Chapter 20: Twenty - The Idea of You

Lucy had been back at work for a couple of weeks, returning seamlessly to her role and ignoring numerous enquiries from Tansy as to why she had been away. She did what she had always done: compartmentalised her work and home life, presenting her normal, friendly, yet efficient self so that none of her colleagues would ever guess what was going on at home. She and Jonah had exchanged a couple of emails; reading their mundane content had been like taking a dagger to her heart.

‘You have had a delivery, looks like books, should I forward to flat?’ he wrote.

And her response. ‘Thank you, yes.’

He had also texted her late one night; she suspected from the spelling and grammar that it was probably after a few glasses of wine: ‘Were are yoru my Lcuy?’ She replied instantly: ‘I am right here and I miss you.’ His sober reply came three days later: ‘I need some time.’ His words sent a bolt of frustration through her.

‘You know what, Jonah?’ she announced to the empty walls of her bedroom. ‘To steal a phrase from you, this is not all about what you need.’ She pulled the duvet over her shoulder and threw the phone further down the mattress.

* * *

One night, Lucy arrived home from work and switched on the dazzling recessed LED lights. They lit up the entire apartment and made all the glossy surfaces shine, mirroring the shimmering array from the buildings across the river. It was beautiful, the apartment she had always dreamed of, and yet still her heart twisted at the thought of a seat on the squidgy sofa in front of the real fire in Windermere Avenue.

After showering and changing into her pyjamas and robe, she sat on the sofa with her hair in a messy topknot and casually scrolled through her emails. Without the routine of family life, and without Jonah to chat to of an evening, her working week was fluid, and it was now normal for her to work until she fell asleep.

The knock on the door made her jump; she wasn’t expecting anyone. She tightened the belt on her robe and stood close to the door to reach the spyhole, and her heart leapt when she saw through the little glass-covered hole that it was Camille. Reaching down she eagerly slid the bolt and twisted the deadlock to greet her stepdaughter.

There were times when Lucy’s desire to become a mother slipped into the background of her life. There were days, even weeks, when she would be so preoccupied with the task in hand that she could, for a while, thankfully forget the debilitating yearning that dogged her. And then there were times when something small, a reminder, would hit her with such force that she felt the blow against her breastbone, and the air would leave her lungs as if she was winded. As the door opened to reveal Camille standing there, this was one such moment.

Lucy quickly looked from Camille’s face to her stomach, as if magnetically drawn to the slightly swollen, tiny rounded bump of her profile. The waistband of her thermal leggings dipped low beneath her tummy, and her grey V-neck T-shirt sat tightly over her form.

‘It’s getting bigger, isn’t it?’ Camille ran her hand self-consciously over her taut skin.

Lucy shook her head. ‘It’s . . . It’s beautiful.’ She stepped forward, feeling a mixture of nostalgia and inadequacy as she stared at Camille’s small bump, the mark of a successful pregnancy.

‘I think so too,’ she whispered. This in itself was a sign of how far Camille had come in accepting and enjoying her altered state.

‘Come in, come in!’ Lucy ushered Camille into the hallway and closed the door. ‘Is everything okay?’ Her thoughts rushed to the idea that something bad had happened to Jonah or that Camille might be in trouble, and her pulse raced accordingly.

‘Yeah, everything is kind of okay.’ She paused. ‘But not perfect.’

‘Right.’ Lucy was a little confused by this vague response.

‘I hope you don’t mind me just turning up at this time of night. Am I disturbing you?’ Camille fiddled with the neckline of her T-shirt.

‘Not disturbing me at all. I am glad of the break from work, and of course I don’t mind. It’s so lovely to see you. Does Jonah know where you are?’ The question in itself was a reminder that while Camille might be expecting a baby, she was still a young girl living under her dad’s roof.

‘I left him a note.’

‘I’m really glad you came.’ Lucy reached forward and embraced her stepdaughter.

