Missing Pieces

OK Dad, let's sort out these boxes. Julie sent them to me because she thought it seemed right that I was the one to look through your personal stuff. You see dad, I really need some answers and I'm hoping I'll find them here.

There is just enough time to look through one or two boxes before collecting Nina from nursery school. She's three and she's the best thing that's ever happened to me. I know you'd love her, she reminds me of you sometimes, mainly when she's laughing. She's got your sense of humour.  She feels like the greatest gift life could ever bestow on me dad. Apart from my son Paul of course, but being a boy and then a strapping lad and now a handsome husband and father, we'd never gone on shopping trips or made dolls' clothes. He'd never been interested in fairy tales and baking and all the things I do with Nina.

I keep crying, I can't stop. The boxes smell of mildew and faintly of cigarette smoke. Gosh I feel a mess. I've  sort of collapsed inside. I want to stay in the present with Nina, drawing an painting and singing nursery rhymes but I keep falling into a dark pit where there is a lot of pain.

Ok dad, this is it. I've been going to a counsellor or psychotherapist or whatever you like to call her. I don't think you'd approve would you dad? It's like admitting I'm a failure isn't it? At last I have admitted I'm a failure I hear you say. Did I hear you chuckle dad? The thing is that the psycho-whatsit, she's called Louise, you'd like her. She's your sort of woman, smart and sassy and attractive. Well she said that in a world of mad people it's the sane ones that come to her. There you are, fingers crossed.

Louise had told me to take it slowly, not to rush sorting out your things dad. She said to consider myself a guardian, a guardian of your memory. Louise has helped me so much these last months since you died. The first few times I'd come away with tears streaming down my face, running all the way home and slamming the door on the world, making hot sweet tea with a good slug of brandy.

My G.P, Doctor Wellsbourne,  was the one who'd told me to try this therapy. He'd said that depression can be caused by a chemical imbalance in the brain or deep, deep sadness. I burst into tears when he said that. I thought I'd never stop. The doctor had put out his hand. He reminds me of you dad, he has such a kind face and a lovely voice. He smiled at me when he spoke,

'I've known you since you came here from England. You always keep your English stiff upper lip. You've always been the one looking after others. Maybe you could find someone professional to talk to.'

He'd scribbled a name on a piece of paper and handed it to me.

That day I'd walked home crying the tears I'd held back for forty years. All the terrible homesickness for England, for the countryside and leafy lanes of my childhood, all the pain of missing Julie and you dad, feeling so useless that I'd never had a proper job or a career. All that hurt because no-one ever came to visit us in Australia even though we'd get postcards from all over the world. I felt so pathetic, so unwanted and so guilty for leaving you.

Then I'd started going to Louise and even Geoff had noticed a difference. He'd always been a great support, telling me how much he loved me and how glad he was that I'd followed him to Australia. His mum and dad had been wonderful too. I know you really liked Geoff.

I open one of the boxes. It has 'study' written on the top in Julie's handwriting. It is full of  green folders. I spread them out on the kitchen table. Paul had got me some storage boxes to put the things I wanted to keep. I pick up some papers, yellowed with the years. They were my school reports, all the way from infant one to when I left at eighteen with my disappointing results. A huge lump comes to my throat as I read, a very sensitive child, obedient, imaginative, kind-hearted. Then in junior school, I was restless, unsettled. Senior school and I was trying hard, working well and then towards the end I was disappointing. My childhood in a nutshell.

I look again at the date of the restless period. That was when Julie had left to go to a posh private boarding school. She'd won a scholarship. She'd left me just like that.  I had to walk to school on my own, past the bullies, the dark alleys and the lonely wood. That was when the loneliness had started. Louise had stopped me talking when I got here and said there were some missing pieces. We're still trying to find them.  It's not easy. She'd mentioned Post traumatic shock therapy whatever that is, I can't have that can I dad? Your dad got it from being in the trenches in the first world war. Nothing like that ever happened to me.

