The Secret Daughter

by Kelly Rimmer

Genres: Family Life; Literary Fiction; Women's Fiction

Synopsis

As I saw my new-born baby’s face for the first time I tried desperately to capture her face in my mind—to stamp it onto my eyelids. As she was taken from me I knew I might never see my daughter again. 38 years later… ‘You were adopted’. Three short words and Sabina’s life fractures. There would forever be a Before those words, and an After. Pregnant with her own child, Sabina can’t understand how a mother could abandon her daughter, or why her parents have kept the past a secret. Determined to find the woman who gave her away, what she discovers will change everything, not just for Sabina, but for the women who have loved her all these years. From the bestselling author of Me Without You comes another touching, beautifully told story about the pain of separation and the enduring strength of love. Find out what readers are saying about The Secret Daughter ‘I adored this novel. Absolutely, 100% adored it. Kelly Rimmer is a beautiful writer … The Secret Daughter packed such an emotional, powerful punch, one that I don't think I've felt before that I'll always associate with her novels from now on.’ Becca’s Books ‘Kelly Rimmer did an amazing job of telling such a heartbreaking tale. This story had me laughing, crying and hugging my daughter a wee tighter. I loved this story! ’ Steph and Chris Book Reviews ‘This book had me on an emotional rollercoaster from the first words… The Secret Daughter is a story that will stay with you long after you have finished the book.’ Ask a Bookworm ‘This was a refreshingly different read which I would put in the same vein as Diane Chamberlain but this was even better than some of Diane's latest releases. This is no girl meets boy and falls in love read but rather a heartbreaking, beautifully written story based on true facts… I would highly recommend The Secret Daughter, a thought provoking, emotional story not to be missed.’ Shaz’s Book Blog ‘ This was such a moving story, convincingly told. It is almost as though you are reading a memoir rather than a novel … a really compelling read and would definitely recommend it.’ Portobello Book Blog

Release date: June 18, 2015

Publisher: Bookouture

Print pages: 306

Sample

It’s a pretty well established fact in my family that I am not particularly good at keeping secrets. I can think of only two times in my entire life that I have successfully kept something interesting to myself.

The first was when I realised that I had fallen in love with my best friend. We were out at dinner with a group of friends, and over entrées, I caught him staring at me with such love and pride that I could have dissolved into his gaze. I managed to keep my startling realisation to myself for several hours – but as soon everyone else had gone home, I blurted it out in the middle of a totally unrelated conversation. Ted said that I had avoided eye contact with him all night and he’d been wondering why. He says that even when I do hide a secret in my words, my eyes give it away anyway . . . and that if I’d just looked at him that night, there would have been no need to open my mouth at all.

I suppose my glorious history of failure with secrecy makes it all the more impressive that, when I discovered that I was pregnant, I managed to go a whole two days without telling my mother. Knowing my blabber-mouth tendencies, we took every precaution – I called to invite them around for dinner, and as soon as we’d agreed upon a day and time, Ted took my mobile phone and hid it from me.

Even without such extreme measures, I’m pretty sure that I’d have managed to keep my secret this time. I wanted our announcement to be special; as their only child, I had always felt an inexplicable pressure to make them grandparents. Not once had Mum or Dad said a single thing to me about settling down and having kids, but by the time I reached my late thirties, I’d watched all of their friends acquire a gaggle of noisy grandchildren. Their social set traded proud grandparent stories like kids trade sports cards, and up until that moment, all my parents had to recount were tales of my not particularly impressive teaching career and my adventures travelling with Ted.

It would have been nice to have them share a meal with us and then to tell them in a civilised manner over coffee after, but that was never going to happen. Instead, I greeted them at the door with two perfectly wrapped gift boxes and what must have been a bewilderingly teary grin.

‘Sabina, is everything okay? What’s this for?’ Mum took the box hesitantly. With her spare hand she hooked her handbag onto the coat rack near the door and then carefully unwound her scarf and sat it on top. Dad stepped in behind her and offered his usual cursory kiss to my cheek, then took his gift and shook it curiously.

‘Dad! It’s fragile!’ I laughed, and then I herded them inside with impatient flaps of my hands so that I could close the door behind them. I saw the confused glance they exchanged and I felt the stretch in my cheeks as I grinned hard. ‘Sit down and open them. Oh, come on you two! Hurry up!’