‘The truth is, I’ve been having a bit of a panic.’ The girl exhaled.

‘What about?’ Lucy asked, placing her hand on her arm.

‘Everything!’ She placed her fingers in her hair, as if this was where some unseen pressure lurked. ‘I still haven’t told Dex about the baby and I can’t go to college because someone there will tell him. Plus I’m worried about actually having the baby. I’ve had a look at some pictures and stuff on the Internet and I don’t know if I can do it.’

‘I wouldn’t recommend looking at anything about it on the Internet. You know it’s like those health sites where you log in with the smallest of aches and according to all the posts you have three weeks to live. I bet it’s a bit like that – probably only the horror stories make the grade. Remember that millions of women all over the world have babies every second of every day. You will be absolutely fine.’ She dug deep to find her most reassuring smile.

‘I guess that’s true.’ Camille seemed to breathe a little easier.

‘I’m sure it is.’

‘Dad is barely speaking to me and my mum is definitely not speaking to me and I’m really worried about everything.’

‘It’s okay, Cam. Keep taking deep breaths and we’ll work through each thing. But the most important thing is to try to keep calm and stress-free, okay?’

‘Okay.’ Camille nodded before taking a deep, deep breath.

Lucy guided her into the apartment and sat her at the breakfast bar.

‘Wow! Look at this place!’ Camille gasped as she twisted in her seat, taking in the wide sweep of the apartment and letting her eyes settle on the vast window and the urban landscape beyond. ‘It’s so cool! Very swanky!’ She pulled an impressed face at Lucy.

Lucy filled the kettle, trying not to think too deeply about the many times she had performed this task in Windermere Avenue in the cosy kitchen that she loved. The fact that they were now in her flat confirmed all of her worst fears; she had been a guest, a visitor, just passing through, although the reasons for this state of affairs were none that she could ever have guessed at.

‘So, apart from feeling a bit anxious, are you feeling healthy?’ Lucy asked, taking in the beautiful bloom to Camille’s cheeks and the lustre of her tawny hair, which made her question redundant. ‘You certainly look very well.’

‘I think so. I’m eating healthily and doing all the right things. I do feel a bit sick in the mornings, and if I smell something strong, like perfume or fried food, it makes me retch, but apart from that, all good. I have another scan at the end of next week.’ Camille turned and smiled at her, and Lucy saw in her expression the happiness and excitement that she had so often felt in anticipation of what might be revealed. She tried to block out the sound of the sonographer’s words, heard so many times in a variety of ways: ‘I am so sorry . . .’

‘That’ll be exciting! It’s really lovely to see you, Cam. Although a bit of notice would have been good – I’d have cooked for us and got out of my pyjamas!’ She smiled.

‘That’s okay, I’m not hungry, and besides, I’m used to seeing you like that at home.’ Camille’s words carried a note of affection that made Lucy’s stomach flip with longing. If only she could turn back the clock and start over with Jonah. It killed her that if there had just been a little more confidence and honesty on both their parts, she might still be with him. With the tea half-made, Camille spoke earnestly.

‘It’s not the same in Queen’s Park without you there.’

‘Well, I miss being there. I miss you and I miss your dad. How is he?’ Lucy stared at the girl, trying to pick up any clues that might lie in her expression about how Jonah was faring.

‘He’s a bit rubbish really. Working a lot, but when he’s home he’s very quiet. I think he’s upset and angry at us both.’

‘Probably,’ Lucy agreed. ‘But he shouldn’t be angry with you. That’s not what you need right now.’ She thought about how one kind word, one shoulder of support, would have made all the difference to her in her time of need. ‘And in fact he shouldn’t be angry with me. I deserve more from him.’ She levelled with the girl, this admission a mark of their new closeness, allies now rather than enemies.

‘I know.’ Camille drummed her fingers on the cold granite surface. ‘I wanted to come here tonight to tell you that I’m sorry, Lucy,’ the girl whispered as she held the end of her long beaded pendant and toyed with its central tassel.

