Sod's Law Pt. 05

What feeling was it then? Dull hopelessness certainly, nothing to look forward to, life being day to day drudgery. Greyness. Hopelessness. I was getting the feeling it was something to do with being hopeless.

I called in at a Café and ordered a burger and chips. That in itself showed my state of mind - I am a healthy eater: I have a mental restraining order against any burger coming within 100 metres of my mouth. However, I enjoyed the guilty pleasure of the burger in all its greasiness, and the soggy 'fries' that inevitably went with it, finishing every one.

I spent the afternoon in my hotel room reaping the rewards of my lunch with a queasy stomach-ache as I tried to read the novel I had brought with me. I did not dine that evening, but settled my stomach with whisky, a bottle of which I had thoughtfully also brought with me: have you seen the cost of a pub measure of whisky?

How effective the spirit was I have no idea, I ceased to be concerned by using the stratagem of falling asleep mid-evening and waking remarkably hangover free at six the next morning. Plenty of time to shave, shower, groom, breakfast and walk to the office with time to spare.

Work was the redeeming feature of my life. I was able to bury myself in it, as I had after Susan told me we were finished and she had found someone else. However, if I thought I could escape the attentions of my housemates, I was being hopelessly naïve. I should have made myself clearer in my note to them.

"Mr Evans," chirped our telephone girl, Penny, "a call for you from Miss Corrigan?"

I sighed. "Put her through Penny, thanks."

"David Evans." I announced upon being connected. I decided on formality. Pointless.

"David what's going on? We're all worried about you. We've heard nothing since you went to York."

"I left you a note."

"Yes, away for a week. That's all."

"Nuala, I need a week free from people being terribly kind to me, tip-toeing round me, pitying me."

"Oh God in heaven and his Blessed Mother, she is after dumping you! But-"

"Nuala!" I growled. "Just listen. I'll be back on Saturday. Helen and I are no longer together. I promise I'll give you all at home the full gory details when I come back.

"Helen had a good reason, and it's not her fault or mine come to that, though she could have handled it better, a lot better. Now please will you all just leave me alone until Saturday? Please Nuala?"

"Fine, fine!" she said, her voice oozing reluctance. "Just know that we care about you. I don't like the idea of you suffering alone."

"Believe me, Nuala, I know I'm better off getting over the worst before I come back."

The rest of the week passed uneventfully. I settled down to a routine in the hotel and at work. One thing I did do immediately was to advertise for a person to take Helen's room, and by the end of the week I had three replies, all from students. I would put the rooms back the way they were. That decision made things feel terminal.

Did I feel better? No. Was I coping better with those feelings? Yes. I was getting used to it. Half a life is better than no life at all. So it was I returned to the house on Saturday afternoon.

Usually, after the housekeeping work was finished the house seemed empty on Saturdays, residents either going out or retiring to their rooms, and when I arrived it seemed that was the case. I took my baggage to my room, then returned to the post room to collect my mail. Then, predictably, I suppose, I moved to the kitchen to make myself a pot of tea.

It seemed that very predictability of mine had assembled all the housemates except Harry (who had not yet returned from his Friday night outing) in the kitchen as soon as the call went out that my car was arriving.

I walked into the kitchen and stopped, amazed.

There was no rapturous cheer, no laughter at my surprised expression.

"Hi, David," said Kim, on their behalf it seemed. "How are you?"

"Well, thank you Kim," I replied. "Is this a welcoming committee?"

"We all worried about you this week, so we wanted to be here for you when you came home," said Imogen gently and full of compassion.

"There's tea made," said Christian, with a grin, "ready for you."

"Thanks," I said, and went to pour myself a cup, noting that everyone else had one already.

I knew perfectly well why they were there and what they wanted to know, so I sighed with resignation and joined them at the table.

"Ok," I said. "I promised I'd tell all when I got back. So here goes. You all, or at least all the women, agreed that Helen and I were amazingly compatible, we fitted together better than anyone could have hoped for. True?"

Nodding from round the table.

"Well," I said, "There's a very good reason for that." And I paused.

"Yes?" urged Nuala. "Go on."

