Orphan Sisters, page 21
And also, some of the worst.
Daddy had found that flat for them. He had danced around its rooms with them, lifted her high up in the air and laughed with them. Sixty-three Pettyford Road was more than just a building – it had once been everything.
She pulled Adanya’s address book from her bag. The address of the landlord, Mr Rex, was clearly legible under a table of ‘rents paid and owed’. Her heart rate quickened at the sight of his name, as it had always done during the handful of times she had leafed through the book.
She headed in the direction of the landlord’s house, following the path Daddy would have taken on many occasions to pay the rent until that burden had fallen on Mummy. However, she could not remember ever following Mummy to Mr Rex’s house.
Lana stood in front of the sprawling semi-detached doublefronted residence with its impressive newly restored bay windows. Like number sixty-three, it had three floors. However, because it hadn’t been converted into flats it had remained one big beautiful home.
The sound of a barking dog punctuated the silence.
‘Can I help you?’ said a thin woman with silver hair, quickly descending the steps, clutching the tiny yapping dog under her arm.
‘I was just admiring your beautiful house.’
‘Thank you,’ said the woman suspiciously.
‘My family used to know the people who lived here in the sixties.’
The woman’s eyes became heavy with suspicion. ‘Name?’
‘My name?’
‘No, the people you claim to know.’
‘Mr Rex. He also owned the house me and my family lived in, not far from here. I was wondering if he still lived in this house?’
‘If you mean Rex Andersen, he died a few years ago, and his wife moved abroad. I have no idea where she is now. What do you want with them?’
‘Nothing. Nothing at all.’ Lana moved away just as the dog’s yaps increased.
‘So my first day of investigations didn’t go too well,’ Lana told Clifton, filling him in.
‘What were you doing at the landlord’s anyway?’
‘I thought I might as well go, seeing as though it’s near my house – the old house, I mean. Plus I wanted to retrace Mummy’s steps. There’s so much I still don’t understand about her. What happened? And … I guess I just needed to feel close to her. Do something she would have done. Sounds silly, right?’
‘No, it doesn’t. I won’t pretend to know what you’re going through. You have lost so many people in your life.’
Lana hated the thought of being an object of pity, but maybe that was her lot in life: the poor little orphan girl.
‘Just know that you will never be alone,’ he said sincerely, ‘I’ll always be there for you.’
‘I know. Now stop being soppy and let’s get back to business.’
‘Yes, boss. So what else did you find in the address book?’
‘It’s years old, so half the numbers don’t exist anymore.’
‘You said there were some addresses in there too?’
‘And lots of doodling. Mummy liked to doodle, apparently.’ She smiled.
‘Didn’t you say she also used some of the pages as a diary?’
‘Yes, but things like rent due and accounting stuff.’
‘I’m sure you’ll find something, a clue, anything.’
Lana didn’t want to tell him about the fresh wounds that reopened each time she had leafed through the address book over the years, hence why she had only ever done so a handful of times. The difficulty in turning each page and her absolute disappointment upon placing the book to her nostrils only to discover it no longer smelled like Mummy had been too much to bear.
After Clifton left to meet Denise, Lana sat on her bed with the evidence laid before her. The random nature of the items meant Aunty Ginny had gathered them up hastily and without much thought, desperate in her guilt to give the poor little orphan kids something. At the time she’d first received the case, Lana had quickly banished it to the bottom of the wardrobe. Now, twenty years later, it was all she had left of Mummy: a paltry set of items she hoped would lead her back into the past so she could finally live in the future she craved.
Lana wrote a short and concise letter to John Adams Children’s Home. It had been a hard exercise, what with the memory of how badly they had handled everything to do with her life and their nonchalance as she pleaded with them to tell her where they had sent Tina. What with May’s disappearance from their care, she could only hope they would be willing to help her with the documents she needed. They owed her that much at least.
