A random phone call.
Is this Mr Paul Johnson? The voice on the line was cold, official.
Yes, this is Paul Johnson. Whos speaking? I replied, already uneasy.
This is the Head of the Little Lamb’s Childrens Home. In a week your daughter will be turning three, so well need to transfer her to another institution if you wont be taking her in. Are you certain you wont?
Waitwhat? Daughter? Whose daughter? I have a son, Jamie, I stammered, utterly bewildered.
Nadine Paulina Simmons. Isnt she your daughter?
No, shes not. Im Paul Johnson. Johnson, not Simmons.
My apologies, the voice said with a tired sigh. Seems theres been a bit of a mix up.
A moment later, the dial tone thudded in my ear like a church bell.
What on earth? I grumbled to myself. A daughter, honestly! What a muddle their records must be in.
Still, the call gnawed at me, like a splinter under your skin. I found myself thinking about how these children must livewithout a home, a loving mum, a caring dad, or doting grandparents. Jamie, after all, had the whole family: aunts, uncles, grandparents, even cousins fussing over him.
Ellen noticed right away that I was preoccupiedmy answers barely made sense, and after all, what could escape a wifes sharp eyes when youve been married for nearly ten years and have known each other since Reception class?
Over dinner, when Jamie was in bed, she looked me straight in the eye and asked what was the matter.
So whats her name? she said, out of the blue.
Who? I said, startledhow did she know about the little girl? Had they rung her too?
Nadine, I murmured, trying to sound casual.
Oh, Nadine, is it? Im Ellen to you, but shes your Nadine? Ellen started to raise her voice.
Yes, I said quietly. Nadine Paulina Simmons.
Care to give me her passport number while youre at it? she snapped.
She doesnt have onewhy would she?
Oh, so shes a refugee now? her voice dropped a notch, shrill and suspicious.
Whos a refugee? I was lost entirely.
Your Nadine! Wants to move in and get a nice address, does she? Tell me the truth, you rat!
What is there to say! I sat in confusion, not touching my food.
Suddenly, Ellens anger seemed to dissolve, replaced by tears. Not loud, theatrical sobbingjust hurt tears, running down her cheeks and dripping onto her apron.
Ill go to Mums tomorrow. You should know, youre not having Jamie, she said, her voice thick with emotion.
Ellen, please! Whats all this about? Why your mum? I sputtered.
You think Ill just sit here cooking for you and your girlfriend, your precious Nadine? she flared up.
Finally, the absurdity started to dawn on me. Gently, I guided Ellen to the kitchen bench and explained it all about the phone call.
Now Ellen was crying for the little girlfull of compassion. Women have an endless supply of tears, I thought; theyll cry over anything and in any quantity! I cant stand to see Ellen cryit makes me feel completely helpless.
After all the fuss, neither of us felt like eating. I picked at my meal and pushed it aside.
That night, I woke to the sensation of Ellen standing over me, fiddling with my phone. In almost ten years together, Id never caught her doing that. She didnt trust me. She thought shed find proof of an affair. I felt sick with disappointmentit stung deeply.
Then she whispered, Paul Paul and gently nudged me.
I pretended to have just woken, still groggy.
Paul, was it this number that called, the landline one?
Yes, I said automatically, thats the one.
All right, go back to sleep. And she left the room, taking my phone with her.
Easier said than done. I heard her turn on the computer. I lay there a little longer, then crept out to the lounge.
Ellen was hunched at the desk, clicking through websites so intently she didnt notice me behind her. The search bar read: Little Lambs Childrens Home, Bristol.
A moment later, all the details appearedofficial website, address, number, even pictures. Ellen compared it to my phone.
Paul, it matches! she said, her face serious.
Matches what?
The phone number! Its definitely them!
Thats what Ive been saying. So, you were checking up on me, then?
Not checking, just clarifying.
Why? I asked.
Paul, that place is really close by, she said absently, still deep in thought. Should we pop over there? How did they get your number if youre not connected?