Ted watched from the little nook in our flat that served as a kitchen. He’d been checking on the elaborate meal I’d half prepared before I got distracted trying to get the ribbons just right on the gifts. My husband had been wearing the strangest expression since that moment two mornings earlier, when we stood in the bathroom side by side watching the second line appear on the pregnancy test. Ted was nervous and elated, as I’d expected, but I hadn’t anticipated his sudden contentment. We were ready for this, in every sense of the word.

As Mum and Dad took their seats and began to unwind the ribbon around their boxes, Ted leant against the wall beside the stove and wrapped his arms over his chest. He stared at me, and I felt an overwhelming and delicious joy between us. For one final moment, we held a secret in our hearts that no one else knew.

Dad unwrapped his box first.

‘A mug?’ he said, bewildered. He turned the white mug over and saw the text on the other side. World’s Greatest Granddad. Dad looked up at me in shock, then he almost dropped the mug as he flew to his feet and scooped me up in a hug. ‘Sabina! Oh, love!’

It was just as I’d expected, and I was laughing and leaking tears onto his shoulder as he commentated his stream of consciousness about the news.

‘When did you find out?’

‘A few days ago.’

‘So when is she due?’

‘She?’ I laughed. ‘It is due in November.’

‘Have you two thought about investing in education bonds? It’s never too early and the tax incentives are terrific. I’ll email you some information next week. Sabina, sit down, you need to rest. Is there champagne? We need champagne, some Moët is in order for an occasion like this. I’ll head out and get some.’

Dad had gently guided me to the couch and as I sat down, I glanced at Mum for the first time. She had finished unwrapping her gift and was sitting stiffly on the sofa. Her mug was cupped in her overlapping palms and her elbows rested on her lap. There was a flush to her cheeks and a strange intensity in her gaze.

‘Megan? Are you okay?’ Ted left the kitchen nook and in just a few steps had crossed the room to sit beside Mum on the sofa. She seemed to shake herself and offered Ted, then I, a bright smile.

‘This is wonderful news. I’m so happy for you. I didn’t . . . we didn’t even realise you two were thinking about children yet.’

‘Mum, I’m thirty-eight. We’re married, our careers are established, we’ve travelled the world and now we’ve made a home here in Sydney . . . what more is there to wait for?’

‘You’re right. Of course you’re right.’ She looked back at the mug and spoke softly, ‘But thirty-eight or ninety-eight, you’ll always be my baby.’

‘Oh, liven up, Meg,’ Dad rose and reached into his back pocket for his keys. ‘You’ll have a real baby to play with soon enough. I’m going for champagne. Coming, Ted?’

‘Can you keep an eye on the vegetables, Bean?’

I was still watching Mum, who was looking at the mug again. I nodded and smiled at Ted, but as soon as Dad had stepped outside, I motioned towards Mum with my shoulder. Ted shrugged at me, and I returned his confused glance with a grimace.

Once Mum and I were alone, I decided to tackle the tension head-on.

‘You don’t seem very happy, Mum.’

‘Of course I’m happy.’ Mum sat the mug back in its box and rose, crossing the tiny space into our kitchen and dining area in just a few steps. She put the box on the dining room table and stared down at it. ‘How far along did you say you are?’

‘Eight weeks, I think. I have a scan next week to be sure but the doctor thinks I’m due in November.’

‘Love!’ Mum turned back to stare at me. ‘You shouldn’t be telling people yet. Just being eight weeks pregnant now is no guarantee that there’s going to be a baby.’

I felt my whole body jolt with the brutality of it. For a moment, I couldn’t think of a single way to respond. Her words were cruel and her tone was sharp – she was sounding me a warning siren. It hadn’t even occurred to me that anything might go wrong with my pregnancy . . . and why would it? I’d never even been pregnant before, why should I expect the worst?

I’m not sure what the expression on my face was, but I was immediately fighting tears. Mum winced and I saw her clench her fists as she took a deep breath.

‘What I mean, Sabina, is that pregnancy . . . it’s just that . . . it doesn’t always . . .’ There was a desperate pleading in her brown gaze. ‘I just . . . I don’t want you to get hurt. Please don’t get your hopes up.’

‘My hopes are up, Mum.’ I decided to busy myself, to distract myself from how she’d stung me and how disappointing this moment was turning out to be. I’d thought she’d be elated, that she’d immediately be schooling me in the ways of pregnancy and helping me to make plans for motherhood. I stood and moved to walk past her into the kitchen nook, but she caught my elbow and turned me slowly towards her. A single tear slipped onto my cheek and I wiped it away impatiently.

‘I’m sorry, Sabina,’ Mum whispered, then she caught my face in her hands. She wiped at the moisture on my cheek with her thumb and then stared right into my eyes. ‘Of course you’re excited, and so you should be. I just had such a terrible time with my pregnancies. I’m more scared for you than I should be.’