‘What are you sorry for?’

‘For so many things.’ She flicked her gaze towards Lucy and then away again, as if ashamed. ‘Mainly I’m sorry because you and Dad have fallen out and it’s all because you were being kind and trying to stick up for me.’ She held Lucy’s eye. ‘It’s been a long time since anyone has defended me like that.’

Lucy recalled the girl’s tearful confession of her turbulent life with Geneviève and Jean-Luc. ‘It’s not your fault, Cam. It is a difficult situation that has changed things, but it wasn’t your fault, just like it wasn’t mine or your dad’s, not solely. We all contributed in our own way. That’s just how it is.’ She shrugged. ‘But not how I want it to be. I can see that I should have trusted your dad with my secret and I should have been more open. I guess at the back of my mind I thought I would tell him one day, but it was hard to find the right time, and the longer I left it, the harder it became. I wish I had found the courage sooner before it became wrapped up with everything else that is going on. Right now it feels like a tight knot with several strands. I am so saddened by his reaction; he seems to have cut me off, says he needs time, but it’s also about my needs.’ She twisted her mouth. ‘Never settle, Cam, for anything other than what is right for you. Always put your needs high on the list; know your worth. Okay?’

‘Okay.’

‘I also feel strangely better because it’s out in the open. Not only has it meant that my mum and I have smoothed things over, but it’s as if a burden has been lifted. Secrets become heavy weights when you carry them around.’

‘I’m glad too,’ Camille whispered. ‘I know that more than anyone you get what I’m going through, and I felt like the most stupid girl in the world to get into this mess, but you did too, and you are one of the smartest women I know.’

Lucy walked over and placed her arms around the girl’s shoulders, feeling a flush of motherly love for her stepdaughter.

‘I’m scared, Lucy!’ Camille cried against her, gripping the back of her robe with clenched fists.

‘Don’t be scared, darling. You are not alone,’ she whispered as she smoothed Camille’s hair.

At the sound of the doorbell, Lucy released her. ‘I’ve never had so many visitors.’

She opened the door and stared into the face of the man she loved.

‘Jonah!’ She touched her hand to her hair which was looped on top of her head, trying to tame it a little.

‘Hey. I got home and Camille had left a note,’ he said hurriedly. His chest heaved. He looked like he had been running. ‘Are you both okay?’

Lucy saw the way his eyes danced across her face with concern and she felt her eyebrows meet in confusion. ‘Yes, yes, we are fine.’ She looked over her shoulder towards where Camille sat in the kitchen. ‘She pitched up a while ago. I was just making us some tea. I think she might have been having a wobble.’ Her heart raced to be talking to her husband face to face. His physical presence confirmed how much she had missed him.

‘Jesus!’ He placed his hands on his hips. ‘I’ve driven like a crazy thing to get here as quickly as I could. Her note suggested there was an emergency and that she had to get over to you. I’ve been imagining all sorts.’ He ran his palm over his chin.

She felt a surge of happiness that he was this concerned, caring for Camille in this way.

‘Come in. Please.’ She hated the formality of having to invite him over the threshold.

He made his way across the hallway and called to his daughter the moment she came into view. ‘What on earth’s going on, Cam?’ He looked at her quizzically. ‘I have been worried sick. Your note said you needed to get to Lucy urgently. I didn’t know if one or both of you were in trouble.’

Lucy felt a flicker of joy to know he had thought he might be coming to her aid.

‘I don’t know.’ Camille shrugged. ‘I guess I must have made a mistake.’ She stood and continued where Lucy had left off with making the tea, avoiding her stepmother’s puzzled stare.

‘You made a mistake?’ His voice had gone up an octave in disbelief.

‘Yes.’ Camille nodded. ‘I maybe shouldn’t have said that I needed to get to her, just that I wanted to, and not urgently, but I’m very pleased to see her.’ She turned from the worktop, apparently searching for milk.

