Newcastle, early March
Adela took Sam’s hand and squeezed it. They were standing outside the haberdashery shop in Cullercoats owned by Sam’s adoptive mother, Mrs Jackman. The sign said closed. It was a raw, sunless Sunday afternoon; the on-shore wind was bitter and the sea a churning steel-grey.
With a flood of emotion, Adela remembered how she had stood here over eight years ago, heavily pregnant and torn with indecision: should she go into the shop and make herself known to Sam’s estranged mother or not? Her courage had failed her. She had feared interfering in Sam’s life. Sam had been so bitter about his mother’s desertion in Assam when he was such a young boy.
But later, as a mother herself and knowing the agony of separation, Adela had gone to see Mrs Jackman. She still recalled how Sam’s mother had almost collapsed with shock and relief to hear word of her son. If it hadn’t been for Mrs Jackman, Sam would never have known the true identity of his real parents, the Logans, or been reunited with his long-lost sister, Sophie.
Even though Sam had begun a correspondence with his mother, Adela knew today’s meeting was going to be a trial for him. They had been in Newcastle for well over a month yet Sam had put off coming to Cullercoats until now.
‘The longer you put it off, the worse it will be,’ Adela had said, finally losing patience. ‘Let me make the arrangements if you won’t.’
So here they were: for the first time in over thirty years, Sam and his mother would come face-to-face.
Adela felt his large hand trembling in hers. Even though outwardly her tall, athletic husband looked strong and in control, she knew that inside he was feeling like that bewildered young boy whose mother had run away and left him. His handsome face was tense and his brow furrowed.
‘She loves you,’ Adela said in encouragement, stepping forward and ringing the bell to the upstairs flat. ‘And this will be just as hard for her.’
Mrs Jackman must have been keeping a lookout, for she answered the door almost immediately. She was less plump than Adela remembered and her hair – bound into a neat bun – was now completely silver. She wore a well-cut purple dress that would have been the height of fashion twenty years ago.
‘Adela! Sam!’ Mrs Jackman exclaimed, her arms outstretched and eyes burning with tears. ‘Sam, you’ve grown so tall!’
It was a ridiculous remark to make to a man who was almost forty but Adela felt a stab of pity. All these years, the woman must have tried to imagine what Sam looked like growing up, yet in her mind’s eye he would forever be the skinny, grinning seven-year-old that Mrs Jackman had last set eyes on.
It was like that for Adela. Her son was now eight but to her he was still that bright-eyed baby with soft dark hair sucking contentedly at her breast.
Sam, too overwhelmed to speak, ignored the woman’s attempt to hug him and stuck out a hand. His mother’s face fell but she shook his hand, holding on to it for longer than a casual handshake.
Adela gave her a kiss on the cheek. ‘It’s lovely to see you again.’
Mrs Jackman’s chin wobbled. ‘I’ve been so looking forward to this, dear.’
‘So have we,’ said Adela, her heart going out to the woman. ‘Haven’t we, Sam?’
Sam nodded, swallowing hard. He was staring at his mother as if trying to find something familiar about her.
‘Please,’ said Mrs Jackman, recovering some poise, ‘come away out of the cold. What terrible weather we’re having. You must find it freezing after India. I’ve got the kettle on.’
She bustled ahead up the steep staircase. ‘Pull the front door behind you, Sam, dear.’
Adela gave Sam an encouraging smile and, for the first time since arriving in Cullercoats, he smiled back.
Mrs Jackman must have been saving up her ration coupons because the tea trolley that she wheeled into the neat, brightly lit upstairs sitting room was groaning with sandwiches, pies and cake. Sam followed her back into the kitchen offering to help brew the tea. Ignoring her half-hearted refusal, he set about pouring boiling water from the steaming kettle into the waiting teapot. Watching from the doorway, Adela knew Sam needed to expend his nervous energy; he was like a caged animal in the small flat. She wondered if Mrs Jackman would let him smoke.
The tea made, Adela and Sam were invited to sit down on the chintz-covered sofa. Pale-green plastic trays were clamped to the arms on which, Adela presumed, they were to balance their tea cups and plates. Mrs Jackman made Sam pile his plate high with food.
‘I made your favourite bacon-and-egg pie,’ she said, with an anxious smile. ‘And take another slice of ginger cake. You always liked ginger cake.’
Sam complied. They talked of trivial matters – or rather Mrs Jackman did – while Sam and Adela ate. She began a rambling commentary on the long snow-bound winter they had endured and about the possibility of renting out her shop to someone younger.
