Cath Staincliffe - Trio

‘She’ll come. Get in the car, for the love of God.’

‘You’ll wait outside, you promise?’

‘Aye, until hell freezes over.’

She swallowed. ‘I feel sick.’

He looked at her steadily. ‘Car.’

‘Hold me.’

He hugged her tight.

‘I love you,’ she said.

‘Me too. Now get in the car.’

It was time to go. Time to discover her past. And to find her future. Time to complete the circle. She stood on the threshold and felt the world stop turning.

Outside the door, poised for flight. Her heart was bumping too fast in her chest, fingers clenched. She could just go. Turn and walk away. Cruel, yes, but not impossible. This side of the door there was still room for fantasies, for dreams of what she might be like, for scenes of happy ever after, of coming home, of finding peace. But in there, once across the threshold, there would only ever be reality: stark, unrelenting, unchangeable. No going back. No escape. Her ears were buzzing and her skull and back felt tight with tension. She couldn’t breathe properly.

She closed her eyes momentarily, fighting the rising panic. Don’t think. Just open the door.

She put her hand out and grasped the handle. Turned and pushed. Stepped into the room. Saw the woman on the couch rise unsteadily to her feet. Smiling. Moving towards her, mouth working with emotion. Little exclamations popping softly, hello, oh, hello. Arms opening, eyes drinking her in.

The two women embraced.

Theresa started to cry, noisy sobs and sucking sounds.

‘Twenty-eight years,’ Caroline said, her voice muffled with emotion, ‘I never thought I’d see you again. Come on.’

She led her daughter to the couch and sat with one arm around her, listening to her weep, her own tears sliding down her face. She smelled Theresa’s hair and felt the smooth skin of her fingers and waited for the crying to gentle and cease. There was no hurry after all. Years lost, but now they had all the time in the world. Forever.

And Theresa in her hot, damp sea of tears, felt them emptying out of her, on and on like when they change the lock gates on the canals. Made no effort to control them. Holding the hand, strong and bony like her own, hearing the drumbeat in her ears. Till she is all cried out. Feeling the wheel turn. Finding herself in a new place. Tender and bewildered and brave.

The conference reception area was lined with exhibitions from adoption charities and organisations. And there were tables laden with leaflets and booklets, petitions and contact sheets. The place was filling up with people arriving. Some came alone, others in twos or threes, some even in coach parties. All ages, and men as well as women.

Helen, the counsellor, accompanied Caroline to the registration desk. They were greeted warmly and given a room plan and timetable. Keynote speeches in the large hall at ten, one thirty and three, workshops and discussion groups in-between.

‘Tea and coffee over there,’ the volunteer told them, ‘do help yourselves.’

Caroline felt another swirl of trepidation, doubtful about the wisdom of coming here. She hated crowds, hated talking in front of people. Heat flushed her forehead and the nape of her neck.

‘I’m going outside,’ she told Helen, ‘get some air.’

‘Fine. We don’t start until half past ten, we’re just in there.’ She pointed to a door at one end of the foyer. It was labelled with a notice, large black letters. Room 4 Session 1a: Birth Parents – Breaking the Silence, 10.30-12.30

Caroline made her way through the crush and out into the damp, drizzly day, past the knots of smokers lingering on the steps. She walked slowly round the courtyard, breathing in the smell of wet stone. She studied the old walls and architectural details to avoid looking at all the people. Helen had told her there’d be people from all aspects of adoption, of the triangle as she called it, and professionals too. The whole thrust of the day was to hear from people about their own experiences and to learn from that what services should be developed in the future.

A shriek of laughter made her turn. There were three women coming through the gates, two middle-aged and one younger and heavily pregnant. Were they related? They didn’t look particularly alike. Were they adoptive parents, social workers, birth parents, adoptees? Impossible to tell. Caroline wondered about the pregnant woman, did she really want to be here? Did she feel at all awkward? She didn’t look it. There was a crêche too, Caroline remembered, so there’d be children here, maybe babies. Which was what it was all about: babies. Losing them, finding them.

Panic made her stomach lurch. She could not do this. She’d have to tell Helen. It had been a stupid idea. She walked quickly inside, intending to make her excuses and leave, wander round the unfamiliar town centre while the rest of them got on with it.

It was busier than ever in the building and she couldn’t see Helen among the many faces. Above the hubbub someone clapped hands to quieten them and asked them to take their seats in the hall. People began to move that way.

Still no sign of Helen. Caroline was annoyed, her jaw tightened with tension. She couldn’t walk out without a word, not after all Helen had done for her.

A hand touched her arm and she turned to see a diminutive old woman, frail, with wispy white hair and thick glasses. ‘Would you mind,’ her voice quavered, ‘I need to get a seat but I’m not so steady… I’m so very sorry to be a bother.’

‘Not at all, here…’ Caroline offered her arm and helped the woman through the throng.

‘I’ve never been to anything like this before,’ the woman said.

‘Neither have I.’

‘I’d no idea there would be so many people. Just look at them all.’

Caroline nodded. ‘Here we are.’ She guided her into the second row.

On the dais at the front, three people sat and behind them a projected message welcomed them all.

‘Thank you so much. Elsie Carr.’ She held out her hand, reaching up to Caroline.

‘Caroline.’ She hovered in the aisle.

The people on the dais were still chatting to each other and adjusting their papers.

‘Have you come far?’

‘Somerset, a couple of hours.’ She hesitated, the last few delegates were taking their seats. ‘What about you?’

‘I got the coach, from Newcastle. I had to come yesterday. The people in the booking office sorted me out with a bed and breakfast.’

‘That’s a long way.’

Elsie nodded. The lights began to dim. ‘Ooh!’ She turned her attention to the front then glanced back at Caroline, who was still standing. Elsie pulled a face, a mix of excitement and apprehension, and patted the seat beside her.

With a feeling of misgiving, Caroline slid into it and watched as the woman at the podium began by thanking them all for coming.

The half hour flew by and then people were asked to leave the hall and join their morning sessions. Caroline helped Elsie once again and when they reached the foyer she asked her which session she wanted.

Elsie ran her finger down the printed sheet. ‘Room four.’ She looked about.

‘This way.’ Caroline led her over.

‘What about you, dear?’ Elsie cocked her head and looked up at Caroline.

It was ridiculous, Caroline thought. If Elsie had been in any other session she could have taken her there then nipped back to explain to Helen and ducked out of the session, but she felt some stupid sense of responsibility for Elsie and she couldn’t lie to her.

‘Same as you.’

‘Good.’ Elsie patted her hand. ‘Good. You can hold my hand.’ And she gave Caroline’s hand a squeeze.

‘And you mine,’ Caroline muttered.