Editor’s note: This is another instance of publishing a short story written by three people who has come to find a single identity through their words. The three authors didn’t know each other before they came together in a writers conference and the trying times of the pandemic made them see they can be one when it comes to writing.
My hands are fidgeting unconsciously. My finger nails click against each other and it is only brought to my attention by the scorn of the elderly man sitting next to me. I assume that he has a low tolerance level. His face shows deep set wrinkles above his nose. I mouth the word, sorry, and release my hands so I am not tempted to continue. I wonder if he is on the spectrum, it seems to be more common these days. Some people have lived long lives feeling like square pegs in round holes and there is finally an explanation. I ponder if it is too late for this man, whose superior demeanour oozes with abundance.
I wipe my skirt, a few crumbs remain from dinner, then gaze out the window hoping I can prolong my need for the bathroom so as not to again annoy his lordship.
The cabin is full, there are no empty seats. I know that a 24-hour flight will soon show tussled hair and emerging whiskers as we travel through the skies together. I recall that from the first flight I went on; everyone looking like they climbed out of bed. It makes it difficult to arrive looking fresh as a daisy. I usually head straight for the ladies if I know someone is waiting to greet me.
I continue to look out the window but apart from a blue, almost cloudless sky, I can see the glistening, metallic wing. All looks as it should.
We are six hours out of Heathrow and I am wondering if the father I have never met was a grump like the man sitting next to me. I give myself a mental slap on the wrist, who knows his wife may have recently died or he suffers from the effects of the Vietnam War, he looks around that age group. Perhaps his business has collapsed due to Covid. Everyone has a story.
I will be glad to get home, I am tired and the search to trace my biological parents proved fruitless. ‘Biological’, what a cold and clinical word! In those days adoptions were never meant to be revealed. I am hoping that some of the enquiries I have made may still provide clues. My adoptive parents have both passed away and I feel free to chase my origins.
The hostess offers another coffee and I acknowledge, if only to keep my hands from fidgeting. It slips down easily. My travel companion seems to enjoy his too. I hear a sign of pleasure. Part of me wants to talk with him but I don’t think it would be a good idea. I sneak a look every so often, wondering what his story is. I go back to looking at the now-darkening skies. It’s time to pull the cover down and block out the night.
The waitress returns for the cups and turns the cabin lights down. Her hair and skin are immaculate, I can’t help but stare. Kids are fussing in the seat behind and I can feel movement at the back of my seat, I look across at my neighbour but he is already asleep, his mouth falling open with a gentle snore. Perhaps I should try to sleep but I do need the bathroom; I gently tap my neighbour. I excuse myself and make my way down the aisle but on the way back slight turbulence causes me to accidentally fall on a man on the aisle seat opposite. I am drawn to his compelling eyes.
I think this flight is messing with my head I tell myself as I pull myself clumsily upright and apologise, trying to maintain some semblance of dignity.
“My pleasure,” Mr Handsome grins. “Joseph. Nice to meet you…?”
“Emily, Emily Penser,” I know I’m blushing.
“Joseph Holman.”
I gasp.
“Did you say Holman?”
“Sure did.”
My head is spinning. “That is amazing. I am returning to England after failing to find my biological father. His name is Holman. That is all I know about him…” I say hesitantly, trying to get my head around the extraordinary coincidence.
For the first time I’m aware of the woman sitting beside Joseph. She leans across with her hand extended, “I’m Margaret, Joseph’s wife.” She smiles in a friendly manner.
I am ashamed to say I feel a twinge of disappointment. “Nice to meet you,” I return the handshake and try to look as if I mean it.
“That’s my grumpy old Dad you’re sitting next to,” Joseph grins, “he’s sulking because he wanted to sit next to me but Margaret and I had business matters to discuss and the long flight was the perfect opportunity.”
The air hostess needs to pass along the aisle so I nod and make my way back to my seat. My neighbour wakes and glares at me as I climb across him and flop into my seat. “I’ve just met your son,” I gush, “and there’s an amazing coincidence…”
“What son? I don’t have a son? If I had a son he’d be sitting beside me.”
I want to laugh but try to keep a straight face. “Well, the lady sitting next to your son, Joseph Holman, says she’s your daughter-in-law and wait till I tell you…”
“Don’t have a daughter-in-law neither.”
“Mr Holman, what would you say if I told you there is a chance we could be related?”
“I’d say I don’t have any relations, don’t want any neither.”
“Mr Holman, I’ve been in Australia looking for any clue to the whereabouts of my biological parents, you are so lucky to have relatives, please talk to me about the Holmans. The universe seems to have brought us together in the most extraordinary way. It means something I know. I feel it. Don’t you feel the magic of this amazing coincidental meeting?”
