Sod's Law Pt. 05

It gave details of the place and that her badly beaten body was found in a two-up, two-down terraced house in Hulme. I knew the area, it was in the centre of major slum clearance at that time in the city. The demolition clearly hadn't reached that street yet. Those houses were filthy, without electricity, proper plumbing or a bathroom, with an outside toilet in a brick shed.

However, the part that caught my attention was that a young boy was found hiding and crying in the house, who turned out to be her son. It had to be me though my name was not mentioned. More to the point, there was no mention of a baby. Helen would have been about eight weeks old when Ruby was murdered. If I was in the house aged three, and not in a care home, wouldn't Helen be there as well?

Further, if Ruby was in Manchester with me, and she was also Helen's mother, how did Helen come to be born in Shrewsbury? Mum had said Ruby was living in Manchester, not just visiting.

I was beginning to suspect Ruby could not be my mother and Helen's as well, in which case...? I began to feel excited.

Then I remembered what Maurice Metcalfe had said. David Evans and Helen had the same mother. Now the mother would be Evans if she was married, but the Birth Indexes also showed the mother's maiden name as well as her married one. I had obtained my long birth certificate using my short version, so I had not checked what the indexes showed.

Ruby's maiden name was of course - Evans! So I moved to search the December Quarter 1963. Helen's given name would not have been Helen: that was given her by her adopting parents. I was looking for a girl Evans, with a mother whose maiden name was also Evans.

There were an awful lot of Evanses! I only had to look at girls, and though there was the odd boy whose mother had the maiden name Evans, there were no girls with an unmarried mother, name of Evans in that quarter, born anywhere, let alone Shrewsbury.

What did that mean? Hope began to surge! I asked one of the staff.

His replies did not help!

"The first possibility is that the birth was not registered," he said.

"I'm pretty sure it was."

"Well, it could be a misspelling, you could check alternative spellings of the name of the girl or the mother, or perhaps the girl has two or three forenames, have you checked those?"

"Yes, but not alternative spellings."

"With a name like Evans, I can't think there'd be many - try Eva, or Evens, or Evanes perhaps Bevans."

I did but no luck. But Maurice had said: the investigators had found David and Helen with the same mother. Since there was no girl with mother's maiden name of Evans, It seemed that Ruby could not be Helen's mother.

It was looking more and more likely that Helen and I were not related at all! Then it came to me. There must be another David Evans in that quarter of 1960 and a girl surname Evans in 1963 with the same mother's maiden name as that of David Evans. I went back to the indexes. My heart was beating fast.

It actually proved easy. I wrote out all the David Evanses in that quarter, and there were plenty, and added the mothers' maiden names. Then the same with the girl Evanses in December quarter 1963, looking for a match and there it was.

David J Evans, some fifteen entries below mine, registered in Shrewsbury, mother's maiden name: Drinkwater.

Kylie A Evans registered in Shrewsbury, and with the mother's maiden name - Drinkwater. No other girl in that quarter was born in Shrewsbury.

I took the details and left the record office, it was five o'clock! I had been there all afternoon.

On Thursday I sent for their birth certificates. And received a birthday card. Ten days late. I opened it and took it into the kitchen. Most of the crew were there.

"Hey!" I shouted. "I just got a birthday card, better late than never eh?"

"Who from?" Imogen asked over her shoulder as she stirred something delicious on her stove.

"You'll never guess!" I said with a grin.

"Helen!" shouted Kim.

"I was wrong," I said. "You did guess."

"What does it say?" asked Christian.

"Not a lot. 'Happy Birthday David, love Helen.' That's all."

"That's weird!" said Harry. "As if nothing has happened. That girl is strange!"

I had one more task to do, to check on my mother's movements. I phoned Manchester Social Services and after a long series of transfers got archives and asked about my file.

I was told to present myself at the offices with identification, which I did on Friday lunch hour. A bad move. I had to wait an hour until the staff returned from lunch. Another half hour saw me at a table with my file.

It seemed that Ruby Evans came to the notice of the Manchester office in December 1962, and they registered her address with her new boyfriend in Hulme in March 1963 where she remained until her untimely death in 1964. There was no possible way she could have given birth to Helen in Shrewsbury.

