Elizabeth emerged from the surgery, with her large pink umbrella shading her from the considerable downpour that threatened to wash them all away if it continued. She smiled eagerly, as if she expected something positive from this trip. The truth was she knew that dear old Mother Agatha had nothing to do with the placing of babies from St Nunciata’s. All the same, she’d been a kind woman and a good Christian and Elizabeth hoped it would be enough to open some chink in the mystery of finding Dan’s mother.
‘If I was superstitious, I might think this weather wasn’t boding well for us,’ he said as she sat into his car.
‘Oh, don’t be worrying about this. This is the west of Ireland – we’re going to get forty days of rain either way. The only question is which season it’ll turn up in. Better to get it over with now when there’s some chance that September will dry things up again.’
‘I know I’ve said it already, Elizabeth, but I really appreciate you doing this with me,’ he said as he pulled out into the road.
‘Oh, for goodness’ sake, I’m looking forward to catching up with Agatha. I was very fond of her when she lived here in Ballycove. It’s just a pity that she’s… well, you’ll see what I mean when you meet her; she’s almost completely housebound these days.’ They passed the journey chatting about everything from the mundane weather to the latest update on his book. Dan was easy to spend time with and interesting too. She directed him to a small housing estate in the next town. The houses here were built eighty years ago at least, mostly with single glazing in their windows and old-fashioned railings around handkerchief-sized gardens.
‘This is where Agatha grew up, before she joined the convent. Her sister never left here, never married either, so I’d say she’s just glad to have her back.’ The rain had eased off enough to encourage Elizabeth to leave her umbrella in the car. She’d brought a round biscuit tin, which contained her own home-made apple cake. ‘Agatha always had a sweet tooth,’ she confided, ‘not like Berthilde. That old witch is sour to the core.’
The door was opened before Dan had a chance to ring the ancient bell and Agatha’s sister Delores ushered them into the front room. There was no getting away from the smell of boiled cabbage, but the house was cosy, with photos and postcards from all over the world pinned on the back of the sitting room door. ‘Mother Agatha has friends in just about every mission you can mention,’ Delores said proudly.
Delores, thin and brown-eyed, was the complete and utter opposite in every way to her sister. Mother Agatha was the fattest woman Elizabeth knew, decked out in black from head to toe with a sheath of white at her neck and a small veil sitting askew on her thin grey hair. The old woman held Dan’s hand for a fraction longer than usual, but her light blue eyes twinkled with something close to satisfaction. ‘Oh my…’ she said softly, looking from one to the other. ‘Oh, my, my, my.’ She was smiling broadly now.
‘We’ve come about…’ Dan started, but she held up a hand.
‘Of course, you have, dear, but you’ve already figured it out, haven’t you?’ She looked towards Elizabeth, but it wasn’t a question, it was a statement of fact.
‘No. That’s why we came here. Dan is trying to trace his mother and you’re his last chance. There doesn’t seem to be any record of him in St Nunciata’s.’
‘Dear me.’ Agatha shook her head sadly. ‘No, there wouldn’t be… He was born in the hospital.’
‘I don’t understand.’ Elizabeth looked at the old nun now.
‘It’s very simple. This child didn’t come to us because his mother wasn’t married; I remember him very clearly because his circumstances were so very unique. I placed Dan with his adoptive family in London,’ she said simply. ‘I did. I can remember that journey very clearly,’ Agatha said softly. ‘You were a beautiful baby.’ Her voice sounded very far away, as if her memories were dragging her back. ‘But of course, that was a long time ago.’ She looked from one to the other as if waiting for them to place the final pieces of the puzzle before her. She pulled herself up in her chair. ‘I felt the people who took you were good people. Was I right?’
‘Yes, they are very good people, the best parents I could have asked for really.’
‘And yet, here you are,’ the old lady said sadly. ‘It’s never the same though, is it? You must have always wondered. I mean there was never going to be any hiding the fact that you weren’t their child, was there?’