‘Pregnancies?’ I repeated. I was an only child, and this was the first I’d even heard about potential siblings. ‘But . . . you never told me you’d had trouble . . .’ I fumbled for a sensitive way to phrase the statement. ‘I mean, trouble having me.’

I watched her for a moment, and noted how distant her gaze was, and the way that her lip quivered just a little as she pulled together a response. The depth of sadness in Mum’s eyes was startling, and I suddenly realised that we’d inadvertently opened an old wound for my wonderful mother. I wrapped my arms around her neck and pulled her close for a hug. She was never an overtly affectionate person, but the moment just seemed to demand it. Mum hugged me back, briefly and stiffly, and then stepped away and straightened her blouse.

‘We had a terrible time of it. I’m sure things will be much easier for you and Ted.’

I felt a heavy, pulsing thud in my ears. I was rapidly processing the implications of this new information and the joy and excitement was entirely gone, replaced with fear and a heightened sense of alertness. Mum had had difficulty carrying a pregnancy? Adrenaline seemed to be pumping through me, as if I was staring down an imminent physical threat to my safety.

‘But . . . I hate to ask you, Mum, but I need to know so I can talk to my doctor about this.’ It took monumental effort to keep my voice level and my words steady. ‘Do you know why things were so difficult?’

Mum sighed and shook her head.

‘There were lots of theories, but no, we never really knew. We fell pregnant easily enough, for the first few years anyway. I just couldn’t seem to carry a baby past the first trimester.’

Mum’s face was utterly pale now, except for the round apples of the too-pink blush she always wore.

‘How many times?’ I asked hesitantly.

‘A lot,’ Mum said abruptly. ‘You really don’t need to worry, love, and I’m sorry that I didn’t react the way I should have. I was caught off guard. I just didn’t realise you and Ted were planning a family.’

‘Of course I’m worried. I understand that this is hard for you to talk about, but you’re going to have to give me some more information here.’ When the stiffness in her expression did not ease, I resorted to stating the obvious. ‘Mum . . . what if your problems are genetic?’

My excitement about the baby had disappeared altogether, at least for the moment. I had just discovered that both my optimism and my pregnancy were fragile things that could be damaged somehow by mere words. I thought about the tiny jumpsuits I’d purchased the morning we’d had the positive test. They were sitting out in the open on the dresser in my room, and I was suddenly embarrassed by my own innocence. I wanted to excuse myself to run into the bedroom and to pack those jumpsuits up and hide them at the top of my wardrobe.

What Mum was telling me meant that there was surely a higher than average chance that I would never get to use those jumpsuits, and that the tiny being I had thought was safe and secure in my womb might not be so safe after all. Was there an inbuilt kill-switch in my genes, inherited from Mum, waiting to stop me reproducing myself?

Mum seemed to be struggling to come up with a way to explain her situation, but I quickly grew impatient.

‘I’m sorry to press you, but I need to understand this, Mum.’

‘It’s not genetic.’

‘You said there was no real explanations, only theories for why . . . how can you be so sure?’

‘I just am.’

‘But—’

‘Sabina! Leave it.’

For the second time that night I was shocked speechless, this time left staring at my mother’s back as she walked to the stove and began checking on the various pots and pans there. I couldn’t miss the way her hands shook as she lifted the lids or the noisy way those lids clattered down as she replaced them.

When I found my voice again, it would have been far too easy to drop the subject. Mum and I were close – closer than any other mother and daughter I knew, and the idea of upsetting her further was beyond upsetting to me.

But there was something new at stake, and it was something precious and already loved. A lot had changed in the medical field in the years since Mum had been pregnant, and if my pregnancy was at risk, maybe there was something that could be done about it if I had enough information. I decided to try a less direct approach.

‘Maybe you can tell me about your pregnancy with me,’ I suggested softly. ‘Did you have morning sickness? I’ve been lucky so far, I didn’t even realise I was pregnant.’

Mum was still staring at the pots. I had the distinct impression that every single word I was saying now was wounding her, and I had no idea what to do about it. I hesitantly reached to touch her back, just as the front door sprung open and Dad and Ted returned. Their booming voices were jovial and loud, a distinctly uncomfortable contrast to the strained tension in the room with Mum and me. Mum looked across our little living space, straight to Dad at the front door, and I watched the colour fade from his ruddy cheeks.

‘Megan . . . ?’ Dad’s footsteps and his words were suddenly slow and cautious.

