Page 75 of Statistically Speaking
When they finish and the letter is safely back in its protective cocoon, I look at them eagerly.
“So?” I say. “What do you think? Doesn’t she sound amazing? Doesn’t she sound happy?”
“She does, love,” replies Margie, reaching out across the tabletop to pat my hand. “And I know that’s the main thing for you. I know you’ve always secretly been worried that you gave her up to have a better life, but you’ve never been convinced that that was what she got. Now you know—she one hundred percent did. She sounds like a bright young woman with the world at her feet, and she’s someone you can be very proud of.”
“Well, I am proud of her,” I say, frowning as I think it through. “But I’m also aware that the pride belongs to her parents, really.To Sue and Richie. They’re the ones who raised her. I just grew her in my belly and donated some genetic material. What do you think, Erin? I’m going to write back to her tonight, and I’m already obsessing about what I should say. I don’t want to overwhelm her, or come across as desperate—even though I sort of am!”
Erin smiles gently, and I know that this might be a scenario she has imagined being on the other side of many times. That the whole issue of children, biological or not, might be a bittersweet one for her. Katie is not searching for her parents right now, is not looking to be reunited with them, but that might change. Erin, like Beth’s family, will be supportive—but she will also be nervous.
“I think she sounds amazing, Gemma. I think her parents sound amazing too, and I know how hard it must have been for her mum to help her write that letter. That took real courage and shows how much they love her. I think they got it just right, don’t you? It’s early days yet, but the door is open now—it’s a beginning. If I was her mum, I’d be proud of her too, and also a bit scared about what all of this means—not just for me but for her. I’d be concerned and have some reservations.”
“Like what?” I ask, leaning forward, elbows perched on the table, genuinely keen to know. If there are reservations, I want to address them.
“Well, we know you, Gemma. We know you’ve gone on to make something of your life. We know you are clever and kind and in your own weird way extremely sorted. But they don’t know that yet, do they? For all her mum and dad know, you could be a complete mess. Your life could be a disaster zone, and you could be a bad influence. At worst, you could besomeone who might exploit their daughter in some way. Drag her down, emotionally or even financially.”
I sit back, horrified at the words, feeling their sting. I have never considered this, but of course she is right. They know nothing about me and must be anxious, waiting to see if I will be an asset to Beth’s life or a drain on her emotions.
Their first impressions of me, all that they actually know about me, stem from the fact that I was a sixteen-year-old in care who got pregnant. Not exactly the most inspiring beginning.
Erin looks upset when she sees my reaction and quickly adds: “I know you’re not any of those things—I’m not suggesting you are. I’m just telling you how they might feel. How I might feel. Their number one priority will be to protect her, and they don’t know yet whether you are someone she will need protecting from. Does that make sense? Please don’t hate me. I didn’t mean to burst your bubble!”
“No, it’s all right,” I reply, shaking my head. “It’s okay. I asked what you thought, and this is what I needed to hear. I’m sitting here popping champagne corks and they might be sitting at home wondering what kind of threat they might have invited into their daughter’s life. It’s useful to know, and it will help me write that letter—because I know she will show it to her parents. I’ll be writing it as much to her mum as to her. What do you think I should say? What will reassure them?”
Erin looks relieved and gulps down a few mouthfuls from her glass.
“Well, I think you need to write from the heart and not go overboard on the reassurance—it’s not like you need to send them a copy of your CV! Just tell them about yourself. Tellthem that you’re a teacher. Tell them that you have friends. Tell them that you have a partner, and almost a dog—that seems to be a big winner with them. Just make sure they know that this is a good thing, not a scary one.”
Katie has been quiet throughout this exchange, and I know she must be soaking it up. It must be odd for her, hearing her mum’s views on the issue, and I know she will be storing some of this away in her giant brain.
I glance at her and raise my eyebrows.
“I think,” she announces, “that you just need to tell her you’ve always loved her. That you’ve never forgotten her or stopped thinking about her. That you know her real mum and dad will always be exactly that—her real mum and dad. That you’re not looking to replace them, because you couldn’t ever. But that if she wants to, you’d like to stay in touch, take it slowly, and get to know her better. That’s what I’d want to hear. You’re not that bad, you know, for a grown-up—hey, if you like, I’ll write you a reference!”
We all laugh, and the thought of it takes some of the tension away. I dread to think what would constitute a reference from an eighteen-year-old: gives me booze and does dance-offs?
I look around the table at the three of them. One who is old enough to be my mother. One who is young enough to be my daughter. One in the middle, who is my friend. Different ages, different backgrounds, different people—but every single one of them completely perfect in their own way. I feel suddenly weepy, overcome with the realization that for the first time in my life, I have this—I have my own tribe.
I have Karim. I have the Three Witches. I am in touch with my own mother, and with my child. I can feel Bill licking myankles beneath the table. All is well in the world, and I offer up a silent prayer of gratitude to whoever might be listening.
“Thank you,” I say eventually. “All of you. You three, and that PE teacher guy, have changed my life. I couldn’t have done any of this without you, without your encouragement and support and without the dancing and the drinking and the laughing. I’ve gone from being scared of everything to feeling excited about the future. I don’t even count as much anymore! Everything has changed, everything—and you are all part of it.”
“Are you crying, miss?” asks Katie, calling me “miss” out of school because she knows it will amuse me. Possibly stop me from descending into full-on sobbing.
“I just might be,” I say, swiping at my face. “That or I’ve got something in my eye. Anyway, thank you—I mean it, I really do. And if Beth ever reaches the stage where she wants to meet me, I’ll be taking all of you with me. Me, you three, Karim, Bill. Road trip. It’s all or nothing.”
Margie cackles and replies, “What on earth would she think if she saw all of us trooping around with you like bodyguards? How would you explain that one?”
“It’s pretty simple,” I answer. “I’d tell her the truth. I’d tell her that you’re my family. The one I made for myself.”
Chapter 33
One New Beginning
Five months later
We have been in this pretty town for hours already, because someone—that would be me—insisted on heading out at five in the morning, “just to be sure.” We made the drive down in torrential rain, the same rain that has been battering the land for weeks now, flooding fields and bursting riverbanks and flattening gardens.
As soon as we arrived, it changed—one of those strange moments when the downpour just stopped, sudden and unexpected, as though a giant overhead tap had been switched off. The sun emerged, rainbows appeared, and we all stood in the hotel car park staring up at the dry blue sky as though we’d never seen such a thing before.
