Page 94 of A Merry Little Christmas

A waitress swooped by discreetly and took their empty plates.

‘No,’ said Merry, pointedly, ‘because I was once in this position myself. What I was going to say was that there are many ways to be a parent other than simply giving birth. Olek is Max’s dad, always has been. There’s no reason for their relationship to change. There are many types of family unit, and there are thousands of children in this world who’d love the opportunity to call you and Olek “Mum and Dad”.’

‘Adoption, you mean?’

‘It’s a consideration, that’s all I’m saying.’ Merry held her hands up. ‘Your consultant has talked through all the options with you, I’m sure.’

Nell pulled a face. ‘Dr Bajek has offered, but how could I make an appointment for us when I’d told Olek it was me with the issues?’

‘Then there’s something positive to come out of all of this,’ Merry pointed out. ‘At least now the truth is out, you can move forward.’

‘Moving forward.’ Nell squeezed her eyes shut. ‘Sounds so easy when you say it quickly. I’m not sure Olek is ready to move forward with me at all.’

‘Oh, darling,’ Merry tutted with sympathy. ‘He will. I’ve never known a man love his wife as much as he does. He’s got a lot to think about, but he’ll be working his way back to you, I know it.’

Nell’s eyes started to leak tears again and she put her hand into her bag and pulled out a packet of tissues.

Merry pointed at the carpet. ‘You’ve dropped something.’

Nell reached down to retrieve what had fallen out of her bag. ‘Oh yes, ‘I picked up a few bits of post addressed to you last time I was in the shop. I meant to drop them round, but I shoved them in my bag and forgot all about them.’ She put the envelopes in Merry’s lap. ‘Here you go.’

One envelope was handwritten. ‘A Christmas card, by the look of it,’ said Merry, tearing it open.

Nell took out a tissue and carefully dabbed under her eyes, so as not to smudge her mascara. Beside her, Merry’s eyes grew wider and wider, her face paler and paler and her hands began to shake uncontrollably.

‘Merry,’ Nell sat forward, ‘what is it?’

‘I don’t believe it,’ Merry stared at her. ‘I’ve got a letter from my mum.’

Chapter 39

Hilary

Dearest Merry,

In case you don’t recall, I am a friend of Bernard’s and you and I spent a few minutes talking in the ladies, bathrooms at Springwood House recently. I was very sorry to hear of your father’s passing and send my condolences. It is a long time since I lost my own father, but I can vividly remember that for months afterwards I was aware that the space that he’d left in my life would never be refilled and I’d never again get to hear his laughter.

Apologies, one’s supposed to fill these sorts of communications with uplifting and stirring advice, isn’t one? Such as he will always be with you in your heart, et cetera. But wouldn’t it be nice if we simply spoke our minds for once? For example, what I really want to say is that it’s a damn pity that you’re going through a bereavement when, judging by the number of damp tissues you’d amassed, you clearly had plenty on your plate already. Life, as someone more erudite than I said, is a bitch and then you die. Hey ho.

Now down to brass tacks, Merry.

I mentioned to you that I had worked in social services during my career. There were reams and reams of paperwork; every case for every individual filed in manila folders and ring binders, piles and piles of it, literally mountains of paper. Generally speaking, records were well maintained, although every system has its faults, we’re only human after all. Therefore, every so often, one could come across a stray piece of paper with no evident home, and then it was the Devil’s own job to track down its correct folder.

All sorts of cases went under my nose. Unspeakable sadness and unfathomable behaviour. So much so that I’m ashamed to admit that one had to become a little impervious to the hardship of others to do one’s job, sleep at night and return refreshed the following morning to do one’s job again. But, occasionally, I’d come across a document that permeated my tough outer shell and I couldn’t shake from my mind. Something you said during our conversation jolted a memory from the past of one such document which reached in and touched my heart.

When I was heading up the computerisation of the council’s records, I was tasked with tying up each case and sending each as a whole to be scanned. I was not supposed to leave stray papers loose and uncategorised. However, I came across a handwritten letter with no notes attached, and no way of identifying the author or intended recipient. All I could deduce was that it was written by a mother to her child, whom she referred to by her initial, ‘M,’. It was a letter brimming with such love that at the time it brought me to tears. When you expressed your sadness at your mother not leaving you a note before taking her own life, the details of that letter and what I did with it came flooding back.

Since our meeting, I’ve been like a dog with a bone trying to locate the whereabouts of that letter, if indeed it still existed. I’m quite proud to say that I used somewhat dubious methods in my quest, so confident was I that it would be worth it. And, Merry, I am delighted to tell you that I found that letter. And not only that, but using your mother’s name, and yours of course, I was able to track down the file that it should have been in all along. This meant that (by pulling a few strings – luckily, my young assistant is now very senior) the handwriting in the letter could be matched with a sample of Samantha Shaw’s handwriting. Social services will be in touch with you through official channels in due course, but I felt that after all this time you deserved to see the letter as soon as humanly possible.

My dear Merry, please find enclosed a letter from your mother, I hope with all my heart that it brings you the peace you’ve been searching for.

Kind regards,

Hilary Burgess (Ms.)

December 1996

Dear M,