stood and started piling up crockery and the others all followed suit. Finally, it was just Magnus, Susan and I left in the dining room.
‘I’ll go and join the others and then bring through the puddings.’
‘No, wait,’ said Magnus. ‘I want you to be with us.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Please stay,’ Susan agreed, and so I sat back down and poured us all more wine. ‘I want to know about you, Magnus,’ Susan said, smiling.
‘I always knew I was adopted,’ Magnus explained. ‘My father is Danish, hence my name, and likes everything to be out in the open. My mother is English and I grew up in the Kent countryside with my parents and my younger sister.’
‘Was she adopted too?’ Susan asked.
‘No, Mum and Dad didn’t think they could have children, but – as often happens – once they stopped trying, after they adopted me, they went on to have my sister with no trouble at all.’
‘Was that difficult for you?’
‘Luckily not – Mum and Dad always treated us exactly the same, though perhaps it was fortunate they had a girl and not a boy. They went out of their way to make me feel just as loved. That didn’t stop me feeling as though I had a limb missing for most of my life though.’
Susan looked startled. ‘That’s exactly how I’ve always felt. Incomplete, somehow. And your parents, they sound nice. Were they kind?’
‘Wonderful. Dad’s from Copenhagen and met my mum when he was studying architecture in London. They married as soon as he qualified. Mum is from Kent and worked as a nurse until they adopted me. As soon as they were married in their mid-twenties, they started trying for a baby, but nothing happened and, after a couple of years, in 1969, they began looking into adoption. As you can imagine, I’ve asked them a lot of questions about it all over the years.’
‘What did they tell you? I always wondered how much they knew.’
‘I think they were told very little, in fact. In the autumn of 1969 they were told by the adoption agency they were using that a baby due just before Christmas was available for almost immediate adoption – the day after the birth. They were told the child had two white British parents and that was about it. They were given the name and address of a place I think they described as a “Mother-and-Baby Home”, in South London, and on Christmas Day 1969 they received the call they’d been waiting for: the child had been born – a healthy little boy – and they needed to pick him up the following day. I don’t know if it’s true or not, but they said they fell in love with me the moment they first saw me. I was sucking my thumb, apparently, and – as my dad had been born doing the same – they took that as a good sign.’
‘I couldn’t have asked for more,’ Susan murmured.
‘But it must be so painful anyway,’ I said, my heart going out to her. ‘Obviously you’ll have always wanted the best for Magnus, but if it were me I’d find it difficult to know that such a strong bond was forged so quickly with my child.’
‘They lived the life that should have been mine, that couple, and of course it makes me feel envious. But I couldn’t be gladder that Magnus was given to a kind couple. And how lovely to have a sibling, too. I hated being an only child.’
‘Me too,’ I agreed. ‘It’s why I wanted lots myself.’
‘Did you get on?’ Susan asked Magnus.
‘Most of the time,’ he said, smiling. ‘We played well and fought well – just like most siblings.’
‘I should get the puddings ready,’ I said. ‘But before I go, Susan, I’m dying to know about your friends. Janet and Penny. What happened to them?’
‘Oh,’ Susan said. ‘They’ve remained my best friends always. They got me through that horribly bleak period when I believed I’d lost everything and that life wasn’t worth living. Janet ended up marrying the son of my old boss. He was a real misery, the boss – Mr Downley he was called. But his son was lovely. A postman. He fell for Janet and was happy to take on her little girl as well; then they ended up having a boy together, too. Penny became an air hostess as soon as she turned twenty-one. That was her dream. She never had children – she didn’t want them – but