Meeting Mother

I've sometimes wondered how my life would have been if I'd never tried to find my mother, but at the time I had this aching curiosity about her.

I didn't see it like this at the time but I suppose being brought up in an orphanage, and lacking the sort of love that ideally you get one on one with a mother, I wanted to know why I had been deprived of that love.

I was twenty one and I'd been out of the orphanage for three years; life seemed to be as good as I could expect and I was doing well in my university studies, so why I got this sudden urge to meet my mother is a bit hard to fathom.

Whatever the reason, I got in touch with the authorities and was put through the bureaucratic mills. First it was a social worker contacting my mother to ask if she wanted to meet me. When she got a yes I was allowed to send her a letter through the social worker and got one back by the same route and next it was a telephone call.

After that officialdom dropped out of the scene and we exchanged several telephone calls. The objective was that we should meet each other, and although we both expressed the wish to do just that, we kept on delaying it. I suppose when it came right down to it we were both scared of what we would see and how we would feel if and when we did meet.

I was surprised that we both lived in the same city and we wondered if we'd seen each other in the street or in a shop, or somewhere like that. In the end it was mother, whose name was April Blake, who took the step, and we arranged to meet in a café -- neutral ground I suppose.

My name is Mark Applegate but how I got the name Applegate I don't know. Perhaps it was my father's name or one they gave me at the orphanage. I decided I'd ask mother when we met what my father's name was. But then I changed my mind. It's an odd thing, but I didn't seem have any interest in my father, only my mother.

* * * * * * * *

I arrived early at the café and sat waiting for her at a table outside. We had not made any special arrangement, no signals, no wearing a flower or holding a newspaper, and I wondered how I would recognise her. I remember my stomach felt as if it had, not butterflies, but large birds flying around in it and my throat seemed to have got something stuck in it.

She arrived about half a minute before the time arranged. She told me later that she'd arrived half an hour before time but was so nervous she couldn't sit still and had been walking around trying to compose herself.

It was strange because as I saw her approaching I recognised her immediately; not physically but - how can I put it? It felt like a jolt of recognition. There was only one moment of doubt as I thought, "It's not possible she's far too young."

I thought I detected reciprocal recognition in her eyes and as she afterwards told me, "I think I would have known you anywhere," and when I told her about the strange sensation I'd experienced she said, "Yes, I felt that too."

She was wearing a smart black skirt and a white blouse, three buttons at the neck undone. Despite the simplicity of her outfit she looked the sort of woman who could manage to make yards of haphazardly arranged coloured silk look like the very latest fashion. She was not particularly tall, but very slender, with short chestnut hair framing a perfectly oval face.

I wasn't sure what to expect at this first meeting. Would we burst into tears, fling our arms round each other saying things like, "At last I've found you?" If I'd been expecting that, then I was due to be disappointed because our greeting and what followed was quite cool if not formal.

As I hesitated she came straight to me and said, "Mark...Mark Applegate?

I stood up and said, "Yes...er...April Blake?"

She replied, "Yes, I'm your mother; shall we sit down?"

We sat and she took control of the situation immediately. "I think we should have some coffee." She called the waitress over and gave the order.

We spent the next five minutes talking, of all things, about the weather and trying to surreptitiously examine each other, which from my point of view was difficult because she had the most piercing green eyes I'd ever seen, and they were focused right on me.

Her chestnut hair was cut short in a rather mannish fashion but it seemed to enhance her facial profile. She had an unfashionably long nose, but straight and beautifully shaped. Her mouth was small with plump lips, her lower lip protruding very slightly. Her neck was long and graceful and her unbuttoned blouse gave a hint of her cleavage that indicated quite small breasts.

She had the look of a professional woman which was later confirmed when she told me she was a lawyer.

She was inclined take the initiative and I was glad of this because having been the initiator of this meeting, and having gained my original objective, I didn't really know how to proceed. There was only one burning question I had in mind, and that was why she had given me up, but I wasn't sure how to put it to her.

