Coincidences by Maria Savva
‘She was about eighteen months, I think.’
‘That’s a long time ago.’
‘It is.’
‘And Roger has never kept in touch with you or Alice?’
‘No, never. He just disappeared. I heard from him a couple of years later; he was getting remarried, and wanted a divorce. It was a bit out of the blue. I’d moved from the home we’d been renting together, to this flat. Apparently, he’d got my new address from a mutual friend. You know, he didn’t even once ask to see Alice while the divorce was going through the Court. Once the divorce was finalised, I never heard from him again.’
‘So, why would Alice want to see him? He basically abandoned her.’
‘She’s curious.’
‘Yes, well, I suppose he is her father. Maybe it’s because she wants to meet some of her family. Being with you, she hasn’t really had any of that; well not real family. Maybe that’s what it is. But it is, as you say, probably just curiosity.’
‘No... you don’t understand. Alice doesn’t know about... well, about any of that.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘She thinks I’m her real mum.’
‘You never told her about Miranda?’
‘No. Do you think that was wrong?’ Stephanie felt a strange mix of emotions when she heard Miranda’s name. It brought back old, distant feelings of insecurity, defensiveness.
‘Well, it’s not really for me to say.’ Rita’s voice brought her back to the present. ‘But, I had presumed that you would have told her everything by now; I mean, how old is she? Twenty?’
‘Twenty-one,’ corrected Stephanie.
‘She’s an adult. She’s entitled to know,’ said Rita. ‘When were you planning to tell her?’
‘I don’t know if I was. I hadn’t really thought about it. After Roger left, Alice was all I had. He obviously didn’t want her. I was the one who cared for her. It was an agreement. Alice was my child—mine and Roger’s. Anything else is too complicated.’
‘Look at it from her perspective. If it was you, wouldn’t you want to know?’
‘She doesn’t need to know. Anyway, I could never find the right time to say anything. She’d been rejected by her father at such a young age, I just couldn’t bring myself to tell her. I came close a few times, but what was I supposed to say? “By the way, I’m not your real mother”? I couldn’t do it to her. As time went by and I never heard anything from Roger—or Miranda for that matter—it became less important. As far as I am concerned, she’s my daughter and I’m her mum. Miranda never wanted her. It was a surrogacy agreement, that’s all. It wasn’t my fault I couldn’t have children.’
‘Steph, Alice knows you’re the one who brought her up. She’ll understand. I think she should be told,’ said Rita. ‘These things should be out in the open, or they could cause problems.’
‘But, Rita, I’m the one who raised Alice. I don’t want her to end up seeing me as a stranger. I couldn’t cope with that.’
‘Look, let’s meet up tomorrow and talk about it. We can’t discuss something like this over the phone. You sound upset.’
‘I’m okay.’ Stephanie took a tissue from the box on the coffee table in front of her and held it against her nose. ‘Meeting tomorrow would be a good idea. I’m glad we met again. I don’t think I could do something like this on my own.’
‘Shall I come to your house?’
‘Yes,’ said Stephanie.
After the telephone conversation, Stephanie mused that although she hadn’t spoken to Rita for nearly twenty years, she had been able to talk to her as if they’d never lost touch. It calmed her nerves to know that she would not have to make any decisions on her own, although she felt slightly concerned that Rita seemed to be pushing her to tell Alice everything. In her heart of hearts she did not feel that she was ready. She remembered the feeling she’d had years ago, when she had been sitting in a helicopter, harnessed to an instructor, ready for a skydive. Roger had booked the experience for her as a gift for her birthday. That had been a time when she was younger and willing to try new things. Even then, when it was time to jump from the plane she didn’t feel ready; she wanted to change her mind and call it off, but suddenly she was out there floating high above the ground, miles from anywhere. It felt the same now, as if she was on a precipice of sorts. But if she took the chance and revealed all, would this be a safe landing or a crash landing?
She walked back into the kitchen and picked up the photographs that were still lying on the table. She put them back into the old shoe-box, where they had been hidden for years, and decided to keep them out of sight.
Chapter Five
Friday 15th August 1997
When she woke up, Stephanie felt tired. Her night had been one of tossing and turning; not only physically, but also mentally. She had been thinking about her conversations with Alice and Rita. She could hear Rita’s voice in her head: ‘She’s entitled to know... She should be told’. But Stephanie still felt reluctant to tell Alice about the surrogacy agreement. One thing was certain, Alice had made the decision to try to find her father, so the problem wouldn’t just go away. Stephanie was racking her brain to try to find a way to explain things to Alice without revealing too much.
It felt as if she was excavating a tomb that she had hoped would stay buried for ever.
She recalled how when she was still married to Roger, when they were agreeing the surrogacy with Miranda, they had both said that when Alice was old enough they would tell her everything. Her mind went back to a late summer evening when she was seated next to Roger on the sofa, a glass of red wine in her hand...
‘So, are you sure about this, Steph?’ asked Roger, taking a sip of his beer.