Lucy stood like a spectator, trying to figure out what was going on. Jonah stared at his daughter, seemingly at a loss, before turning to face Lucy.

‘How are you?’ he asked, folding his arms across his chest.

‘I’m . . .’ She tried to think of the words that best described the sense of loss she felt at not being with him and Camille, in their house. ‘I miss you.’ She opted for the simplest explanation and stood looking up at him, as her tears trickled down her face.

Jonah strode forward and placed his arms around her. ‘You have no idea how overjoyed I was to see you open that front door. No idea.’ He held her tight. ‘I have wanted to talk to you on so many nights. I even drove over and sat in your parking bay, looking up at the apartment and trying to figure out how to say sorry. I’m so embarrassed by my behaviour. I should never have let you leave that night. I meant what I said; this isn’t a soap opera that requires a dramatic ending, as the music fades. I should have paid closer heed to that. I should have made you stay with me so we could talk. That’s how we do it, remember? I hate being away from you. I don’t want those tiny fissures developing into cracks that mean we end up losing what we have. That would be more than I could bear.’

She pulled away from him and nodded, overcome with emotion, and she saw that his tears now matched her own.

‘I’m sorry, Lucy. I should never have said the things I did. I was a shit, insensitive and cruel, and I don’t know where it came from,’ he cried into her ear. ‘I was so angry, and jealous. I regretted my words the moment I said them, but I didn’t know how to take it back or make it better. I messed up with Camille and I messed up with you.’

‘You didn’t mess up with me, Dad,’ Camille whispered.

‘I did. I did.’ He nodded. ‘I should have tried harder to see you when you were little, should have worked harder at being your dad and not tried so hard to be your friend. I will do better, Cam. I will.’

Camille beamed.

Lucy kissed his wet cheek. ‘You need to be my husband, my friend, not my judge. I need to know that when I need it, you have got my back.’ She beat her fists gently on his chest. ‘I need that, Jonah. I need you to let me be free to open up to you without fear of censure, without jealousy – unconditional love.’

‘I know, I know.’ He hung his head. ‘I had you on a pedestal of perfection and I now know you are human, and the thing is’ – his distress was making speech difficult – ‘I still love you just as much. I do. I love you, my Lucy.’

Camille coughed. ‘Now it’s perfect.’

* * *

It had been with an air of relief and quiet contemplation that they had packed her meagre belongings into the suitcase and loaded up the car. It was now late in the evening as the three sat in amiable silence in front of the fire, which crackled and snapped, sending orange flames upwards as they licked the sides of the chimney.

‘Welcome home,’ Jonah whispered, as Lucy lay her head on his shoulder, and he stroked her hair. Camille sat on one of the floor cushions, leaning back against the sofa with Lucy’s baby book open in her hands as she flicked from page to page, looking at the diagrams and reading aloud snippets.

‘I’m between sixteen and seventeen weeks pregnant, and it says my baby will be about fourteen centimetres long. And he has his own unique set of fingerprints – how amazing is that? Hear that, baby? You can’t commit a crime, you’d get caught.’ She rubbed her stomach, before returning her attention to the book. ‘“Your baby is secreting a thick, white, greasy fat called vernix, and small buds are forming in your baby’s jaw that will eventually form his first or ‘milk’ teeth.” Isn’t that amazing?’

‘It really is,’ Lucy agreed.

‘Is it as hard for you to hear this without thinking of our own pregnancies?’ Jonah asked.

She nodded and nestled against her husband, grateful for his comfort as he held her tightly.

‘I can’t believe I am nearly halfway. I don’t know if this next bit will go quickly or slowly. Can you remember what it was like for you, Lucy?’

Lucy looked from Jonah to her stepdaughter. She felt a surge of love for Camille, who was giving her the greatest gift: the chance to talk about Bella without awkwardness, without shame and yet still with a pain in her heart, as if it were only yesterday that she had signed her away. She felt overcome by the moment. ‘Erm . . . I think the whole thing went very quickly. If I remember rightly,’ she whispered.

