Just The Way You Are(80)

I took a deep breath, trying to wriggle past anything sounding remotely like ‘I told you so’, to find some word of genuine comfort, when the door was flung open again.

‘Peter, look at her,’ Carole breathed, one hand clutched to the chain around her neck, the other gripping the arm of the man who stood beside her. ‘It’s Leanne’s girl!’

Peter Armitage-Brown, six foot three with shoulders like the barn doors he used to build, face a craggy map of hard work and dependability, the kind of man who wore a tie even in retirement, dissolved into tears.

Carole stepped forwards, wrapped Joan up in a shaking embrace and joined him, wet cheek pressed against the top of her granddaughter’s head.

‘Oh my girl, my darling girl,’ she sobbed, in between kisses and pulling away to inspect Joan’s face before tugging her in close again. ‘I can’t believe you found us. You don’t know how long we’ve waited.’

Peter, who had soon gingerly lowered himself on stiff knees to join them, could merely shake his head, one arm around his wife, the other gently patting Joan’s heaving shoulders.

‘I knew it!’ Joan said, eventually pulling away to wipe her face on Peter’s offered handkerchief. ‘I knew that you were waiting for us all this time. They said not to get my hopes up, but I could feel it. My DNA knew that you were good and kind and wondering where we were, too.’

‘We?’ Carole asked, her eyes wide with a sudden rush of hope as she glanced to Sam and I, and then past us to the street beyond. ‘Is she here? Your mum?’

‘Could we perhaps talk about that inside?’ Sam asked.

Carole looked at him, her face plummeting as she swayed back on slippered feet.

‘She’s alive,’ I added.

Peter stood up, wincing. ‘Well, if that’s the best you can tell us, then I think we better had.’

They led us into a living room that at a guess hadn’t been decorated since long before Leanne had left. But none of us were focusing on the rose-pink carpet or mahogany furniture. As we sat stiffly on the stripy sofas, we couldn’t take our eyes off the dozens of photographs, lined up along the mantelpiece and decorating the end tables, bookcases and shelving units.

‘It’s Mum,’ Joan whispered in wonder.

‘You can take a closer look if you want,’ Carole said, waiting for Peter to start showing Joan the pictures before turning to Sam. ‘I’ll make us a drink, but I’d rather you tell us first, if you don’t mind.’

Sam nodded at me. ‘I’ll let Ollie explain.’

‘I’m Joan and Leanne’s neighbour,’ I started, fumbling slightly for the right words. ‘I’m taking care of Joan at the moment because Leanne is in hospital. She’s not in any immediate danger or anything like that, but she is fairly ill, and her long-term prognosis is uncertain, so Joan wanted to find you, so you could know, and, well… we can talk about that later.’

Once Carole had brought through tea and a glass of orange juice for Joan (‘I’m sorry, we haven’t had squash in the house since, well, since your mum left’), I explained what had happened, and how things stood, waiting patiently every minute or so to allow Peter and Carole to compose themselves.

‘So she doesn’t know you’ve found us?’ Peter asked.

‘She doesn’t know we’ve been looking.’

He nodded. ‘Waiting until you knew whether it was worth the trouble.’

‘Something like that.’

‘So what’s next, then?’

‘I think the next step is really up to you.’

Carole looked thoughtful. ‘How about some lunch? I’ve a fish pie in the fridge.’

For the couple of hours or so before we left, Sam and I sat back and watched as Joan clicked into conversation with her grandparents as though they were merely catching up on a few months apart, not a lifetime. It was surreal to watch how Carole tilted her head up in an exact mirror of her daughter – and granddaughter – and as she asked questions about Joan’s life, and answered many more about Leanne’s life before she’d left, the similarity in tone and cadence was mesmerising.

To my relief, Peter and Carole stayed well away from sensitive topics, such as why Leanne had left home or what had happened in the years prior to her moving to Bigley. They fought back tears many times and I could see the temptation to keep touching Joan, to stare at her. Instead, they chattered about holidays and hobbies and Leanne’s favourite school subjects. Peter was the book lover, and he would probably have spent the rest of the afternoon discussing Tolkien and C.S. Lewis if I hadn’t gently insisted (for the third time) that we really had to go.

‘Can I have your phone numbers?’ Joan asked. ‘I know you might not want to see Mum and she might not want to see you, but even if she tells me I’m not allowed to see you again, that doesn’t mean we can’t talk on the phone. I have so much more I want to tell you. And ask. Like, did Mum have a best friend, or lots of friends? Or no friends, like before she met Ollie?’

‘Joan, my darling.’ Carole’s hand shook as she took Joan’s. ‘This has been the happiest day of our lives. And there is not a chance on this earth that we won’t be coming to visit your mother. Not a chance. You could break both our legs and arms and we’d still roll and wriggle our way to Sherwood Forest.’