Page 119 of The Life We Almost Had

‘I… it’s hard to explain all of it but Adam, he… he wrote down this address on a piece of paper and left it for me to find. It was the last thing he wrote.’ I have fished a tissue from my pocket and am dabbing at the tears that won’t stop falling. ‘There’s something here that Adam needed me to see,or someone he wanted me to meet. Please…’

‘It’s against the rules to let anyone in without an appointment,’ she says, but she doesn’t ask me to leave. I can feel her wavering.

‘Look.’ I rummage in my bag for my phone. I hold it up. My screensaver photo is of our wedding day. ‘This is Adam… was Adam. I have to know why he wrote this address. Ihaveto.’

‘I don’t know—’

‘Please. I’ve lost my husband. My son.’

‘Your son?’

Her eyes meet mine. I see pity. Indecision and something else. An understanding. She has lost too; I can sense it.

After a moment, she nods. Pulls the door open wide. ‘I’m Nancy. You’d better come inside.’

Chapter Eighty

Anna

My stomach jitters with nerves. I step into the hallway of 62 St Mary’s Road. I have no idea what I’m walking into. I stamp my feet on the doormat, trying to dislodge the raindrops that cling to my skin, my clothes. I can sense that I am being watched. Nancy must have some idea of why I’m here. When I’m as dry as I can be, I raise my face to see her eyes are still filled with sympathy. For a split second I think about running away, unsure if I’m strong enough to cope with what she might reveal.

‘Come on through.’ Nancy leads the way into a small room to our left and gestures for me to sit on a dark wooden chair. I perch on the edge of the seat, not wanting my wet skirt to dampen the deep green velvet cushion. She pulls out a chair from behind the impossibly shiny desk and sits opposite me. Waiting for her to speak, I lick my dry lips, tasting the furniture polish that lingers in the air.

‘Can I fetch you a hot drink?’ she says. ‘You look freezing.’

I am torn between demanding answers and wanting to delay them.

‘Please.’

Rather than leaving the room, she crosses to the short bookcase under the window where there’s a kettle. She flicks it on. I look around for some sort of indication of what this room, what this building is. There’s nothing other than a gold cross on the wall. Neither of us talk while she spoons coffee into mugs and splashes on boiling water.

‘I can fetch some milk—’

‘I take mine black.’ I lie. The wait has become unbearable. I need to know what happens within these four walls with the burgundy flocked wallpaper and too many secrets. Why Adam had either been here or was planning on coming here.

Nancy hands me my drink. I wrap my hands around the mug, trying to still the trembling in my fingers.

‘I lost my daughter,’ she says simply. Her words are steady, firm and instinctively I know she’s said them many times before. Her eyes are filled with pain. ‘That’s what led me here.’

I nod, but I don’t understand. I can’t. I’m shaking so hard I put down my mug.

‘Her father, he… he wasn’t around. I had no interest in another relationship. I had no interest in anything. It was three years after… after Lucy that my mum suggested I come here. It wasn’t that I wanted to replace her, but…’ Momentarily she closes her eyes while she inhales deeply through her nose before huffing out the air. ‘In the end I couldn’t do it, but I began to volunteer and… it was healing. Now I’m the manager but it’s more than a job, it’s a vocation and… it’s enough for me.’

She leans forward and takes my hands in hers. ‘Your husband… Adam. I don’t know why he wanted you to come here but the fact you’ve lost a child.’ She doesn’t finish her sentence. Again my eyes sweep the room for clues.

‘What is this place?’

‘It’s a children’s home.’

‘It can’t be.’ I draw my hands away from hers, looking around wildly for signs of children. Listening for sounds of children. There aren’t any.

‘They’re mostly all in school.’ Nancy senses my confusion. ‘We don’t put a sign outside because some of the children have come from difficult homes and we want to protect them. Give them some privacy. Some dignity back. You wouldn’t believe what some of these kids have been through. Wherever we can, we place them with new families, of course.’

‘I… I’m sorry.’ And I am. Sorry for her loss, sorry for the children who find themselves without stability, security, but most of all I’m sorry for myself. I had come here for answers but now all I have is more questions. Why did Adam lead me here? It makes no sense.

‘I…’ I trail off. I can’t speak. Can’t think. Can’t breathe. I stand up, my chair toppling back. I rush for the door. I have to get out of here. It was a mistake to come.

‘Anna!’ Nancy is seconds behind me but I don’t stop. My chest is in a vice. I don’t know what I expected to find but it wasn’t this.

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