Where I Found You (10 page)

‘Kathy?’

‘She went to great lengths to tell me how capable you are and how anyone who dares to suggest that you wouldn’t make a wonderful mother would have her to answer to. She talked quite a lot, probably to drown out the noise of you torturing that poor girl who was in here. Is she all right, by the way?’

‘Jenny? Yes, she’ll be fine. It’s good to have that emotional release now and again, especially in a safe environment with someone you trust,’ Maggie explained. ‘She’s actually my closest friend and despite appearances, she’d say the same about me.’

‘Once she stops sobbing,’ added Elsie.

Maggie could feel herself relaxing and would have been happy to chat some more but she heard the plastic chair squeak one last time as Elsie hauled herself up. ‘I’d better get going before Ted starts fretting.’

‘Will you come and visit me again? We could make another appointment for you now if you’d like?’

Elsie didn’t answer immediately and Maggie willed the old lady to reach out to her, but without the park bench to unite them, Elsie’s determination to keep her distance was too strong. ‘Let’s see how I get on with this cream first,’ she said with a groan as she straightened her back. ‘Who knows? It might be a miracle cure.’

Maggie took the jar and, tightening the lid, popped it into a paper bag. ‘I hope so, Elsie.’

‘So how much do you charge for miracles?’ Elsie asked, putting her handbag on the table so she could find her purse.

‘This one’s on the house. No arguments.’

Elsie thanked her and when she took the paper bag, Maggie heard her flip it over to twist and seal the corners, reminiscent of a fruit and veg seller in the town market.

‘When’s the baby due?’ Elsie then asked.

‘October.’

‘You’ll be just fine.’

Many people had said the very same thing but it was the first time that Maggie had come close to believing it. There was something in Elsie’s tone that dared to be challenged, a tone that Maggie hadn’t heard since her mum had died.

7

Maggie stirred her tea as she sat perched at the breakfast bar. It was Saturday afternoon and the house was quiet, unlike her thoughts. After Mrs Milton’s visit earlier that week, she had been left shell-shocked and not a little ashamed. She should have known immediately that Elsa wasn’t the young woman she claimed to be. Even without the benefit of sight, her perceptions were better than that but whereas Alice had coaxed Elsie out of her fug when they had met, Maggie had only reinforced the old lady’s illusory world, leaving her even more confused.

To make matters worse, Maggie felt completely impotent. Mrs Milton would not be returning to the salon despite her assurances to the contrary. She had said her piece and now she wanted to draw a line under the past while that choice remained in her control. There was nothing else Maggie could do except ponder Elsa’s fate and grieve the loss of a friendship that, for the briefest time, had made her feel less alone.

There was one good thing to come from the whole mess: failing Mrs Milton had made her all the more determined not to fail anyone else, not least the baby growing inside her. She could still hear the raw pain in Elsa’s voice as she contemplated giving up her child and behind it that fierce love that only a parent could know. It was that inner strength that prompted her to make one particular call that was well overdue.

‘Hello? Are you there?’

The only reply was the combined sound of shuffling and heavy breathing.

‘Dad? It’s Maggie,’ she said.

She could hear shuffling footfalls as the person on the other end of the phone, no doubt her father, went in search of assistance. Stan had moved to Spain not long after Maggie’s wedding and she had given him a mobile phone so that they could keep in touch. Her dad was hard of hearing and technology wasn’t his strong point so he always seemed mildly annoyed when the phone started to vibrate and disturb his peace. ‘This thing isn’t working again,’ he growled.

‘Come here, Stan.’ It was the matronly voice of Maggie’s aunt. Dot was ten years Stan’s junior, which put her in her late sixties, a spring chicken compared to Stan in body and in mind. The sound of metal scraping against the handset suggested that Dot’s ring-embellished hand had pulled it from Stan’s grasp.

‘Hello?’

‘Hi Dot, it’s Maggie. I take it he hasn’t switched on his hearing aids.’

‘It’s your daughter,’ Dot said loudly before turning her attention to the caller. ‘I swear I don’t know why he even bothers to wear them. How are you, love? Any news?’

‘I just wanted to speak to Dad,’ Maggie said as casually as she could, her pulse racing.

There was a curt exchange between brother and sister and a short pause as everyone waited for Stan’s hearing aids to be switched on. After an interminable wait, the phone was handed back to her dad.

