No One Wants You by Celine Roberts

politely informed me that my mother would be present, accompanied by her sister.
    My every waking thought for the next two weeks was concentrated on the meeting. I fantasised about every aspect of the meeting.
    We would fall into each other’s arms.
    We would hug each other for a long time.
    She would call me her long-lost daughter.
    She would say that at long last we have been reunited.
    She would tell me that I was coming home with her that very day.
    She would tell me how much she missed me.
    She would tell me that she had been searching for me for years.
    She would cry her heart out and plead with me to forgive her.
    She would promise me that she would make up for lost time with me.
    She would explain to me, ‘Why?’
    It was five minutes to three o’clock on that fateful Tuesday. The scene was set. The players were in place. At age 17, I was ready to meet my mother for the first time. It was a beautiful sunny summer afternoon.
    I rang the doorbell at the side of the big heavy wooden front door of the convent. I had agonised over my clothes for days. Eventually I chose a turquoise blue suit. Underneath it was a floral blouse. A pair of blue shoes complemented the clothes, to complete the outfit. I thought it was in good taste, and felt comfortable in it. My hair was long, blonde and curly.
    I wanted everything to be perfect. I wanted to be acceptable in every way.
    A young nun that I did not recognise opened the door. At her shoulder was Sister Bernadette, who greeted me. She directed me into the wood panelled parlour. I recognised the sweet smell of the lavender floor polish. Sister Bernadette directed me to sit on a seat, by the wall opposite the door. ‘Your mother has not arrived yet, but will be here in a few minutes,’ she reassured me.
    Within two minutes the front doorbell rang again. My pulse began to race. I could hear the young nun walk across the hall floor. I began to feel really nervous. As the front door opened, I heard two or more women’s voices. The palms of my hands were sweating. Sister Bernadette must have recognised the voices because she left the room to greet the visitors. My floral blouse was wringing wet.
    The door opened, and Sister Bernadette ushered two women into the room. The first lady was tall and blonde. She wore a navy dress and jacket. Her face was quite expressionless and her head was tilted back slightly, to give her an air of haughtiness. I thought that she was such a posh, elegant lady. I knew immediately that this was my mother. The lady with her wore a yellow dress and a brown cardigan. She looked dowdy by comparison with her sister. Sister Bernadette ushered the two ladies to the opposite side of the large room, directly across from me.
    I stood up, in preparation for the long walk across the room to hug my mother. ‘Celine, I would like you to meet your mother,’ said Sister Bernadette, and without pausing continued, ‘Doreen, I would like you to meet your daughter, Celine.’ At this, I broke down in tears and hung my head.
    None of us moved.
    I wanted to move but I was rooted to the spot. I had trained myself over the years not to initiate physical contact. But to my shock, my mother did not move towards me.
    She just said, in a distant cold voice, ‘Hello, Celine.’
    Though I desperately wanted to, I was unable to mutter even a single syllable. The silence in the room was palpable. Sister Bernadette initiated conversation with my mother’s sister. Instead of coming across the room to me which I desperately wanted her to do, my mother turned towards them and joined their conversation. I was still sobbing uncontrollably, but my mother ignored me completely.
    My mother, her sister and the nun were having a conversation about people in my family. I heard names mentioned but I did not know who they were talking about. I thought the names of the children were lovely.
    There was another lull in the conversation. My aunt gave a brown paper bag to my mother. My mother then