Orphan Sisters, page 23
The shrill of the phone startled her out of a deep sleep and into the glare of an early-morning sun. One eye closed, she reached over to the side table and retrieved the phone. ‘Hello?’
‘Who is it?’ asked Clifton.
‘I don’t now. They hung up.’
Clifton rubbed at his eyes, sitting up slowly.
‘I feel so grotty,’ she commented, stifling a stubborn yawn.
‘That’s what happens when you wear your clothes to bed! At least I stripped down to my boxer shorts! Shall we go and catch breakfast? It’s almost nine.’
‘I don’t think I can eat.’
‘Did you and your husband like the room?’ asked the landlady.
Clifton had left to make a call.
‘We’re not married,’ said Lana.
‘In my day, couples that weren’t married didn’t share rooms. But that’s your business.’ She spoke with a smile.
Clifton appeared. ‘I just called Denise.’
‘How is she?’
‘Really angry. She said she called the room this morning and a woman picked up.’
‘Oh no, that was me half-asleep! Call her back and tell her!’
The landlady looked on as if she’d been validated in some way.
‘I had to tell her we shared a bed.’
‘What did she say?’
‘Think about how it sounds.’
‘Oh.’
Lana’s heart ached as she watched him head off in front of her, his gait hunched with sadness. She would have to start leaning on him less, that much she knew. Clifton had been her rock for so long and it was time she at least began the process of loosening the ties.
At this point, though, there was nothing she could do to help him and Denise. She had to remain focused on the task at hand as she sat in a half-full waiting room. The tall, glass windows allowed her to clock Clifton in a phone box outside and watch his attempts to appease a clearly irate girlfriend.
‘Lana?’
She looked up at the smartly dressed woman standing over her.
‘I’m so sorry you had to wait so long. Monday is a very busy day.’
Lana followed her into a tiny cubicle where they sat facing one another.
‘You’d like to find out about John Adams, I am told.’
‘Yes, as I wrote down earlier, I was a resident between sixty-three and sixty-nine. I started out with my two little sisters. One was adopted and the other … ran away. I wrote it all down for you.’
‘This is a unique request, Miss Cole, especially under the circumstances.’
‘The abuse, you mean?’
‘A lot of bad feeling still exists around the issue of John Adams. It is all very controversial. As well as people in this department having lost their jobs, there’s a huge turnover of staff in social services anyway, so I doubt many of those who worked here during that time are still contactable.’
Lana swallowed.
‘I did manage to dig out some info though.’
‘That’s great!’
‘While you were waiting I took a look at the John Adams file. It’s very extensive and a lot of it has been taken away as part of an ongoing criminal investigation and there’s no way you’d be allowed to see these files unless you were filing a criminal complaint. Even then it would all have to be dealt with by lawyers first. It’s all a very lengthy process.’
‘Surely you can tell me something about Tina.’
‘Miss Cole, I simply cannot discuss individual cases. Firstly, you have to prove who you are.’
‘What do you need me to bring? I will do that and come back another time.’
‘Miss Cole, I don’t—’
‘What if they’d taken Tina away illegally? It seems the place was run by idiots and abusers after all. I could then file a criminal complaint and then I’d have to see the files.’
‘Miss Cole, I don’t want to waste your time so it’s best I inform you of this now. The young lady you are referring to was, according to what I have seen, never adopted. There was no adoption.’
‘You mean you can’t find the papers?’
‘Miss Cole, your younger sister was never adopted.’
‘She didn’t just disappear!’
‘She was released into the care of your father.’
Confusion. ‘He’s dead!’
‘I’m so sorry, of course … I meant that her biological father came to John Adams and claimed her. That’s all I can tell you with any certainty.’
‘But—’
‘I really must get back.’
Lana felt winded, sucker-punched.
‘Are you OK? Would you like me to get you some water?’
‘No … I …’ All the secrets of her childhood that she had subconsciously tried to rewrite were one by one turning on her and slapping her hard in the face. Mummy died of a broken heart. Mummy fell in love with a kindly white man no one else had met, a man who knew he would never live up to Daddy’s memory and had quietly slipped away before finding out about Tina. To an eleven-year-old, that story had seemed realistic and palatable in the absence of any real explanation from the adults in her life. Now as a grown woman, an adult herself, it was time she faced up to the truth.
Tina’s father had kept in touch with Mummy. Tina’s father was known to them.
‘I can’t tell you any more than that, Miss Cole. I have already said too much.’
Lana closed her eyes, trying to figure out when her tipping point would come.
Chapter Twenty-eight
‘What’s wrong with you? You said you wanted this!’
‘Do what you have to do.’
Lana shot up from the nightmare. Her forehead slick with sweat. It was 2am. She sunk back against the pillow and thought once again about that time she had pressed her ears against the door of the kitchen and heard sounds that sounded like Mummy, but also that of a man – the only other man she remembered from their old life; the only man it could be who had possibly travelled all the way to Sir John Adams Children’s Home to claim his child. Tina.
