Alice looked happy. There she was, an ordinary teenager. No, not ordinary – beautiful. That’s what Alice was – really beautiful. She was tall and leggy in her blue school uniform with a schoolbag swinging at her side. Usually she was with a group of other girls, chatting happily. When boys passed by, they nudged each other and giggled. Julie longed to stop in front of her and say, ‘I’m your real mother.’ But, so far at least, she had managed to control the urge.
She wondered about going to the house across the road and speaking to the couple who had adopted Alice. She kept rehearsing what she would say.
‘I’m Alice’s real mother.’ Or ‘I live across the road and I have just found out that …’ Or ‘I don’t want to cause any problem but …’ Or ‘I thought perhaps you ought to know that …’
She tried not to keep looking out of the front-room window or talking about Alice when Sammy came home from work. She knew it worried him. She kept telling him, ‘I don’t want to cause any trouble for anyone, Sammy. All I want is for Alice to be well and happy.’
‘She is well and happy, Julie.’
‘I know, but don’t you think she’s entitled to be told the truth about herself and her true background?’
Sammy gave her a long, serious stare. ‘Her true background, Julie? Would knowing that really make her happy?’
Julie didn’t say any more. If she did speak to Alice about her background, she’d have to lie about who Alice’s father was. How could she say, ‘You were conceived as a result of drunken copulation with a stranger on VE night’?
No, she would have to lie about that. If Alice asked, she would have to say he was a pilot who was shot down and killed during the war. She would have to pretend the father was Reggie. But what if Alice tried, at some point, to check facts – especially the dates? No, better just to say he had been killed and not give any details of what service he had been in, when he had been killed or anything.
She watched for Alice continuously and, when she wasn’t standing waiting at the front-room window, she was constantly thinking about her. Or she was across at the shops or loitering near the school, hoping for a glimpse of the girl.
‘Julie,’ Sammy said eventually, ‘this has to stop. You’re making yourself ill.’
She widened her eyes. ‘What?’
‘I knew we shouldn’t have come here.’
‘I love it here, Sammy.’
‘You’re not even aware of the place, the area, this house. I bet you couldn’t tell me the names of our neighbours. Or the names of any of the shops. Alice has become an obsession with you, Julie. I’m telling you, it’s not healthy.’
‘Nonsense. You’re exaggerating. All right, I wanted to come here to be near Alice but now I am near her, I’m happy. That’s all.’
‘No, it’s not all and you know it.’
She looked away from him. ‘I haven’t a clue what you’re talking about.’
He sighed. ‘Try not to do anything rash, Julie. For the girl’s sake. She seems perfectly happy. Don’t spoil it for her.’
‘How many times must I tell you? All I’ve ever wanted is her happiness.’
‘All right. All right.’
He never mentioned the subject again and she tried all the harder to control her longings. But with not the slightest success. She could not bear a day to pass without at least catching sight of the tall, slim figure.
Then Alice disappeared. One day after another passed without a sight of her. Julie felt distracted with worry. She wondered how she could find out what had happened. Eventually, in desperation, she told Sammy of her concern over the child.
Sammy shook his head. ‘Julie, she is not a child any more. She’s probably off to university or she has a job somewhere away from Glasgow.’
He was right, of course. In her heart, Alice had always remained the baby she had allowed the nurse to prise from her arms. But Alice was not a child any more. She was a grown woman. This realisation saddened Julie, instead of making her happy. She wanted her baby back.
Time was flying past. She could not let it speed on relentlessly. She needed to be properly reunited with her daughter. Alice was her baby, her child, her grown woman, her own flesh and blood. The only way she could think of was to approach Mr and Mrs Robertson. She’d seen Alice with them one day and she had long since found out their name. She had learned all sorts of devious methods of getting information. She knew, for instance, that Mr Robertson was a clerk in the railway offices. She knew, by watching what Mrs Robertson purchased on Saturday mornings in the butcher’s, that the Robertsons’ favourite Sunday lunch was steak pie. That was usually followed by steamed apples and custard, judging by what was purchased at the grocer’s on the same day. She and Mrs Robertson had got to the stage of smiling at each other in the grocer’s and the butcher’s. She looked a nice woman, with a kindly, lined face and grey hair. Most women nowadays had their grey hairs dyed as soon as they appeared and favoured a spot of make-up. Not Mrs Robertson.
Julie thought of going to their door. Then it occurred to her that it would be easier to speak to Mrs Robertson, casually at first, in one of the shops. The next day she followed Mrs Robertson into the chemist’s, stood behind her, smiled and then said casually, ‘I haven’t seen your daughter around for a while. She’s that tall, dark-haired girl, isn’t she? I hope she’s keeping all right.’
‘Oh yes.’ Mrs Robertson’s face lit up with pride. ‘She’s doing very well. She’s training to be a doctor, you know.’
‘Is she?’ Julie too felt pride. ‘How wonderful!’
‘Yes, her dad and I are very proud of her. She’s a born doctor. Ages ago, when I had flu, she insisted on looking after me. She’s always been so good to both of us. She’s such a loving girl as well. Her dad and I feel really blessed to have her.’
It wasn’t fair. Later Julie wept to herself. Her need had become an agony. Alice belonged to her. It was right that Alice, that everybody, should know. She did not care what Sammy or anyone said. She dreamed of their reunion. She saw Alice’s surprise and delight. She felt Alice’s young body in her arms. She held her close. She vowed never to let her go again.
In her dreams, they spoke for hours. They got on so well and they had so much lost time to make up for. She listened eagerly to every detail of Alice’s childhood and young womanhood. All her likes and dislikes, every detail she could think of. They laughed together.
Julie told her about the job she had once had in Copeland & Lye’s. She told her about Madge and her large brood of children. She described Madge’s tall, handsome charmer of a husband and how Madge kept him on a tight rein. She told her about Catriona and her troubles.
She told her about Sammy and how he had been a conscientious objector during the war, served in the Friends’ Ambulance Unit and now worked in McHendry’s. He also did first-aid work for the Red Cross, helping tend to the injured at football matches as well as other events. She told Alice that Sammy was a Quaker and that she often she went to meetings with him now. She was getting to quite enjoy going there. There was something appealing, genuine and comforting, about them.
Oh, she had so much to tell her beautiful, loving daughter. First of all, she would tell her that she loved her so much and had always loved her. It was important for Alice to know that she hadn’t given her baby away because she didn’t love her.
Thinking about love made Julie remember her wedding. She’d tell Alice about that too. It was then she remembered what had been said there about love. She looked it up again in Corinthians. She sat alone in the front room with the open Bible in her lap.
Love is patient,
Love is kind.
Love is not jealous or boastful;
It is not arrogant or rude.
Love does not insist on its own way;
It is not irritable or resentful;
It does not rejoice at wrong,
But rejoices in the right.
Love bears all things,
Believes all things,
Hopes all things,
Endures all things.
Love never ends.
Julie wept. She could not insist on her own way. She did love Alice. She would bear all things. She could only pray now that one day Alice, in her own time, would try to find her.