Orphan Sisters, page 25
‘Because that’s supposed to define me, I take it?’
‘No. I meant …’ Lana had merely wanted to prick the uncomfortable silence but had only made the awkward situation worse.
‘Lana, I truly feel this is a waste of your time and mine.’
‘But we’re sisters!’
‘I exist alone.’
‘That’s not true. You have me …’
‘Like I did when you left me at the home?’
‘I was coming back for you, to take you out. Surprise you with a trip to London to see the flat, your home – but you’d gone! Why didn’t you wait for me, or at least come to me?’
‘I didn’t have your number.’
‘What? But I sent you …’
‘It’s a long story. Let’s just say, I had to leave.’
Eve’s words left a question mark floating in the air as she headed for the kitchen, returning with two cups of tea.
Smoothing down her short hair, Eve exhaled. ‘Remember Stan?’
‘At the home, yes. They said you had a fight with him.’
‘A fight? Let’s just say he wasn’t very nice to me.’
‘He was horrible to everyone.’
Eve began to blink rapidly. ‘That he was. And he seemed to get worse when you left. He even hid your letters from me. And much worse.’
Lana closed her eyes. ‘May, I’m—’
‘Eve, my name is Eve!’
Lana moved closer to her sister, unsure of how this would be received.
‘Don’t. I don’t need your sympathy.’
‘Eve, I am so sorry, if I’d known—’
‘What? What could you do? You were gone, starting your new life. I had no one to turn to.’
Lana resisted the urge to take her sister’s hand and bury it in her palms. Instead they sat in silence, just inches apart.
‘You don’t have to be alone any more. You have people: me and Tina …’
‘You’ve found Tina?’
‘No, not yet, but I will. It’s only a matter of time.’
‘What do you know about her?’ Eve was back in business mode.
‘I don’t know much about her and, to be honest, the trail has gone cold. I thought she might be in Barcelona.’
‘Barcelona?’
‘I went all the way over there and met a nice gardener who gave me a little bit of information like a name and a few dates, but nothing much else.’
‘Sounds expensive.’
‘I will use every penny I have to find her.’
Eve turned away and then spoke. ‘I can help.’
‘Really? You want to help me find her?’
‘I have the funds to help you. How much do you need?’
‘No, that’s not why I’m here, Eve.’
‘Money is all I can give, if I’m honest. It’s all I am willing to give.’
‘Then you keep it, because that’s not why I’m here. I want you. I want my sister back!’
‘If you won’t take money, at least accept the services of a private investigator one of my companies has used in the past.’ She moved over to the computer desk and opened the side drawer. ‘Here’s his card. Tell him my name and then give him all the information you’ve gathered on Tina. He will bill me personally.’
The reality of finding Tina edged nearer, coupled with the real possibility of losing Eve all over again.
‘I … I will call him.’
‘I suggest you do.’
‘But … but what about us?’
‘There is no us, Lana. This is all I can give you. Please, just accept that.’
‘What’s she like?’ asked Clifton.
‘Tall.’
Lana’s chest felt burdened with the weight of her sister’s decision not to be a part of her life. This was not supposed to happen.
‘You must be so thrilled to have her back!’ He stalled the enthusiasm as Lana’s face became a map of pain, the feel of his arms around her doing nothing to stem the mounting emotion.
‘She doesn’t want to know me, Clifton. She’s not interested!’
At that moment Lana was unconcerned about the promise to ‘stay away’ from her best friend Clifton. She needed him more than ever as the familiar chimes of abandonment echoed in her ears.
‘I’m staying tonight,’ he said firmly.
‘You don’t have to do that.’
‘Yes, I do.’
Lana was grateful for his company, his presence and his friendship. ‘I’d really like that, Clifton. I really would.’
Lana awoke the next morning to the busying sounds of colliding cutlery and the clanging of plates.
‘What’s going on here?’
‘I made you some breakfast.’
‘I’m not hungry.’
‘Well, I am. Your sofa is so uncomfortable!’
‘Special cereal, is it?’
‘How did you guess?’
‘What about Denise?’
‘I wasn’t aware she wanted some.’
‘You know what I mean!’
‘Are you serious right now? Drop it. As I keep telling you, she isn’t Misty.’
Misty was a former girlfriend of Clifton’s and the only one to ever voice her jealousy towards Lana. Clifton and Lana often laughed at that recollection yet, lately, she’d become sensitive to the memory.
Clifton placed the cereal–fruit–cream concoction onto her lap. For years he’d proudly prepared this dish for her. For years she hadn’t the heart to tell him just how disgusting it tasted.
Once Clifton had left, she lay on her bed and, for the first time since beginning her search for her sisters, yearned for the familiarity of her job, for the hours spent in the midst of other people’s problems, too busy to dwell on her own.
Her eyes rested on the ceiling, loneliness threatening to grip her. Eve’s refusal to become a part of her life – coupled with the real possibility that Clifton would soon be gone and swept up in the arms of a new life with Denise – frightened her. Life could not have looked any bleaker for Lana Cole. She wondered about Mummy and Daddy again. Her parents. The two people who’d loved her fiercely and yet, through no fault of their own, had also left.
