The Other Life of Charlotte Evans Page 8

  Chapter Six

  Answers, it seemed, were a lot easier to find these days with the glide of a computer mouse and a decent internet search engine. The agency she’d instructed to chase down her birth mum had been successful – at least, they’d given Charlotte some details. A confirmation of her name. An email address.

  Details that had made her hands shake and brought a fierce lump to her throat, because did she really want to do this? To chase down a ghost after twenty-five years? She wasn’t sure now she was staring the reality in the face.

  But a week later there’d been no reply from the tentative email Charlotte had sent to her birth mother, giving minimal details and asking very few questions. She’d agonised over what to say, what to ask. In her head, she’d created a dozen scenarios, imagining her birth mother opening the email and crying. In delight, which was the preferable response. In fear. In anger. That was one of the most painful thoughts – that she was bringing up a difficult past for a stranger. That she could hurt someone she’d never even met, but with whom she shared the deepest of connections.

  And the worst thing of all; that her birth mother was into the pretence game too. That even in her quiet moments, her alone time, she pretended Charlotte had never existed. That she’d hoped it was true.

  In the end Charlotte had done everything she could by extending a hand but was coming to the conclusion that, in reality, maybe nothing would ever be enough. Maybe she would never be enough. Her mother had given her away all those years ago and still didn’t want contact. For whatever reason. There was no point trying to second-guess her motives back then or now – but this whole episode clearly wasn’t going to have a fairy-tale ending.

  Not that she’d been expecting one, but she’d thought… wished… that those answers she was searching for would be within reach.

  So Charlotte packed all those hopes away and focused once more on the wedding. This was, after all, the highlight of her life and she didn’t want anything to get in the way of that.

  Sitting on her bed – because that was the only place she was able to sit in the house, due to everything else being covered in plastic sheets – she consulted her list. ‘Righto, we’ve got the venue, band, food all sorted. Now to confirm the favours… sometimes I wish we’d booked a wedding planner.’

  Just about to open a new internet tab, she glanced down at her inbox and saw it.

  ‘Oh God. Ben! Ben! Quick!’

  After a crash and a very bad, very loud curse, and stomps across new wooden floors, Ben burst into the master bedroom. He had white paint in the tips of his cropped hair, on his nose, his cheek. He was brandishing a paintbrush in one hand and his other fist was clenched. His body was tense, eyes narrowed, ready for trouble. ‘What’s the matter, Charl? Are you okay?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ Charlotte turned the laptop she was cradling on her knees towards him. Her heart thumped hard at the sight of the name in her inbox. ‘I’ve had an email from her.’

  ‘Oh. An email. Is that all? With all the screaming I thought you were being attacked. I caught my knee on the stepladder. Hurts like a bugger.’ He rubbed his leg with his non-paintbrush hand and grimaced, his head obviously not in the same place as hers. When he looked back up and saw her frown he paused. ‘Sorry. You’ve had an email from who?’

  ‘Carol.’ Just saying the name had her heart racing again. There were pangs of excitement and then fear rushing through her. Would they look alike? Would she want to see the baby she gave away? How was she feeling?

  ‘Carol who?’

  ‘The woman who gave birth to me?’ Was it that hard to follow? This was a big deal. Surely? Making contact with your mother after twenty-odd years was a big deal. Charlotte was so close now.

  ‘Oh. I didn’t realise you were so keen to find her that you’d run ahead and do it so soon.’

  In true Evans style she’d stopped mentioning it, had suffered in silence as she’d refreshed her inbox over and over, her heart literally in her mouth every single time. ‘This is very important to me. I don’t know if I dare open it. Look, I’m shaking. God, Ben… what do you think she’s going to say?’

  Ben’s frown dissolved as he watched Charlotte’s hands hovering over the keyboard. He stopped rubbing his leg. ‘Okay, shove over.’

  ‘No! Paint!’ Like a shot she pushed his descending backside back up with her palm. ‘Wet paint!’

  ‘Ah. Good call.’ He disappeared for a moment then came back with a towel, which he spread over the duvet. Then he sat down next to her on the bed. ‘You want me to open it and read it first?’