‘We need to leave,’ she whispered.

‘Hey, no!’ Ted held up the icy bottle in his hand. ‘We’re celebrating, remember? What’s going on?’

‘Mum, no, I’ll drop it,’ I pleaded with her, but she shook her head, and marched past Dad and Ted. I knew she was in a panic when she only scooped her handbag and scarf off the coat rack, neglecting to carefully rewind the scarf on her neck as she would have on any other occasion.

Dad looked at me.

‘What did she say?’ he asked.

‘She just told me n-not to get excited about the baby,’ I whispered, and at the sound of my stutter, I burst into tears. It had taken years of speech therapy to get my stutter under control, inflicted upon me mostly by my mother and her iron will. I couldn’t remember the last time I had tripped up on a word, but then again, I also couldn’t remember the last time I’d been this upset.

‘She told me you two had lots of miscarriages and that we shouldn’t be telling anyone yet. Then I asked her why she’d had problems and if it was genetic and she got really upset. I’m sorry, Dad.’

‘Is that all she said?’

‘What else is there?’

Dad made a frustrated sound somewhere between a growl and a sigh.

‘I’ll take her home, I’m so sorry she’s ruined your night.’ He picked his mug up and made a beeline for our front door. ‘Let her get used to the news and calm down, and we’ll make it up to you both, I promise.’

The door slammed behind Dad, and the sobs I’d held back broke free. Ted dumped the champagne on the sofa and pulled me close.

‘What the hell just happened?’ Ted asked.

‘I h-have no idea,’ I struggled to form the words. ‘But I think w-we’d better go to the doctor tomorrow.’

He gently spun me around, turning my back towards the couches so that we could sit together, and as he did so, I saw Mum’s mug still sitting on the dining room table.

Dear James,

I’m in so much trouble, James.

I’ve been keeping a secret from you. I wanted to tell you, but I was so scared. And we only ever speak on the phone and I’m always talking to you within earshot of someone. Then I was going to write it in a letter, but Tata posts my letters to you. And if he read it . . .

Well, if he read it, I suppose things would have turned out like they have.

I’m pregnant, James. I know this must be a huge shock and I’m so sorry to tell you this way . . . but to be honest, right now, I’ll be lucky if I can even figure out how to get this letter into the post to actually tell you at all.

I don’t know when it happened . . . just before you left for university, I guess. I feel like such an idiot. Did you know that what we were doing was how babies are made? You’re so smart, of course you knew. Well, I didn’t, and even though you left at the start of January I didn’t even realise I was pregnant until April. The nuns at school always talked about sex . . . but they made it sound so bad and sordid that I didn’t actually realise that’s what we were doing. It just happened so naturally for us, didn’t it? We never even decided to be boyfriend and girlfriend, we were just friends and then we were more. I don’t even remember our first kiss . . . do you? It barely seemed important at the time, just another step of this love between us. Every move we took together felt automatic, as if our instincts were guiding us. Not even for a second did I think that we might be doing that thing the nuns had warned us away from.

At first, I thought I was tired because I missed you so much. I wanted to lie in bed and sleep all day, and I didn’t much want to eat, which was driving Mama crazy. She kept chastising me, and Henri took to calling me ‘Lovesick Lilly’. Then my appetite came back and my clothes got tighter and tighter, but still I didn’t understand. I thought I was just eating too much, making up for lost time during those early months in the year when I lived off scant bites from each meal.

I only realised what was really going on when one of the girls at school was talking about her period and I realised that I hadn’t had mine since before Christmas. Even I know what that means.

At first, I tried to pretend it wasn’t happening, and for a while that was easy. The boys teased me for being fat, but I’m pretty used to that. My school uniform got tighter and tighter and no one seemed to notice, and so I didn’t think about the baby, or you, or what this would mean for all of us.

Then the baby started kicking me. I figured that sooner or later someone would join the dots and my secret would be out. I used to lie in bed at night, tossing and turning, waiting for the axe to fall. When I felt like the secret I was holding was growing too big to contain . . . and my fears about Tata finding out would grow too strong, I’d close my eyes and imagine the consequences. I had this crazy idea that I could think away the fear if I could just plan it all out.

I’d picture Tata’s rage and his shame; I’d imagine Mama’s disgust. I wrote a silly movie script in my mind about how things would go – I played around with the story, to see what would happen if Tata found out at night, or in the morning, or while I was at school. I pictured it on rainy days and on sunny days and on the other kids’ birthdays or the day I went into labour.

