Trio - [57]

She whistled for Joey. The dog returned, delighted to be summoned, his tail beating, ears perked up. He licked her knee. She rubbed his head. She finished her cigarette and flicked the tab into the river. It could go all the way to the ocean.

She walked home quickly. The light was starting to fade and she was ready to go to bed. Not much revision accomplished but another day done. Another day closer to freedom. Another step nearer to the journey she was intent on making.

She had only asked once, that she could remember, when she was nine. She had learnt somehow that her adoption and Stephen’s were not talked about. Close family knew, like Auntie Min and both the grannies and Dad’s brother John. Other people must have known surely. Mum turning up to Church with a babe in arms, no former sign of pregnancy? Presumably people just took their cue from the Underwood’s reticence. So she had learnt, not that it was shameful, but that it was private. Nobody else’s business. Not quite a secret but as good as.

She’d been driven to ask after having a nightmare. So bad it had sent her to Marjorie’s room. That was unusual, for she was a child who resented rather than sought out physical affection. She had always wriggled out of Marjorie’s embrace, preferring to be unfettered. In the dream she had chopped Marjorie’s head off. Robert had shouted at her and then she had pointed to her mother and said no harm was done. Her mother’s head was back on but the face was that of a stranger.

She had reared up gasping and switched the light on. It was autumn and a moth batted against the shade, which gave her another shock, making her heart race and her breath hurt. With shadows biting at her heels she went to her parent’s room. She let her mother hug her and delayed her return to bed by asking for a glass of milk. Her mother tucked her back in and kissed her on the forehead. She put the landing light on and left Nina’s lamp off so the moth would leave her room.

The following day she waited until she could be sure no one would interrupt them and then asked her mother, ‘When you adopted me did you meet my mother that had me?’

Marjorie froze, blinked fast, put the iron down and let her hands rest lightly on the edge of the board. Nina watched her.

‘No.’

‘What was she called?’

‘I can’t remember, erm… Driscoll, I think. Yes.’

‘What was her first name?’

‘I don’t know, Nina. I don’t think they ever told us.’

Her mum looked calm but Nina could tell she was really upset. She was squashing her hands together and her lips were tight. But Nina couldn’t stop.

‘What did she call me?’

‘Claire.’

It was a shock. She hadn’t expected an answer. Claire. Claire Driscoll.

‘Did she have red hair?’

‘Yes.’

‘Why did she have me adopted?’

‘Because she wasn’t married. She wanted you to have a good home, a proper family. And that’s all we know.’ An edge in her voice. Putting an end to it. The lid on it.

Nina had gone out into the back garden, walked up the rockery to her perch by the birdbath. She felt hot and mean for asking all those questions. Horrible, but there was a bit inside burning bright because of the red hair. Red hair like Nina. She didn’t even know her first name. But red hair, ginger. She knew that now. And Nina had been baptised Claire – Claire Driscoll not Nina Underwood.

She had never spoken to her parents about it since. She couldn’t. They couldn’t. So as she planned to find out more she knew it would have to be done in secret. She had learnt that from them. The way of secrets.

Maybe she would tell them, once she’d done it. But not before. Their hurt and disapproval would make her words come out all sullen and rebellious and this wasn’t about that. About her life with them. It wasn’t about them at all. This was about her – just her.

Marjorie

They were about to eat when the slam of the front door signalled that Nina was home.

‘It’s on the table,’ Marjorie called out, and returned to cutting up the quiche.

Stephen noticed first. Made a little strangled sound and then glanced anxiously at Robert and Marjorie.

Oh, dear Lord. She’d shaved her head. Her lovely glossy red curls all gone, just stubble, like something from a concentration camp. ‘Oh, Nina.’

Her daughter smiled and had the grace to colour a little.

Robert swivelled in his chair and dropped his cutlery. ‘What in God’s name…? What on earth have you done?’

‘It’s the fashion. Suedehead, everybody’s doing it.’

‘Don’t be so stupid. Have you any idea what a sight you look? What will people think?’

He was saying all the wrong things. Marjorie could see Nina recoiling then her chin rising, the defiance stealing into her piercing blue eyes.

‘I don't care what people think.’

‘That’s ruddy well obvious. Well, you needn’t think you’re coming to Church looking like that. Like a ghoul.’

‘Robert!’ Marjorie tried to intervene. Yes, she looked a sight but teenagers were like that, well, some of them. It really wasn’t the end of the world.

‘I’m not going to Church any more anyway so you needn’t bother. It’s all a load of rubbish.’

A stunned silence greeted that little bombshell.