  Did she? ‘Would you? I mean – I don’t know. What if it’s really personal?’

  He frowned again. ‘So? You’d still want me to read it, wouldn’t you? Or you’d tell me what it said.’

  She had no secrets from him. They always told each other everything and supported each other too. Always had. ‘Yes. Yes, of course I’d tell you.’

  ‘So, if you’re too scared to read it, then let me.’ Gently, he took the computer from her hands, but before he opened the email he kissed the top of her head. ‘You’re very brave doing this, Charl. It’s a biggie, I know. I don’t get why you’re doing it, but I can see it’s something you need to do. Let’s get it done.’

  ‘Thank you.’ He was trying, she could see that, but she also understood the subtext was let’s get it done and dusted and out of the way so we can focus on more important things. He didn’t get it because she didn’t talk about it. Couldn’t explain it more than her feeble itch that needed scratching thing. Which wasn’t helping, but the moment she tried to say more, she just looked at his beautiful face and found herself worrying that, if she said the wrong thing or rocked the boat, he’d un-choose her too. So she kept it to herself, like she always had.

  Unable and unwilling to read over his shoulder, she watched his face for any kind of hint of what the email contained. But he put all that cop training to good use and remained completely impassive. Eventually he shrugged and handed the laptop back to her. ‘Okay. Nothing scary. Nothing hurtful. You’ll be okay.’

  ‘Right then.’ Charlotte took a deep breath and leaned forward to read the email.

  Hello Charlotte,

  I can’t say your email was a surprise. I’ve been expecting it ever since you were legally allowed to find me.

  But I am surprised they kept the name I picked for you, happy too. You looked just like a Charlotte to me. I’m assuming you have questions, as do I. So I think it would be good to meet.

  Let me know a convenient time. I’m in Highgate. Perhaps you could come over if it isn’t too far?

  Carol

  Whoa. It was like an invitation for an interview. Well, maybe it was. ‘There really isn’t anything in there at all, is there? No emotion whatsoever. I’m trying to read between the lines to see if she’s happy about the contact or not. But there’s nothing.’

  ‘Well, maybe it’s not her style to put everything out there. It’s not as if she knows you, or trusts you to be gentle with her. It can’t have been easy living with having to give your baby up. What did you write to her in your email?’

  ‘Look.’ Charlotte clicked open the email attached to Carol’s. ‘I just asked if she was the same Carol Burns who gave birth to a girl on 29th March 1992, and that I thought I might be her daughter. That I’d like to meet if she did.’

  ‘So nothing else?’

  Should she have said more? Everything she’d read had said to be brief and not confrontational. ‘I didn’t want to scare her off, or say too much, or make it look like I hated her for giving me up, or that I wanted a major love fest of long-lost souls and a dramatic reunion.’

  Ben leaned against the headboard and looked at her, as if trying to read her thoughts. ‘Do you? Is that what you’re hoping for?’

  He had a point. She thought about how many times she’d imagined Carol crying with delight at the sight of her daughter after all these years… then kept that to herself, because he’d only say s
omething about being realistic. ‘Oh, I don’t know. I guess I’ll know more once I’ve met her. I’m really just trying to find out information about my family history.’

  His eyes rolled as if he really didn’t believe a word she was saying. ‘When will you go?’

  There was so much to do and somehow she had to make everything a priority. But this… this… was her first concern now. Her mother wanted to meet her. Wow. She quelled the panic in her gut and scanned her calendar. ‘I have classes Saturday morning. Should I go after that? Or wait until Sunday? Should I go on my own or do you want to come?’

  ‘I don’t know if it’s the right thing for me to come. I mean…’ Ben looked faintly sick at her suggestion. ‘It’s private, right? Between you two. You don’t want rubberneckers. Besides, I’m on afternoons all weekend so I couldn’t even if I wanted to. She’s only in Highgate. It’s not far.’

  ‘No. So close, all this time. I mean, just a Tube ride away. I might have walked past her in the street. She might have been on the same bus or in the same Tube carriage. She might have served me in a shop… or I might have danced onstage in front of her. We might—’

  ‘Yep, I get it. At any point in the past twenty zillion years, you could have met and not known.’ He pinched her cheek gently between his thumb and forefinger. ‘I really hope you find what you’re looking for, Charl. But please be realistic.’