With the letter posted, Lana tasked herself with telephoning every non-professional phone number in Mummy’s address book. She could not recall Mummy having any friends other than Aunty Ginny, so she doubted it would take very long.
By the time she’d worked through to the letter C, her ears had been subjected to the now-too-familiar ‘dead’ dialling tone many times, but she would carry on; she was not about to give up.
The address and telephone number for Aunty Ginny was, of course, for Pettyford Road, but Lana could only smile at the ‘G’ page of the address book that was entirely devoted to Mummy’s best friend. Doodles of daisies surrounded her name; an IOU for three pounds signed by Ginny and an ‘I Love Ginny she is my best friend’ scrawled in childlike writing. Lana wondered if she herself had written this because, simply put, Aunty Ginny had been her best friend too. Despite attempting to visit her in Brighton when May first disappeared, an anger still burned for the woman who’d once meant so much. She would have to stem these feelings long enough to find out what she could about her sisters, as Lana strongly believed that Aunty Ginny could also be the key to a huge chunk of information.
She flicked through the pages, determined to go back to them later. For now, she just wanted to look at the letter T.
Sure enough, T for Tayo, along with the address of their first one-room home in England, committed to paper. Theirs was a love that burned even when husband and wife were still oceans apart. The section overflowed with writing: my one true love; Mr Tayo Cole, my husband. The terms of endearment were warming, but it was the handwriting that overlapped these words that sent a chill through her body.
Dead forever. Traitor. Hateful wife. Mo nife re. Adulteress. Odale. Wrong. Asewo. Evil. Iku.
Some of the Yoruba she could recall from her childhood. Iku, she knew, was death.
‘Nice ride. Drives well,’ said Lana, her mind still on Mummy’s writings, which were a hint to her state of mind at the time. Unlike before, she now studied it with a meticulous eye. Angling for any clue that could make her search a little easier. She was still only at the letter G, really, and she wondered what else she would find on the remaining pages that could help her. Perhaps she wasn’t equipped to deal with the journey ahead. Perhaps some of the money she’d saved should have gone into some sort of counselling. The doctors were always talking about that at the health centre these days. But it was too late for all of that now. She had started and needed to remain focused on the bigger picture: finding her sisters. Mummy was dead now and she could no longer help her, no matter how much Lana deeply wished she could.
‘Who needs a BMW?’ said Clifton, snapping her back to the present. ‘This old banger’s great and will get us to Brighton in no time.’
‘What?’
‘You alright?’
‘Just thinking about the words in the diary.’
‘As I told you earlier, you are not to blame for anything that happened.’
‘I know, I just wish I could have noticed she was losing her mind. Or something.’
‘Oh right, because you’re a qualified psychiatrist. Oh, and let’s not forget what decade it was. It’s not even fantastic now for black people, but the 1960s? Come on, Lana, you have nothing to feel guilty about. You were just a little girl.’
‘I know …’
‘Now, can we focus on the task at hand? You’re really killing this road trip, you know.’
She smiled. ‘How long to go now?’
‘About fifteen minutes.’
When Clifton manoeuvred the car into the street named on the crumpled piece of paper, Lana felt a strong pull in her tummy.
‘I’ll drive off and give you some privacy, once I see who opens the door.’
Either side of a lilac door, two plants still hung from terracotta pots. Not much had changed since the last time she visited Aunty Ginny’s home in Brighton. She pressed the doorbell and waited.
‘No one’s home!’ she shouted towards the car.
‘Now what?’ said Clifton.
‘I’ll wait for them.’
‘They could be ages!’
‘That’s OK. I’m by the sea. You go along to your mates and meet me back here say … five o’clock?’
An hour later, her hunger had crept up by surprise. She headed towards Blues Fish and Chip shop where a delicious aroma tantalised her, instantly reminding her of the Coles’ Friday ritual.
Half an hour later, her stomach full with food and anxiety, Lana pressed the doorbell of the lilac door and was quickly startled by the echo of a baby’s cry. Instantly, she knew Aunty Ginny did not live there anymore.
