Page 46 of A Merry Little Christmas

‘Yes, well, I might not be an expert in these matters, but that much I’d gleaned for myself,’ said Hilary.

No wonder she got on so well with Bernard; neither of them took any prisoners and it appeared that Hilary had no time for sentimentality. Opening up to her might actually be just what Merry needed.

‘Yes, sorry for stating the obvious. It’s my first baby.’

‘Ah. Big change then.’ The older woman flushed the loo, opened the door and joined Merry at the sink.

‘Huge,’ Merry agreed. ‘I grew up in care and haven’t had the benefit of a loving home like my husband has.’

‘My dear,’ Hilary frowned, ‘I’m so very sorry to hear that. I worked on the periphery of the social care system myself as an archivist for many years, as did Bernard, as a matter of fact. We have a robust system for looked-after children in this country, but, as you rightly say, nothing compares to the family home environment.’

‘Exactly. All I wanted growing up was to feel as if I fit in, but I never quite did. Right from my first ever stay with foster parents when my mum needed a break from looking after me. The other kids didn’t have another home elsewhere like I did. It felt like it was my fault that I was there, as if I was so badly behaved that my own mum couldn’t cope. But then, when it was time to go home, it didn’t feel right there either.’

‘So your mum was around when you were being fostered?’ Hilary shook water droplets off her hands and held them under the dryer.

Merry nodded. ‘At first. She took her own life when I was eleven.’

Hilary tutted. ‘Gosh, that’s tough.’

‘My experience of family life was gleaned from TV, or enviously glimpsed from the lens of my friends’ experiences. Neither felt real to me. We were a family of two, until we were a family of one, which isn’t a family at all. I have memories of her laughing and dancing in our flat, but are they real or imagined? Is that simply what I wanted our life together to have been? And if it was real, why didn’t she love her child enough to stay alive? She didn’t have a clue where I would be sent, or who would end up raising me. When she gave up on life, she gave up on me.’

‘Now, now,’ Hilary soothed. ‘Perhaps your mum was in a difficult situation that you weren’t aware of as a child. In my work, I came across heartbreaking stories, dire circumstances and some awful cases of pure bad luck. Of course, there were examples of bad people who should never have been allowed to have children in their care. But, in my experience, the majority of parents loved their children, and often their reasons to give up a child came from a place of love. Maybe she loved you too much to want to keep you.’

Merry let that sink in for a moment. Could her mum have been motivated by love after all? It was a heartening notion. ‘Thank you, that’s reassuring.’

‘And you didn’t have other family?’ Hilary asked.

‘She was estranged from them and there was no one else at that time. I don’t even know for sure if Ray is my father, although he’s adamant he is, and my half-sister Emily and I have decided that that’s enough. I didn’t even have anything of hers as a keepsake until my wedding day when Dad gave me the ring he’d proposed to her with. She turned him down, so it was never really hers, but it’s the best I’ve got. It’s only a small thing, but I wish she could have shared her thoughts with me, left me a note. People write suicide notes, don’t they? Maybe it wouldn’t have helped, it would have made no sense to me as a child, but now … I’d have loved a window into her world. A chance to understand and know her, woman to woman. She used to write me letters when I was with foster parents; it has always felt wrong that she didn’t leave me one final letter.’

Hilary winced. ‘That’s a shame. You know, perhaps she did, and it got mislaid. Things got filed or stored away for safekeeping for when the child was older. But the system wasn’t fail-safe and occasionally items got misplaced or misfiled. It has improved now thanks to digitalisation. In fact, that was one of my jobs in the 1990s; to handle the transition from paper to computer records. It used to drive me mad when I came across documents which weren’t in their correct file.’

Hilary disappeared into her memories for a moment.

‘Maybe that’s how I should view it,’ said Merry, ‘that Mum did leave me a letter but that it went missing.’

‘It’s not an entirely preposterous supposition.’ Hilary frowned. ‘What was her name?’

‘Sam, Sammy Shaw,’ Merry supplied. ‘She called me “M”, which is ironic because I call my sister Emily “Em”.’

‘M,’ Hilary murmured. ‘M, hmmm. Gosh, that does …’ She cleared her throat. ‘I’m sorry, dear, your story has brought back some memories and I feel a little unsteady.’

‘Are you all right?’ Merry asked, concerned. ‘I’m so sorry. I’ve completely overshared with an almost stranger.’

‘Not at all, and don’t apologise.’ Hilary blinked as if clearing her vision. ‘I’d better get back to Bernard before he works out the Scrabble points for “search party”!’

‘Of course, sorry to have kept you. I’ll say goodbye to Dad and head home. Lovely meeting you.’

‘You too, dear, you too. You sent me on quite a trip down memory lane.’

‘Thank you for listening to me.’

Hilary took both of Merry’s hands in hers. ‘I know I don’t look like it, but I’m an old hippy at heart and a big believer in fate. I think we were meant to meet.’

‘Me too,’ she agreed. ‘Just when I needed someone to confide in, there you were.’

‘I don’t have children, so feel free to take my advice with a pinch of salt, but I would wager that you have a much wider support network to help with baby than your mother did, so try not to worry about the things that might go wrong, focus on the things you’re looking forward to.’

Merry nodded. ‘You’re right of course. I’ll try.’