‘I wear them as earplugs to drown out your chatter,’ Stan told Dot gruffly then said to Maggie, ‘Hello, sweetheart.’

‘Hello, Dad. I haven’t interrupted anything, have I?’

‘No, of course not. I was just sitting outside on the porch playing solitaire.’

‘It’s not a porch, it’s a veranda!’ Dot called.

Stan tutted. ‘Sorry about the interference on the line, love. Bear with me; I’ll take the phone out on to the porch.’

Maggie held her smile as she listened to her dad’s laboured shuffling, more confirmation that it was better for him to be too far away to insist on being more hands-on in his daughter’s life. Her parents had both been in their forties when Maggie came along and their maturity and patience had been a crucial factor in her development, but time had marched on and Stan’s hearing wasn’t the only thing to have deteriorated in recent years. They had each been set adrift when Joan died and had needed to find new anchors. Maggie already had James so it had been a godsend when Dot offered to take Stan under her wing.

‘That’s better,’ he said. ‘So, how are things with you? What’s the weather like over there?’

‘It’s teeming down at the moment,’ Maggie told him knowing how pleased he would be by the news. It dampened his homesickness and she had been known to occasionally embellish the bleakness of the British weather for his benefit.

‘Never mind, it’s warming up nicely here. Warm enough for a bit of sunbathing if Dot didn’t insist on slapping on two layers of sun block every time I step out of the shade. That stuff stinks to high heaven.’

‘She’s only looking after you.’

‘No wonder Jim spends half his time on the golf course.’

‘You’re still not tempted to take it up yourself then?’

‘Someone’s got to keep the old girl company,’ he said. It was the closest Stan would ever come to admitting a reluctant affection for his sister.

‘The golf widow and the widower, a perfect team,’ Maggie said. She was playing for time, trying to decide when and how to break the news but the words came out before she could hold them back. ‘Dad, I’m going to have a baby.’

At first it was only the shuddering gasp that gave Maggie any clue to her dad’s reaction but it was enough. It was a mixture of joy and sadness at receiving the long-awaited announcement, the release of years of frustrations and fears that his daughter might never achieve the kind of completeness she had longed for since she was a little girl. ‘Oh, sweetheart,’ he said at last, a sniff exposing the tears that would be welling in his eyes.

‘I’m only four months pregnant so there’s a bit of a wait yet,’ Maggie said as her own tears slipped down her cheeks.

‘Oh, sweetheart,’ he repeated but this time there was a note of regret in his voice.

For a moment, Maggie considered the possibility that he was about to reproach her in the same way that Judith had. ‘Dad? You
are
happy about it, aren’t you?’

‘Happy? Of course I am, Maggie. I couldn’t be happier,’ Stan said and his smile beamed across the miles. He started laughing. ‘I can’t believe it. Really, I just can’t believe it. I’m going to be a granddad!’

There was a squeal of delight somewhere in the background and then Dot was there, gushing with excitement as she wrestled the phone from Stan. Maggie was laughing and crying as the two began talking at once, asking questions and barely listening to the answers as their opponent interjected with the next question. Even her Uncle Jim’s voice was added to the mêlée and it took almost half an hour before the tidal wave of excitement settled into a satisfied lull.

‘I wish your mum was here to enjoy the moment too,’ Stan said when he had his daughter to himself. His voice was the barest of whispers as if it was a confession he didn’t want to reveal.

‘Me too, Dad. I could do with her guiding arm right now.’

‘I should come home. I’ll check the flights.’

Yes, please come home, she wanted to say and was thankful she had waited until she felt strong enough to hold back the urge. ‘No, Dad, I’m fine. Mum spent her life preparing me for this by showing me first-hand how to be a good mum. I’ll try not to let her down.’

‘You are your mother’s daughter.’

‘That’s some compliment. But you can expect loads more calls from me in the next few months because I might need you to keep reminding me of that,’ she said.

‘Anytime, day or night.’

‘As long as you’ve got your hearing aid switched on,’ she reminded him.

‘Yes, you’re definitely your mother’s daughter!’

Maggie wasn’t only smiling now; she was practically glowing. ‘Thanks, Dad.’ She was about to end the call but found herself returning to an obsession she hadn’t quite relinquished. ‘Before I go, could I pick your brain?’