Perhaps Eve was right to be so cold and loveless. She truly was the clever one. It was too late for Lana, though. She could never be like Eve. Lana wanted to love; she was born to love; she needed to love. Yet, therein lay the problem: there seemed to be no one left to love.
Lana dialled the number of the private investigator, feeling less than hopeful with the scant information she’d gathered in Barcelona. It all would have been a waste of time if not for the article …
‘You’ve got some of the real father’s details. We have a name for the diplomat so he will be easy to trace and you’ve given me a rough timeline of events. I have enough to be getting on with for now.’
‘That’s … great!’
‘Now leave the rest to me. I will call you when I have more info.’
The investigator called back within ten days to tell her he’d found Tina.
Her baby sister lived in London, just a few miles from where Lana had lived her entire adult life.
Chapter Thirty-two
The tree-lined street in St John’s Wood evoked a feeling of aspiration and hopefulness, and Lana hoped this was a prelude to what lay ahead.
‘How may I help you?’
The Asian woman dressed in a black and white maid’s uniform elicited a reaction Lana could not control. She closed her mouth as soon as she realised it was open.
‘I might have the wrong house. I’m looking for a Mrs Jennings.’
The woman looked at her squarely. ‘You have the right house. Who may I say is at the door?’
‘Tell Mrs Jennings my name is Lana Cole.’
Less than half a minute later she returned, this time opening the huge door to reveal a vast black and white tiled hallway leading to a grey spiral staircase. Mrs Jennings stood at the bottom of the staircase, under a dripping bronze chandelier. She had clearly once been a beauty, but time and the stresses of life had taken hold.
‘Miss Cole,’ she said steadily. Her hair was immaculately styled and her lilac trouser suit carefully pressed.
Lana followed her through a set of double doors, her eyes curiously searching for photos of her sister. A painting of a wide-hipped woman sitting on a horse and an unidentifiable figurine were the room’s only decoration. She sat down on one of the blue striped armchairs.
‘This is a nice chair,’ said Lana.
‘It’s Louis the sixteenth.’
The maid – an actual maid – closed the doors behind her and the mood changed.
‘Lana. I’ve been expecting you.’
‘You know who I am?’
‘Yes. Unfortunately, I do.’
As an invisible grandfather clock warned of another hour, the women began a conversation twenty years overdue.
Ten minutes later, Lana could only communicate that she didn’t wish to be rude but hadn’t embarked on this journey to listen to a woman’s regret at not adopting all three children. She was here to see her baby sister.
‘Mrs Jennings. Is she here? Is my sister here?’
‘No, dear, she isn’t. You will meet her, but before you do, I need to let you know my side of this story.’
‘The private investigator told me everything.’
‘What did he say?’
‘Enough. And looking around here and seeing where you lived in Barcelona, I see that Tina had a great life, a charmed life, and for that I’m grateful.’
‘There are things you don’t know, Lana.’
Lana rolled her eyes with weary frustration. She’d been on such a long journey, both physically and emotionally. Now, being so close to the end had only raised her anxiety levels. She needed to see her sister, now.
‘What I have to tell you will only take a moment. Listen before you judge me. Then and only then will I give you my daughter’s address.’
Chapter Thirty-three
London, 1948
As a twenty-five-year-old spinster, Sarah Donald’s heart had finally been taken by a slightly older half-Swedish man, whom her mother merely tolerated because of his rapidly growing property portfolio.
His willingness to finally get her daughter off the market was also a huge plus, even though Mother had always encouraged Sarah to look for a British husband with impeccable breeding and a traceable family. But even though he was ‘a little rough around the edges’, Rex’s sizable income, and thus his ability to look after her daughter, overshadowed such specifications, and a marriage was soon approved.
Rex and Sarah Andersen remained happy for the first few years of their marriage. However, the more money he made, the more his attraction to mistresses less concerned with his marital status he became. Sarah’s mother advised her to sit tight and tolerate this behaviour, as long as he remained discreet. A baby would help. Wasn’t it time? They’d been married for years now and what was taking so long?
When Sarah suffered her second miscarriage, doctors confirmed that carrying a baby full term was possible but they would need to make love on a continual basis – a rather difficult feat when her husband spent most nights without his wife. Rex Andersen’s indiscretions were no longer discreet when, years later, he fathered a child by one of his tenants – a coloured woman. His confession arrived one evening via a potent mix of alcoholic fumes and cigarette smoke. That night, a humiliated Sarah bundled anything she could into a bag and fled to her mother’s.
It was her mother who advised her to return.
She was nearing forty and who would want her? She was to claim the property, money and position that were rightfully hers and to not under any circumstances leave a space open for another woman to slot into.
Especially not a coloured woman.
Sarah reluctantly returned home to a drunken yet remorseful Rex. Her reel of demands were met immediately and without argument: separate beds and separate lives.
They co-existed, Sara’s seemingly moral high ground over a shrunken and regularly intoxicated Rex merely hiding the pain she constantly had to fight against: another woman had produced something she’d been unable to match. She was nothing; surplus to requirements.
Boredom and distrust evolved into a need to be involved with the businesses. At least then she could feel useful again, whilst protecting her financial future.