"I think you know that Helen was adopted. You certainly know that I was fostered. Yes?"

A more impatient nod from some, and exasperated sighs from others.

"Helen's parents discovered something about us, about me and Helen. I didn't know that Helen's birth mother was called - Evans."

I stopped and let that sink in. No reaction except a "So?" from Ibrahim.

"So they discovered that Helen and I... are brother and sister, same mother."

Consternation! A babble of horror and disbelief.

"But... How?" asked Christian.

"I assume," I replied a little sarcastically, "she gave birth to me, then a few years later she gave birth to Helen. That's how it usually works."

Nobody laughed. I certainly didn't. Things quietened down.

"Oh, David," sighed romantic Kim, "that's terrible. I mean, you've been..."

"Yes, indeed we have, Kim."

"Hold on!" said Imogen. "You've only got her father's word for that. You've always said they didn't approve of you. It must be a trick. I mean what are the odds...?" She stuttered to a stop.

"They went to Helen's adoption agency who understandably wouldn't tell them anything until they explained that incest was a possibility. Then the agency carefully told them that Helen did have an older brother, but couldn't say more.

"Now I've looked up their legal position, and they were on the borderline of illegality, mind you, no one would ever prosecute them. It means that Maurice Metcalfe's story is credible.

"Then they employed an agency that traces lost relatives, and commissioned them to find out what they could. They worked on the birth mother's maiden name for Helen and found that David Evans was born in May 1960 at the same nursing home Helen was born in later. They could find no evidence that David Evans was ever adopted, which of course, I wasn't."

"That's it then," said Kim, morosely. "That's awful! What are the chances of you meeting like that...?"

The phrase Sod's Law occurred to me, but I said nothing.

There was a doleful silence. Then the group broke up, telling me in various ways how sorry they were. It was good of them. Understandably things were subdued around me for days afterwards, then gradually we came out of it and everyone was back to normal. I put it behind me. Or tried.

Over the next weeks I showed the applicants round the house. The first and second were second and third year university students, both women, and both, faced with the house set-up decided against it.

The third was a post-graduate studying for an MBA. He was a good looking lad, liked the set-up, and at interview came across well. He confessed himself 'somewhat anal' about cleanliness and tidiness, which was just what we were looking for. Alan Watkins would move in at the beginning of September.

Harry returned about three weeks after my revelation, having shacked up with some curvy blonde and taken her on holiday with him. Of course it took less than five minutes after his arrival for him to be acquainted with my Shakespearean tragedy, and another three and a half before he was knocking on my door.

Of all the residents, Harry and I were the most distant really; we had very little in common, his lifestyle being the reverse of mine, and his attitude to sex and to women continued to amaze and even revolt me. Having said that, he was a kind and cheerful character, and it was he who in due course started a chain of events which would engross me for some time, but not then.

"Hey, Dave, mate," he began once invited in. "That's incredible! I mean, how? What are the odds? How did you find out?"

I regarded him with a smile at his worried and compassionate face. "How, Harry? - Odds and Sods. Sod's Law; The odds? - astronomical, but that's Sod for you, he laughs with derision at bookies' odds; how did I find out? - my putative parents-in-law told me. She disappeared without a word to me, at which I am not at all impressed. Sit down Harry, you make the place look untidy."

He laughed, then looked apologetic. That made me laugh in turn. He sat.

"Harry, old man, it blew up a month ago, I'm practically over it. I assume you've been given the juicy details?"

"Nuala, enough said, but Dave, you sure her parents told you the truth? They didn't like you. Would they lie?"

"No, Harry, they were telling me the truth, I'm sure of it. They are very kind actually and, well, they said it was how much we resembled each other facially that made them suspicious. They know Helen had a older brother and her birth mother's name was Evans. They then did some research."

"I don't know, Dave," he said pensively. "It all seems too far fetched to be true."

"Harry, she has an older brother, who was born in Shrewsbury early May 1960. I was born in Shrewsbury in early May 1960. It seems far fetched because after our births we went in completely different directions. I was never adopted and spent time in and out of children's homes and with various foster parents until Brenda took me on. Helen was adopted by people in York and grew up there.