He looked at me quizzically and I felt a glimmer of hope.
“Ugh!” Mr Holman wriggles in his seat.
Joseph smiles at me and leans across the aisle and taps his father on the knee. “Come on, Dad. You know you are travelling with us. Give Emily a go.”
“I just want to get home. Don’t want to talk to anyone.”
I settle back in my seat and smile at Mr Holman. “My name is Emily.”
Mr Holman grunts. “Oh, all right, my name is Charles, if you must know. I don’t make a habit of chatting to anyone, let alone a young woman when I’m travelling. Prefer my own company.”
“That’s fine. It’s lovely to meet you, Charles. As I said before, we could be related!”
I notice Margaret pass a business card to her husband who, in turn, leans across the aisle and hands the card to me. I accept this kind gesture with a nod and lay back in my chair mulling over in my mind what an amazing coincidence it has been meeting the Holman family – could this be a clue in my search for my biological parents? I doze off with these thoughts in my mind.
A male voice wakes me up. “Ladies and gentlemen, this is your pilot speaking. Please return to your allocated seats and fasten your safety belts ready for arrival at Heathrow. Crew prepare the plane for landing.”
After a very smooth landing, the Holmans join me walking towards Border Security. “Once we’ve collected our luggage why don’t you join us for a quick coffee before we go our separate ways?” suggests Margaret Holman.
I smile and nod, appreciating her kind offer.
Thirty minutes later, having collected our baggage and cleared Customs we sit together in one of the many cafés scattered around Terminal 4.
“Where do you live?” enquired Joseph.
“Kingston-upon-Thames.”
“Oh, another coincidence,” exclaimed Margaret, “we’re only a few miles away at Surbiton.”
Charles Holman sits staring intently at me.
“Isn’t that good news, Dad? Emily is just down the road. We’ll have her over for lunch one day, what do you reckon?”
“Can’t see why?” Charles replied, wiping a dribble of coffee away from his wrinkled face with a napkin.
I notice he is becoming agitated. He face is twitching and he starts wringing his hands. “Holman, you say? Interesting?”
“Why do you say ‘interesting,’ Dad?” Margaret enquires.
“Wasn’t it Australia my bloody younger brother Jack suddenly dashed off to and was never heard from again! Happened when you were a kid, Joseph! That girl he was going with, S-s-Sandra, that’s her name followed him – stupid woman!”
“I can’t remember, Dad.” Joseph grins.
I can’t believe what I am hearing. Could this chance meeting with the Holman family, the very name I had travelled to the other side of the world to trace, give me the answer about my biological parents? This is too good to be true. I am gob-smacked. I feel sick. Suddenly, the walls of the café begin closing in on me.
“Are you okay, Emily?” Margaret says holding my hand.
I look around to remind myself where I am, “Yes, yes it has been a tiring time and I admit the Holman connection has shocked me.”
“Is someone coming to pick you up, Emily? We won’t leave you here like this?” I momentarily forget what I had planned as it seemed ages ago since I arranged it.
“I… I was to ring my boyfriend, Louie, when I was ready to be picked up, he works nearby.” I fumble for my phone. I hit auto-dial to call Louie, who reminds me of where I was to meet him and I point in the direction. The Holmans help me with my baggage and we head to where I can see Louie waving. I thank them and hug Louie.
Louie and I embrace as he puts my luggage in his car boot. I look around but they have disappeared, I stare into space for a bit, recalling our conversation, and feel for the business card I had put into my coat pocket earlier. ‘That’s for later,’ I tell myself.
On the trip home I fill Louie in on all that happened during my trip, but most importantly meeting the Holman family. He is surprised of the co-incidence but is keen to fill me in on all that has happened since I left. I look lovingly at him; I have missed him and glad to be home. The family history must wait, I have already had four weeks off from work. ‘Tomorrow is another day,’ I tell myself.
I fall into bed but can’t help recount the information, the conversations and all the research of the last weeks and I am saddened I didn’t have much time to see the beautiful sights of Australia. Some warm days I sat on Bondi Beach going through my notes but realised I had learnt more from the Holmans than any enquiries I had made while there.
Possible scenarios play over in my mind; could Charles’ long lost younger brother be my father? Could his lady-friend, Sandra be my mother, and what was her surname? Could I have been adopted before they left for Australia? Where was I to start I pondered as I finally fall into a deep purple haze of sleep.