That stopped me short. Why, indeed? Maybe it was worth investigating, so we wouldnt keep being mistaken for someone elses parent.
I barely slept that night. As I was finally drifting off, Ellen poked me again.
Paul Paul
What now?
Youre sure about nothing ever happening? Maybe once ages agowhat about your first love? Maybe you met by chance, old feelings came back, and she never said a word, just left the girl at the hospital? Paul? Paul?
Ellen, which love? Ive only ever sat next to yousince Reception! Four years ago, when Jamie turned three and started nursery, remember how much he was ill, and youd just gone back to work? Who cared for him then? Me! I had to shift to working from home, remember? Nonstop medicine, food schedules, doctors visits. I could barely stay awake, let alone have an affair!
But how did they get your number? Someone must have left it? Ellen wouldnt let go.
I turned over every possible acquaintance in my mindabsolutely nothing. Besides, none had cause, opportunity, or motive.
But then, stranger things have happened. I resolved to visit that Childrens Home first thing.
We got there early, but someone else already waited outside the Heads officea pale, scrawny man, fidgeting with a bundle of papers. His eyes darted round, hands shakingnerves or a heavy night before, who knew.
Youre after me, he muttered in a surprisingly deep voice.
The door opened and he went in. For the next fifteen minutes, there was a steady stream of quiet, then grumbling.
He finally emerged, dishevelled and paperless.
We were called in.
A pleasant, dark-haired woman in her forties stood by the window, chewing her glasses frame. Hellowhat can I do for you? she asked.
Were here about a phone call yesterday, I started awkwardly.
She took her seat. I dont have time for riddles, please state your issue briefly and clearly.
I recounted the call. Her voice had been recognised instantly.
Oh, right, she smiled wearily. Im sorry, it was a mistakethe call wasnt for you.
How could it not be, when you had my number? Where did you get it?
She explained, I mustve mis-dialled. The actual number starts 01792, but I put in 01793. The fact youre also a Paul is just odd coincidence. That man was here before youhes Paul Simmons, father of the girl.
I nodded dumbly; the pieces fit.
Sorry again, and goodbye, she said, standing. Her badge read Theresa Mayfield, Head of Home.
Ellen had seen the badge too, and quickly asked, Will Mr Simmons take his daughter?
Theresa sighed and sat. No, he wont. Her mother died, and he has seven children by different women. In three years, hes only visited twice, and that under pressure from us. Nadine doesnt mean anything to him. She stood again. Thats all.
Ellen and I shuffled out, dazed by what wed heard.
Older children were outsidea few on the swings, some on the slide, and two boys racing toy cars along a bench. I watched, slowly realising what was wrong. It was quiet. Put Jamie in a park for a minute, and thered be shouting, whooping, chaos. These kids barely made a soundjust quiet, serious talk. They looked like little old souls. Their childhoods had been stolenreplaced by survival. Cold, hunger, lack of clothes and toys, indifference, and sometimes cruelty.
I looked at Ellen. Her eyes brimmed with tears againhonestly, always with the tears.
We wandered slowly toward the gate, when suddenly: Mummy! The shout shattered the peace. Every child turned. Running full tilt at us, with arms outstretched, came a little girl in a woollen hat topped with a pompom. Mummy, Mummy, here I am! she cried.
She flung herself at Ellens legs and sobbeda deep, wrenching sound that nearly made me weep too.
Nadine, Nadine! The carer ran up, trying to bring the girl away, but Nadine kicked and clung tight to Ellen. Only a well-timed chocolate bar could persuade her to let go, and we left the home almost at a run.
In the car, silence. Ellen was shaking, and I needed to pull over, hands trembling.
Ellen gestured at a shop sign ahead. Mothercare.
Without a word, we both got out, took each other’s hands, and walked to pick out a doll and a pink dress.
Our own little Nadine will have the prettiest things in the world.