You used to like telling me that you came from a generation that had survived a war, you were just glad to be alive. You taught me to make my bed and lie in it, to stand on my own two feet, to get on with it.  They were your favourite expressions dad.
You must have thought I was alright but I wasn't. I looked alright, with my big blue eyes and soft brown curly hair and ready smile. Everyone said I looked like a model, even now I still turn heads, being modest of course. It took a long time to even think of myself as being attractive. You always called Julie the pretty one.

I'd often hear you saying to the neighbours that I would always be alright, I'd always bounce back, Julie was the one to watch, so delicate and sensitive.

I open the next folder and there are Julie's school reports.
She'd sang in the choir of the cathedral near her school, she was Juliet in the school play, she played the piano, she won a French prize with a trip to Paris. I'd been so proud of her, we all had. I'd missed her so much. That was when the loneliness had invaded my heart completely.

You were working so hard and you made a lot of money. We moved to a bigger house in a smart part of town. Julie came home from boarding school and went to the local High School to prepare for Oxford.  She was so popular with her posh ways and you were so generous with everybody. We soon had lots of friends They were different from my old friends. They talked about how much money their fathers earned, they shopped in boutiques and went horse-riding.

The loneliness was still there though, deep inside me. No-one could see it, not even me. There was never a reason to cry. You had lost your brother and parents the year I was born. Mrs Ellis our neighbour had been blind for twenty years. There were real problems in the world, you just had to watch the news or do voluntary work at the local hospital or look at the local paper on a Saturday morning. Really, really awful things happen every day. There is no reason for a young girl with loneliness to feel sorry for herself. You always thought I was alright.

I really, really wanted a boyfriend. Everyone else had one so when John Griffiths asked me out I went. I'd always thought I was unattractive, no-one would ever want to marry me. I thought I was worthless, I didn't think anyone would love me, ever.
John was funny and kind but he wasn't interested in school work at all, so I stopped studying too. No-one noticed.  Only when it was too late and by that time John had gone to live in America with his step- dad and you were busy helping Julie get a flat and a car. When you turned round and saw that I hadn't done much with my life, you panicked. I remember your anger, your harsh words, convinced I was useless.

I check the clock to make sure I won't be late for Nina and open another folder.
There were lots of photographs and letters. The photographs were mainly of Julie getting her degree, getting married, driving around in the sports car you bought her for her 21st birthday.  She looked so radiant and happy. My heart was full of love for her and couldn't stop the tears. I'd missed her so much over the years, neither of us had ever let it show. Her husband Kit was nervous of all technology, he had a thing about privacy and so we only spoke on the phone every few months. And you dad? You tried for a while with cards and letters and the odd phone call but then when you retired that was it.

There are a few newspaper clippings, carefully cut out. I read the first one, there is a photo of you with a serious expression and dressed in a grey tweed jacket.

 I remember how much I liked the smell when you came to kiss me goodnight. A strong mixture of cigarettes and beer, you often stopped on the pub on the way home and I would bury my head in your arms, breathe in deeply that wonderful male smell. No-one would approve of that now would they? A little girl inhaling cigarette fumes.

The article was all about how you had become president of the local business association.
I look at the date. It was the year before Paul was born.
You'd sent some papers for me to sign so Kit could take over from you eventually. It said that you had two daughters, Julie B.A, MA, PhD and Sally who had married an Australian surgeon. 

 I put the article down and sigh.

I'd met Geoff while doing voluntary work at the local hospital. He was doing an exchange and working as a surgeon for a year. We met for coffee just a few times and with his Australian charm and warmth I was soon head over heels in love. I had been trying to decide what to do with my life. He wanted me in his.
 Kit had come to work for you and you were building a house for him and Julie next to yours. When I'd told you that Geoff had asked me to marry him and move to Australia you'd almost looked relieved.
When you all came to see me off at the airport the four of you had looked complete, a little unit, there was no place for me there, I was in the way. I felt so lucky to have found Geoff. Tess, my daughter-in-law and her friends would be amazed at this attitude to marriage, times change, but back then for me it had been a life saver.