Both certificates arrived on the same day, Wednesday. It had taken just a week to obtain them. I took them to my room and opened them with a certain amount of trepidation.

Both children were born at St Mary's Street, Shrewsbury, which turned out to be the Royal Salop Hospital. The interesting thing was that David John Evans was born on the 16th of May which was written as Sixtnth May. I wondered if this had been mistaken for Sixth May.

In full lawyer mode, I thought grimly that there was a reason why registrars were required to write everything out in full. Whoever G Hoskins was, he or she should have been sacked for abbreviating the date.

The parents David and Kathleen Evans were married, and their address was different for each birth, though both in Shrewsbury itself. The father was a labourer on David's certificate, and unemployed on Kylie's.

Kylie's birthday was the same as Helen's: 23rd November 1963. I recalled what Maurice Metcalfe had told me: both children were born in the same hospital. Kylie was born in Royal Salop, but I was born on Castle Foregate. Both children had the same mother, Kylie's was Kathleen Evans nee Drinkwater, mine was Ruby Evans, nee - Evans. My mother was living in Manchester at the time Kylie was born in Shrewsbury.

Then it hit me. Helen's card the previous week, sent for the sixteenth! We had celebrated my birthday together the previous year but on the sixth, but she'd obviously forgotten the date, and used the David J birthday!

Case proved. Helen and I were not siblings. I went downstairs. Again most of the folk were there, Harry was out again, and Nuala was going to be late arriving.

We ate and washed up, then I asked them to stay.

"You've all been so good to me over the past months, I think you should be the first to hear this.

"At my birthday party Harry asked if I'd checked the evidence about Helen, and I had to say I hadn't. It hadn't occurred to me. So over the past few weeks I've been checking. I've found all sorts of things. I've found out about my birth mother.

"My foster mother had a recollection that Ruby Evans, my mother, was murdered, so I looked for her death certificate in the indexes and found she died at the beginning of 1964 in Manchester. I looked through the back numbers of the Evening News and sure enough found she was beaten to death by her boyfriend of the time."

There were gasps round the table. I couldn't resist carrying on.

"It seems I was hiding in the house with her body when the police arrived. I was three years old, and told the police who had done it. D'you know, I have no memory of any of that?

"Helen was born in November 1963, but there was no mention in the paper of a baby as well as me, and I'm sure there would have been had a baby also have been there. However, Ruby was living in Manchester, and Helen was born in Shrewsbury. If Ruby was not Helen's mother, we are not brother and sister after all."

Everyone began to talk at once. I held up a hand.

"I remembered Maurice Metcalfe saying that Helen and I were born in the same hospital. I got my full birth certificate and found I was born in a bedsitter on Castle Foregate, not the hospital. He said she was born in the hospital. That's not all.

"The indexes show the mother's maiden name. I thought that if I'm not the brother David Evans, there must another David Evans and he will have the same mother as Helen had, though you have to remember that she was not registered as Helen. I had to look for them, and I found them. I got the certificates.

"David J Evans was born in Shrewsbury at Royal Salop Hospital. Kylie A Evans was born in the same hospital. Both had a mother Kathleen Evans nee Drinkwater. Kylie's birthday is the same as Helen's.

"David J was born 10 days after me. 16th May. Ring any bells?"

Imogen saw it. "Helen's card arrived on the 16th!"

"Exactly."

"So they mixed you up with another David and destroyed..." said Christian.

"That's the size of it. We are definitely not brother and sister."

"What will you do?" asked Kim.

"I need to think about that. I'm not going to make any impulsive decisions. I may contact her parents - see if they know where she is. The card was posted in Liverpool."

"She needs to know, David," said Imogen. "She's under a dreadful misconception."

"After what she did, and how I feel now, I don't know if I want her back. It's getting on for a year now, she'll have moved on."

"You don't know that," said Ibrahim

"Perhaps her parents will know," said Nuala.

The next evening, I called Helen's parents and received a strong rebuff and a piece of information which rocked me on my heels.

"David what's this about? Will you leave the whole matter alone, for God's sake!"

"Maurice I have some new information-"

"Not interested, and neither will she be. You saw the evidence by a reputable company-"

"Who got it wrong."