  ‘I am.’

  ‘Yeah.’ Again the look of disbelief. ‘Go see her on Sunday and then maybe you could arrange to see Eileen afterwards and debrief?’

  Charlotte’s stomach lurched at the prospect of going from one parent to the next and dishing dirt… and adding hurt. ‘Oh, I don’t know. I feel funny about letting her know what I’ve done. Maybe I shouldn’t tell her until after I’ve been and worked my feelings out.’

  He shook his head, breathing out heavily. ‘See, this is what I meant about rocking the boat. You’re hiding things from her.’

  ‘I’m protecting her.’

  ‘And yourself. Why do you need to do that if things aren’t going to change?’ Another deep breath as if he was struggling to make sense of it all. ‘You know, maybe you shouldn’t do it just yet, Charl. You’ve got enough on your plate with only a few weeks to go, without starting a family feud or something just before the wedding. Then there’s the blood-test thing you want to do. And God knows what else you’ll think of.’

  He was starting to sound stressed about it all. If she wanted to keep him onside she had a choice to make, but how could a blood test compare with meeting her mother? ‘Okay. Well, I promise not to do anything about the blood test. Not yet, anyway.’

  ‘Until after the wedding? Okay? When things are a bit less crazy and less… emotional for you both?’ His voice started to rise, but he snapped silent as Charlotte’s phone rang.

  ‘Oh. It’s Lissa.’

  He rolled his eyes again, this time more playfully. ‘And there’s my cue to leave. Glossing the door is looking far more attractive than listening to you two organise your hen party.’

  ‘You’re only jealous because you didn’t think about staying on a houseboat in Amsterdam.’

  ‘Nah, only that none of my stags suggested a naked cruise to Greece. What a wasted opportunity.’

  She gave his bum a quick squeeze as he stood up, hoping for a kiss. But he was a man on a mission, brandishing his paintbrush in front of him. Either that or her interest in her blood family was starting to niggle. Actually, it was the only thing they clashed about these days. Clashing wasn’t something they’d ever done before.

  It was all her fault, expecting him to support her in this and getting huffy when he didn’t, disregarding his logic and advice. But he wasn’t the one with questions. He had all his answers. Life was simple for him.

  ‘Hey! It’s all sorted.’ Lissa was breathless and sounded as if she was running.

  ‘Are you okay? What’re you doing?’

  ‘I’m walking up Camden High Street, meeting Ryan for a drink. And I’m late… as always. But I just wanted to let you know the boats are booked, the flights confirmed… Amsterdam, here we come!’

  ‘Ryan? Who’s Ryan?’

  ‘Oh, he’s the guy I met at the Apollo. I told you about him, didn’t I? DJ?’ Charlotte heard the smile in her friend’s voice, ‘Tall. Gorgeous. Seriously sexy. Great in bed.’

  ‘No. You were too hungover and I had to go out, and then there was the lump thing and we’ve never quite caught up on that particular night.’ Charlotte felt so out of the loop with her friend’s life. Had she been too focused on herself recently? Yes. She was going to be much more receptive to others’ issues from now on. Life wasn’t all about her. It was about Ben and Eileen and Lissa – the people who had been by her side for years.

  Lissa’s voice started to even out and she sounded a lot less like a pervert deep breathing down the phone. ‘Are you okay, Charlie? You sound a bit low. Or pissed off, or something? Did I do something wrong?’

  ‘God, no. You’re brilliant, as always. Thanks for organising the weekend. I can’t wait. I really need to get away. I’m a bit stressed out, to be honest.’ Charlotte rubbed the bridge of her nose and dragged her eyes away from Carol’s email. You looked just like a Charlotte to me. There was a sudden sting in her throat. ‘I can’t seem to focus on one thing, my head’s all over the place.’

  ‘Nothing a load of cocktails won’t sort out, trust me.’

  Charlotte closed the laptop. Enough. ‘Yes! Cocktails are seriously needed. Oh, and I have some news… I heard back from my birth mum.’

