Straight out of a fairy tale.
It feels like something I would have done with my own mom, if we could travel together today. But I’m not going to dwell on the what-ifs. And I’m happy to be here with Mary. I think I need this.
“All right Lucy dear,there are some things I need to tell you.”
I guess I knew something serious was coming. At least she waited for me to have my first cup of Earl Grey and a perfect bite of scone with clotted cream and raspberry jam.
“Now, just listen, sweetheart. I know you’re going to have a lot of questions for me, and I promise I will answer them, but for now, let me tell you a story, okay?” I nod slowly, fearful and intrigued.
“I got married very young. Fred and I were so in love and wanted a big family, we never saw the point in waiting. Well, we tried for seven years; and I mean tried. We went to every doctor we could find, east, west, we saw them all. They all said the same thing: we were both healthy and should have no trouble conceiving, we just had to keep trying. That word still haunts me, as if I just needed to try harder, everything would come to fruition. Well, I guess I didn’t try hard enough.” She must note my look of confusion. “Oh, I’m sorry, dear. I thought I knew how I wanted to do this today and now it’s all coming out wrong. What I’m trying to say is that Henry is not my biological child.”
She pauses a moment, probably to let the information sink in. I guess I know now why they look nothing alike.
“He actually came to us when he was about five years old. Just walked into the police station one night when Fred was working. Walked right up to him and handed him a letter.” I see her eyes go glassy, but she only sniffs once and continues on. I decide right now, I want to be strong like her. Maybe one day I’ll be able to tell my story without letting any tears fall. “Now, I’ve never told Henry the contents of that letter and I would never burden you with that either—some information is too cruel to be shared—but suffice it to say, his mother let us know she wasn’t coming back for him.
“My husband, well, he was Chief Constable back then, he had a lot of connections. He knew how depressed I’d been, not being able to fall pregnant. We became Henry’s foster parents that same night, and legally adopted him a year later.” She smiles with so much pride my heart is bursting. I have a sudden urge to call Henry, to see him and hug him and hold him.
“I was obviously elated. I finally had my son. He may not have come from me, but I felt a connection to him right away. But it was almost two years before he ever spoke to either of us. I felt like I was in this endless cycle, back to see as many doctors as I could, to find a solution. He was finally diagnosed with selective mutism caused by severe anxiety. Apparently, it’s not uncommon in young children, but without the right treatment and his obvious lack of parenting, it doesn’t always go away. And of course, we had no idea what kind of trauma he’d experienced with that wretched woman, but it was clear he had suffered abuse from a very young age.
“So, I was back totrying. This time trying to get my son to speak. My goodness, the stories I could tell you, all the wacky ideas Fred and I came up with, all the different languages we tried speaking in. I still can’t believe all I had to do was teach him to play the piano. As you can imagine, that was a success right away, and before long he was begging for any instrument he could think of. Every occasion, every Christmas, it was something new he needed to master. Thank goodness he made a career out of it; we must have spent up our whole retirement! First the violin, the cello, then so many guitars; the flute was quite a nice surprise, it does sound so lovely when he plays; I drew the line when he asked for a harp . . .”
She gives me a knowing smile, like we have some shared history together to laugh over.
I can imagine it though. I’ve seen Henry when he gets in the zone, flying from one instrument to the next. I’ve even seen him juggle two at a time, convinced he can harmonize alone before calling in the team to start recording. And then I think back to him saying I’d be a harp, that night at the pool. I wonder if he ever got one, if he learned to play. I still don't know why he chose it for me.
“Music seemed to make everything better. He could finally communicate with us, but it was still difficult for him. He was so frustrated with himself and it came out as anger. Fred started teaching him to box every day to help release all the tension. That became a whole new obsession, and before I knew it, Henry was twice my size. We did whatever we could to help him work it out. But no matter how comfortable he became with us, he still never spoke to strangers. It could take weeks, or often months for him to get acclimated to a new person. As he got older it became more problematic. He couldn’t speak to his teachers or fellow students. As you can imagine, kids can be quite cruel. And with Henry suddenly becoming a prizefighter, well, we had to pull him out to be home-schooled.”
Her eyes start to wander and I can see she’s lost in a memory, a sad one. I had no idea what Henry’d been through.
“I’m so sorry, dear, I believe I’ve gotten off topic. What I wanted to tell you is that Henry’s always known he wasn’t ‘ours.’ He was around five or six when we found him so there was no point in pretending, not that we would have. But we’ve never discussed it. He’s never asked about his birth parents, never questioned our relationship. He’s alluded to it enough times that I’m sure he knows the reality of things. Used to make jokes to his dad and me about how much shorter we were, because we don’t have his ‘Viking genes.’ But never, not once in almost thirty years, has he asked about our situation, not until last night.”
I’m trying to absorb everything she’s telling me, but it’s so . . .much. I see her eyeing me like it’s now my turn to talk.
“What did he ask you?”
Her pursed lips tell me this is not the response she was looking for, but it’s all that I could think of with everything swirling around in my head.
“He asked me why I never had a child of my own.”
My throat bobs once, and then I can feel the tears start to prick the corners of my eyes, the quiver of my chin start to lose control.You’ll always be disappointed that you didn’t have a child of your own, with your blood, and your brain, and your perfect cheekbones. I can’t believe I said that. I can’t believe I was that insensitive, especially aboutthis.
I’m vile. I hurt him, the man who’s done nothing but heal me.
“Lucy, I want you to know that Henry didn’t betray your trust. But our house is old, and sound carries, and well, I’m just a nosy old woman who rarely has guests. I heard you two arguing last night and I didn’t tell Henry, but I do feel as though I need to tell you.” She pauses and takes my hand in hers. The gesture is so sweet, something I don’t deserve.
“You poor girl. Everything you said is wrong. Don’t let that Jack character take away your happiness. He wants everything in life to be easy? He’ll die young of boredom. Or he’ll die young because I’ve tossed him in the Thames.” A burst of laughter escapes me, but Mary’s face is stoic. I make a note to never cross this woman.
“I’m so sorry, Mary. What I said must have really hurt you, both of you. I feel horrible.” I want to show her how sincere I am, that I wish I could take it back, but she waves her hand in front of me.
“Lucy, listen to me. You didn’t hurt anyone; you haven’t disappointed anyone. Your mother would be so proud of you. You’ve had an extra-thick, double-knotted, dipped-in-tar string of bad luck. I know what it feels like, but it doesn’t have to be forever. Forget about the man who wasn’t strong enough to stand by you. He’s in your past, but you can choose your future. You will be an amazing mother, if that’s what you want, but . . . don’t choose to be unhappy.”
My tears are falling freely down my face. I’m trying so hard to keep it together, but my emotions are overwhelming me. It feels like all I’ve done is cry lately. How do I have anything left?
“And, dear, I don’t mean to meddle, but Henry seems to be very much in love with you. If you feel the same way, please do his mum a favor and let him know that. He hasn’t received nearly enough love in his life.”
This—breaks me. I remember Henry telling me about his “faults,” how he wanted a relationship where they wouldn’t scare someone away. I thought he was joking, because to me, he’s always been flawless. If there’s one thing I’m sure of, it’s that Henry deserves to be loved. He is the kindest man I’ve ever known. He cares so deeply about others, and I’m just now realizing how difficult his life has been.
“What did you tell him?” I’m a mess, barely able to enunciate but I have to know the answer.