"Manchester is good for Law degrees, we both studied Law. Not surprising, perhaps Law is in the genes. The only real coincidence is her applying to come and live here."

"Yeah, I suppose put that way... It's not right, Dave: you don't deserve this. You're a good honest bloke."

"That's kind of you, Harry."

"I still owe you that drink, and now perhaps a night on the tiles?"

"It's all a bit painful at the moment, Harry, give me a little more time to get it out of my system."

He smiled and left the room.

On Sunday I went back home to Mum. I was getting used to the horror on people's faces when I told them, and the family were no exception. I had to go over the whole thing all over again. It was a relief when the conversation moved on to other things.

Craig had completed his Community Service, and his anger management course, and had even been promoted at work. Nessa was now living with him and, rather shamefaced, he said they were talking about marriage. The shamefaced bit was partly to do with his street image - no one expected him ever to settle down that much! It was also partly because my own plans for married bliss had been dashed, which made him uncomfortable.

The day with Mum made me feel much better, and was healing.

Life went on. At the house, we had a Halloween party, and a New Year's party in the Ballroom, which attracted a good crowd, including Gina, Craig and Nessa. I spent Christmas with Mum and a selection of past and present fostered folk much the same as the previous year.

I did have a night out with Harry and was 'fixed up' with a very pretty girl, who after some discussion decided that a night in the sack with me was not a good idea. I had to agree. I felt no disappointment.

Spring came and gave me a sense of optimism, though I still had no interest in the dating game. I was getting more companies asking for me by name and had a number of very pleasant dinners with female lawyers from other firms. I was finally getting over Helen, and that was a relief until...

Mayday Bank holiday dawned, and the house decided that since it was my 25th Birthday, we would have a special meal and a small party to celebrate. That was fine since the 6th of May fell on the Bank Holiday Monday that year.

The meal was fine but the party seemed to grow out of all proportion! Still it was fun, and I was propositioned by no less than three nubile and very pretty young women, guests of Harry, who else? Very gratifying. I gently turned them down, but got some steamy kisses in any case, which was even more gratifying, and it prompted a comment from Harry, who had brought all three in the hope that I might be set up with one of them!

"Dave, mate," he slurred a little. "When are you going to get over that woman and live a little?"

"No idea!" I replied, with some slightly inebriated jocularity. "I'm verrry happy as I am at the moment."

"So all the evidence checked out, did it? She really is your sister?"

"Evidence?" In my befuddled state I was not coping with the idea.

"The evidence about you being her brother."

"Uh? Well, not checked."

"David, you are a lawyer. You trusted her parents to get it right? Isn't she important enough to check it out for yourself?"

Now that threw me completely and sobered me up rapidly. Why didn't I check? Of course it was the obvious thing to do.

"No, Harry, I haven't checked. Damn! I think it was the dreadful shock of her disappearance, then the revelation, mixed with her parents' kindness. I just accepted it all. You're right though, I'm a bloody fool! I should check, and I will."

"Good," he said. "Don't give up without a fight."

"Thanks Harry, you've done me a favour, and even if it turns out they're right, I'll feel better for proving it for myself."

That conversation did nothing for my continued enjoyment of the party. Now I was preoccupied.

--

Chapter 10

_Tuesday 7th May 1985_

Next morning, back at work, I took a pad and a pen. Time to think. What did I need to know? I needed to verify that Helen and I had the same mother, or father, or both. It triggered the realisation that I knew precious little about my own birth mother and father, though I seemed to know she was a single mother.

I extracted my birth certificate, of which I had taken little notice in the past. The first look confirmed what I suspected: it was a short certificate and so told me nothing about my birth mother, only giving me my name, the place my birth was registered: Shrewsbury, the date of my birth: the sixth of May 1960, and a reference number to the full entry in the Registers.

I resolved to get a full certificate which would give me my parents' names, my father's occupation, the address where I was born, the home address, my mother's maiden name and the name of the person who registered the birth.

The obvious source of further information until I got the certificate, was Mum. That would be my first port of call.