The coffee arrived and she when she had paid for it she began by asking me about my life in the orphanage. She listened intently as I told her that it had been okay -- not a bit like a Dickensian orphanage.

She went on asking questions that brought us right up to date. She seemed to be pleased that I was studying law at the university and it was then she told me she was a lawyer.

She asked, "How are you managing now...I mean...financially...where do you live?"

I went into a bit of detail about this, telling her that I'd taken out a government loan to be repaid once I'd graduated plus a bit I earned working evenings at the "Happy Chicken House," and I'd got a room in a boarding house.

Having failed to ask what for me was the vital question it was she who brought it up.

"I suppose you want to know why I let you go."

"Yes," I said cautiously, "I had wondered."

She looked at me steadily for a few moments as if trying to assess in advance how I would respond to what she was about to say. When she spoke what she said seemed unrelated to the subject.

"Tell me," she said, "are you all right?"

"All right?"

She seemed to hesitate before going on and then obviously trying to sound casual asked, "Any health problems; any learning difficulties, anything like that?"

Taken by surprise I stammered, "H-health problems? N-no, although I did have a cold once."

"No I mean serious problems," she said.

"Ah, not that I know of, but if you mean intellectual disabilities I did score a hundred and twenty five on an IQ tent once."

She looked relieved and went on, "I was too young."

"Er...too young for what?"

"To keep you."

Oh, how young?"

"Very young," she replied, without specifying an age. That accounted for why I'd thought she was too young to be my mother when I first saw her.

Taking the plunge I asked, "Did...did you ever think about me?"

So far she had behaved like an efficient professional woman in a business meeting, but for a moment she looked as if she was going break up and cry. Then clearly trying to overcome her emotions she said, "Yes, often, but particularly on your birthday." She managed a wan smile and went on, "It was strange, but on your birthday the weather was always gloomy."

"Well it is in the middle of winter," I said, trying to sound cheerful.

"Yes...yes," she said, "I suppose that's it. Did you ever think about me?"

I would liked to have told her I'd thought about her constantly -- dreamed about her -- but it wouldn't have been true.

Truthfully I said, "Not really; I suppose being in an orphanage and most of the other kids not having parents you don't think about it much. Some of the kids who did have parents told horror stories about them, and so I didn't want to know."

"But you wanted to contact me?"

Yes, it was about a year ago when I started to imagine who you were, what you were like and...and..."

"Why I'd given you up?"

"Yes."

"Do I look anything like you imagined me?"

I laughed and said, "Do you really want to know how I imagined you?"

"As long as you don't mind telling me."

"Well, I had all sorts of ideas about you. In one you was living in poverty after being deserted by the man who..."

"Fathered you?"

"Yes, but I had another idea. You were the daughter of an immensely wealthy family and you'd got into what people call 'trouble,' and so they made you put me into the orphanage."

She managed a little laugh and said, "Well I don't belong to an immensely rich family but we weren't poor either. Both my parents were lawyers so it looks as if law runs in the family. So do I look like the way you imagined me?"

"No, not really, I thought you'd be much older."

She made no comment about that, but I felt confident enough to ask the question that I'd previously decided not to ask. "Applegate, was that my father's name?"

"Oh no," she said, "your father's name was...was...not Applegate, they must have given you that name at the orphanage."

"Yes, I suppose so," I said. I knew she had nearly told me his name but had checked herself just in time.

"Now we've met," she asked, "do you want us to keep in contact?"

Although her manner had been mostly brisk, as if keeping me at one pace distant, I liked her, and so I said, "Yes, I would like us to meet and talk again, if you want to."

I must admit my motive for wanting to keep in contact was not entirely filial. When I learned that she was a lawyer I thought she might be able to do me a bit of good once I'd graduated.

"Yes," she said slowly, "I think I would like us to keep in touch. Suppose we exchange telephone numbers; perhaps we could meet again and go out somewhere together?"

We exchanged numbers and then she said, "I have to go now, work you know."

I had a lot of questions I wanted to ask her but they would have to wait. "Er...what should I call you," I asked, "mother?"