‘When was she born?’ It was Jonah’s turn to ask a question.

‘Wait here,’ Lucy murmured softly, as she shrugged free of his embrace before walking slowly up the stairs. She was beyond happy to see her new silk robe, her gift from China, hanging on the back of the bedroom door, and her perfume and toiletries just where she had left them on the dresser. Her bedside table, too, was just as it had been on the night she left, with a reading book, tissues and her water glass, all in place, waiting for her to come home.

Reaching up to the top of the wardrobe, Lucy pulled down the precious wicker basket. She carried it carefully down the stairs.

‘Ah, the knitting basket,’ Jonah noted, as Lucy placed it on the rug in front of the fire and slowly undid the leather straps, easing open the lid with its irritating squeak.

‘It’s actually a little bit more than that,’ she informed him.

Jonah and Camille gathered around, watching in the firelight as Lucy fingered the edge of the white tissue, which was yellowing around the edges. They waited as she peeled it back layer by layer to reveal tightly packed bundles of clothes, tiny pairs of socks, bonnets, cardigans, dresses and the beautiful, newly finished blanket. Reaching in, she tentatively removed the little items and laid them in neat, lacy, beribboned piles on the floor.

‘Oh, look! This is all so cute! And so pretty! There’s tons of it,’ Camille gasped, as she let her fingers dance upon the fruits of Lucy’s labours.

‘I’ve been knitting these things for a very long time.’ She looked over at Jonah, who exhaled before wiping his eyes. It was evident that he recognised many of the items that had been intended for their babies who had left them too soon. The little promises made of love that grew wings and took flight before they had the chance to become anchored in this world. His sob was loud and heart-wrenching.

‘Sorry,’ he mumbled, embarrassed by this show of emotion.

‘Don’t be sorry, darling.’ She smiled at him.

With lightness to her touch, Lucy pulled the fine layers of tissue from their home and laid them next to the clothes. Her face broke into a smile as her eyes fell upon a slightly out-of-focus photograph, taken with a Polaroid camera. It was instantly recognisable by the wide white band that sat along the bottom, upon which someone had written ‘Bella May, 23 January 1994’.

‘She was born on 23 January 1994 at ten past eleven in the morning.’

Lucy lifted the image slowly and felt her resolve collapse, as it always did when she saw the little face peeping back at her. There she was – her perfect, beautiful little girl with big eyes, a dainty mouth, full cheeks and a knowing expression.

Touching the image to her cheek, Lucy could instantly recall the smell of that room, the way the plastic mask had felt as they placed it over her nose and mouth, the strong scent of bleach that hung heavy in the air and, most important, the way Bella had felt in her arms. She had been light, angel-like, almost weightless, and yet she knew in that instant that the feel and memory of this baby girl would weigh her down for eternity. The idea of this child would sit like a rock in her gut, and having to wake and carry this with her, every day, would make life harder than she ever thought possible.

Sitting beneath the photograph was a small scrap of lined paper, torn from something larger. There was no need for Lucy to read the words; they were etched in her mind, imprinted, branded on her subconscious, allowing for perfect recall whenever the mood took her. The words, written in a social worker’s unremarkable script, were these:

No forwarding address is to be given and we ask that they do not make contact in the weeks leading up to full adoption, unless it is absolutely critical, and only then via the relevant agency.

It still hurt now, after all these years, that those in power, the adults she had had no option other than to trust, had made certain that any avenue that might lead to her changing her mind was closed off.

She knew that if things had been different, it was quite possible that she would now be in possession of a box of photographs, snapshots of her daughter’s world. A precis of Bella’s history might sit in Lucy’s hands, maybe even regular updates, the odd letter, and that would have been something wonderful! As it was, she had nothing of her baby girl, and neither, she suspected, did Bella have anything of her birth mother, except perhaps a host of conjured images based on nothing more than her imagination.