The door opened, revealing a woman with hair in need of a brush and her pink shirt desperate for an iron. In the crook of her arm was a baby.
‘I’m sorry to bother you,’ said Lana, her voice immediately eclipsed by the wail of the tiny infant.
‘Sorry, love, you’ll have to give me a minute.’
The door closed and she wondered if the woman would ever come back. Three minutes felt like ten and Lana moved away from the door, unsure of whether to wait some more or press the doorbell again, fearful of disturbing a sleeping baby. It was hard to get a baby back to sleep. Tina had been difficult around that age.
After five minutes, the woman reappeared, child clasped to her chest and suckling contentedly.
‘Sorry about that. New mum,’ she said with a smile.
‘No, that’s OK,’ said Lana, feeling sudden pangs of guilt at the intrusion. ‘I’m looking for a Ginny Jones. She used to live here a few years ago and she has two sons.’
‘They would have been here just before me.’
‘Yes, possibly! Do you know where she might have gone? Did she stay in the area?’
‘Let me stop you there, love. This is a council property and I don’t get to hear anything about the previous tenants. They go their way and I go mine. That’s how it works, I’m afraid.’
Lana was desperate not to give in to defeat at such an early stage. But this was hard.
‘I’m sorry, love.’
‘That’s OK,’ Lana said sadly.
‘Oh, but why not try the neighbours? Next door’s been here longer than me and she might know something.’
‘That’s a great idea,’ said Lana.
She was in luck; the lady next door was home.
‘Ginny was a bit of a flighty one when she moved here. And those boys … so unruly.’ The woman had bouffant, bluerinsed hair and an immaculate line of berry red on her lips. ‘She wasn’t really my type of person, if you ask me. But each to their own.’
The woman had been so kind and accommodating once Lana had reminded her of their first meeting many years before. Tea and biscuits followed as well as a dossier on what sounded like the entire street.
‘Ginny stayed away a few months that time. I remember her son going into the house to pick up the letters and he even managed to say hello without cracking a smile. A miserable so and so that one. Then a huge van pulled up and took the rest of her belongings away. One of the sons got married, I heard. I can’t imagine anyone marrying such an oaf. I think he was in the army. As I said, Ginny wasn’t my type of friend, always a bit over made-up, but she always had a wave for me each time she saw me. That was nice.’
‘Did she say where they were moving to?’
‘That’s the thing, Lina …’
Lana let the slip pass, not wanting to interrupt at this crucial stage.
‘I expected her to at least say a goodbye. We were polite like that with one another. But I never saw her again.’
‘So, since I was last here … since I saw you, you haven’t seen her?’
She shook her head, eyes drenched in pity. ‘I’m sorry, dear.’
Lana wished she had written a line of questions in preparation, fearful she would think of something later or tomorrow.
‘Oh, actually, I have remembered something.’
‘What?’
‘How red his face looked.’
‘Whose?’
‘When the van came to collect Ginny’s belongings, I stopped the son and I remember his face. Red, it was. Like he’d been crying. Yes, I remember it clearly because I had never been used to him like that. I’d always seen him as a bad ’un really, but that day he was just like a little boy.’
Lana did not want the words to leave her lips. ‘D … do you think she died?’
‘I don’t like to speculate. What I will say is, if she or those boys stuck around this area, someone will know. It’s not exactly London, is it? Everyone knows everyone’s business. Not me, though. I’m not like that!’
‘Of course,’ said Lana, biting on a biscuit.
‘Let me have your number and address, dear, and I’ll ask around. Someone at the club may know something. You never know.’
‘The club?’
‘I sometimes go to a get-together with the other ladies. Play bingo and have a natter – not to gossip, mind. Someone might know something there.’
‘Thanks, I would really appreciate it.’
Lana placed her arms tenderly around the woman and whispered goodbye.
