Page 121 of The Secrets of the Tea Garden
CHAPTER 23
Newcastle, July
Adela existed in a strange state of numbness, going through the motions of her job and daily routines but feeling detached from it all. In her mind and heart, her life was suspended, waiting for a break-through in news about John Wesley’s whereabouts. Daily she expected Tilly to walk through the door waving some document to prove John Wesley – or Jacques Segal – was alive and still living in the area.
But all Tilly’s enquiries had come to nothing so far. The resettlement of the homeless after bombing raids had been chaotic and much of the paperwork had been lost in a fire at the end of the War.
At night Adela would toss in bed alone with her imaginings, which would become more fearful as the long dark hours dragged on. Her son had lost his happy home with the kind Segals and was now in an institution – her original nightmare – unloved and unhappy. She grieved for the Belgian couple and felt wretched at her former envy of them. She wished that they were still alive, for at least her son would then have been growing up in a loving home. Now what was happening to him? Had he been evacuated as an orphan to another part of the country? What if he had been adopted once more but his name had been changed so that she would never be able to find him?
Adela had lost interest in eating. Increased smoking blunted her appetite but temporarily calmed her nerves. The face she glanced at in the bathroom mirror each morning was growing hollow-cheeked and wan. She knew she was drinking too much cheap sherry; she kept a bottle in the café pantry for small nips during the day.
The only good development at the tearoom was that Lexy had persuaded Freda, one of her unmarried nieces, to come as cook for a trial period. Freda was slow but methodical and had a knack of being inventive with whatever random ingredients Adela managed to get hold of at the city market.
Once MrsJackman stopped working for Herbert’s, Adela saw even less of Sam. She felt sore at heart when she thought of him. How was it possible to be so estranged from a man whom she had adored with a passion until a few weeks ago? She was a failure as a wife as well as a mother. Adela cauterised her feelings of uselessness with alcohol and clinging to the hope that she would find her son and at least make up for her past failure towards him.
Occasionally Sam would appear with produce from the allotment and linger to try and speak to her but Adela didn’t want them to argue in front of the others.
‘I know you’re continuing to search for him,’ he said, keeping his voice low. ‘Josey told me.’
Adela bristled to think her friend was going behind her back to tell Sam her business. ‘So?’ said Adela, bracing herself for his criticism.
‘We need to talk,’ said Sam.
‘Not now, Sam.’
‘Then when?’
‘Soon.’
As she turned away, he caught her arm and steered her into the yard. His look was grim.
‘We can’t go on like this, Adela,’ he growled.
She tensed. ‘Like what?’
‘You know what I mean,’ he said in exasperation. ‘Living apart. This isn’t marriage.’
‘You’re the one living with your mother,’ Adela pointed out.
The look he gave her was so desolate, Adela felt leaden inside. She saw him struggle to say something, and then think better of it. Dropping his hand, he turned from her and strode out of the yard without another word. Adela bit her inner cheek to stop herself crying. She felt confused and angry but more with herself than Sam. They were both hurting but she was too exhausted to work out what she should do about it.
After nearly a month of fruitless searching through archives and making requests in council offices, Tilly had found out nothing about the small boy she had rescued from the bombed street in Heaton.
Adela came back one evening to find Tilly and Josey sitting at the kitchen table waiting for her.
‘I thought you had a Mother’s Union meeting, Tilly?’ said Adela.
‘She cancelled,’ said Josey, ‘so we could speak to you while Mungo is out with friends.’
‘Speak to me?’ Adela’s pulse quickened. ‘Have you found out something?’
‘No, she hasn’t,’ Josey answered. ‘That’s what we want to talk about. You might as well sit down.’
Adela clutched the table. ‘If it’s bad news please just tell me.’
‘Sit down, darling girl,’ said Tilly, pouring out a glass of milk and placing it in front of Adela as if she were a child.
‘No, thanks,’ Adela said, sitting down but not touching the drink.