‘You can try.’

‘Do you remember a greengrocer’s in Sedgefield called Flo’s Fruit and Veg? It would have been around in the fifties.’

Stan muttered to himself as he put his memory to the test. ‘Your mum would remember stuff like that, not me.’

Maggie wasn’t ready to give in. ‘Apparently it was owned by someone called Mrs Jackson.’

‘Ah yes, of course! You mean Flo Jackson. Her shop was somewhere on the High Street, I think.’

‘Really? You remember her?’ Maggie asked. She was surprised at how relieved she felt from the confirmation that the shop and Mrs Jackson had existed at all. Even in her most lucid state, Mrs Milton had been reluctant to give Maggie any indication that Elsa’s story was fact or fiction.

‘Vaguely. Her husband died and she ran the shop on her own for a while. She was quite lonely, as I recall. I don’t think she had any kids.’

‘Do you remember any other relatives? Or maybe a young woman staying with her in the early fifties?’ There was a flutter of excitement as Maggie considered the possibility that her dad had once met Elsa.

Stan thought a little while longer. ‘Now you’re asking. There might have been some kind of falling out with family … Could it have been a niece? No, I’m sorry, love. I probably didn’t pay enough attention at the time, let alone remember it now.’

The sound of the front door opening brought Maggie back to the present. James was home from what would be his last day at work for a whole week and he would be curious to know why his wife had started digging into Elsa’s past when she had already told him how Mrs Milton’s appearance had exorcised that particular ghost. And she didn’t have a convincing argument, not even to herself. Her only answer was that you had to be there, sitting with Elsa sixty years ago by the lake, so she preferred to avoid the debate. ‘Never mind, it doesn’t matter,’ she said.

‘Why on earth are you asking anyway?’

‘Oh, just some research,’ Maggie said. Heavy footfalls grew closer and then James was there. ‘Thanks, Dad. I’ll get James to email the scan photo to Aunt Dot so you can have the first glimpse of the baby.’

‘All right, love, and tell James I said congratulations.’

‘Yes, I’ll tell him you said congratulations and then I’ll thank him for not taking off his work boots and making a mess of my nice, clean floor.’

‘Hello, Stan!’ James called as he backed carefully out of the kitchen.

When Maggie put down the phone, she sent James upstairs to take a bath while she set to work mopping up. Fortunately for her husband, she was too distracted by the fading path that led to the past than the trail of mud down the hallway.

What sounded like a herd of elephants charged through the front door and down the hallway. With a well-developed sense of smell, they picked up a scent too delicious to resist and raced towards the kitchen.

‘We’re here!’ they screamed.

Maggie dropped the wooden spoon in her hand and it landed in the bowl of chocolate butter icing with a choreographed thud. The startled look was melodramatic as was the gasp. ‘You scared me!’

The boys laughed as they hugged her. ‘Hello, wicked stepmother,’ Liam chirped.

‘Sam, take your fingers out of that bowl,’ growled Maggie.

There was a sucking sound as the youngest of James’s sons sampled the butter icing. ‘Dee-licious!’ exclaimed the seven-year-old.

‘Can I lick the bowl when you’ve finished?’ Liam asked.

‘No, I want to.’

‘Since you’ve already had your lunch of …’ Maggie said with an analytical sniff, ‘burger and fries with way too much tomato sauce if I’m not mistaken, then you can have the bowl and two spoons to share. The cake is for later.’

‘But not until you’ve unpacked,’ James added. He had been watching from the kitchen door. ‘Now.’

‘We haven’t said hello to Harvey yet,’ Sam cried.

‘Where is he?’ Liam added.

‘I think he’s behind you,’ Maggie told them.

Harvey had watched from the sidelines but at the sound of his name, he rushed over to the boys. His years of self-discipline and training were quickly forgotten as he jumped up and began to lick them ferociously. Sam’s chocolate-flavoured fingers were particularly irresistible.

‘Come on, let Maggie finish her baking,’ James said. ‘You can take Harvey upstairs with you – but do not feed him.’

Sam and Liam muttered but didn’t object. No sooner had they left the kitchen than the troop of elephants resumed their charge and headed up the stairs, closely followed by the lighter but no-less-excited footfalls of Harvey.

‘How was the drive?’ Maggie asked when the noise had died down.