I worked through lunch and left a hour early to visit her.

As I drove to Mum's place, it struck me that neither Helen nor myself had ever talked about our birth parents after that first meal together. It seemed we agreed that they were irrelevant and of no interest. How wrong we were!

"So at last you want to know about your birth mother," Mum said. "Why?"

"This business of being Helen's brother. It occurred to me that I should check the details for myself."

"Well, Davey," she said sorrowfully, "your file went back to Manchester Social Services when you turned eighteen, and to be honest, the last time I looked at it I think you were seven. You've got your birth certificate. You could probably apply to Manchester to see your file now you're an adult. I do know a little."

"Anything would help."

"I seem to remember her Christian name was Ruby, and she had you very young. There was trouble with her boyfriend I think, and you were taken into care as a baby.

"She got you back when she got rid of the boyfriend, and I think that's when she moved to Manchester. She had to be supervised because of her age and you being at risk. She got another boyfriend but he was no better than the other one. He was violent, so you were taken into care again..."

She paused in thought. Then, "I think she died."

"Drugs?" I asked.

"No I don't think so. I think she was beaten up by her boyfriend and didn't survive. It made the papers, he was sentenced to life, minimum twenty-five years. There was talk that he only just missed being hung for it.

"You could try the Manchester Evening News: it'll be in there. You came to me in '65 aged four, and you'd been fostered somewhere else in the meantime. Try going backwards from March or April 1965. Big job."

"I'll do that, Mum, and I'll get a full birth certificate. That'll give my mother's name and the address where I was born, probably her address as well if she registered the birth."

"Davey, you could look up the death indexes for her death once you know her full name for sure. The death certificate will say how she died and where, if indeed it's true she was murdered."

I was surprised that I felt nauseous and distressed, nay, angry at her life being cut short, but with a lead to follow, I felt better as I left to return home. I had something to do, something positive to go on. Perhaps she hadn't been killed at all. Perhaps I could find her.

On Wednesday I asked Tessa, one of the secretaries, to order me a full birth certificate from Shrewsbury Register Office, giving her my short certificate so she could provide my date of birth and the reference to the entry in the records. I gave her my cheque for £6.50, that being the fee.

I enclosed a self-addressed envelope with a first class stamp, and it was sent off that afternoon by first class post. I calculated it would arrive the next day, take a day or two to be processed. There must have been a rash of births or people enquiring about certificates, for the certificate did not arrive until Monday of the following week.

The letter was waiting for me in my pigeon-hole when I returned from work on Monday evening. I had to confess to some excitement. What would I find?

Something unexpected in column one! I was born in a building on Castle Foregate, not the Royal Salop, as Maurice's investigators had said.

My name was David, well, I knew that!

The column for father's name was blank; my mother's name was indeed Ruby Evans and the word 'waitress' had been added instead of her maiden name.

I may have been born in Shrewsbury, but in Ruby's home address on Castle Foregate. She had registered the birth.

I was now hooked on finding out more about Ruby Evans and whether she was murdered, and if so, when? If she was murdered before November 1963, she could not be Helen's mother, and we could not be brother and sister!

I managed to get into the Record Office after work and searched for Ruby's death in the Death Indexes. It took a while, but in the end there was only one Ruby Evans between 1965 and 1961. The entry showed the death occurred in Chorlton District of Manchester in the March Quarter 1964.

On Wednesday lunch time I went to the Register Office in Manchester and obtained her death certificate. She died on the 14th January 1964 of a fractured skull, and multiple injuries the details of which were crammed into the small section of the certificate.

I had the afternoon for trust administration at River House, so I cheated and went to the Record Office to search the fiches for the Manchester Evening News account.

There was an article being an account of the coroner's inquest on the death of Ruby Evans. There were descriptions of the post-mortem examination, and accounts from the police about how she was found badly beaten, and the subsequent arrest of a Lee Bradshaw, her boyfriend who had pleaded guilty to the fatal attack.

I searched the column. Not enough. I needed an account of the actual event, and continued to search. Eventually I came across a front page headline, 'Missing Woman's Body Found'.