"Nonsense. There's no way you're going to ruin her life with spurious information. Get it through your head, she's gone. If you must know she's engaged to be married to a very nice man in her legal practice. So I'm telling you to do her and yourself a favour and back off."

Click. Dial tone.

It took a moment for the full import to punch me in the gut. Helen was getting married - to someone else. My second thought was she didn't hang about. Less than a year. My third thought was that I couldn't blame her. My fourth, leave her alone. She's gone.

After those thoughts I stopped thinking and started feeling, and all the feelings were bad ones.

I was still standing by the phone when Harry came by.

"Good God!" he blasphemed. "What's happened? Someone died? Accident?"

"I've just been told by Maurice Metcalfe that his adopted daughter is engaged to be married, and that the best thing for me to do is to keep my nose out."

"Oh, Dave, mate!" Then, "Would he just say that to keep you away? I mean, she's not told you has she? She sent you a birthday card, so she's not angry with you. I mean, she never actually ended your engagement did she?"

"Technically she did, she left the ring behind. I don't think Maurice is evil. The impending wedding is probably happening, and she certainly wants to avoid me from the looks of things. If she's moved on perhaps it's about time I did the same."

"That's my boy!" he said with a grin. "Whenever you're ready! See if you can actually bed the filly this time!"

Of course, the romantics were all dewey eyed, and I could have sworn that Kim was crying. I was urged to find Helen and stop the engagement.

I put a stop to that line: "Would any of you like to tell me how?" Silence. "That's the problem - she's disappeared and while her parents probably know where she is, they're certainly not talking. Let's all forget about it."

Of course I did not forget about it, at least not immediately. It amazed me how Sod's Law works in opposite directions. When Helen and I were trying to get together, everything happened to keep us apart. Once we had become really close in a deep relationship, and got engaged, I really thought we had emerged from Sod's Law, but no.

Now the direction was reversed, and we were parted by this incest business. Then over the weeks and months, every time I thought I'd got over her, she was brought to my attention again.

This time I proved we were not related and everything in theory should be resolved. No. Sod decreed that her parents would not listen to me and she has moved on to someone else. Engaged no less.

So once again I had to try to put her behind me, but her future wedding would play on my mind until it was all over, I thought.

Sure enough, the weeks and months passed by, and summer came upon us again, and sure enough, I began to feel more human again. And, I succumbed to Harry's repeated attempts to join him for a Friday night.

It was the end of July. Don't get the idea of long hot sunny days; the temperature was a couple of degrees below the average at about 18C, and there were more rainy days than sunny. This did not stop female Friday night revellers from dressing in the bare minimum, bare being the operative word.

Beverley was fun. How Harry knew the precise statistics of my type of woman I never found out, but when we went to a table occupied by two pretty girls, both of whom I surmised to be around twenty one years old, he turned his not inconsiderable charm on the petite brunette, leaving me to smile, I hoped winningly, at the blonde. She smiled back, definitely winningly.

At a glance I took in her ample chest, slim waist, long, long slim legs, delicate facial features and a neck which invited kissing and nibbling. When she stood to dance on our invitation, her bottom was neat and perfectly rounded, and she was as tall as I was. She was soft and smelled delicious in the slow dances, and her assets moved enticingly in the fast ones.

There was not much conversation since the music obliterated all attempts to communicate, but when Harry semaphored 'shall we go?', both girls seemed more than willing. We picked up a taxi which took Harry and his girl (whose name escapes me) to a good hotel, and then on to River House with Beverley.

I cannot remember what we talked about in the taxi, but it was clear she was intelligent and humorous. We did laugh a lot.

When we got in, we went straight to my room and I found she was a whisky buff. The girl was growing on me!

"You know what my name means?" she asked with twinkling eyes, as we sipped the amber liquid.

"Can't say as I do," I replied.

"Bever Lee: Beaver city!" she laughed. "Want to visit?"

" 'Wood' I?" I returned, "The desire is 'gnawing' at me."

"Hope your 'wood' is still standing tall!" she shot back.

"I think I can work out where to 'lodge' it!"

"Oh! Clever!" she said with dancing eyes, as she stood and slipped her mini dress off her shoulders, letting it fall to the floor.