Stepping out and into the cool Brighton air, Lana realised she’d also said goodbye to her bitterness towards Aunty Ginny a long time ago. The thought of Aunty Ginny being lost to her forever produced a pain, which surprised her. She’d pray Aunty Ginny was still alive and if she was, would do everything in her power to show her forgiveness and that she still possessed a love for her which had never truly gone away.
The address book lay open at H where Mummy had scrawled ‘nice lady’ along with a phone number. Lana placed the phone receiver to her ear and waited for the now-familiar dead tone. But the sound of a ring tone, followed by a real-life voice, startled her.
‘Hello,’ reiterated the woman’s voice.
‘I know this sounds silly, but I found this number next to the words “nice lady” in my mum’s old address book. I’m so sorry, I know I’m not making any sense.’
‘Calm down and start again,’ said the voice, slightly Caribbeanaccented and soothing in its tone. ‘Let’s start with your name.’
‘Lana. My name is Lana Cole and your number is in my mum’s address book. I have no idea who you are so forgive me as I don’t know your name, or whether she was even referring to you.’
‘What was your mother’s name?’
‘Adanya. Adanya Cole.’
Lana heard a gasp.
‘Yes, I am the person you are looking for.’
Chapter Twenty-six
A picture of Adanya Cole staring at the camera lens in total surprise lay on the coffee table between Lana and Clifton; one of Daddy’s surprise snaps.
Lana was still reeling from her meeting with Hortense, a calmly spoken woman who, without a flinch, had told Lana of the exact location she’d first met Mummy. Lana had ingested the news as calmly and as quietly as possible, after which she had walked home in a daze and managed to phone Clifton, who, within the hour, was leaning against her iron-gated doorway.
‘You didn’t have to come, you know. Weren’t you going to the pictures with Denise?’
Her eyes remained transfixed on the photograph.
‘I was, but that isn’t important. Are you OK?’
‘I’ve been so naive, Clifton.’
‘What else did she say?’
‘She said she wants to see me. That what she has to say isn’t for the phone.’
‘There’s more?’
‘Of course there’s more. You don’t drop a bombshell like that and leave it there. You don’t say, “I met your mother in a high-security psychiatric hospital and, oh, goodbye!” She rested her cheeks in each palm. ‘I’m sorry, Clifton. I’m a little on edge and, if I’m honest, fearful of what she will tell me.’
Hortense was a petite retiree with braided hair, who exuded the calmness of someone Lana would not have associated with a tough mental ward.
‘Working as a mental-health nurse isn’t for everyone. I didn’t think it was for me when I came here from the Caribbean all those years ago. But many of my contemporaries were doing it. The pay was a little more than traditional nursing and I soon found out why.
‘I saw hundreds of people come and go in those wards. Unfortunately, the more black people arrived in the country, the more they would come for a week or two. Sometimes more. In that job it was easy not to get attached to anyone; most were too … what do you say … far gone? Your mum was different though. She was just like me.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘She just missed her country.’ Hortense smiled warmly. ‘Oh, how I missed my country, still do. But seeing this lovely girl was very saddening and heart-warming at the same time.’ Hortense’s eyelids gently clouded over as she continued. ‘Sometimes her eyes would shine as she told me the story of her mum and dad and chasing the chickens with her brothers.’
Lana caught her breath at the first-ever mention of her grandparents from someone other than her parents.
‘We used to live near them, and they had a large coconut tree in the yard!’ said Lana, excitedly.
‘Yes! And apparently a lot of the men wanted her in that street, but she only had eyes for Tayo Cole, your father.’
Lana smiled warmly. She hadn’t prepared herself for any of this. Another human being echoing stories she had seen with her very own eyes.
‘She was her dad’s favourite,’ Lana told her. ‘Named Adanya because it means “her father’s favourite”!’
‘That’s right. Wow. I do not need to test you to know if you’re her daughter. You know plenty and you look so much like her. A very beautiful girl.’