  ‘No way? Wow! What did she say? Are you really a Russian princess she had to give up in order to protect your inheritance? Please say you are. I always wanted to be a secret Russian princess.’

  Lissa was the only one who seemed to understand what Charlotte was working through in regards to her birth mum and how hard it had been for her to keep her emotions under wraps at home. To be fair, she was the only one she’d ever really opened up to about it. When they were younger and away from adult ears, they’d played this game. Was Charlotte descended from royalty? Gypsies? The product of two star-crossed lovers? ‘Sadly, I seriously doubt it.’

  Lissa huffed. ‘Too bad. When I found out you were adopted it sounded so chic and glamorous I wanted to be too. I asked my mum if I was and she said… if I’d had a choice, do you honestly think I’d have kept you?’

  ‘Ouch.’ There was a history of poor communication between Lissa and her mum, and Charlotte was grateful that had never happened with her and Eileen. Yet. ‘Trust me, there is nothing glamorous about being adopted. She didn’t give me any details, but…’ Charlotte inhaled sharply. This was feeling more and more surreal. ‘I’m going to meet her.’

  ‘Wow. Can I come? No. No, that’s a stupid idea. But that’s why your head’s all over the place. That and the lump scare. What do you need?’

  Charlotte smiled. At last. There were some things you just didn’t need to explain to your best friend, and some things they supported you in, no matter what. ‘I was going to ask, could you meet me afterwards for a drink? I think I might need someone.’

  ‘Of course. You know I’m always there for you.’ There was a pause. ‘But be careful, lovely. Be careful.’

  Coffee Time Café was nestled in a row of shops at the bottom of a block of flats, on Garden Lane, Highgate, that looked as if they’d been built in the nineteen-sixties. Run of the mill, Charlotte thought, and council-owned, with a badly botched graffiti-covering job on the end wall. Standing a little way back from the road, the five-storey brick building was fronted by a small fenced garden that looked newly renovated. A group of young boys chased a ball towards a goal area made from a pair of trainers and bundles of jackets. They stopped and watched Charlotte as she made her way towards the café and she, in turn, gave them a wobbly smile, wondering if any of them were related to her. Wondering, wondering…

  There was an old hanging basket swinging from a hook next to the bubbled-glass caf�
� door, the flowers long dead. Other than that it looked like a perfectly ordinary coffee shop in a perfectly normal neighbourhood.

  Charlotte felt anything but normal. Who would have thought that meeting a long-lost relative would make your heart hurt so much and cause your stomach to feel like a washing machine on the spin cycle?

  She lifted her hand to open the door then stopped. Wild thoughts ricocheted in her head. Was this the most ridiculous idea? Why had she come on her own? What the hell was she going to say? Do?

  Run?

  Because what if this was a complete disaster? She couldn’t handle another rejection by the woman who’d given birth to her, but she was amply aware that might happen. She swallowed hard, trying to control her rapid heartbeat.

  Run.

  She turned to walk away. Catch her breath. Control her nerves. Run.

  But the door swung open and there, in front of her, was a woman with mousy-coloured hair cut into a wayward short bob that framed her thin face.

  ‘Are you… Charlotte?’ The way the lady said her name was as if it was the most precious thing in the world; almost a whisper. Magic. Ethereal. She was the same height, same build. In fact, so many little things were the same. The slightly bent little finger as she raised her hand to her cheek. The unruly hair. Pale-blue eyes. The high cheekbones and slightly uneven eyebrows that no one else would have noticed, but Charlotte did, because she’d been looking at exact copies for her whole life.

  The woman looked as petrified as Charlotte felt. But then she smiled. It was small and anxious but it said enough. She was glad Charlotte had come.

  ‘Yes, I’m Charlotte.’

  The woman stuck out her hand. ‘I’m Carol. Your… your…’ Her voice trailed away. She didn’t say mum. It was obvious she didn’t feel she could claim that mantle. Charlotte had imagined someone larger than life, not meek. She’d imagined someone taller, bigger, not petite. She’d imagined… heck, she’d built a picture in her mind made of assumptions; the reasons she was given up, the kind of person who suggested they meet in a place like this.