddy and I aren’t getting along very well, we’ve decided to separate – and rehearsed the responses to the inevitable questions – no particular reason, we’ve just drifted apart, it’s mutual.

She had decided not to reveal anything of Adam’s affairs. Oh, there was still a vindictive streak in her that would have relished souring his reputation for them but she didn’t want to hurt them. They didn’t need to know.

It had been two weeks since she’d told Adam she wanted out. And it had taken her months to find the courage to say so. He was putting away the Christmas decorations at the time. All the little bells and baubles. The figures they’d collected over the years. Thirty years. The set of robins that had been the twins’ favourites. She dragged herself away from reminiscence and into the harsh reality of the present.

‘Adam, I want a separation.’

He sat back on his heels, peered at her. He wore glasses now, his hair had turned a steely grey but he was still an attractive man. He always would be.

‘But why?’ He sounded amazed.

‘The children have gone, there’s no need to stay together…’

‘But we’re happy.’

She shook her head.

He sighed, started to speak and stopped. Began again. ‘This is about Julie, isn’t it?’

‘No.’

‘Yes, you’re still punishing me… after all the…’

‘Adam. I’m fifty years old. I’ve raised a family and I’m proud of that, but that part… I need something else… Not this.’

‘It’s a mid-life crisis…’

‘Adam. I’m not going to change my mind.’

‘Jesus, Kay. I thought we’d grow old together.’

‘Don’t,’ she said sharply. She couldn’t bear the sentiment. She had dreamed of that once. No longer.

She felt her lip quivering and fought to contain her emotion. She must be strong.

‘Are you seeing someone?’ His face darkened.

‘Oh, Adam,’ she laughed, tears in her voice. ‘No. We could sell the house – too big for us now.’ She couldn’t imagine leaving the house. It would be as big a wrench as ending her marriage. The babies had grown up here, learnt to walk, climbed the apple tree. She knew all the neighbours, the people in the parade of shops on the main road.

She felt her composure crumbling. ‘We’ll need to sort things out. Not now. But I had to tell you.’ And she went upstairs, away from his consternation and his wounded eyes.

And now in her daughter’s London home, in the kitchen with its Aga and its pretty blue-and-white tiles, pine cupboards; with her grand-daughter in her arms she prepared herself to tell Theresa.

She saw the shock ripple through her daughter’s features, noted the unconscious movement of her hand to her left ear, waited for the questions to tumble and answered them as best she could. She was determined not to join in when Theresa began to cry, clenched her teeth fiercely around the inside of her cheeks and sniffed several times.

They drank tea and talked and Theresa fed and changed Ella and made more tea.

‘Mum,’ she said, ‘there’s something I need to tell you, as well. It’s… When Ella had her fits, the doctors wanted to know our medical history.’

Kay nodded. Theresa pulled at her hair, stroking it over her ear again. Why so nervous? Was there bad news about Ella?

‘It’s easy for Craig, but me… well… I’m trying to trace my birth mother, to see if there’s anything on my side. I’ve got my records, my adoption records. I wanted to tell you. And there’s a letter.’

Oh, God. Kay’s head swam. She closed her eyes, squeezed them tight. She swallowed. Opened them again. Nodded. ‘Yes,’ she said, offered a wobbly smile. Thinking all the while, Oh Jesus, I don’t think I can cope with this.

Theresa

‘Is Caroline there, please? Caroline Wainwright.’ She stared across the office wall to her certificates displayed on the wall opposite, the family photos alongside them.

‘She’s not here at the moment. Can I help? This is Paul Wainwright.’

‘No… erm, no thanks. Thank you.’

Theresa put the phone down. Sat down. Stood up immediately. She made a curious jumping movement across the room, then clasped her hands to her mouth. ‘Oh, God!’ she exclaimed.

She picked up the phone again and punched in a number.