Betrothed (4 page)

I heard Jack calling my name then and was immediately flooded with relief. I looked up to see him jogging towards me from the direction of the car park, simultaneously scowling and yelling at the crowd to go away and leave me alone in language that would have got him a detention if there was a teacher around to hear. ‘Morons,’ he muttered when he’d caught up to me and the crowd was dispersing.

‘I’m not bothered about them,’ I murmured, forcing a smile. But Jack wasn’t fooled. He put his arm around my shoulder and pulled me close. ‘I had another dream last night,’ I said to get the focus off how pathetic I was.

‘Tell me,’ he said, giving me a squeeze.

‘Later, I don’t have enough time and I need your advice.’

‘Ah, I sense a mystery,’ he said with mock excitement. He pinched my chin then dashed off to his drama class.

First period passed slowly and I found it really hard to concentrate. Who cared about the cell structure of plants anyway? I wasn’t a bad student and usually managed to make reasonable grades, but I often wondered what I was thinking when I chose biology as one of my subjects. The double maths period was even harder to bear with Mark and Tom behaving like fools up the back of the classroom.

Eventually the bell rang and I went to meet my friends in our usual place—beneath the twisted branches of the enormous eucalypt that shaded the slope at the front of the school. They
were sitting in a bunch: Abby Purcell and Peter Cole, sneaking kisses behind an open folder, Hilary, attempting to have a conversation with them, and Courtney Rush, flirting with Jack. She was tossing her hair about and touching his arm as she giggled at his jokes. She’d been doing that a lot lately and I frowned at the sight of it. As soon as her attention was diverted, I dragged Jack and Hilary to a bench several metres away, where I told them about my latest dream. We spent a few minutes trying to figure out what it could mean. Hilary thought that perhaps Marla was my birth mother’s name. I wasn’t convinced. Somehow the name felt connected to me personally. Jack agreed, and added that I even
looked
like a Marla. I asked him what he meant by that, and he launched into an explanation. Marla was a delicate name, he told me before tucking a strand of hair behind my ear and adding that it seemed like a name for girls with long blond hair and soft blue eyes. I hastily untucked the hair, smoothing it back over my ear. Jack laughed and said that the name Marla was also kind of different—an artist’s name and definitely very pretty. I was blushing and mumbling that I was anything but pretty with these scabs all over me, when Hilary—who’d zoned out for a while—came back to us and said, ‘What if Marla’s
your
birth name and you remember it on some subconscious level?’

I looked at her, wondering if it was possible, then I shook my head. ‘How could that be, Hil? I was just a baby when I was adopted.’

Jack sat forward in his seat. ‘Just say it
is
your real name—and I think there’s a good chance of it—that still doesn’t explain the purpose of your dreams. Dreams
always
have a purpose.’

‘I dunno, Jack. Dreams can be fairly random.’

‘Yeah but not these dreams,’ Hilary said, thoughtfully. ‘What was it Leif said—go find your true self?’

I nodded. ‘But what does that even mean?’

‘You’re adopted,’ Jack said, rolling his eyes. ‘What do you think it means?’

‘It means go find your origins,’ Hilary said quietly. ‘I believe your dreams are prompting you to search for your birth family.’

‘And remember, be hasty.’ Jack grinned. He put both hands up to my face and wiggled his fingers. ‘Time is running out. Ooga booga booga.’

‘Oh shut up, Jack,’ I chuckled. ‘Anyway, I wouldn’t know where to start.’

‘The internet, of course,’ he said, reaching into his pocket. He pulled out his phone, turned it on and opened the search engine, before looking back to me. ‘What should I put in?’

I shrugged and told him I didn’t have a clue. Not knowing anything about my birth parents, I had no more of an idea of where to start than he did. We spent the next few minutes deciding. Eventually Jack typed ‘searching for birth parents’ into Google and began clicking on one link after another, finally learning—after wading through a heap of useless information—that to access birth records, parental consent was required for under eighteen year olds, and that even then the process was long and complicated with no guarantees offered.

‘This is pointless,’ I complained after making the discovery, pushing Jack’s hand away. There was no way I was going to annoy my parents with this. The thought made me nauseous. Jack put the phone back into his pocket.

‘Don’t you want to find your birth parents?’ Hilary asked.

‘I don’t know why I should. They can’t be too great to have given me away anyway.’ I’d never been one of those people yearning to know her roots. I loved the family I had and was starting to feel disloyal for what we were doing.

‘But this isn’t about finding your parents,’ Jack said. ‘It’s about finding yourself . . . ’

I watched my feet for a moment, wondering whether there was a difference. I realised that there was and looked back to Jack. ‘I feel stupid chasing a dream like this.’

Jack grinned. ‘Isn’t that what life’s all about?’

I returned his grin then followed it up with a sigh. ‘You know what I’ll have to do if I decide to do this thing, don’t you?’

Jack’s eyebrows slid up his forehead. ‘Yup,’ he said, and his whole expression said he wouldn’t want to be in my shoes.

Should I pursue this thing? Did I want it enough to risk hurting my parents? I pondered these questions for just a moment before realising that everything had led to this point for a reason. What that reason was, I hadn’t a clue. Confronting my parents would be uncomfortable, and definitely tricky, but it had to be done. Leif had sounded so urgent. The fact that he was a dream meant nothing. There might not be a purpose to all dreams, but Hilary was right, there
was
more to this. ‘I’ll ask Mum this afternoon,’ I said, cringing as the words left my mouth.

