The Love Child by Rachel Hore

Author:Rachel Hore [Hore, Rachel]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781471157011
Publisher: Simon & Schuster UK

Twenty-seven

‘Alice.’ She spoke the name aloud for the first time to Tom two days later with the dogs down by the harbour. They were sitting on the harbour wall eating plums from a bag and watching an elderly man in overalls write a name onto the prow of a newly painted yacht.

‘Nonsense. It’s the “Merry Something”, if you ask me.’

‘Not the boat, silly. My mother’s name is Alice Copeman.’

Tom looked at her, puzzled, and she sighed. He obviously hadn’t heard her faltering explanation. His mind was somewhere miles away today.

‘I found out what my real mother’s name is,’ she said, exasperated.

She had his full attention now. ‘How?’ he asked, and she told him. She didn’t mention snooping among her parents’ private possessions as she didn’t know if he would approve. Instead she let him assume she’d come across the document while on some legitimate search.

‘Did it say where she lived?’

‘No.’ She thought for a moment. ‘There was the name of an organization in London at the bottom, though. The adoption agency.’ She was cross with herself for not properly noticing.

‘It might be possible to find her then.’

‘I don’t think I want to at the moment,’ she said slowly. ‘It would upset Mum and Dad. And . . . she may not want to be found.’ Irene was talking partly to herself. The truth was that it was too big a step; frighteningly so.

The expression that flitted across Tom’s face showed that he understood. They were silent for a while, finishing the plums.

‘They might not know where she is now anyway,’ Irene said, licking her sticky fingers.

‘Even if they only had an old address it would help,’ he said gently.

She stared down at the path and drew a circle in the grit with the tip of her shoe.

‘Copeman is not that unusual a name,’ Tom went on. ‘Though she might have married, of course.’

She looked up at him in horror, not having thought of this obvious fact. The Alice of her dreams was still young. Now common sense told her that after fifteen years she might indeed be married. There might be brothers and sisters that she’d never met. A lump formed in her throat. They probably didn’t know she existed. Her mother had rejected her and kept them. The world around her tilted suddenly.

‘Irene?’ Tom sounded calm, dependable. He touched her hand.

‘She didn’t call me Irene in the letter,’ she said at last. ‘Maybe she didn’t even give me a name.’

‘You don’t know that.’

Her mood rose and fell like a stormy sea, tipping between hope and dismay.

The old man had finished painting the name on his boat. He’d called it the Merry Maiden. Irene stared at it, feeling decidedly unmerry. Tom nudged her. ‘Cheer up. There’s no point in brooding over it.’

She gave a weak smile and nudged him back. He poked her in the ribs and she squirmed away, laughing. Tom always managed to jolly her along.

It was wonderful how firmly they’d become friends. Her mother had given up forbidding it now that Irene was older.

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