A Random Call
“Is this Paul Edwards?” The voice on the line was chilly and formal.
“Yes, Paul Edwards here. Who’s speaking?”
“This is the director of the Little Ones’ Home. In a week, your daughter will turn three, and well have to transfer her to another institution. Youre certain you won’t be claiming her?”
“Hang on, what daughter? Whose daughter? I have a son, Charlie,” I stammered in shock.
“Hope Pauline Simmons. Isn’t she your daughter?”
“No, not mine. Im Edwards. Paul Edwards.”
“My apologies,” sighed the voice wearily. “There must have been a mix up.”
The dial tone hit my ear in harsh bursts. I muttered, “What on earth?! Someones child, a little girl, for goodness sake! What a mess they’ve got with their records!”
But the call stuck with me like a sharp splinter. I couldn’t stop thinking about those poor children without a home, without a kind mum, a caring dad, or fussing grandparents. Charlie, he had the whole setrelatives all around, doting uncles and aunts from both my side and Elaines…
Elaine noticed my preoccupation straight away, my distracted answersnothing ever gets past the woman Ive lived with for almost a decade, known since we were five.
Later that evening over dinner, she came right out and asked me what was wrong.
“So, whats her name, then?”
“Whose?” I blurtedhow did she know about the girl? Had someone called her as well?
“Hope,” I said, feeling cornered. “Little Hope.”
“Hope, is it? So Im Elaine, and shes Hope!” Elaines voice was getting louder.
“Yes,” I replied. “Hope Pauline Simmons.”
“Why dont you give me her passport number too!” she nearly yelled.
“She hasn’t got a passport, why would she?”
“A refugee, is she?” Elaine hissed, lowering her voice ever so slightly.
“Whos a refugee now?” I was utterly lost.
“Your precious Hope, is she a refugee? Wanting to settle down? Come on, out with it, you snake!”
“Out with what?!” I sat there bowled over, my half-eaten dinner forgotten.
Elaine began to crynot dramatic sobs, just angry, hard little tears that rolled off her cheeks onto her apron.
“Im going to Mothers tomorrow,” she choked out between sniffles. “And Im taking Charlie with me, just so you know.”
“Elaine, whats happened to you? Why on earth would you go to your mums?”
“You think Im going to stay here, playing maid for you and your fancy womanyour Hope?”
I started to realise just how absurd things had got. I took Elaine by the shoulders, sat her down on the kitchen sofa, and told her everything about the mornings call.
Now Elaine was crying out of pity for that poor girl. Honestly, women have a never-ending supply of tears, and theyll shed them for absolutely any reason! But I cant stand womens tearsespecially Elaines. They unsettle me.
After all this, I had no appetite left; I just pushed my food around my plate.
That night I woke up to find Elaine by our bed, rifling through my phone. In all our years together, shed never done anything like that. Clearly, she didn’t trust mesearching for evidence of an affair. It crushed me.
Then she whispered, “Paul Paul,” nudging me gently. I pretended Id just woken up.
“Paul, it was that number, wasnt it? The landline one?”
“Yeah,” I answered automatically, “that one.”
“Go back to sleep, then,” she said as she walked out, quietly closing the door. She took my phone with her.
Easy for her to saysleep. I heard the computer whirr to life in the living room. I lay there a while, then quietly got up and peered in.
Elaine was clicking away, completely engrossed, not noticing me over her shoulder. She had typed Little Ones Home and our town into the search bar. The site loadedofficial page, address, phone number, photos of the building. She cross-referenced my phone.
“Paul, it matches!”
“What does?”
“The number! It matches the Little Ones Home!”
“I told you, didnt I? So you were checking up on me?”
“Not checking, double-checking.”
“Why?”
“Paul, that place is just round the corner,” she mused, not really answering me. “Why dont we go down there? And how did they get your number if youve got nothing to do with it?”
That thought hadnt crossed my mind, but now I couldnt stop wonderinghow *did* they get my details? Maybe we ought to go down and clear things up, or else Id be forever fending off claims about mysterious children!
Sleep completely deserted me that night. Just as I was finally drifting off, Elaine poked me in the ribs again.
“Paul Paul”
“What now?”