My friends exchanged glances.

‘I could come with you if you like,’ Hilary offered. ‘You know, for moral support.’

‘Geez, my mother’s not that bad,’ I said, frowning at my friends.

Hilary didn’t look so sure and Jack raised his eyebrows again. ‘Just make sure you’re prepared,’ he said.

We discussed the best way to approach my mother for a while. Gently, we all agreed, then returned to the rest of our group, joining them in a discussion about the forthcoming school dance. It was the first of the year, always a big themed event and starting to feel a bit juvenile. I wasn’t so keen on going, nor was Hilary, but Jack wouldn’t hear it. He was on the student council and was required to help out. As far as he was concerned if he had to go, then we were going with him.

Mum was in the kitchen preparing dinner when I came in from school. I wondered how I could broach the subject gently. The last thing I wanted was to hurt her feelings, or make her feel like she and Dad weren’t all I wanted. After a few minutes I decided being direct was best. I sat down at the dining table where I had a good view into the kitchen and began.

‘Mum?’

‘Mmm,’ she said, not looking up from chopping vegetables for a stir fry.

‘I need to ask you something.’

‘Go on then,’ she said, eyes still glued to her task.

‘Well, I don’t want you to be upset.’

Now I had her attention. She put the knife down and looked directly at me.

‘Out with it,’ she ordered.

‘I think I want to try and find my birth parents.’ I spat the words out quickly before I could change my mind. There was a long moment of silence. I couldn’t say she looked surprised—she actually looked like she’d been expecting it—but there was a wistfulness about her. She’d been waiting for it, I realised, but not looking forward to it. ‘I mean it’s not about you and Dad,’ I continued, ‘and it’s definitely not about them . . . It’s about me, Mum.’

We watched each other a moment longer, then she disappeared down the hall, leaving me anxious and wondering. She returned a couple of minutes later and handed me a piece of paper.

‘I’ve been saving that for you, Amy. I was told to pass it on when you started asking questions.’

I looked at the paper. On it was written the name of a
woman—Lena Molloy and several phone numbers, all but one crossed out. ‘Who’s this?’

‘That’s the woman we dealt with when we adopted you.’

I inhaled rapidly, the air rushing into my lungs and making my head spin. In my hands I might just be holding the key to my identity. I started to tremble and hyperventilate all at the same time. But then I remembered my mother and pulled myself together. I looked from the name on the note back to her.

‘You’re okay about this, right? Because . . . you know
you’ll
always be my mum . . . don’t you?’

‘I’m all right.’ Her voice was soft and I knew she was at least a little reassured. ‘I’ve actually been thinking of bringing it up with you.’

‘Why?’

‘I don’t know,’ she said, looking confused. ‘Something about you needing to know . . . It was all a bit strange.’ She caught my eyes and smiled. ‘I suppose I didn’t pay much attention. I was just so thrilled to have you in my arms.’

I stood up and gave her a hug. It felt a bit weird. My mother wasn’t the most affectionate person. Hugs were for birthdays and special occasions. When I let her go, I noticed her eyes had a shine to them. I went into my bedroom to make the call from my mobile. This was one conversation I didn’t want my mother to overhear.

The office Lena Molloy worked from was located in a slightly decrepit block in an old suburb just south of the city. It was not what I’d expected when I made the appointment a few days earlier and I had an awful moment where I wondered if my adoption had been legal. I pushed the thought away, definitely not wanting
to go there. Jack parked the car around the corner and fed the meter, then we made our way to her office. A middle-aged woman with faded blond curls glanced up from the reception desk as we entered.

‘Can I help you?’ she asked.

‘I’m Amy Smith, I have an appointment with Lena Molloy.’

‘Take a seat, hon, she’ll be with you in a moment.’ She waved a hand towards the small waiting area and picked up the phone. I sat on one of a short row of chairs and jiggled my legs until Hilary, sitting beside me, placed her hand on my knee to still the movement.

An efficient-looking woman of about fifty popped her head around the doorway next to the reception desk.

‘Amy?’ she asked.

I nodded.

‘I’m Lena Molloy.’

I shook the hand she offered and introduced her to my friends, checking that it was okay for them to come in with me before following her into the office. I don’t know what I’d have done if she’d said no, I was too nervous to do it alone.

When we were all seated she linked her hands together on the desk and got straight to the point. ‘So, you’re looking for your birth parents.’

I tried without success to stop my legs from jiggling as the butterflies in my belly tried to fly up my throat. I swallowed them down. ‘I’d like some information about them at least. I know I’m not eighteen but . . . ’

Lena held a hand up. ‘Your case is unique, the usual rules don’t apply, so no need to worry about that.’ She waved her hand around the office. ‘And as you can see, I no longer work for the government.’ I leaned forward, the butterflies going crazy and my head full of questions.

‘Who
do
you work for?’ I whispered.

‘Myself mostly, I have a little export business—completely unrelated.’ This was getting weirder by the second. The only thing that gave me comfort was the fact that Mum had sent me here. ‘Now,’ Lena continued, ‘I’m afraid I don’t actually have any information for you, but I do have something to give you.’ I watched her reach down and remove an envelope from her desk drawer—pale and square and pink. She tapped the edge of it on the file in front of her. I couldn’t take my eyes from it. ‘I feel I should mention though, that you’re not the first person to come seeking information regarding your case.’