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I banish those thoughts. I’ve enough to contend with dealing with the here and now, without filling my head with what might be.
The bedroom is still dark when I enter, the curtains closed. She’s motionless, the only sound that of her laboured breathing. I approach the bed.
“Mum, are you awake?” I keep my voice low. If she’s sleeping, I won’t disturb her.
“Love?” she croaks. Her fingers move on top of the quilt, as though searching for my hand.
I wrap her cold fingers in mine. “I’m here. Is there anything I can do for you?”
For several seconds she just grasps my hand, then she opens her eyes. For once, her vision is clear. She holds my gaze. “Actually, there is.”
“Okay. What do you need?”
“My… my daughter.”
“I’m here, Mum.” I squeeze her hand.
“No.” She shakes her head. “I need both my daughters.”
Both?
“Mum, you’re getting a bit confused.” I keep my tone gentle, patient. The doctor warned that she might become disoriented, the effects of her medication. “There’s just me, and I’m here, with you.”
“Naomi…” she whispers. “I need to see her.”
“My name is Ruth,” I begin. “You must remember…”
“Yes, I do. Of course I do. You’re Ruth. My little Ruthie. Such a good girl…”
I hug her, but almost wish I hadn’t. She’s so frail, so fragile. I’m scared I might break her.
“I was talking about Naomi… your sister.”
“I don’t have a sister.”
She nods. “You do. My Naomi. She’d be… six years older than you.”
I can only stare at her. Her eyes are lucid, there’s no hint of doubt or confusion.
“It was before I met your father,” she continues, a new note of determination in her voice. “But he knew about her. He knew about Naomi.”
“What happened?” I whisper, no longer doubting that there is something here. Something she’s hellbent on telling me. “Where is Naomi now?”
“I don’t know. I couldn’t keep her, you see. She was adopted.”
“Oh, my God…”
“I was just a child myself then. Seventeen. I’d no one to help me, I just couldn’t manage. I tried, I tried so hard, but it was no good. She was always hungry, always crying. I had nothing to give her. She needed more. It wasn’t enough that I loved her. I loved her so much, but she needed security, a safe place to live, to grow up.”
“Oh, Mum.” I grip her hand hard.
“I need to know she forgives me, that she understands why I did it. I need to tell her that I loved her, I always have.”
“She’ll know. She must realise…”
“Why would she? What if I did the wrong thing? What if she wasn’t happy?”
“You did what you thought was best.” I don’t really understand what drove my mother to give up her child, but whatever the circumstances, I have no doubt that she felt she was left with no option. She’s the most loving person I know. She was a wonderful mum to me. It would have torn her apart to give up her baby.