One day, Sarah decided it was time to meet their entire pool of tenants. One by one, over tea and biscuits, she discussed their tenancies and if they were happy with the services they had received. Ginny at number sixty-three Pettyford Road was a talker, telling Sarah almost everything there was to know about the coloured neighbour by answering her carefully thought-out questions. When she left Ginny’s flat, she saw that the door to the other flat was ajar, so she entered. The coloured woman sat in a chair, her eyes blank yet fixed on the corner of the ceiling.
‘Hello?’ said Sarah. The words ‘you home-wrecking whore’ hovered on her lips. The woman did not flinch. An infant in a pram basket gurgled by the television. Two small children were asleep on the sofa.
‘Hello?’ she reiterated. The oldest of the children sprang off the sofa.
‘Can I help you?’
The child’s use of proper English was a surprise to Sarah.
‘I am here to speak to your mother about the rent.’
‘Mr Rex comes for that.’
‘I’m collecting it from now on.’ Sarah thought it bizarre to be continuing a conversation with a child, whilst the adult remained seated in a chair staring at the wonders of a peeling wall.
‘How old are you?’
‘Nearly twelve. Well, sort of.’
‘What is your name, child?’
‘Lana. And that’s May and that’s Tina. Mummy will be better soon and she will talk to you.’
‘That’s OK,’ said Sarah, her curiosity pulling her towards the pram.
What she glimpsed inside saddened her. The sleeping innocence of a child born into a web of lies, adultery and now, perhaps, even madness.
She shut the front door behind her. This was the woman Rex was besotted by? A thin, insane, coloured woman with three children? Sarah’s mind began to explore the familiar route of self-loathing and disbelief. Had she been that bad a wife for Rex to prefer that?
She decided to stamp on the cloud of self-pity for now and walked to the nearest phone box to make a call.
As Sarah realised, it was hard to hate a woman with no ability to fight back. And when the ambulance arrived, she merely stood beside Ginny, both of them watching with sadness etched onto their faces.
‘I didn’t know it was this bad. I’d kept my distance today because I was so tired with all the shift work. Just wanted a break … and now this.’
‘I’m sure it’s not your fault,’ said Sarah.
‘I wish I could take them on. I have tried. Looked after them as much as I could because I didn’t want them to go into a home. Now this. She’s lost it. Really lost it, this time.’ Ginny sobbed as Sarah looked on, determined not to be pulled in emotionally. This woman had wrecked her own family, after all.
As time moved on, Sarah’s mind was never far away from those children … and Rex’s baby.
As Sarah collected the rents as usual, Ginny unwittingly kept her abreast of the woman’s progress – of which there wasn’t much. Rex grew tired of apologising, preferring the bottom of a booze-filled glass, and never mentioning his child. Sarah became transfixed on the plight of the three little girls languishing in a children’s home whilst she sat in a huge house, as lonely as the day she was born.
When the poor coloured woman took her own life, Sarah decided to ask one last favour from her worthless husband.
‘I want the child.’
His reddened face and uneven posture turned away from the vodka bottle long enough to ask, ‘What the fuck you on about, woman?’
‘I want the child. And you are going to get her for me.’
It wasn’t difficult to arrange a meeting with the right people and suggest a blood test to prove paternity. The woman had been certified mad when she’d agreed to the ‘father unknown’ status recorded on the child’s birth certificate anyway. Easy to contest in court.
Within weeks they were allowed to see the child and this became the day Sarah would never forget. Rex had never been a handsome man, but the child … this child was the epitome of beauty, from the first toe on her feet to the very last strand of curly hair on her head. A rush of immediate love found a home in Sarah’s body. She’d yearned for a child for so long and at last she had found her. In a certain light, Tina could possibly pass for white. Possibly. As long as they never lived anywhere with too much sun, she’d be fine. The hair was worrisome though … so curly! But with the right styling, no one would ever guess … and if they did, Sarah would not care! It was too late. She’d already fallen in love.
When Rex died six months later, Sarah and Tina began life as a twosome. She had hoped to sell Rex’s entire property portfolio and move away with her daughter. But after learning of her husband’s unscrupulous business dealings and massive debts, she was advised to sell off all assets immediately, barely keeping the roof over their heads.
It wasn’t long before Sarah’s mother offered her usual brand of advice. ‘You’ll just have to meet a man who can look after you, is financially stable and willing to take on another man’s child. A half-caste one, at that!’
Within a year, Sarah was married to an old flame – a diplomat, much to her mother’s delight. Finally, her life became a whirl of love and excitement as the family travelled the world thanks to various overseas postings, little Tina and a loving husband finally making her feel complete.
‘And that’s my story. The story. Tina’s story. I will tell her everything tonight.’
The revelations had hit Lana like a lead weight. As clear as day, Mr Rex Andersen had taken advantage of a poor defenceless woman at her most vulnerable.
Mummy. Their mummy.
This had been no affair, as if she’d needed any more evidence. Mr Rex Andersen was absolute scum.
Lana placed her face in her hands and inhaled. She hadn’t been able to help Mummy, but from now on she would be there for her sister.