There is just time to look at the next cutting. I feel faint when I saw the headline and the date and then the article. My eyes blur as I read it.
It says something about a car crash. There is a photograph of two women, both looked like different versions of me.
Why didn't you ever tell me dad?
It is the piece of the puzzle I've been searching for.
It is why I felt so lonely deep inside, so abandoned all my life, no matter how many people loved me and I loved.
There is a wedding photograph pinned to the back. You were dressed in your best suit, holding me in your arms. Julie was clinging on to the bride's dress. The bride was holding on to you. I feel weak and my head is spinning.

I look at the clock. I must go and get Nina. I must get back to the present. I run down the road to the nursery school. I want to feel Nina's hand in mine. I need to feel her warmth. 
Some other grandmothers and mothers are already waiting. One of them whom I recognize as a friend of Tess's, Jan, waves,

'Hey Sally would you and Nina like to come with us to the playground, they've opened up a new coffee bar?'

I take a deep breath and say I'd love to.  Then we both turn towards the school as the gate clicks open.

Nina runs towards me and leaps into my arms. I bury my head in her soft brown curly hair and feel it go damp with the moisture from my tears.
I carefully put her down and look into her huge blue eyes, so like mine.

There is a shadow near me of another little girl, one who's lost her mother and her grandmother in car crash, whose father quickly marries again, a widower with a little girl the same age.  It's me isn't it? I wonder why you never told me. Did you want to save me from the pain that you'd gone through when you lost them?


I try to stop the tears. Jan comes over and puts her arm round me,

'Are you ok Sally? Tess said you lost your dad and you're finding it hard. Come with us please, Finn really likes Nina, he says he wants to marry her.' Jan giggles and I can't help smiling.

We walk towards the playground, Nina skipping along with Finn. Jan is busy telling me all about her new project making dolls' clothes and would I like to help because Tess has told her that I'm really talented.

I wonder if it comes from mum or Nanna, because that's what I'm going to call them now.  I loved you dad and I know you loved me. Maybe I reminded you too much of her. Maybe you just felt that I was always alright.

The new coffee bar is decorated with coloured lights and balloons. Jan opens the door and Nina and Finn run inside. I pause a moment then enter and there is a loud cheer.
Geoff and Paul and Tess are there along with some of our friends and neighbours. Nina starts jumping up and down and hands me a drawing full of red hearts and pink splodges. There at the front is Julie.

We look at each other and can't stop grinning just like before she went off to school and we'd had such fun together. I know you'd have been happy. I know you wanted us to be a family. Julie clasps my hand,

'Mum told me last week and I got the first flight I could, I didn't know either. She said it must have been worse for you because you knew your mum and nanna, but she said you never mentioned them and thought you'd forgotten them because you were so young.  My dad ran off before I was born. I don't know why they never told us, they didn't back then, no counsellors or therapists in those days,'

I hold up my hand  for her to stop,

'You're here now and it looks like there's a party. ' I hesitate, then throw my arms round her and squeeze her tight,'I've missed you so much Julie.'

 Geoff comes over with Nina in his arms and we all stand and smile at each other and then Nina holds out her hands and we dance in a circle.
 The café is soon full of laughter and music and we are all handed cupcakes with the owner's name on in pink icing. Nina and I have a race to see who could lick it off the quickest. I know you'd have liked that. I know you'd have liked everything about my life. I know you wanted me to have a family.

Tess comes up and hugs me and says she hopes I don't mind the surprise party but it just seems perfect with the opening of the new café and Julie arriving out of the blue.'

Of course I don't mind, who would? All this lovely family and  my heart full of love. I can sense the dark cloud shifting a little from above my head. The bubble that had been trapping me begins to disperse.