Perhaps Mummy and this man had planned this once she knew she was going to take her own life. No. Mummy wasn’t well and would never do anything like that. Just as she wouldn’t have gone with another man willingly.
‘What’s wrong with you? You said you wanted this!’
‘Do what you have to do.’
Each possible explanation for what occurred all those years ago sounded unbearable. There would be no respite for Lana. Just cold, hard truths she had so far uncovered with many more to come.
Later that morning, fresh out of the shower and wrapped in a towel, Lana pressed play on her answer machine. A short message from Georgina – an old work colleague – informed her about joining her for after-work drinks: ‘It would be lovely to see you. We miss you!’
Beep.
Lana reached for the tub of cocoa butter.
‘This is Hortense … the nurse. I have some news for you … I have remembered something and I think it may be of importance.’
Lana’s haste in getting to Hortense was met with an ease that felt frustrating; Hortense liked to take her time.
‘I have prepared some food for you. Ackee and saltfish.
Lana wasn’t hungry. She just needed to know what Hortense had remembered.
Hortense placed a plate of what looked like scrambled eggs and vegetables onto the white plastic side table.
Lana exhaled. ‘I’m really sorry, Hortense, but I’m not particularly hungry at this moment.’
‘You look very tired.’
‘It’s been a rough few hours. Please tell me what you have remembered.’
‘I remember Adanya saying something to me. It was during one of those times she felt OK. We would talk about our homelands together and our children. One day she was speaking of Tayo and then said she had betrayed him. She kept saying sorry; she said that a lot during her episodes. I don’t know why I did not remember this before.’
‘Did she say how she betrayed him?’ Lana’s heart rate quickened.
‘I knew she had three of you and I thought they were all from her husband. Then she kept saying she betrayed her husband with another man. And then she would go into her madness again. Talking, talking, talking. She felt very bad; I could see it in her eyes. She said she had betrayed him and borne a child.’
‘Did she say his name? This man?’
‘Yes, his name … his name was like a name you’d call a dog.’
‘Rex.’
‘Yes, Rex … I think that’s what she called him. I’m not even sure if this is at all relevant.’
‘It is. And this news basically corroborates what, deep down, I have always known.’
She stood in front of the large, sprawling house, her heart pumping fast.
‘You again. What do you want?’ said the woman standing at the door of Mr Rex’s former home, the tiny dog, this time unseen, yapped incessantly in the background.
‘Sorry to bother you.’ She was far from sorry.
‘It is almost nine o’clock at night,’ said the woman curtly.
‘I know it’s late but I need to know more about the people who sold you this house. I really have to trace them.’
‘I don’t think that’s any of your business.’
‘I need to know. Please.’
‘What makes you think I know where they are?’
‘Last time I was here, you said the husband had died.’
‘Yes.’
‘So what happened to Mr Andersen’s wife? Did they have a child with them? A little girl with ringlets?’
‘What is this all about?’
‘Please, tell me that!’
Her expression hardened. ‘I’ll have you know you are trespassing.’
‘You must know something, please. I have to find Mrs Andersen. I need to know where she went after he died.’
‘If you don’t leave my property, I will call the police.’
Lana felt her only true lead slipping away. ‘Please, I beg you. I don’t mean any harm. I’m just trying to find my little sister Tina.’ Lana could see a line soften in the woman’s expression. ‘Anything, please. If you could just let me know what area they moved to?’ Then she could at least check the electoral register.
‘Mrs Andersen remarried.’
‘To who? What was his name?’
‘His name was Jennings and he was a diplomat with a posting to Spain, Madrid or Barcelona or something. I know he was very well-to-do.’
‘Barcelona or Madrid?’
‘Barcelona. Yes, that’s where it was. Now I suggest you leave or I shall most definitely be calling the police.’
A library search produced an address of the British Consulate in Barcelona. With no other information and no further leads, she only had a couple of options, and one was to write to them. But who knew how long it would take to get a response? Having waited so many years, Lana’s impatience was growing at an alarming rate. She phoned the long number quoted and, as she suspected, an answering machine message informed her they only took emergency enquiries over the phone, and at a specified time.
Of course, flying to Barcelona was a silly idea and would devour a chunk of her savings, lead her hundreds of miles away and possibly into a wild goose chase. But what choice did she have?
She would need advice before embarking on such a big move and Clifton would know what to say. However, they hadn’t spoken since the trip to John Adams.
She picked up the receiver and placed her finger into the dial. She then exhaled and replaced the receiver. They needed space, time apart. It was just another reason why a trip to Barcelona could not have arrived at a better time.
Chapter Twenty-nine
Apart from a life-changing visit to England, Lana’s only other long-distance trip was a ferry journey to Calais to buy beer and cheese with Clifton. This time, her trip was charged with a more urgent energy. This time, she was searching for her sister.
