7July
I still cant believe the coincidence. The date, the nameAndrew. Same first name, different middle and surname. It feels as if an adoption could rewrite a patronymic and a family name, even a given name I stare at the portrait of the man on the wall, hoping to recognise something familiar.
Today, at the town councils HR office, I processed the paperwork for a new employee. I then called out:
MrsAnderson, could you come in? Your new colleague is waiting.
A few minutes later she arrived, and I greeted her straightaway, trying to sound the part of the senior officer Id become:
Are you the new cleaner? I asked.
Yes, she replied.
Im the facilities managerHelen Anderson. And you?
She hesitated for a heartbeat, then answered, EleanorClark.
Come with me, Ill show you where youll be working. Itll be on the third floor, over the whole wing
***
I felt a surge of contentment at landing this post. I smiled, taking in the modest perks:
Only two years left until retirement, yet I could keep working after that. The wage is £8,000 a month plus occasional bonuses. With Martin, well manage comfortably. The kids are grown and have moved out. I cant even recall the mayors name! It would be embarrassing to ask. Lunch is soon; theres a gallery of every mayor on the ground floor. How could I have missed that?
***
On my way back from the canteen I stopped at the display and read the mayors details: AndrewBennett, born 7July1983.
My mind tripped: Hes barely forty. The date struck a chord. Andrew? 1983 I turned back and read the birthdate again, the same words echoing in my head as I stared at the mans portrait, searching for any hint of kinship.
***
A new job pushes other thoughts to the background. That evening I talked at length with Martin, then he retreated to his room to watch the football, and I slipped into my own.
Our threebedroom house feels emptier now that the children have all gone their own ways. Martin still shares the bed with me sometimes, but its becoming rarer.
Lying in my own room, memories of my youth swirl. Theres a secret I never disclosed to Martin. I once had a son named Andrew. I was nineteen, penniless, studying in a dorm that was never meant for a mother and child. I managed to keep him for six months before placing him in a care home.
Three years later I married Martin. We never spoke of my past. We had two daughters, both now adults. One studied in the regional university, married, with grandchildren in school. The other moved to London and started her own family.
I never completed a formal qualification. For twenty years I worked as a facilities supervisor in a factory until it went bust and layed off everyone. Then a friends daughter offered me a cleaning post at the council. I accepted, and here I am.
Now the mayor, AndrewBennett, is turning eightythree this year. I dont complain about my life, but the thought of the son I gave up haunts me. He even appears in my dreams sometimes. I just want to be sure hes okay, that his life turned out alright.
***
A few days later, while sweeping the hallway, I heard voices and saw the mayor, AndrewBennett, chatting with a colleague. He nodded at me, then walked straight past, still conversing.
Suddenly a young man from my past materialised in my mindVicky, the lad I fell for forty years ago. He had been handsome and lively then; I always imagined him as serious and businesslike. Seeing the mayor now, I realised I had once wanted Vicky to turn out exactly like thissteady, respectable. Vicky vanished from my life as soon as he learned I was pregnant; he left for work abroad, promising to return, but he never did.
Could Andrew Bennett be my son? I whispered to the empty hallway. If I hadnt handed him to the care home, would he be different? My daughters are thrivingmarried, with good homes and carsbut my son is nowhere.
Would things have changed if I hadnt married Martin? Perhaps Id have a different fate, and Andrew would have a different father. Or perhaps Andrew Bennett isnt my son at all; maybe the world simply loves to play tricks. In any case, he grew up with parents who, for the first six months of his life, were strangers. Those parents probably never told him the truth about his birth. He seemed to have a happy childhood, which is all anyone can hope for, especially for a man whos now mayor.
***
After lunch, my younger colleague Olivia stopped by:
Hi, Aunt Eleanor!
Hello!
Were throwing a birthday for Lucy on Friday. She cleans the sixth floor and turns fortyfive. Are you coming?
Of course! I replied, smiling.
Great, just £2 for your contribution, plus a little something for the cake.
I handed over two pounds from my purse.
Make sure to call me Eleanor, not Aunt, Olivia reminded me. Were colleagues, after all.
Will do, Olivia.
***
Friday evening we gathered on the seventh floor after work. One office was free, so we set a table, poured drinks, and began the usual toasts, each followed by a sip of red wine.
The door swung open and in walked Mayor AndrewBennett, beaming.
Happy birthday, Lucy! he announced, handing her a small box. A little present.
Thank you, Mayor, Lucy whispered, tears in her eyes.
Mayor, have a seat with us, I urged, playing the role of facilities manager.
He stayed briefly, sitting beside me. The salad and slices of ham were placed on a clean plate, glasses refilled, and the mayor raised a toast. As I watched him, something inside me quiveredmy heart finally knew that this was my son, no longer a doubt.
He lingered for about twenty minutes, then said his goodbyes and left.
Thats the man! said Katherine, the longestserving council employee, who seemed to know everyones business. Even the former mayor would never have thought to sit with us.
Has the mayor been here long? I asked.
About a year. Remember the election last year? she replied.
Honestly, I couldnt recall. Martin always made the decisions for me.
You know his parents are wealthy and influential, Katherine continued, but he doesnt know they arent his biological ones.
Really? Lucy asked, surprised.
It came out two years ago, right before the campaign. He never seemed to react at all.
Where did you hear all that? I pressed.
The deputy mayor, Olga Parker, kept gathering files on him, hoping to keep her boss in power. The old mayors supporters didnt get him elected.
Does he still not know who his real parents are? I asked, feeling a knot tighten.
Seems not. He loves the folks who raised him. Our mayor, for all his dealings, is a decent man.
I stared at the doorway where AndrewBennett had just been seated. Joy and sorrow tangled in my chestjoy that the boy I once held now leads a successful life, sorrow that Ill never be able to embrace him fully. I am, after all, responsible for my own choices. I smiled inwardly and thought:
I wont bother you, my son. Ill always be near, even if only in spirit.
EleanorClark.
