‘No I suppose not. If anything, the way they told it, they made me feel even more wanted than if I’d been their own flesh and blood.’
‘That’s good; there was no missing the kindness in your mother or indeed how much they both wanted you.’ She laughed then, a gentle, hollow sound. ‘You know I did think of holding onto you myself. On the journey over, I dreamt about not letting you go, maybe running off to London, but it was all just fantasy. I couldn’t have kept you anymore than… well…’
‘You remember my mother?’
‘Oh, my dear, dear man.’ She shook her head. An expression of something that was more than just sadness crossed her eyes. ‘I knew her well, in fact…’ A small tear ran down her cheek. ‘You really have no idea, do you?’ she asked then.
‘No. That’s why I came here.’
‘You came to the very best place…’ Mother Agatha said kindly.
‘But you said he wasn’t born in St Nunciata’s?’ Elizabeth said and suddenly when she looked at Dan she began to wonder if perhaps…
‘You already know, don’t you?’ The nun smiled at Elizabeth, a playful movement of her lips.
‘No, as Elizabeth said, I’ve just met brick walls everywhere I’ve turned. It’s as if I never existed.’ Actually, after seeing the convent and meeting Sister Berthilde, he had told Elizabeth he might have to accept that he would never know who had given birth to him; perhaps he would have to make peace with that. At least Elizabeth felt that she’d tried to make him understand now why he was given up and maybe he could feel more compassion for the woman who gave birth to him than he did any kind of bitterness.
‘Indeed, it probably is that.’ She looked towards her sister. ‘Delores dear, will you bring in tea and if you don’t mind, Dan, I’d like to tell you all a story when we’ve had a slice of that lovely cake Elizabeth has baked for me.’
It seemed to Elizabeth as if the room, old-fashioned and all as it was, was the perfect place to drink tea and listen to stories, so they sat back and waited until she’d had a large slice of cake and brushed the crumbs from her robes; then she was ready.
‘The story I’m going to tell you now, is of a young girl who found herself in trouble at a time when there was nothing else for it but to give up your baby or forever bring shame upon your family. However, this young girl did what she thought was best for her baby and she married a respectable, older man who promised to give both her and her child a good life. Perhaps it would have all worked out well, in the end…’
Elizabeth felt her chest constrict, the most terrible opening up of pain somewhere deep within her, as if a vast chasm of grief was about to engulf her. She felt the tears trickle down her cheek, but there was no stopping them. Dan reached out and took her hand and she held onto it tightly, as if her very life depended on it.
Mother Agatha looked across at Elizabeth now, who had started to cry, a soft keening sound that might have come from a heartbroken child but she nodded at the nun to continue.
‘Except the man she married was not what he seemed to be and unfortunately the child she was carrying turned out to be more like his biological father than she ever realised…’
‘Oh, God. Vano?’ Elizabeth whispered. ‘He was Roma, but I never thought…’
‘No, of course you didn’t, dear, how could you? You were hardly more than a child yourself. Anyway, when the baby arrived – coloured and obviously not the child of Dr O’Shea, the midwife panicked. Sister Bernadette took the child out for the doctor to decide what the best thing to do was.’
‘After all this time…’ Elizabeth shook her head. There was no wrapping her understanding around the words that were upending the sadness she’d carried for so many years.
‘You see, a man like that—’ Mother Agatha leant towards Dan now ‘—so very respectable, front seat of the church every Sunday, well he couldn’t possibly bring home a coloured baby, could he?’
‘They told me you died, that your heart was too weak.’ Elizabeth was crying now, the tears racing down her cheeks, her shoulders shuddering, her expression a mixture of relief, sadness and sheer joy. ‘Oh, my darling boy…’ She reached out and placed her hand on his face, still taking in the truth of it all. ‘My, darling, darling child, I can’t believe it’s you after all this time.’
‘So, I’m…’ Dan couldn’t find the words. It was all too much to take in, but he was crying, tears of happiness. His eyes were filled with the same joy that Elizabeth knew was marking out her own.