“Youre sure there was never anything? By chance, with, I dont know, your first love? Maybe you met years later, it all rushed back, feelings and all? Maybe you didnt know, maybe she left the child at the hospital? Hey? Paul?!”
“Ellen, when I first sat beside you in Year One, Ive never leftwell, not literally, you know what I mean. Four years agoCharlie was turning three, starting nursery, ill all the time, youd just gone back to work. Who looked after him? Me. I had to switch to home working, remember? Doses, food routines, doctor checks. Mistresses? Elaine, I was barely awake half the time!”
“Theres nobody elsenever was, never will be.”
“But then how is your number on their files? Someone must have put it down?” she persisted.
That question gnawed at me too. I ran through every woman I could imagine who mightve thrown my number into the mix. No flings, but you never knowsome of them are right pieces of work.
But they were all outsome happily partnered, some with parents caring for their kids, and one had moved abroad years back.
But life is stranger than fiction, so I made up my mind to visit the Little Ones Home the next day.
Even arriving early, we werent the first there. Sat by the directors door was a spindly, nervous blond chap. Smart clothes, but a bit scruffy, a bit neglected. His eyes darted; his paper-filled hands trembled either from nerves or, more likely, the drink last night.
“Youre after me,” he rumbled in a surprisingly deep voice.
Almost straight away, the door opened, and he went in. For about fifteen minutes, someones even voice alternated with his low grumble.
At last, the fellow came out looking rumpled and empty-handed, and they called us in.
“Good morning.” A pleasant, dark-haired woman in her forties stood by the window, nibbling her glasses’ arm. “What can I help you with?”
“Were following up from yesterday,” I tried to joke.
She sat down, looking weary. “I havent got time for riddles. Please state your issuedirectly and briefly.”
I reminded her about yesterdays callId recognise that voice anywhere.
“Oh, that,” she said, giving a tired smile. “Sorry, that was a mistake. The call wasnt meant for you.”
“How can that be if you had my number? By the way, how did you get it?”
“Mr Edwards, I misdialed by one digit. The number should have started 0207, but I dialled 0307. That youre Paul Edwards as well was sheer coincidence. These things happen”
Hed just been in before us, as it turned out.
“Who?” I asked, though by now I was pretty sure.
“Paul Edwards Simmons. The girls actual father. Please accept my apologies. Thank you, goodbye nowI have a lot to do.”
She stood up.
Her badge read “Theresa Simmons, Director.”
Elaine must have read it too, because she asked, “Theresa, is hethis Paul Edwardsgoing to take the girl?”
The director looked at us again and sat back down. “No, he wont. The mother died. That Paul has seven kids by several women; hes only been here twice in three years, both times after we pushed him. Hope means nothing to him. Is there anything else? If not, goodbye.”
We left, dazed by it all.
The older children were outside playing. Some swung on the little swings, a few slid down the slide, and two boys were racing toy cars on a bench.
Looking at them, it gradually struck me what was off. The yard was so quiet. The minute you let Charlie into the garden, it turns into chaosshouting, shrieks, mayhem. But these children didnt shout, or laugh, or even play with gusto. They just spoke to each other in low voices, like little old men and women. These children grew up too fastnever had a real childhood.
They survivedsome with cold, some with hunger, few toys or clothes, and often grown-up indifference, sometimes even cruelty.
I turned to Elaine. Her eyes brimmed with tears. There they were againthose tears.
We slowly made our way to the gate and suddenly a shout broke the silence: “Mummy!” Every child turned to look at us. One little girl in a bobble hat ran full-speed towards us, arms wide. “Mummy! Mummy! Im here!”
She hugged Elaines legs with all her might, wailing. Her sobs were so desperate and heart-wrenching even I felt tears come.
“Hope, Hopey!” The carer came running after. She tried to lift the girl, but Hope clung tightly to Elaines leg.
Eventually, they bribed her off with a chocolate bar and we hurried out.
Neither of us spoke in the car. Elaine was shaking, and my own hands were trembling so I pulled over to calm down.
Elaine looked out the window and nodded towards a shops sign just a few steps away.
Without a word, we both got out, took each other’s hands, and walked into “Mothercare.”
For a doll and a pink dress.
Our Hope would be the prettiest girl in England.