"No...no," she said after a few moments thought, "I don't think I've earned the title mother, so I think April will be better, don't you?"

"Fine," I replied.

We stood, and there was a few moments hesitation about how to say goodbye. We started to shake hands, but that turned into a kiss on the cheek.

"I'm so glad we've met at last," she said, looking tearful again.

"So am I," I answered.

I watched her as she hurried away until her trim figure was lost among the crowd.

I ordered another cup of coffee and sat thinking about our meeting.

* * * * * * * *

I wasn't sure if we would meet again and I decided not to take this initiative this time, I would leave it to her to make contact. She did so four days after our first meeting, telephoning in the evening.

She wondered if I would like us to have dinner together in a restaurant. "Another neutral location I thought." I hesitated to say yes, especially when she mentioned The Golden Goose I knew it was way out of my financial league.

She must have detected my hesitation and understood the reason because she said, "It'll be on me." That got a "Yes" from me, and so a date and time was arranged. I didn't have a car, and she made no offer to pick me up. I assumed that this meant she was still keeping that space between us. Anyway, who was I to let that stand in the way of eating at the Goose; I might get to eat well for a change.

I hadn't much in the way of clothing so I wore a pair of black trousers, white shirt and a black tie I been given when I worked as a waiter for a while in an Indian restaurant. That was the best I could muster.

I took the bus that went past the Goose and this time she was waiting for me. As soon as I saw her I wished I hadn't come. It was not that she was elaborately dressed; she was wearing a simple neck to knee red sheath dress and she looked absolutely stunning. Beside her my sartorial offering looked like something from a secondhand clothing shop, if not worse.

As we met she kissed me on the cheek and said, "I'm glad you could come."

A waiter wearing what I've always thought of as a claw hammer evening suit conducted up to a table. I got the feeling that he was viewing me with disapproval, no doubt wondering what April was doing with a scruff bag like me.

The drinks waiter arrived and she asked me, "Do you drink wine." My only drink hitherto had been an occasional beer, but trying to sound sophisticated I said yes, I did drink wine.

"The '96 Arnold," she told the waiter.

"Aha," I thought as the waiter almost bowed himself out of her presence, "she's a regular here."

This was confirmed when the food waiter arrived and she asked him if his daughter had recovered from her virus.

Our orders were given, and I confess that during the evening I ordered everything I decently could from the menu.

The wine was like nectar of the gods, and relaxed by its influence I dared to ask a question I'd had in mind. I had noticed she wasn't wearing an engagement or wedding ring but that doesn't necessarily signify so I asked her, "Are you married?" After all, if she was married, that meant I had a stepfather."

When she didn't answer immediately and the smile she'd been wearing went in behind a cloud, I thought I'd blown it.

When she did answer she said slowly, "No, I'm not married, I was, but not now."

I wanted to pursue the subject and would even liked to have asked her if she got a man in her life, but I knew that it would have really been pushing my luck, so I let it go. In any case, if -- and it was only if at that stage -- we went on meeting, I'd probably find out.

I'd obviously touched on a raw nerve but she recovered and started to talk about her work and asking which branch of law I intended to follow. From this she branched out into my likes and dislikes, music, theatre, films, sport and so on. It was strange; she seemed to get the information out of me without my even noticing.

When the meal came to an end, which was roughly when I couldn't eat any more, she said, "I'll drive you home." Considering it was late and the bus only ran every hour at that time of night, the lift was welcome.

When we got to the boarding house she asked, "Can I come in and see your room?"

I didn't exactly live in squalor but I didn't like her seeing my somewhat Spartan accommodation, but I couldn't think of an excuse to say no.

When she saw the room she didn't make any comment about it, but did ask, "Do you like living here?"

"It's okay," I said, adding with a grin, "After all, things can only get better after this."

She made a sound like "Humph," and said, "Then I'll say goodnight, I'll give you a call." I got a kiss on the cheek and she was gone.

* * * * * * * *

She was as good as her word, and for the next four weeks we went out together to places I'd never been to before, like theatres and concert halls, to hear and see things I'd never seen or heard before, all at her expense. I think we got to like each other -- well, I certainly liked her and I don't mean just because she did all the paying -- but there was no real intimacy between us apart from the kiss on the cheek.