‘Absolutely. Miranda seems like a nice girl, and she’s willing to do this for us. She doesn’t want children; she said it herself. I don’t think there’ll be a problem.’ Stephanie tried to push any niggling doubts to the back of her mind. She had been questioning how any woman would give up her child for money. What if Miranda is just desperate for money now, as she is a student? What if her situation changes in a few years and she has a change of heart? Would she be able to take back the child? A child that Stephanie would have taken in as her own and fallen in love with? She knew she could not afford to think about any of that. The most important thing was that this young girl was offering her the chance to be a mum; something that she had dreamed of. Her focus was on that goal.
‘Yes, but she’s young. What if she changes her mind?’ Roger voiced one of Stephanie’s greatest concerns.
‘That’s a chance we have to take.’ She sat back and took a mouthful of wine, trying to think positively, not wanting this chance to slip through her fingers.
‘But I mean, what if she comes back a few years from now and asks to see the child? I’m not sure how watertight these agreements are.’
Stephanie sat forward and looked at Roger. ‘I’ve thought about all that too, but I’m willing to risk something going wrong. I have nothing to lose. If we turn down Miranda’s offer, what chance do we have of ever being parents?’
‘We could adopt, or foster a child. There are always children being abandoned,’ said Roger.
‘But when I suggested those options to you before, you always said that if we couldn’t have a child of our own—’
‘Then we shouldn’t have one,’ he completed her sentence.
‘But, Roger, don’t you see? If Miranda has your child, it would be a part of you. This way we have a chance for a child of our own, or as near as possible.’
Roger looked uncomfortable.
‘You know how much I want children.’ Stephanie stared into her now empty glass of wine.
‘I’m just not sure we’re going about it the right way. We don’t know Miranda.’
‘Well, we’ll be meeting her soon, and then I’m sure we’ll be able to get an idea about whether she can be trusted or not. You do still want to meet her?’
Roger stood up and looked down
‘I hadn’t thought about that.’
‘It’s something we have to think about. If we do go ahead with this plan, I think we should tell the truth to the child; tell him or her about the surrogacy agreement.’
Stephanie felt as if her dream was being watered down with a dose of reality. She wanted a child of her own and had seen the surrogacy agreement as a way of getting that—after all, Miranda didn’t want the child; it would only be born because Stephanie had asked for it. ‘Would it be absolutely necessary to tell the child? Wouldn’t it be better to say that we are the real parents?’
‘No,’ said Roger, sitting on the edge of the sofa. ‘That wouldn’t be right. The child should be told.’
‘We can deal with that when the time is right. The child would have to be old enough to understand.’
‘I think you’re living in some fairy-tale land, Stephanie. You do realise that this child won’t be yours, and you can’t buy a child and pretend it’s yours?’
His words further diluted her dream. ‘Why are you being like this?’
‘Like what? Realistic?’
‘No. You’re treating me as if I’m stupid.’
‘I know what you’re like, Steph. I won’t agree to this surrogacy arrangement unless you agree that we’ll do things properly. I want this child to know everything when he or she is old enough. Everyone has a right to know who their real parents are.’
‘Okay.’ Stephanie stood up. ‘I never said we wouldn’t tell the child about the surrogacy’. But deep inside she was questioning why it was necessary. Miranda didn’t want the child; why should she have any rights?
Reflecting on her thoughts, Stephanie realised that if she’d still been with Roger, Alice would probably have known about Miranda by now. She began to question herself. Had she been selfish, keeping the truth from Alice for so long?
Lying in bed, she thought back to the one and only occasion she had come close to telling Alice everything. Alice had been thirteen years old. It was late October or early November; the leaves were falling from the trees outside. Alice and Stephanie sat together close to the gas fire. They had made some popcorn and settled down to watch a rented video. Alice had chosen the video on the way home from school. It was a popular film amongst her school friends; the story of an orphan girl, adopted and brought up by a couple who treated her badly. The girl had eventually managed to run away. Thinking back, Stephanie could not remember the details of the film, but the thing that stayed in her memory was the conversation she’d had with Alice that night.
‘What did you think of the film, Mum?’ Alice asked, cheerfully, as she pressed the rewind button on the video recorder. ‘It was good, wasn’t it?’
‘Yes, darling, it was very good,’ Stephanie said, wiping away tears.
‘Typical of you to cry at the end.’ Alice laughed.
‘Well, it was so sad.’
‘Yes, but it was a happy ending. I’m glad she got away from those people,’ commented Alice.
Stephanie nodded.
‘I felt sorry for Amy. The people who adopted her were so cruel.’ Alice took the video tape out of the machine and placed it back in its box.
Stephanie found Alice’s comment moving, and the thought occurred to her that maybe it was the right time to tell her the truth about her birth. Standing up, Stephanie walked over to the light switch and turned on the lights. Alice had wanted the lights off during the film to create a “Cinema” effect.
‘Alice, dear,’ she began, ‘do you know any children who have been adopted? For example, someone in your class at school?’