I was surprised she wore no bra, though her tits stood proud and firm without one, the nipples dark brown with lighter brown surrounds. Indeed they were so firm I could have sworn she'd had a bra on while we were dancing.

My expression must have shown my appreciation, for she laughed and cupped, fingers straying over the nipples which lengthened even more. She licked her lips lasciviously.

Below, she sported tight little briefs, not a thong but such as covered her cheeks, and I suspected she thought they protected her modesty with a dress that was so short it was far from modest. I looked up to see her with an enquiring expression as she put her thumbs to the waistband.

I shook my head and beckoned her to come close, so she was standing before me, legs a little apart. Her three inch heels brought her beaver level with my face. By now my already hard cock grew stiffer yet and I pulled her knickers down, allowing the aroma of aroused woman to waft over me.

Though her sex was at the perfect height, I knew my tongue would only be able to graze her clit, so I looked up to find her gazing wantonly down at me. I made a twirling motion and she grinned and turned her back, widening her stance and bending forward, hands on knees for support.

I took in the sight of her pretty lower lips now invitingly ajar, and pulling her hips a little closer ran my tongue over her from vagina to clitoris. She shuddered and groaned and her vagina gaped neatly, showing how ready she was. I did it again, and then again, and her legs began to shake.

"Bed!" I ordered, and she hastened to obey, crawling on and lying on her back, legs wide. Her hand wandered to her clit, which she began to stroke gently. I rapidly stripped, went to the end of the bed, and crawled on after her, arriving at the top of her legs and pushing her hand away with my nose. She giggled, though this was cut short and replaced by a gasp when my tongue made contact.

Her scent was strong after the evening's dancing, the heady aroma spurring me on to lick and tantalise until she was writhing and pushing my face against her slippery gash until she came loudly with grunts and yelps and twitching.

She pulled me up and miraculously she was waving a condom. Where it came from I did not know, or care. I rolled it on, we kissed, my tongue entering her upper mouth as my cock invaded her lower. Then I let myself go, and all the pent up frustration of weeks without a woman was concentrated in my headlong thrusting, heedless and hard until I came, vaguely aware that she was coming as well.

We lay in each other's arms, breathless, languidly stroking where we could. I slipped off the condom and tied it off.

"If you're out of practice," she said, "I'd like to try you when you're up to speed. That was good, very good. How long is it?"

"Six and a half inches," I said deadpan

"Dolt!" she scolded. "How long since..."

"Getting on for a year," I said. "September last year."

"Why so long?"

"Relationship breakdown. I just didn't feel the urge any more after her."

"She was special."

"Very. There was a misunderstanding and she left me, making sure I couldn't find her to put it right."

"She's still there." It was a bald statement with no embellishment.

"Hmm? Where?"

"I could tell. You weren't completely 'with me' if you see what I mean. A little tiny bit missing, though you were totally giving, totally for me, there was a... I don't know... something, someone, hiding at the back of your mind."

"There has been for months, but I thought I was over her by now."

"Perhaps you are, but she's hanging in there, deep down. You really should go looking for her, you know. If you're still not quite whole, you and she must have had something very special."

"We did. So much so that her parents thought we were brother and sister - she's adopted and I was fostered, so we could have been. They told her there was proof we were."

"But you aren't?"

"No I did a bit of research and found there was another David Evans ten days younger than me, who actually is her brother. But she's now engaged to someone else-"

"You were together for a while." It was a statement.

"A Year and a half near enough."

She looked at me and sighed.

"So you were really close, then, I can tell!" She thought for a moment, "You said you couldn't find her."

"Her parents told me. They won't listen to my evidence about our lack of sibling relationship, but told me to butt out of her life because she was marrying someone else."

"Oh, David. Try to find her, please. She'd be heart-broken if she found you could have been together after all and she'd married someone else."

I think that had occurred to me when I was too upset to notice, but Bev was right. However, with a sense of annoyance I thought Helen did not have to disappear without first talking to me, and after a year, she could at least tell me she was going with someone else, and where she was living.

I believe I deserved some consideration once the worst of the hurt was over, but beyond the birthday card with no return address, and with her stipulation to her parents that I was still not to know where she was, she hardly qualified for consideration herself.