Flora
I woke late, which given my midnight stroll and emotional state, wasn’t surprising. I dressed in my only other outfit, a combo of coloured jeans in a fetching red and an oversized granddad shirt, accessorised yet again by party heels.
I bounce down the staircase into the bar, finding Annie laying the bar tables with a selection of condiments ready for lunch time.
‘Morning, Annie,’ I holler.
‘Morning lovey, did you sleep well?’
‘Sound, did you?’
‘Not great, our Mick’s back is playing up again. He spent half the night groaning and moaning… he must have woken me up ten times,’ she says, indicating I sit at the alcove table.
I offer to pull a few pints to help out, it’s the least I can do.
‘You can collect and load the glasswasher with the dirties once the punters start leaving, but don’t get under my feet while I’m busy,’ she laughs. ‘Anyhow, what’s it to be cooked or continental? Tea or coffee?’
As soon as I order Annie disappears; I help myself to fruit juice.
As I pour my juice a feeling of familiarity sweeps over me. Haven’t I always been here? Living in this village, in this pub, standing in this exact spot pouring juice into a glass tumbler, doing the same routine day in day out, and yet, I only arrived yesterday.
It’s only half eleven and already the bar has customers, mainly men in various stages of life: the lone drinkers enjoying their papers, the rowdy youths at the fruit machine and the husband pairings grateful for a quick half to escape the Boxing Day lunch preparation at home. Amongst the testosterone, there is only one female customer. She has tight frizzy hair, the kind of hair that can never be tamed and is leaning beside Gene at the bar, dressed in a faded ruby top and jeans. I presume it’s his wife.
Maybe it’s never having had a brother, or simply that my dad never nipped to the pub unless accompanied by my mother but the view seems fascinating. It feels surreal witnessing other people’s down time. Julian was the only guy I knew who insisted on having his drinking haunt and that was clearly off limits to me. We always drank in The Three Crowns on the High Street. What was Julian doing right now? I glance at the clock. Sipping beer with his boys, as he frequently said. Or he could be rolling under the duvet with that slag from the chemist? Worse still, going out for a family Boxing Day lunch, of cold turkey and chips, to meet her parents. If that were true it would kill me.
I return to my alcove table and sip my juice.
Wow, I even have my own spot in the local pub!
I wonder if chemist girl has moved into the flat? Don’t go there!
A tear comes to my eye.
What the hell is wrong with me? The emotional expectation of finding my answers? Or a deeper bond that comes from knowing she’s here, somewhere nearby?
‘There you go…’ Annie breaks my train of thought, by delivering a huge plate of eggs and bacon, accompanied by a round of hot buttered toast.
‘How much do you think I eat?’ I say, eyeing the portions. ‘I’ll be the size of a house staying here.’
‘Start the day off right, that’s what I say… do you mind if I join you?’
‘Be my guest.’ I could do with the company.
‘Gene,’ she shouts, dashing back to the kitchen. ‘Shout if anyone needs serving.’
Gene gives her a nod, as the woman snuggles beneath his free arm.
Annie returns from the kitchen with her own humongous breakfast and seats herself in the alcove.
I’m liking her style, her motherly manner, her soothing ways. She’s mumsy but not smothering – she’s got the balance right, like Mum has.
‘Any thoughts after yesterday?’ she asks, cutting into her eggs.
‘It’s risky but I need answers to my questions… if I don’t do it now I may never do it.’
Annie nods and chomps.
‘Have you ever suspected anyone?’ I ask gingerly, not wishing to pry but dying to know an insider's thoughts.
‘Well, there’s a question!’ she smiles. ‘It… sorry, I mean you were headline news around these parts like never seen before… or since.’
I’m all ears; the smallest snippet of information could be the key to finding my birth mother.
‘It was a Thursday or Friday… end of the week anyway… it was definitely a school day. The first thing we knew here in the pub was my dad shouting up the stairs telling my ma that an ambulance had arrived over at The Square. My ma was outside like a flash, she had to know everything… the locals nicknamed her News of the world Nell… they think I don’t know but hey, they weren’t far wrong,’ laughs Annie. ‘The next thing the police came knocking asking if we’d seen or heard anything during the night?’
‘You were how old?’ I ask nonchalantly.
‘I was fifteen, counting down my days at senior school…’ Annie pauses, her fork and knife suspended – a wry smile spreading across her face. ‘If you think for one minute that I’m your ma… you’ve got another thing coming… I’d have no more left that babe lying on a doorstep than fly in the air. I… I… I’d have fought hell and high water to keep a little ‘un.’
I watch as her eyes gently glisten.
‘Sorry, I wasn’t suggesting… that was insensitive of me.’
‘Don’t apologise. I get it. Every female of child bearing age in eighty-six is potentially your ma.’
I nod.
‘I get where you’re coming from, lovey.’
‘But without knowing the area… the families… the society… I haven’t a clue where to start.’
‘I’m no brain box but you need to start at the very beginning.’
‘That’s easy, me on a doorstep wrapped in a towel.’
‘There’s your starting point…’ she points her knife across the table. ‘You!’
‘But how?’
Annie smiles, staring at the wall behind my head.
‘I’ve got an idea but it’ll take some organising… but I’m sure you’ll be up for it.’
‘What?’ I ask, staring around behind me at the rustic brickwork of the alcove.
‘Stop yapping, get those eggs down your neck and we’ll make a start.’
‘You’ve got a bar to run,’ I say.
‘I have, but boy can I multitask from behind that bar!’ laughs Annie, adding ‘The question is, how are us girls going to ignite this neighbourhood and stir those memories?’