I felt as if I knew quite a lot about her, but not the things that really mattered. What I mean is, the sort of things a son would normally know about his mother, but I suppose I could hardly expect that, given we hadn't known each other for twenty one years.

It therefore came as a bit of a surprise when having been driven home from the theatre we sat in the car for a while and she said, "You know Mark, I've got the feeling I'd like to try and make it up to you, I mean," she laughed self consciously and went on, "be a mother to you."

"Oh," was all I could muster by way of reply.

"How would you like to come and live with me?" she asked quietly.

I hadn't seen where she lived, but as I've said, anything would have to be an improvement on where I was.

"If I did," I replied, "would we be able to get on with each other?"

"I don't see why not," she said, "and frankly I don't like you living in that dump."

Well she was nothing if not candid, and she went on, "We can give it a try, and I promise not to come the heavy mother. It won't be set on concrete, and if it doesn't work out, well..." she ended with a shrug.

It seemed like the best offer I'd had since the day I was born, or to put it another way, I was getting the silver spoon in my mouth, not at birth, but belatedly. I accepted the offer without further discussion.

We arranged for me to see the house, and when I did I could hardly believe my luck. Not that it was some huge mansion, but it was a very romantic colonial style four bedroom house set in what people call "a leafy suburb."

"This is the old family home," she explained. "I inherited after my father died."

"He would have been my grandfather," I said.

Unusually for her April looked flustered and I asked, "What about my grandmother."

"Oh, she died...died some years before my father...cancer."

The subject was not pursued and I was shown my room, or rather, rooms; two of them, one to sleep in the other to study in. Luxury was piled on luxury as I was shown the en suite. No more sharing a shower alcove and toilet with a dozen other people!

I had arrived in the Promised Land; I had found favour in the sight of the gods; or at least in April's sight.

* * * * * * * *

Once settled in, almost inevitably April and I drew closer. There was however a difficulty I was experiencing. I was living with a woman who was biologically my mother, but a woman who looked too young to be my mother.

In addition, she was to say the least very attractive and inclined to be a bit casual about how she dressed at home. However formal and business-like her clothes when she was out and about, at home she was relaxed -- very relaxed. She often drifted around the place wearing only panties and bra. This had me somewhat confused about how to relate to her; after all, I wasn't intended to become a monk, or I didn't think so.

April also got a bit more tactile, going beyond the kiss on the cheek to an occasional hug and kiss on the lips. I wondered if this was what it meant to have a mother.

Still, I had little cause for complaint. On leaving the orphanage I'd been equipped with two of everything clothing-wise. Two T-shirts, two pair of jeans, socks and underwear, these had to be washed and dried on a daily basis, but now no longer.

April had taken me out on a shopping spree and now I wasn't sure how many I had of what, and I didn't even have to wash them myself, we had what April called "A daily" do that.

There still lurked in my mind a question that April had initially avoided about my father. This avoidance only added to my curiosity and I knew I would have to ask it again some time.

Whether when I did ask it the time was well chosen I don't think I'll ever know, but the answer I got revealed to me why April was so reluctant to answer it.

* * * * * * * *

It was a warm evening and we'd been sitting in the lounge, me in an armchair and April curled up on the sofa with her peignoir wrapped round her. We had been talking about what sort of a day we'd had, and as that talk drifted to a stop, I chose that as the moment to question about my father.

"April, I said, "you've never told me about my father, was it really so bad?"

She made a nervous movement and the peignoir fell open slightly to reveal her thighs, and this had the usual effect on me, I started to get an erection.

"It was good and bad," she replied.

I suppose I expected her to tell me about a vile seducer who, having got her pregnant had deserted her.

"How was it good and bad?" I asked.

She seemed to be looking back into the past, remembering what had happened, and it was a long time before she said, "I suppose you'll have to know or you'll go on wondering and asking, or find out some other way, and it can't hurt him now."