She handed the photograph to Jonah and watched as he squinted at the adorable little face of her daughter. ‘Oh my.’ He swallowed, looking at the child his wife had given birth to. ‘I can’t imagine how hard it must have been giving her up, Lucy. Can’t imagine what it was like for you when you were so young.’

Very carefully, Lucy extracted a single tiny pink knitted sock and placed it in the palm of her hand. She inhaled its scent and felt its texture against her face. This little sock was more precious than any she had knitted. More precious than anything else she owned. It had been in contact with Bella’s skin, had covered her tiny toes until Lucy had stolen it, hiding it in her palm, understanding even in the storm of emotional turmoil in which she sat that it would be a thing to hold dear, more precious than gold. She inhaled the scent again, picturing her daughter’s minute, perfect foot inside its confines.

‘This was Bella’s.’ She smiled, handing it to Jonah, who gently took it. As if it was a thing too delicate to risk touching, he cupped his palms and held it in them, cradling it and keeping it safe. His deep sigh of sadness filled the room.

‘Every birthday, I wonder if she thinks about me. I picture her mum making her a cake and putting balloons by a big stack of presents.’ She smiled at Camille. ‘Or worse, I think she might be with a mum who doesn’t bother celebrating her birthday, and that fills me with a cold sadness and a desperate longing to give her a nice day. Christmas is the same. I wonder who she spends it with, and if she is happy. Maybe she dozes the afternoon away in a comfortable chair, watching the same movie as me on TV.’

Camille sniffed and Jonah made a strangled sound. She looked up to see him crying for the second time that evening. Finally, she pulled a thick white envelope from the basket. Taking the sock from his palms and returning it to the tissue nest, she handed the envelope to him.

‘Every year, on her birthday, I draw a kiss – one single large kiss – and then I put the date in the corner and pop it in this envelope. I say out loud, “Happy birthday, Bella. Happy birthday, darling.” And then I pop it in here. I sometimes think that one day, I might be able to give her all these birthday kisses that I have saved up for her. Wouldn’t that be a wonderful thing?’

‘How . . . how many are there?’ he managed, running his finger through the little white cluster of paper squares.

‘Twenty-four.’ She bit her lip and smiled. ‘There are twenty-four of them.’

‘I’m so sorry, Lucy. Sorry I reacted how I did. I understand now how hard it was for you to keep that secret and how brave you were to break it. You are so brave.’

‘I won’t ever recover from the fact that I gave my baby away, never. I spoke to Mum about it only recently, after I had told you, and I can see that she thought it was for the best. She believed that anything else would have thrown up so many challenges that I was ill-equipped to handle. I get it much more now, how it would have affected my life.’ She cast a glance at Camille, hoping not to frighten her. ‘But I long for my baby. I ache for her.’ She ran her fingers over the piles of knitted clothes.

‘I feel . . . I feel very lucky to have you and Dad to support me right now.’ Camille cried and hugged her knees to her chest.

Jonah dropped to the floor and held his child. ‘And you have got us, Cam. Always. You are not alone.’ He kissed her scalp.

‘You are never alone once you become a mum,’ Lucy said softly, ‘and even though I didn’t get to raise Bella, I have kept her with me every day, carried her here.’ She touched her shaking fingers to her chest. ‘I think of her all the time. I see her little fingers gripped around mine as she slept, as if I could keep her safe, but I knew I couldn’t. I knew my time with her was nearly up and it took all of my strength not to pick her up, run out of the door and keep running. But I was sixteen, a child in so many ways. Still at school, and in those days my mum’s word was the law. I believed she knew best, and I now think that is probably true. How would I have managed? What would I have done? I have to believe that, otherwise it makes everything pointless and that is too hard for me to even consider. But things will be different for you, Cam. You are going to be a great mum and we are going to be here to help you.’

