Cath Staincliffe - Trio

Inside Room four a circle of twenty chairs had been set out and at the back a table with tea and coffee. Helen was there, talking to a small group of women, and she nodded hello to Caroline across the room. Caroline got teas for herself and Elsie and joined her to wait as the room gradually filled up. The tea was watery and she didn’t know whether drinking it would make her feel better or worse. She fiddled with the cup and saucer. The place was hot and a rush of saliva in her mouth made her stomach heave. She put her drink down and told Elsie she was nipping out for a minute.

‘I’ll save your seat for you.’

In the ladies’, Caroline splashed water on her face and rinsed her mouth. She felt ghastly. She stared at her face in the mirror. Daft, wasn’t it. Inside, she was still fifteen, still the girl who was happiest running free up on the tops or trotting after Grandma, not this middle-aged woman with grey hair and bags under her eyes and her face the colour of putty. She found a mint in her bag and hoped it would help settle her stomach. She could just stay here, hiding in the toilet, but Elsie was expecting her back… and Helen. And how would she ever explain to Paul or to Theresa, who both knew she was coming.

She steeled herself and set off back. As she rejoined the corridor she almost collided with another woman who’d come hurtling from the other direction.

‘I’m sorry, I’m terribly late, not sure if I’m going the right way. Are you all right? You don’t know…’ She broke off. She was staring at Caroline.

Caroline looked at her. Petite build, red hair, face sprinkled with freckles, deep lines round the mouth and the eyes. Bright eyes, vivid blue. Caroline frowned. ‘It’s not… Megan?’ It couldn’t be.

‘Oh, Jesus!’ Megan’s hands flew up to her face. ‘I never…’ Her hands went out to grasp Caroline’s. ‘Caroline?’

‘Yes.’

‘Oh, my God! You’ll give me a heart attack!’ She shook her head, her eyes filled with tears.

‘Long time.’

‘A lifetime. How are you? Are you… Did you… What… Oh, Jesus!’

Caroline couldn’t help laughing at Megan’s verbal con tortions.

‘We’ll have lunch,’ Megan told her, ‘we’ll talk.’

‘Yes.’ Caroline didn’t hesitate. ‘Your boyfriend… Declan?’

‘Brendan. Still together. Got married, had three more. Oh, Caroline. You?’

‘I’m married. Two boys, all grown up now.’

The question they both wanted to ask hung unspoken. It was Caroline who surprised herself by breaking the pause, speaking quickly. ‘I met my daughter, we had a reunion.’

‘Oh, I’m so glad.’ Megan’s face relaxed with relief. ‘So did I. Well… mine not yours. Turned up on the doorstep. We’ve had our ups and downs, but -’ she smiled and nodded her head – ‘I wouldn’t have it any other way.’

Helen appeared at the end of the corridor. ‘Caroline?’

‘Sorry,’ Caroline gasped.

‘Sorry,’ Megan added and they stepped apart guiltily. ‘Remember Sister Vincent?’

‘Oh, don’t,’ Caroline laughed.

They walked back with Helen and explained to her how they knew each other. Caroline sat with Elsie on her left and Megan on her right. Helen opened the session but Caroline found herself assailed by memories: pulling the heavy laundry cart with Megan, the porridge at breakfast, the cold bedroom they had shared, Joan comforting her after they’d told her about Grandma, the terrifying labour and that first glimpse of her baby, red and streaked, a shock of hair, overwhelming, lovely. She remembered watching as the babies in the nursery were moved round closer to the door as each was taken and the night when they pulled Theresa from her arms.

She wrenched her thoughts away and back to Helen, who was now asking them to introduce themselves and say a little about their situation. Helen asked Elsie to start.

Elsie cleared her throat. Caroline felt her nervousness, saw her misshapen knuckles whiten as she tightened her hands, which were clasped in her lap. Caroline put out her hand and rested it on Elsie’s arm, gave a gentle squeeze. Elsie nodded. ‘I’m Elsie, Elsie Carr. I had a baby, a little boy, back in 1943. His father was a GI.’ Her voice wavered. ‘I’ve never told anybody about it. Not until today. Thank you,’ she added.

‘My name is Caroline. I had a daughter when I was very young. We’ve had a reunion.’ She stopped abruptly. What else should she say? There were a million things. She turned to Megan. Megan gave her a smile.

‘I’m Megan. I was in the same Mother and Baby Home as Caroline, a place in Manchester. I wanted to get married and keep my baby but they wouldn’t let us.’ She paused and pressed her lips together, swallowed. ‘She traced us as soon as she reached eighteen. Her dad and I, we did get married and we had three others. That’s me.’

‘I’m Gloria…’ The next person began.

‘I feel all… I don’t know, inside out,’ Elsie remarked when the session was over.

Megan laughed. ‘You’re not wrong there.’

Caroline blew her nose again. She had been in tears several times as people recounted their stories and shared their grief and anger and hopes and despair. She hadn’t been the only one either. A room full of people who knew exactly what you were talking about. She felt completely drained. And she wouldn’t have missed it for the world.

Helen came over. ‘Lunch?’

‘We’re going to have a proper catch up,’ Megan told her, smiling affectionately at Caroline.

‘You were at St Ann’s at the same time?’ Helen said.

‘Had our babies on the same day. Three of us, us two and this other girl, Joan. They reckoned it was a record.’

‘We all shared a room,’ Caroline said.

‘Shall I take you to get something to eat then, Elsie?’ Helen said.

‘Oh, thank you. I’m famished.’

Megan and Caroline had already learnt something of each other’s lives from the workshop but there was so much more to say. They were talking furiously, the conversation jumping from memories of St Ann’s and the weeks after they had left to later years. Caroline told Megan about meeting Paul, her depression, the horrors of hospitalisation, the years of waiting to hear from her daughter, marking each birthday, the fact that Paul had been told about her secret. Megan talked about the lean years when Brendan was laid off and they had lived from hand to mouth, about Aidan – ‘He went right off the rails and he never came back’ – and the bitterness she had harboured towards her own father for refusing them the right to marry. And they spoke about their daughters, what they were like, looks and personality, compared them to their siblings, related how they first met, the whole rollercoaster ride.

Their intense talk was interrupted by Helen. ‘Sorry to butt in but there’s someone who would like to meet you both.’ She stepped aside.

Megan and Caroline looked up at the younger woman. Shock rippled across their features.

‘Joan!’ Caroline whispered. ‘I mean…’

‘You must be…’ Megan started.

‘This is Pamela,’ said Helen. ‘Joan’s birth daughter.’

‘You’re so like her,’ said Caroline, taking in the deep-blue eyes, the long nose, the jet-black hair, the identical features.

‘Spitting image,’ said Megan, ‘really.’ She shook her head. ‘Sit down.’ She pulled a chair round and Pamela joined them.

‘Is Joan here?’ Caroline asked her.

‘No, she died. Cancer.’

‘Oh, God, I’m so sorry.’ Caroline said.

‘Oh, no.’ Megan echoed.

Pamela nodded. ‘I… never got to meet her. Helen said you knew her, at St Ann’s.’

‘We shared the same room: Joan, Caroline and me,’ said Megan.