The Other Side of Sorrow Read Free

no.’
    â€˜It’s true, Cliff. You remember how it was. I hated you. I wanted nothing more to do with you, ever. It’d all gone so terribly wrong. Everything we’d planned had turned to shit.’
    I nodded.
    â€˜I had the baby in Bathurst at a Catholic hospital. I used my own name and I didn’t tell anyone about it. Not even my parents. Look.’
    She opened her handbag, took out a sheet of paper and thrust it at me. It was an admission record from St Margaret’s Hospital for Women dated about seven months after our final breakup. Cynthia Louise Weimann had been admitted ‘close to confinement’ and discharged eight days later.
    I was still resistant, almost hostile. ‘It proves you were pregnant, I guess. It doesn’t prove there was a child.’
    â€˜I know this isn’t easy for you, but it’s true.’
    She handed over another document. This was a notification, dated three months back, that Mrs Cynthia Samuels had put her name on the register of women who had given a child up for adoption. The sex of the child was given as female, the place of birth was Bathurst and the adoption date was four days after the date of the hospital admission. I’d done some work in this area once or twice. The purpose of the register was to allow adopted children to locate their natural parents if they wished. They had the option. I folded the paper and handed it back. My hand was shaking, but I still didn’t want to believe it.
    â€˜Cyn. You must have been through hell …’
    â€˜I’ve seen her, Cliff,’ she said. ‘I’ve
seen
her!’
    She wept quietly and I comforted her as best I could. I got another glass of wine and Cyn had mineral water. With an effort she composed herself and told me that she’d caught sight of a particular young woman several times in recent weeks. She was convinced that this woman was watching her. I was still sceptical.
    â€˜You haven’t spoken to her?’
    â€˜No. I’ve never been able to get close enough. She sort of … slips away.’
    â€˜What makes you think she’s … who you think she is? It could be someone, I don’t know, sympathetic but not sure whether to approach you. Or …’
    She shook her head. ‘Cliff, she’s the living image of your sister Eve twenty-four years ago. I’m telling you she could be her twin. I
know
she’s our daughter.’ She scrabbled in her bag and came up with a photograph. It showed Eve in jeans, boots and a sweater smiling into the camera. Short dark hair, thin, beaky nose, wide mouth, my sister was arresting rather than pretty. She was close to 180 centimetres tall and when she was young athletics and surf swimming kept her lean. She’s heavier now which doesn’t hurt her golf. She plays off eight at Moore Park.
    â€˜It’s a copy,’ Cyn said. ‘I had you and me cropped out of it. Don’t know why I still had it. D’you remember where it was taken? A picnic we all went on in Centennial Park.’
    â€˜No. You say this woman resembles Eve?’
    â€˜I’ve only caught glimpses of her. But I’d say she’s identical. Oh, shit!’ Her hand flew up to her face and I saw how thin her wrist was, with the blue veins showing through. ‘Eve doesn’t have a daughter, does she?’
    â€˜No. Two sons.’
    â€˜God. I realise I haven’t thought this through enough. Do
you
have any children, Cliff? I mean, other children …’
    I drank some wine. ‘You didn’t think of that possibility either, did you? Why not?’
    You couldn’t keep Cyn on the defensive for long. She drank some of her mineral water and got a fair bit of energy into a snort. ‘You were always a selfish bastard, Cliff. There was only barely enough space in your life for a lover. What with the crims and cops and other low-lifes. There certainly wasn’t enough for a wife. I doubt