Jonah stood up and blew his nose. ‘I think this evening is a cause for celebration.’ He dried his eyes and walked to the kitchen to fetch a bottle of champagne. ‘Only juice for you, Cam, but don’t worry – Lucy and I can celebrate enough for the three of us.’

Camille picked up one of the bundles of knitted baby clothes and handed it to Lucy to put back in the hamper. ‘No!’ Lucy shook her head and placed her hand over the basket.

‘Oh!’ Camille looked a little taken aback. ‘I’m sorry I touched them; I thought—’

‘No, darling, that’s not what I mean. I have spent hours and hours making these clothes, poring over every stitch, and there is no point in keeping them wrapped in tissue and shut away, not any more. I don’t want them to languish in this box, gathering dust. I want you to take them for your son. I want you to let him wear them and make sure he knows that they were made by me, with love.’

Camille held the beautiful, delicate matinee coats against her chest. ‘Oh! Ils sont si beaux! Thank you, my stepmum. Thank you.’

* * *

Lucy woke to a burst of winter sunshine dappling the bedroom ceiling through the trees.

‘Good morning, Mrs Carpenter.’ Jonah was propped on his elbow, watching her.

‘How long have you been awake?’ she asked, sleepily.

‘About eight hours.’

‘Oh, shut up!’ She batted at him. ‘I love waking up with you. I’d forgotten just how much.’

‘Ditto. I’ve missed you, Lucy. I never want to feel like that again.’ He ran his thumb over the inside of her arm.

‘Me either,’ she agreed. Lucy sat up in the bed and gasped, as if a sudden thought had occurred.

‘What’s the matter?’ he asked.

‘I’ve just realised that I’m going to be waking up with a grandpa very soon!’ She pulled a face at him.

‘And me with a granny! Who’d have thought?’ He laughed.

‘I am not going to be just any old granny. I’m going to be the best granny on the planet,’ she stated, muffling her sadness at the fact that she might well be skipping motherhood. She was going to be a granny, something that in recent times had felt beyond her reach.

‘I think you might be right.’ He smiled.

‘In fact, I am going to start today.’ She jumped out of bed and grabbed her silk robe from the back of the door, fastening it around her waist.

‘Oh God, what have you got planned?’ He grimaced.

‘We are going to empty out that bloody study of yours and make a nursery for our grandson.’ When she turned back to the bed, Jonah had thrown the duvet over his head, as if he could hide from her suggestion.

‘And don’t think you can escape by hiding in bed – you know me better than that!’ she called from the doorway.

‘I do.’ He peeked out from beneath the covers. ‘I do know you better than that.’

She smiled at him over her shoulder, feeling a wonderful surge of optimism about their future.

* * *

I thought long and hard about what my mum said, about there being agencies that you might have contacted, wanting to get in touch, and even the thought of this fills me with such a burst of happiness it is quite hard to describe. It feels like the night before Christmas when everything you have wished for might come true. Equally, I have considered the thought that you might not have registered with them and I would understand this too. As hard as it would be for me, I would accept it.

Oh, Bella. I know nothing about you, and the chance to know something, anything at all, would be more than I have any right to hope for, and yet it would fill the rest of my days with happiness! Any snippet, no matter how small, would for me be a big thing. Are you still called Bella or did your parents give you a new name? Did your eyes stay blue? Do you still have a button nose? Have you been happy? What’s your favourite colour? What was your favourite subject at school? Do you play an instrument? Do you have an accent? Do you have brothers and sisters? What’s your favourite food? The list of questions I have for you is long and always growing. My thirst to know all about your life could never be sated. I don’t want to interrupt your life or cause you any pain or a single moment of worry. I wish for you nothing but happiness and good, good things. I wonder if you even know about me? I shall stop writing now and get these ramblings of mine sealed and sent off. And then the waiting game will begin. Strangely, writing down these thoughts, ideas and my innermost feelings has helped me feel close to you. Even though we are in one sense strangers, I am still your mum. I am your mum! And that one fact fills me with more pride than you could ever know.

With love,

Lucy

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