‘And have you managed to pick up work, Sam?’ she asked.
He swallowed and nodded. ‘I’m doing a bit of photography work for a local newspaper. Not much – just a handful of weddings – but it’s a start.’
‘Photography,’ gasped his mother. ‘That’s grand.’
‘Sam’s been helping me in the café too,’ said Adela.
‘Fixing things up,’ said Sam, ‘and re-decorating.’
‘It’s going to be quite a struggle to keep it going,’ said Adela. ‘It’s pretty run down – Lexy did an amazing job keeping it open during the War but such a lot needs doing.’
‘With a bit of hard work, we’ll manage,’ Sam said, smiling at his wife. ‘This spring, I’m going to get the café allotment going again.’
‘It’s Sam’s idea.’ Adela smiled back. ‘It’s so overgrown and neglected since the end of the War but my green-fingered husband will bring it back to life. My mother grew a lot for the tearoom in the early days.’
‘You’ll be good at that, Sam,’ said Mrs Jackman. ‘I was proud to hear of you planting orchards for the natives before the War.’
She plied him with more cake and watched intently for signs of enjoyment.
Adela said, ‘The food’s delicious, Mrs Jackman. I think I should get your recipes for the café. Now our manager Lexy’s retired, I’m in charge of the menu.’
‘I could make some pies and cakes for you,’ she offered at once.
‘Goodness, I didn’t mean that,’ said Adela. ‘You have your own business to run.’
‘I’m winding down the shop – my eyesight’s not good enough for such close work these days – and I’ve always enjoyed cooking.’
‘That’s very kind of you but it would be quite a commitment,’ Adela cautioned.
‘I’m fit and healthy,’ said Mrs Jackman stoutly, ‘and I’d love to help you out.’
Adela looked at Sam. ‘Perhaps we could have a think about your kind offer and let you know?’
‘Of course, dear.’
Sam said, ‘It’s up to Adela – she’s in charge. But I can vouch for her being a good boss.’ He grinned and brushed his wife’s cheek with affection.
Adela saw Mrs Jackman holding back sudden tears.
‘I’m so happy that you’ve come back to live here,’ she said. ‘I know it must be very strange for you, Sam, when you’ve always lived in India. But I’m so grateful. I never thought I’d ever get the chance to see you again. I know I don’t deserve it.’
She fumbled for her handkerchief and dabbed at her brimming eyes. Adela went at once to put her arm about her.
‘Please don’t upset yourself. Sam now understands that you wanted to take him with you but that his father wouldn’t let you.’
‘I know,’ said Mrs Jackman, ‘but I will never get over the guilt.’ She looked at Sam in distress. ‘You were the most precious thing to me, yet I couldn’t stand being in India a minute longer – or with your father. We were never suited but it wasn’t really his fault either – it was like a fever that I couldn’t control. I had to get out. But I should have stayed for your sake. You poor boy! It breaks my heart to think of what you must have gone through. What you must have thought of your mother.’
She broke down sobbing. Adela held her. She looked at Sam and saw the struggle of emotions in his tortured expression. She knew he still bore anger towards his adoptive mother for what she did – for not telling him that she was going – but she also knew what a compassionate and loving man he was. Sam was incapable of holding a grudge forever. Adela felt emotional to think of all those years of misunderstanding between mother and son. It made her all the more determined not to waste time in getting down to searching for her own son.
Sam stood up and came to his mother’s side. Crouching in front of her, he gently took the handkerchief from her and wiped her face of tears.
‘I did miss you,’ he said, his voice hoarse, ‘but I had a happy life in India on the boat with Dad. Don’t think of me as a miserable boy who didn’t enjoy life – ’cause that wasn’t me.’
He took her hands in his. ‘But the bravest thing you ever did was to send Adela the shawl and bracelet that allowed me to find out about my blood parents and my sister. My wonderful big sister, Sophie, who I love very much. If you knew her, you would love her too. I will always be grateful that you did that.’ He hesitated, then said, ‘Thank you, Mam.’
Mrs Jackman gave a tearful cry. ‘You haven’t called me Mam since you were a lad!’ She threw her arms around him and kissed the top of his head.
Adela blinked away her own tears. Then Sam buried his head in his mother’s lap and let out a sob.
‘Oh, my bonny lad,’ Mrs Jackman said tenderly, stroking his head.
The three of them held on to each other as Sam wept.