Two weeks later, Alice arrived early at their meeting place in the same park where long ago, as Mrs Eldridge’s companion, she had run into her friend Jane. Once again, a light rain was falling and she retreated to the shelter of the bandstand. There she sat on one of the scattered cast-iron chairs and watched the passers-by. It was a good lookout point, but as the rain grew heavy and umbrellas shielded people’s faces it became more difficult to guess which of the hurrying figures might be her daughter. Her heart beat faster when a young woman tugging a reluctant toy poodle approached the bandstand, but the girl only gave her a polite nod then, after a few minutes’ wait for the rain to ease, gave up and set off once more. A remote church clock struck three and still the rain drummed on the bandstand roof. Alice watched and waited, increasingly anxious, but no one else came near.
By a quarter past the hour, the shower began to lighten and now she glimpsed a distant lithe figure hurrying along the path, half hidden by a broken umbrella. Alice waited heart in mouth, half-expecting disappointment, but no, the newcomer turned down the path towards the bandstand. The loose flap of the umbrella flew up, to halo the head of a young woman. Short springy dark hair, a pair of bright eyes, an uncertain frown. Alice stepped forward and clasped the girl’s hand to help her onto the platform, felt the warm life of it.
For a long moment they held hands and gazed at one another. Alice took in a heart-shaped face, deep-set blue eyes fringed with dark lashes on which raindrops sparkled. A small straight nose and a generous mouth, its red lips parted, for she was out of breath. She knew her at once. This was Stella. The same eyes stared at hers as the tiny baby’s had twenty years before, though bluer now, with dark flecks in them. She had Alice’s own stubborn chin and small white teeth.
‘Oh, my dear,’ was all she could manage to say.
‘I’m so sorry I’m late,’ Stella gasped, but now she wasn’t Stella. Or rather, she was still Stella, but she was someone else, too. There was a faint country tang to her accent and her voice was pleasantly soft with a little catch to it. ‘I got the wrong entrance, I think, and mixed up one of those rose arch things with this place. Oh, you must think I’m stupid.’ Her eyes widened in dismay.
‘Of course I don’t.’ Alice hardly knew what she said, as she grappled with a rush of emotion. Tried to fit her dream picture of this girl to the reality of her. There was Jack in her, oh, no doubt of that, with her hair and her olive complexion. Jack’s eyes regarded her with the directness of his gaze, their sapphire sparkle. She wasn’t conventionally pretty, but to Alice she was beautiful.
‘You must be soaked through.’ The girl wore a coat, but its quality couldn’t be good for it hung dripping from her sturdy shoulders.
‘I’m all right.’
‘You’re not, you’re shivering.’
‘Out of nervousness,’ she whispered. Her teeth were chattering.
‘Look, I’m perfectly dry, so borrow this,’ Alice removed her own coat and bade the girl do the same. Alice’s hung loose on her when Alice helped her into it, but at least she seemed warmer. ‘When the rain stops we’ll walk and find a cafe,’ she promised. ‘Let’s wait here until it does.’ They sat down. Alice draped the damp coat over the back of a chair, and when she glanced up, it was to see Irene’s eyes brim with tears.
‘Thank you,’ the girl said, ‘but now you’ll be cold.’
‘That’s what mothers do for their children.’ It was the first thing Alice had done for her daughter since giving her away and now she felt tears prickle, too. She glanced away, full of shame.
‘I’ve seen you before, twice,’ Irene whispered and Alice looked at her, astonished.
And remembered. The girl from the gallery. ‘That day in the park in Streatham . . .’
‘Yes, but before that I saw where you worked and waited till you came out.’
‘Did you? I didn’t notice you.’
‘I didn’t want you to. I simply wanted to see what you looked like. Your stepmother had told me I shouldn’t try to communicate with you, but then my friend Thea found out where you lived and I couldn’t resist.’
‘Thea? You mean the young woman from the agency?’
‘Yes. She saw Miss Juniper’s paintings on your wall and mentioned Mrs Copeman’s name. That’s how I found you.’
‘That’s extraordinary.’
‘Yes. Maybe if she’d been called something more ordinary, Smith or Jones, then I wouldn’t have known.’
‘But I’d still have found your letter to me in my stepmother’s writing desk.’
‘Yes, that’s true. I’m thankful that she kept it.’
‘So am I. Are you warm enough, dear? Perhaps we should venture forth . . .’ The rain was easing now and here and there patches of blue sky could be seen. ‘I’ll carry your coat if you’ll hold the umbrellas.’
‘I must mend mine. It’s very old. One of Miss Edwards’. She’s my landlady.’
‘You must tell me all about her. There’s so much we have to talk about.’
When they reached the street, Alice took them to a smart tea shop she’d noticed on the walk from the underground. A waitress seated them at once, hung up their coats near a blazing gas fire. Alice ordered for both of them.