It’s a couple of days later and the jet lag is finally wearing off when the phone rings and I am surprised to hear Margaret’s voice.
“Emily, Charles has remembered something and we think you should hear about it. Would you like to come and have lunch as we suggested?”
My heart takes a leap and I readily accept. “When would you like me to come?”
“How about tomorrow … 12 mid day? Our address is on the card Joseph gave you.”
“Lovely. See you then.” I hang up and wonder what I should take. ‘A cake would probably be appropriate,’ I decide and make my way to the kitchen to start cooking. I want to make a good impression.
It isn’t without some trepidation that I knock on the door at Surbiton and hand my cake to Margaret as she welcomes me inside.
She leads the way to the lounge room where Charles and Joseph are standing in front of the fireplace. Do I imagine it or do both look a little excited?
“Thought about what you said, the Universe bringing us together, all that rubbish, I usually take no notice of, but, when I was sitting on the lav this morning,” he glances at Margaret to see if he is going to be reprimanded for being crude, “ I had a thought. I remembered something. A photo Jack left in the back of the old photo album our mum kept in the loft. It was a photo of him and that floozy Sandra. I told Mum to burn it but she said she was going to keep it whether I wanted her to or not.” He snorts.
Joseph takes a photo off the mantelpiece and hands it to me: an old faded photo of a man and woman, creased and a little crumpled at the corners but I gasp as I look at the face of the woman smiling at me. She has the prominent nose I have, the same eyes with eyebrows almost meeting above that nose, but most striking to me she has that one odd dimple just beside her left lip. The man looks like a younger version of Joseph.
“Must be your mum,” Charles snorts, “spitting image if you ask me.”
I am shaking. Margaret reaches out and takes my arm.
“It is an extraordinary likeness, Emily. I’ve never seen the photo before and Joseph doesn’t think he has. Their mum died not long after Jack disappeared, all the stress no doubt at least partially to blame. Charles never thought to show it to Joseph I guess.”
“Hmmph,” is Charles’ comment.
“The old and new,” Joseph looks happy as he holds the photo up beside my face.
“It is startling,” Margaret squeezes my arm. “Come and sit down. We’ll have lunch and you can clear your head. It must be spinning.”
“Wait till I tell Louie, he’ll never believe it,” I feel happy as I let Margaret lead me to the table. I can hardly remember the lunch or conversation that followed. All I can think is how am I going to find the mysterious Sandra when no one had been able to find Jack all those years ago.
“How many years ago did he disappear?” I suddenly feel the start of a plan niggling at the back of my mind.
“About fifty, he’d be seventy-one now, we gave up hoping to hear from him years ago now. Dad didn’t want to even talk about him after Mum died, so we just let it go.” Joseph looks sad.
“He was so young, how old was Sandra?”
“She was only about eighteen. A wild one at that. Loved to party. Dad said Australians wouldn’t know what hit them when she turned up.”
“Hmmph,” says Charles.
I take a copy of the photo with my phone and send it on to Louie with a message, “Who does this look like, Darl?” I can’t wait to see him and put my idea into action.
“My boyfriend Louie works in I.T. He might be able to find Jack or Sandra online. Just think … all because I sat next to you on that flight I know what my mum and dad look like. Charles, I want to hug you.”
His startled reaction tells me I’d better not.
“We’ve looked on Facebook and Instagram, places like that over the years, but never had any luck. I’ve given up hope of seeing my uncle really.” Joseph looks pensive.
“Those are old ways now, Louie is up-to-date on all the newest methods,” I don’t want to be rude but can’t contain my excitement of searching through the Internet with Louie. “Will you excuse me? I really must go, Thank you a million times. I’ll let you know what happens.” I shake hands with my hosts, now my family forever I feel sure and drive as quickly as I can back to Kingston-on-Thames and Louies’ flat, just around the corner from mine.
Louie is waiting for me, his eyes sparkling, he grabs me in a bear hug and says, “I knew who that photo was as soon as I saw it. Could only be your mum. I did a search.”
“Margaret and Joseph searched the social media sites and didn’t find anything,” I tell him.
“That’s old hat now, Darl. I used a facial recognition app that can search the whole Web in minutes, that’s the new way. I found a newspaper report from a Sydney suburban area just a month ago. Come see.”
He ushers me into his office and sits me in front of the computer screen. There, looking at me, are the laughing faces, older, but still recognisable of Jack and Sandra. The headline reads Local couple win total house refurbishment as part of new TV series. Houses used in the programme will be open to the public for voting at the end of June.
“Emily,” he grins, “I vote we go to Sydney at the end of June.”
DoubleSpeak 