old
enough. Everyone has a right to know who their real parents are.’
‘Okay.’ Stephanie stood up.
‘I never said we wouldn’t tell the child about the surrogacy’. But deep inside
she was questioning why it was necessary. Miranda didn’t want the child; why
should she have any rights?
Reflecting on her thoughts, Stephanie realised that if
she’d still been with Roger, Alice would probably have known about Miranda by
now. She began to question herself. Had she been selfish, keeping the truth
from Alice for so long?
Lying in bed, she thought back
to the one and only occasion she had come close to telling Alice everything.
Alice had been thirteen years old. It was late October or early November; the
leaves were falling from the trees outside. Alice and Stephanie sat together
close to the gas fire. They had made some popcorn and settled down to watch a
rented video. Alice had chosen the video on the way home from school. It was a
popular film amongst her school friends; the story of an orphan girl, adopted
and brought up by a couple who treated her badly. The girl had eventually
managed to run away. Thinking back, Stephanie could not remember the details of
the film, but the thing that stayed in her memory was the conversation she’d
had with Alice that night.
‘What did you think of the film, Mum?’ Alice asked,
cheerfully, as she pressed the rewind button on the video recorder. ‘It was
good, wasn’t it?’
‘Yes, darling, it was very
good,’ Stephanie said, wiping away tears.
‘Typical of you to cry at the
end.’ Alice laughed.
‘Well, it was so sad.’
‘Yes, but it was a happy
ending. I’m glad she got away from those people,’ commented Alice.
Stephanie nodded.
‘I felt sorry for Amy. The
people who adopted her were so cruel.’ Alice took the video tape out of the
machine and placed it back in its box.
Stephanie found Alice’s
comment moving, and the thought occurred to her that maybe it was the right
time to tell her the truth about her birth. Standing up, Stephanie walked over
to the light switch and turned on the lights. Alice had wanted the lights off
during the film to create a “Cinema” effect.
‘Alice, dear,’ she began, ‘do
you know any children who have been adopted? For example, someone in your class
at school?’
‘No.’ Alice shook her head.
She was now seated on the sofa with her legs resting on the coffee table in
front of her.
‘Take your feet off the
table,’ scolded Stephanie.
Alice sighed and curled her
legs up on the sofa instead. She reached for the television remote control.
Stephanie sat on the sofa
beside her. ‘Not all children who are adopted are treated badly, you know.’ She
waited anxiously for a response.
‘I know that,’ said Alice,
switching channels on the television. ‘But it’s not the same as having real
parents, is it? I mean, I know I don’t know my dad, but at least I have you.’
She smiled through her brown eyes. She seemed contented with her life, and
Stephanie felt it would be cruel to now tell her that she wasn’t her mother,
especially after what she had just said.
She leaned back on the sofa,
feeling torn between wanting Alice to know the truth and yet wanting to protect
her from it.
She made one last effort:
‘Alice,’ she fiddled nervously with the fringes of the purple velvet cushion on
the sofa, as she spoke. ‘Wouldn’t it just be the same if you had been adopted
by me? I’d still be your mother if you didn’t know your real mother.’
Alice looked at her in the
eyes, and Stephanie held her breath, feeling suddenly as if she’d said too
much.
‘No, Mum, it wouldn’t be the
same.’ She turned back to face the television. ‘I think it’s good that people
adopt children that haven’t got parents, but I don’t think it could ever really
be the same as having real parents, do you?’ She seemed to be awaiting a reply.
The innocence in her eyes made Stephanie feel like weeping. There was no
enough. Everyone has a right to know who their real parents are.’
‘Okay.’ Stephanie stood up.
‘I never said we wouldn’t tell the child about the surrogacy’. But deep inside
she was questioning why it was necessary. Miranda didn’t want the child; why
should she have any rights?
Reflecting on her thoughts, Stephanie realised that if
she’d still been with Roger, Alice would probably have known about Miranda by
now. She began to question herself. Had she been selfish, keeping the truth
from Alice for so long?
Lying in bed, she thought back
to the one and only occasion she had come close to telling Alice everything.
Alice had been thirteen years old. It was late October or early November; the
leaves were falling from the trees outside. Alice and Stephanie sat together
close to the gas fire. They had made some popcorn and settled down to watch a
rented video. Alice had chosen the video on the way home from school. It was a
popular film amongst her school friends; the story of an orphan girl, adopted
and brought up by a couple who treated her badly. The girl had eventually
managed to run away. Thinking back, Stephanie could not remember the details of
the film, but the thing that stayed in her memory was the conversation she’d
had with Alice that night.
‘What did you think of the film, Mum?’ Alice asked,
cheerfully, as she pressed the rewind button on the video recorder. ‘It was
good, wasn’t it?’
‘Yes, darling, it was very
good,’ Stephanie said, wiping away tears.
‘Typical of you to cry at the
end.’ Alice laughed.
‘Well, it was so sad.’
‘Yes, but it was a happy
ending. I’m glad she got away from those people,’ commented Alice.
Stephanie nodded.
‘I felt sorry for Amy. The
people who adopted her were so cruel.’ Alice took the video tape out of the
machine and placed it back in its box.
Stephanie found Alice’s
comment moving, and the thought occurred to her that maybe it was the right
time to tell her the truth about her birth. Standing up, Stephanie walked over
to the light switch and turned on the lights. Alice had wanted the lights off
during the film to create a “Cinema” effect.
‘Alice, dear,’ she began, ‘do
you know any children who have been adopted? For example, someone in your class
at school?’
‘No.’ Alice shook her head.
She was now seated on the sofa with her legs resting on the coffee table in
front of her.
‘Take your feet off the
table,’ scolded Stephanie.
Alice sighed and curled her
legs up on the sofa instead. She reached for the television remote control.
Stephanie sat on the sofa
beside her. ‘Not all children who are adopted are treated badly, you know.’ She
waited anxiously for a response.
‘I know that,’ said Alice,
switching channels on the television. ‘But it’s not the same as having real
parents, is it? I mean, I know I don’t know my dad, but at least I have you.’
She smiled through her brown eyes. She seemed contented with her life, and
Stephanie felt it would be cruel to now tell her that she wasn’t her mother,
especially after what she had just said.
She leaned back on the sofa,
feeling torn between wanting Alice to know the truth and yet wanting to protect
her from it.
She made one last effort:
‘Alice,’ she fiddled nervously with the fringes of the purple velvet cushion on
the sofa, as she spoke. ‘Wouldn’t it just be the same if you had been adopted
by me? I’d still be your mother if you didn’t know your real mother.’
Alice looked at her in the
eyes, and Stephanie held her breath, feeling suddenly as if she’d said too
much.
‘No, Mum, it wouldn’t be the
same.’ She turned back to face the television. ‘I think it’s good that people
adopt children that haven’t got parents, but I don’t think it could ever really
be the same as having real parents, do you?’ She seemed to be awaiting a reply.
The innocence in her eyes made Stephanie feel like weeping. There was no
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