not caught up on washing and ironing and tomorrow’s going to be hectic at work. I’d better get back.’
She is distracted – momentarily – from her plans by the memory of last night. ‘Cal.’
‘Yeah?’
‘When you said we’d get a hot take-away I didn’t realise you meant, like, hot .’ She grins at him and is rewarded by a glint in his eye and a ‘cheeky bitch’ before he reaches across the handbrake and pulls her to him.
‘Mannie,’ he says when the kiss ends. He pulls away far enough so that he can focus on her face.
‘What is it?’ she asks, her insides still molten.
‘Oh —nothing. Just be careful what you wish for, that’s all.’
Mannie dismisses his caution with an airy, ‘I will be, I promise,’ retrieves her handbag and swings the door closed. She gives it a smart slap with the palm of her hand by way of farewell and bends to wave at him through the passenger window as he starts the engine again and pulls off.
As she opens the door to the communal stairway she can’t wait to race upstairs.
Christ, she thinks, just wait till I tell Jen and Myra about this.
Chapter Nine
Susie has been an actress all her life, as far back as she can remember. Even before she enlisted the help of Elsie Proudfoot’s son, Jimmy (and later of Karen) she used to line up her teddy bears and dolls on her bed and perform for them. When she was satisfied, she called her parents in and made them sit down to watch.
‘I’m doing Cinderella,’ she might say, having borrowed a pair of her mother’s best court shoes for the purpose. Or, ‘I’m Little Red Riding Hood and Daddy, you’re to be the wicked wolf. Mummy can be the grandmother.’
Where did all that acting come from? Her mother, Mary MacPherson, endlessly patient, was round and rosy cheeked, with bright little currant eyes and dark hair. She always wore a ‘pinnie’, Susie remembers a generous floral affair that tied on over her skirt and blouse. The kitchen was her domain, not the stage. Her baking was legendary – not, sadly a trait Susie has inherited, though her standby biscuits, melting moments, have become a household staple.
So: no acting gene, no baking gene. No facility with numbers, like her father, no aptitude for crosswords. She doesn’t look like either her mother, small and dumpy, nor her father, pin-neat and big-eared. These aren’t matters Susie has ever stopped to think about. Her way of dealing with life is to fly through it at breakneck speed, fill it with people and entertainment and great causes – and why would you pause to consider something that hasn’t even occurred to you?
But now everything is different. Her life has turned a cartwheel, done a back flip, ended in a somersault and has left her sprawled on the floor like a clown doing acrobatics, not knowing which way is up.
‘Don’t expect me to help you, Mannie,’ she said to her daughter. ‘I’ve got too many other problems.’ But the discouragement has clearly been insufficient to hold Mannie back, because she calls her at the Parliament a few days later.
‘I’m really busy, sweetheart,’ Susie says, ‘Can this wait?’
‘It’ll only take a minute, Mum. Listen, I’ve spoken to this agency. The first thing you’ve got to do is get hold of your birth certificate, your real one.’
‘How do I do that?’ Susie can feel herself being dragged along in the wake of Mannie’s forcefulness.
‘You take this abbreviated birth certificate thingie along to the National Records of Scotland and they cross check it against something called the Adopted Children’s Register.’
‘Goodness, it sounds daunting.’
‘It’s all right, Mum, I’ll come with you.’
Somehow, the offer doesn’t feel reassuring. ‘Can I think about it for a bit?’
‘Mu-um.’ Mannie is wheedling. ‘You don’t need to go any further if you don’t want to, but at least you’ll find out your real mother’s name. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?’
‘I
She is distracted – momentarily – from her plans by the memory of last night. ‘Cal.’
‘Yeah?’
‘When you said we’d get a hot take-away I didn’t realise you meant, like, hot .’ She grins at him and is rewarded by a glint in his eye and a ‘cheeky bitch’ before he reaches across the handbrake and pulls her to him.
‘Mannie,’ he says when the kiss ends. He pulls away far enough so that he can focus on her face.
‘What is it?’ she asks, her insides still molten.
‘Oh —nothing. Just be careful what you wish for, that’s all.’
Mannie dismisses his caution with an airy, ‘I will be, I promise,’ retrieves her handbag and swings the door closed. She gives it a smart slap with the palm of her hand by way of farewell and bends to wave at him through the passenger window as he starts the engine again and pulls off.
As she opens the door to the communal stairway she can’t wait to race upstairs.
Christ, she thinks, just wait till I tell Jen and Myra about this.
Chapter Nine
Susie has been an actress all her life, as far back as she can remember. Even before she enlisted the help of Elsie Proudfoot’s son, Jimmy (and later of Karen) she used to line up her teddy bears and dolls on her bed and perform for them. When she was satisfied, she called her parents in and made them sit down to watch.
‘I’m doing Cinderella,’ she might say, having borrowed a pair of her mother’s best court shoes for the purpose. Or, ‘I’m Little Red Riding Hood and Daddy, you’re to be the wicked wolf. Mummy can be the grandmother.’
Where did all that acting come from? Her mother, Mary MacPherson, endlessly patient, was round and rosy cheeked, with bright little currant eyes and dark hair. She always wore a ‘pinnie’, Susie remembers a generous floral affair that tied on over her skirt and blouse. The kitchen was her domain, not the stage. Her baking was legendary – not, sadly a trait Susie has inherited, though her standby biscuits, melting moments, have become a household staple.
So: no acting gene, no baking gene. No facility with numbers, like her father, no aptitude for crosswords. She doesn’t look like either her mother, small and dumpy, nor her father, pin-neat and big-eared. These aren’t matters Susie has ever stopped to think about. Her way of dealing with life is to fly through it at breakneck speed, fill it with people and entertainment and great causes – and why would you pause to consider something that hasn’t even occurred to you?
But now everything is different. Her life has turned a cartwheel, done a back flip, ended in a somersault and has left her sprawled on the floor like a clown doing acrobatics, not knowing which way is up.
‘Don’t expect me to help you, Mannie,’ she said to her daughter. ‘I’ve got too many other problems.’ But the discouragement has clearly been insufficient to hold Mannie back, because she calls her at the Parliament a few days later.
‘I’m really busy, sweetheart,’ Susie says, ‘Can this wait?’
‘It’ll only take a minute, Mum. Listen, I’ve spoken to this agency. The first thing you’ve got to do is get hold of your birth certificate, your real one.’
‘How do I do that?’ Susie can feel herself being dragged along in the wake of Mannie’s forcefulness.
‘You take this abbreviated birth certificate thingie along to the National Records of Scotland and they cross check it against something called the Adopted Children’s Register.’
‘Goodness, it sounds daunting.’
‘It’s all right, Mum, I’ll come with you.’
Somehow, the offer doesn’t feel reassuring. ‘Can I think about it for a bit?’
‘Mu-um.’ Mannie is wheedling. ‘You don’t need to go any further if you don’t want to, but at least you’ll find out your real mother’s name. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?’
‘I
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