No matter what details I imagined, the story ended the same; I found myself on your front doorstep, sitting my suitcase on the mat beside my feet so that I could knock and call your mum.

I was right about most things. This morning Tata woke me up and told me to pack a suitcase. He lined up the other kids, all seven of them, and he watched while I said goodbye. Kasia and Henri were both crying, and I could see the pity in their eyes. The worst of it was Mama. She wouldn’t even look at me – she hid in the kitchen and wept and when I tried to make her turn around to say goodbye, she shook my hand off her shoulder and sobbed even harder.

Then, just like I thought he would, Tata threw me in the car and he ranted. All the way down the long driveway to the end of the farm, he yelled with such fury that spit kept flying out of his mouth and I just sat next to him and tried not to cry.

He said vile things to me, and they were things I deserve, I suppose. He talked a lot about me shaming the Wyzlecki name and letting him down, and the worst part – he called me names that I never realised that my Tata actually knew. I knew that I’d make him even angrier if I cried, so I tried to stare at my lap and hold myself together. You know how thick his accent seems when he’s angry. Today it really sounded as though he was just roaring at me in Polish. The words were a smooth and endless stream of fury, the gaps between them compressed by his rage.

I held myself together because I told myself that everything would be okay. I thought he’d take me to your Mum and Dad, and they’d be angry at us too but at least they’d let me call you. But Tata didn’t take me to your place. My suitcase was in the back of the car, but I never got to feel the sweet relief of sitting it onto your doormat beside my feet.

Instead of turning left at the end of the driveway to your farm, he turned right, and then at the highway turnoff, he turned towards Orange.

I know it’s only forty minutes to Orange but without knowing where I was going, it felt like we were driving forever. I begged him to tell me where he was taking me, but all that he would say was that he was ‘not dumping our family’s rubbish’ onto yours. I felt like I had been knocked out of orbit and that I was floating through space – all that I knew was that the car was headed away from everything I’ve ever known. I tried to imagine every possibility. Was he sending me to Uncle Adok in Poland, who I’ve never even met? Were we en route to an abortion clinic – are those places even real?

For a fleeting moment I thought he was taking me to the train station, to send me to you . . . how wonderful that would have been.

But when he finally stopped the car we were at the big hospital at Orange, and at first that made no sense at all. For a while we sat there. Tata sat with his hands on the steering wheel, staring straight ahead and now I was the one ranting. It was like he couldn’t even hear me, then I guess I finally got through to him. For the first time in my life, I cried today and Tata did not dismiss me.

No, today he didn’t chastise me for crying, and he didn’t remind me of how much easier my life is than his was as a teen back in war-torn Poland. Today, after his rage was all burned up, all that seemed left of him was shame and sadness. Tata told me that we were not going to the hospital, but to the maternity home opposite. He told me that I have to stay here until the baby comes.

We went inside and we met nurses and social workers. They sat me in a cold little room with Tata and he signed pages and pages of paperwork. There were several folders, and by the time we left, each one of them had been marked with black marker the words Liliana Wyzlecki, BFA. I think the BFA is a code, maybe it’s my code in here. I am sure I will find out sooner or later.

I’ve let everyone down, James. I was so stupid, and now I’m pregnant, and everything is ruined for all of us.

James, I don’t know if I’ll find a way to post this to you. I don’t know what’s going to happen, or even how I’m going to cope in this horrible place.

All I know is that the love between you and me was such a miracle that without even meaning to, we made a baby, and I love that baby already just as much as I love you.

I know that you’ve only just started at university and that you’ve dreamed of that for years. I know that everything that we planned for our future hangs on you getting your degree. So I know . . . I really, truly understand that I’m asking a lot of you.

But if you don’t come back for me . . . for us . . . and if we don’t find a way to marry before the baby is born . . . I don’t even know what’s going to happen. I can’t even guess. Tata won’t let me go home with a baby in tow, and I have no way to support myself without you.

There’s no point calling me here or writing back; they have already told me that they won’t let me speak to you. So please just come – get on the next bus and come straight here, so we can tell them that we’ll find a judge and find a way to get married right away and then I’m sure they’ll let me go.

I love you with all of my heart, James. Please forgive me for keeping this secret and please, oh God please . . . come and help me and our baby.

Love,

Lilly

I had something of an emotional hangover the next day.

Ted and I spoke in hushed tones over breakfast as we made plans to visit the doctor together on our lunchbreaks. Before, our chatter had been upbeat and excited, but now we dared not risk exuberance. The pregnancy suddenly felt too fragile to expose to further l. . .