Tina had clearly led a charmed life: the stepchild of a diplomat, no less, with all the trappings to go with such a role – private school, plush toys, multiple languages spoken. Tina was probably an accomplished and happy young woman, and such thoughts went some way to lessening Lana’s sadness at being unable to watch her grow into the confident young woman she had surely become.
Lana gazed out of the tiny oval window, watching cotton wool clouds mingling with a pretty blue backdrop. Clifton would have tried to talk her out of jumping on an aeroplane. He’d have told her to think it all through, to stick around and gather more evidence, reminded her that Tina was now a grown woman who might not even be in Barcelona any more. Lana chuckled to herself. This internal monologue with Clifton just proved how dearly she missed him.
Lana completed two crosswords and feigned interest in the man sitting in the aisle seat, droning on about the difference between Catalan and Spanish, feeling more alert than ever as the aeroplane landed. Excitement vibrated through her entire body as soon as she stepped through the airport doors. There was a chance, even if only a slim one, that her sister was breathing this same air at that very moment. Perhaps she had walked the same route as a child and, hopefully, much more recently. Her tummy swished with excitement as she climbed into a taxi. Instead of looking out at her new surroundings, her eyes remained fixed on the guidebook, absorbing useful phrases and some basic knowledge of the city. A man dressed in a smart black and white uniform opened the taxi door outside the hotel, greeting her in English. Welcome sprays from an elegant fountain sprinkled her like tiny confetti, and stone animals watched her every step. The receptionist handed her a key and wished her a pleasant stay, and Lana followed her luggage and a bellman to her room.
Choosing to forget the real reason for the trip, if only for a minute, she rushed to the balcony and slid the glass doors open. The sun shone on the view below, representing what a holiday should look like: the sharp edge of a small rectangular swimming pool: a woman in a blue swimsuit listening to a yellow Walkman, sipping a multicoloured cocktail; a large man belly-flopping into the pool and spraying the woman with water. For a brief moment Lana yearned for such a utopia, before reminding herself of her task. She was not in Spain on holiday, but rather on a fact-finding mission that could actually lead to finding her little sister Tina. She was on the brink of something amazing.
After a much-needed nap, Lana slid into the back seat of another taxi. The consulate was fifteen minutes away without traffic. As the car rode down the busy streets, headed towards Avinguda Diagonal, 477, the sky quickly became overcast, as if reminding her that this was not a sightseeing trip. She tried to ignore the brash and varied GaudÍ architecture she’d read about, as well as the gothic and mysterious structures, and glass windows with cute pastries on display. Her aim was to get to the consulate as fast as possible, as if Tina was waiting there, willing her to hurry up and find her.
The car came to a stop.
‘This is the place, Señora,’ said the taxi driver.
‘Here?’ she said, waving the paper in front of him.
‘Yes, Señora.’
She paid him, then stepped out of the car and felt slight spots of rain against her face. She hurried into the building.
‘Can I help you?’ asked the receptionist.
‘I’d like to speak with the ambassador or a diplomat, please.’
She wrinkled her forehead.
‘Or an assistant, or just someone who can give me some information. Please.’
‘Do you have an appointment?’
‘No.’
‘You must make an appointment to visit with the consul. What is the information you require?’
‘I’d like some details about one of the diplomats who used to be stationed here. You know, a forwarding address or something. I know they move around a lot, but, of course, he could still be here.’
‘This is highly confidential information. We deal mainly with travel issues and not what you are asking.’
‘Who can I speak to, then?’
‘You need to make an appointment.’
‘OK, that’s fine.’
‘It will take six weeks for an appointment. And even so, it is unlikely you will be given such information.’
‘I don’t have six weeks here. I just need a name and an address, that’s all. Can I just speak to someone now?’ The words stumbled from her mouth clumsily and without authority. She had stepped on a plane without any real research, eager to have something to show for a line of investigation that had so far produced nothing. She had been too eager. She had been foolish. And now she had failed before she’d even begun.
The receptionist appeared unmoved.
‘Please, I’ve travelled all the way from England. I can’t leave here empty-handed. Please help me!’
‘I think you shall leave now.’
From the corner of her eye she noticed a man leaning over a white sculpture, a brown cloth in his hand, his eyes staring towards her.
‘OK, I’m sorry about that. I can come back tomorrow.’
‘As you wish. The rules will remain the same.’
She turned towards the door, noticing the man slowly walk away from the sculpture. Imagined or real, she felt a silent communication form between them. The tilt of his balding head and the widening of his eyes were a definite and coherent instruction.
Outside, her suspicions were confirmed.
‘Señora, you want information about a diplomat?’ he said.
‘Yes, please, do you know anything? A Mr Jennings, he used to work here.’
He placed his finger to his lips as if to quieten her.
‘We go and talk,’ he said.
Inside a quiet little cafe, the man – whose name she still didn’t know – sipped on a coffee as she impatiently nursed an orange juice. Her nerves were on edge and she was afraid she had wasted a sizable amount of her funds on a wild goose chase. If only she’d talked it through with Clifton first. He would never have let her fly all the way to Barcelona!