‘No.’ Alice shook her head. She was now seated on the sofa with her legs resting on the coffee table in front of her.
‘Take your feet off the table,’ scolded Stephanie.
Alice sighed and curled her legs up on the sofa instead. She reached for the television remote control.
Stephanie sat on the sofa beside her. ‘Not all children who are adopted are treated badly, you know.’ She waited anxiously for a response.
‘I know that,’ said Alice, switching channels on the television. ‘But it’s not the same as having real parents, is it? I mean, I know I don’t know my dad, but at least I have you.’ She smiled through her brown eyes. She seemed contented with her life, and Stephanie felt it would be cruel to now tell her that she wasn’t her mother, especially after what she had just said.
She leaned back on the sofa, feeling torn between wanting Alice to know the truth and yet wanting to protect her from it.
She made one last effort: ‘Alice,’ she fiddled nervously with the fringes of the purple velvet cushion on the sofa, as she spoke. ‘Wouldn’t it just be the same if you had been adopted by me? I’d still be your mother if you didn’t know your real mother.’
Alice looked at her in the eyes, and Stephanie held her breath, feeling suddenly as if she’d said too much.
‘No, Mum, it wouldn’t be the same.’ She turned back to face the television. ‘I think it’s good that people adopt children that haven’t got parents, but I don’t think it could ever really be the same as having real parents, do you?’ She seemed to be awaiting a reply. The innocence in her eyes made Stephanie feel like weeping. There was no way she could even consider telling her about the surrogacy now.
Stephanie turned towards the television, unable to meet her gaze. ‘I’m not sure,’ she said. ‘Oh, Alice, isn’t this that programme you watch every week?’ She made an effort to stop her voice breaking as she stood up and walked towards the door.
‘Yes, it is. Don’t you want to watch it, Mum?’
She was already at the living room door, her back towards Alice. ‘Er, no, dear. I’m going to bed. I feel a bit sleepy; it must have been the dim lighting when we were watching the film.’
Stephanie had cried herself to sleep that night and made the decision that she would wait until Alice was older, or if necessary she would never tell her the truth.
Her thoughts returned to the present day as she wiped a tear from her eye. Alice’s interest in her father was something she had convinced herself she would never have to deal with, but here it was staring her in the face, taunting her, stirring up feelings of guilt and regret. Her selfishness may have denied Alice the right to know her real identity, and the thought that she had made the wrong decision haunted her, giving her no peace.
She turned to look at her alarm clock and saw that it was 12 p.m. She had been awake for most of the night and felt tired still. Suddenly she panicked, remembering that she had promised to meet Rita at the Tube station at 1.30 p.m. She forced herself out of bed and hurriedly prepared for her meeting with her old friend.
***
Rita introduced Stephanie and Roger to Miranda Carey in early 1975. Stephanie had been at her wits’ end at that time; she had spent endless hours talking with Rita, her best friend, about her problem. She could not have children, and it was something she was having a hard time facing up to. She had suggested adoption to Roger, but had been met with a cold hard stare. He’d crossed his arms in front of him: ‘Stephanie, do you realise how desperate you sound?’
‘I am desperate!’ she’d screamed, and then saw that look of disdain in his eyes that brought her down to earth. Part of her could see what he was seeing; she hadn’t been able to hold a rational conversation since being told she was infertile. She was screaming inside, angry, and in denial; refusing to give up or to accept that she would remain childless. Her mind was constantly whirring, trying to think up the best way she and Roger could have a child. Fostering or adoption—they seemed like good options—but Roger wasn’t convinced. ‘If we can’t have a child of our own, I don’t think we should have a child at all,’ was the only thing he would say when questioned. He was like a brick wall when it came to discussing the matter.
Stephanie knew the reason Roger was being so obstinate, but at the time she didn’
In the midst of all this turmoil, and as her mind was restlessly going over it all again for the hundredth time, she overheard a conversation on the bus one day on her way to work. She was seated behind two young women; one of them was blonde, with a bob-cut hairstyle, and the other had permed light brown hair. Stephanie always noticed hairstyles before anything else, being a hairdresser. She had been trying to distract her thoughts by looking at the girls’ hairstyles when she heard something that caught her attention.
‘Well, you know how much Josie has always wanted children of her own,’ said the blonde girl.
‘Yes,’ said her friend. ‘I must admit I was quite surprised when I first heard what you were planning; but I suppose if she’s happy, and you—’
‘She is. I think it’s all worked out well. I haven’t seen her so happy in years. She has a child. It’s her dream come true.’
On hearing that, Stephanie couldn’t help feeling the stab of pain associated with the knowledge that she could never have a child. The doctor had been clear about that: ‘I’m sorry, Mrs. Forester, I’m afraid you will never be able to have children.’
It had been such a final blow. Like someone had taken a baseball bat to her dreams. Knowing that she would never know the joy of holding her own child was a burden she carried with her every day. Every time she saw a small child playing, or a baby in a pram, she would be back there in the doctor’s surgery, tears flowing from her eyes, shock taking hold and refusing to let her go.