Christmas at the Farmhouse - Rebecca Boxall Page 0,52

me. But it’s an organisation that’s been set up to seek an apology from the British government for the forced adoptions that took place during the fifties, sixties and seventies.’

‘You mean you didn’t choose to give me up?’ Magnus asked.

‘No… It’s a very long story, but the very last thing I wanted to do was give you up,’ Susan said, her voice trembling.

Magnus finally stood up. He walked over to his mother and took her into his arms. To see them like that, in such a tender and heartfelt embrace, brought a lump to my throat. I realised that, after all, the surprise wasn’t going to be a disaster. Magnus had enjoyed the happiest of childhoods, I knew that for sure, but he’d told me when we very first met about the fact that he was adopted and how he’d always felt as if a part of him was missing. In a more recent heart to heart that had prompted me to search for Susan he’d admitted that the feeling had never gone away; that unless he found his birth mother at some point he felt as though he’d never be quite complete. Partly, he’d explained, it felt like a physical thing, as if missing a limb. And partly he wanted to know the circumstances. To know why she hadn’t wanted to keep him. To live with that for fifty years – knowing you’d been given away but not knowing why – I could hardly begin to imagine how that would feel. I could understand how important it was for Magnus to find that out.

Eventually, Magnus stepped away, but he kept hold of Susan’s hands.

‘There’s so much I want to know,’ he said to her.

‘Of course there is,’ she replied. ‘I have all the answers for you, my dear. I’ve tried to find you so many times over the years but with no luck. I can’t believe your lovely wife has finally made this dream come true for me.’

I had a feeling the pair of them would have stood in the hallway all day, marvelling at each other and asking and answering hundreds of questions.

‘The rest of the family are in the kitchen having coffee,’ I said. ‘Susan, would it be okay if we introduced you to everyone and explained the surprise? And then perhaps over lunch you could tell us your story. If it’s not too painful?’

‘I’ve lived with the pain for fifty years,’ she told me, smiling sadly. ‘I’ve wanted for so long to be able to explain myself to my son. To have that opportunity now… Well, I really can’t begin soon enough. But I’d love to meet the family who, I’m embarrassed to say, I don’t have gifts for. Let’s do that and then I’ll tell you our story,’ Susan said. Magnus took her bag and I led her through to the kitchen where the children were flabbergasted to hear about the surprise. While they asked her lots of questions (thankfully neutral ones, like where she lived and whether she’d like a coffee), I spotted Huckleberry ingratiating himself with Susan, recognising a cat-lover when he saw one.

Meanwhile, I made the little children’s lunch – deciding it would be a good idea to get them fed and then settled with their new toys (their parents tag-teaming the supervision) while the rest of the adults ate in the dining room and could listen without interruption to Susan’s tale.

***

By two o’clock we’d all finished the main course and Mikkel was making sure everyone was topped up with wine. Lucas had returned to the dining room and Heidi went through to take her turn looking after the children. Finally, I tapped a knife onto my wine glass.

‘I think the time has come,’ I said to Susan. ‘If you’re ready.’

Susan took a sip of wine, then placed the glass on the table and looked towards her son.

‘Just after Christmas 1968, I was working in a bakery in a little town in the South East of England called Silverhurst. My life was terribly dull. I’d left school at sixteen, taken the job at the baker’s, and lived as an only child with my very Victorian parents. My father died ten years ago and I was never able to forgive him for what he did, even on his deathbed when he was begging me. Anyway, I’ll come back to my father. The first character of importance in my story is Mr Jenners. He’d been my English teacher at the Secondary Modern and he’d