a cruelty that exposed the fault lines in who they were and who she was going to be in the world
you are not our daughter in the biological sense, her father told her at lunch on her sixteenth birthday (great timing)
she’d been left in a cot on the steps of a church
they’d waited until she was old enough to understand
she’d been mysteriously deposited without certification, no note, no clues, nothing
they’d tried for their own child for years, failed, found her in an orphanage, it was quite easy to adopt back then, they signed papers, took her home
what they didn’t add, in that moment, was that they loved her, something they’d never told her
what she needed in that moment was a declaration of unconditional love from the people who’d raised her as their own
instead
they carried on as normal, even though tears were streaming down her face
they remained seated on the high-backed chairs in their allotted places around the oval dining table covered with a fringed tablecloth
they unravelled the napkins rolled up in wooden rings with their names etched into them
they ate the lamb chops, minted potatoes and buttered peas they had for Saturday lunch
passing the gravy
passing the pepper
passing the salt
Penelope, unable to dislodge a potato stuck in her throat, left the table without permission, ran choking upstairs to her bedroom where she collapsed in a sobbing heap on her bed, desperately hoping that at least her mother might check up on her, she listened for the pad of slippered feet on the stairs, a tentative knock, the door opening, a pat on her back
a cuddle was too much to hope for
instead
she heard the man she’d thought her father until a short while ago leave the house to play golf with his brother (no longer her uncle), as he did every Saturday afternoon
the woman who used to be her mother would be sitting in front of the fire crocheting white booties for her youngest niece, Linda (no longer Penelope’s baby cousin)
Penelope could hear comedy and laughter playing on the radio downstairs
to them it was a normal Saturday afternoon
Penelope broke down into tears for months afterwards, in private, away from the two people she lived with, who wouldn’t approve of such demonstrative behaviour
away from her school friends who couldn’t be let in on such a shameful secret
she was an orphan
a bastard
unwanted
rejected
now the disparity between them made sense
her parents were not her parents, her birth date was not her birth day
she was not of their blood or history
she kept torturing herself with terrible thoughts
how could her real parents have given her away so heartlessly? discarded on the steps of a church like a sack of rubbish
what if rats had got to her first? or foxes? or a freezing night?
how could they have been so heartless? and just who were they, anyhow? if she didn’t know who they were
how could she know who she was?
there was no paper trail
she was a foundling
anonymous
unidentified
mysterious
later
when Penelope studied herself more closely in her dressing table mirror, it became absurdly clear to her that she looked nothing like Edwin and Margaret, as she would now think of them
Edwin was short, anaemic, blue-eyed and aquiline, features that suited a man whose emotions rarely rose to any occasion, even his occasional bursts of laughter sounded as if he were breaking a self-imposed rule not to enjoy himself
Margaret was even shorter, barely scraping five foot, thinning hair, grey-eyed, grey pallor
according to her wedding photograph she’d once been pretty
now she just looked
washed
out
Penelope, on the other hand, was tall for a girl at almost five-nine, with the full natural pout and hazel eyes that sealed her reputation as a glamorous beauty at school, she wore her curly, strawberry-blonde hair in a style à la Marilyn Monroe, had a ‘light dusting of freckles’ around her nose, and acquired an easily-won suntan in summer, considered très chic because it gave her a St Tropez glow
à la jet set
Penelope decided she would go to college, marry a man who idolized her, become a teacher and have children
all of which would fill the gaping, aching chasm she now carried inside her
the feeling of being
un
moored
un
wanted
un
loved
un
done
a
no
one.
2
Penelope homed in on Giles soon after her identity had been exploded into scattered fragments
she needed someone to put her back together again
he was the eighteen-year-old rugby captain of the boys’ grammar school, and what a catch he was with his Heathcliff looks and championship confidence that swept lesser boys aside
who wouldn’t want to be floating in the orbit of Giles the Great, Tsar Giles, King Giles the 1st of York
as she wrote in her diary
every girl in the school had a crush on him except those who were rumoured to be sapphics
Penelope became obsessed with ensnaring Giles
she lurked at his bus stop every morning in order to accidentally bump into him when he disembarked, daringly slipping into long strides beside him
luckily, conversation came easily between them and she became adept at cutting off other girls who tried to edge their way in, although she loved it when his rugby mates swelled their number and they all swept in a surging wave down the hill
she was the only girl among a group of sports heroes who were so full of a dashing machismo and braggadocio
everyone else was cowed in their presence
moved out of the way
or were elbowed out
by her
she and Giles began to brazenly hold hands, hidden amid the multitudes of their peers in their green and white uniforms
he began to kiss her au revoir when they parted at her school gate, which was thrilling before such an audience
either of those crimes could have got her hauled in front of the headmistress and expelled
what did she care? she was in love, she would have Giles’s babies, she would create her own bloodline, she was engaged at eighteen
meanwhile the other girls in her class, fretting over pimples and puppy fat, were terrified of being left on the shelf
she felt sorry for them, how awful to be fat and ugly and very likely alone for the rest of their lives
whereas she was the golden girl
and to be honest
it suited her
Penelope married Giles soon after she graduated teachers’ training college, he was already working as a civil engineer
it was all pretty perfect, as she’d dreamed, Giles was so caring of her, enquiring as to her welfare, affectionate touches, a stroke on her cheek, a kiss at the nape of her neck, making her feel important, desired
his well-paid job moved them to London, to Camberwell, to a grand house on Camberwell Grove in an otherwise poor area
he gave her a free hand with the decor: William Morris wallpaper, Uniflex dining table and chairs, De Sede Modular Sofa System, padded brown leatherette kitchen walls, orange shag rugs, avocado plastic bathroom
he tolerated her cooking experiments, never complained when the results were too salty or sweet, too burnt or undercooked, too soggy or congealed, too runny or stringy, too crumbly or lumpy, or required a hammer and chisel to break up pastry bases, homemade bread, roasted meat
she fell pregnant with Adam straight away, which delayed going into teaching, but there was plenty of time to build her career
a year later, Sarah wriggled out after a twelve-hour labour
Penelope didn’t mind staying at home with the babies, not when they were newborns, she couldn’t believe the love she felt for her children