She glanced round the room, relieved not to see anyone she knew. It wouldn’t do to attract awkward questions about who this young woman was. What would she say? That she was the daughter of a country cousin, perhaps, or someone she was interviewing as a companion? Impossible. Lying would hurt Irene all over again. And Irene looked ill at ease. Alice had wanted to treat her, but now she thought she really ought to have chosen somewhere more ordinary, where the girl would feel at home.
‘It’s lovely here.’ Irene stared at the sparkling chandeliers and the linen-covered tables where well-dressed ladies sat and admired each other’s purchases in loud, arch voices.
‘I’m glad you like it.’ The tea arrived at that moment. A silver teapot, the exotic scent of Earl Grey tea. Alice smiled at the way Irene warmed her hands on the china cups and exclaimed at the lightness of the scones. At least it was a treat for her, she thought sadly. All the things that her daughter would have missed, she couldn’t begin to imagine. She wanted to buy her a present today, a pretty dress, perhaps, but how could a dress make up for a lifetime of abandonment? Suddenly she wanted to know all about her, everything that had happened, hoping that if she’d had a good life at least it would take away some of the guilt.
‘Tell me about yourself,’ she invited as she sipped her tea, but to her alarm an expression of sadness clouded her daughter’s face. There was so huge a gulf between them she did not know whether they would ever be able to build a bridge. She put the cup down and said, ‘I’m sorry. I don’t know how to do this. Please help me.’ And at last Irene gave the smallest, most tentative of smiles.
‘I’m not angry with you. I only wanted to meet you, and to try to understand.’
Alice studied her daughter’s face and such tenderness welled up in her she could hardly hold back tears. ‘You dear girl,’ was all she could manage to say.
*
After this faltering start they talked for a long time over tea, then outside, Alice said, ‘Shall we take a cab and I’ll drop you home?’ and Irene nodded, her eyes shining.
When the cab stopped outside Miss Edwards’s house, Irene said, ‘Would you like to come in for a moment?’
‘Oh, could I?’
Alice told the driver to wait and stepped out onto the street. The house was shabby in appearance, but had a certain elegance. She followed Irene inside and was shown a drawing room filled with books and paintings, a dining room with a table covered with piles of printed leaflets and posters and a cheerful kitchen. It felt a good place. Upstairs, it was the plainness of Irene’s tiny bedroom that touched Alice’s heart as she stood in the doorway, looking in. A sloping ceiling, a view over the street, a bed, a chair, a wardrobe. And Irene was crossing the floor towards a chest of drawers where several items on top were silhouetted against the light from the window. Alice frowned as her daughter reached for a box and she felt a tug of recognition.
‘Oh, Irene.’ She stepped over and took from her the amber box. ‘They did give it to you!’ she whispered. ‘I hoped they would.’ She stroked the lustrous stones and glanced up at the girl in wonder. ‘It belonged to your father, your real father, Jack!’
She watched Irene’s face light up with happiness.
‘I gave it to the woman from the Adoption Society when she came to take you, but she would not promise to pass it on to your new parents. I’m so glad that she did.’
‘Daddy gave it to me when I was eight or nine, but he didn’t say where it had come from.’
‘Perhaps he didn’t know. We’ve hardly talked about Jack, have we? I will tell you more.’
‘I’d like that. Look.’ She took the box from Alice and opened it. ‘These are some of my special things.’ They sat on the bed with the box between them and Irene showed her the small treasures that she’d gathered over the years.
‘This is lovely.’ Alice pounced on the necklace that Tom had given Irene and held it the amber so it caught the light. ‘Did your parents give you this, too?’
‘No. A friend of mine did. His name is Tom.’ Alice saw softness come into her daughter’s face and smiled to herself.
‘I’d like you to meet him one day,’ Irene said. ‘He lives close by.’
Together they replaced everything in the box, then Alice took her daughter’s face in her hands and bent and kissed her forehead. ‘I’m so glad I’ve met you, my dear,’ she said. She breathed in the scent of her daughter’s skin, expecting, like an animal, to recognize her young, but it was different from her sons’ fresh saltiness. It was something lighter, flowery, the scent Irene wore, perhaps, but not unfamiliar.
Irene closed her eyes briefly and when she opened them again they were full of happiness. ‘So am I,’ she whispered.
Alice rose, collecting her handbag to go.
‘Shall I see you again?’ Irene asked anxiously.
‘I hope so,’ Alice said, wistful, ‘but I’m not sure when.’
‘I’d like to meet my brothers.’
Alice felt broadsided. ‘I . . . I don’t know if that will be possible, Irene. I’m sorry.’
‘Oh.’
‘They don’t know about you. Nor does my husband. I . . . can’t think about that now. I must go. I’ll be in touch.’
She could barely look her daughter in the eye as she murmured goodbye and hastened downstairs. A brief wave from the cab to Irene, who stood on the doorstep, then the corner took her from sight.
Alice leaned back in the seat and closed her eyes, exhausted. The last two hours had been extraordinary, but they had sapped all her energy. For so many years she had dreamed of her lost daughter and now she’d found her again, but it hadn’t been how she’d expected. She recognized Irene as her own, by her appearance, her voice, even the scent of her. But in so many respects the girl was a complete stranger.