Say Goodbye to Macy

The low winter Sun entered his window screen, blinding him a little. It didn’t panic him at all. He just raised his arm, as he turned into the road which would take him to his next visit. Bristol had a reputation for being a little rough. But it has plenty of nice areas, with beautiful architecture and wide open spaces, right in the city centre. This house was in Fishponds in Bristol and Simon liked coming here. Each house was large, built with dark brick work, almost slate coloured. Large living spaces, high ceilings, nice parks near by. Wide open roads, making it easy to travel around and the little brook, which runs along the park, makes it near perfect.
On his mind was a strange dream he’d had last night. It was particularly vivid, given that he didn’t normally remember his dreams. He was stood outside a building. One of those old sixties government buildings, synonymous with rotten boroughs and bad architecture. It was a dark red brick building, with a strip of small windows along the outside. Next to the front door was an old weathered plaque which said ‘St.Kilda’s Children’s Home. Opened in 1971’. The next image he saw, he was inside the building waiting in a waiting room. It had a dark interior, with Parkay flooring and a long sliding glass door stretched across the room, making the room very narrow. As he waited a young girl burst into the room with flurry of activity and noise. She was about nine years old, with long black hair and dark eyes. She rushed towards him and threw herself on his lap and said ‘Will you adopt me?’ Before he could answer, a nurse came and shoed her away, a mischievous smile on the little girl’s face and a spark of fun in her eyes, hiding a sadness that seemed clear to him. His emotional reactions to this girl in his dream seemed surprisingly strong despite it just being a dream. That was what haunted him about it. That look. Those eyes which seemed to say so much, in such a short amount of time.
This was Simon’s last visit of the day. As he turned into the road, he looked up at the building at the end on the corner, straddling the main road and this little cul-de-sac. A spark of familiarity passed through his mind. Not wanting to be too distracted he realised that this building with its dark red brick work and sixties architecture was pretty much identical to the one in his dream. He leant over and looked at it as best he could, not wanting to take his eyes off the road for too long, before continuing to his clients house. It was a strange feeling seeing the building in his dream appear in front of him. He wasn’t too spooked, but was just interested to know whether the building really was a children’s home. Just for fun. Just to see whether it was possible to see the future in a dream. He knew he’d never been here before. He was sure of that. But the building he’d now passed was just a standard design. There lots of them dotted around the country, which all had a similar look. He suspected that was the truth of it.
He smiled to himself as he continued towards Mrs Edmunds house; his next appointment. As he walked in with his equipment and his brief case, the heat in the house hit him. ‘Whoa!’ he thought, as he walked in.
‘You may find it a little hot. I’m old you see Mr Weller. I feel the cold,’ she said.
‘Don’t worry Mrs Edmunds. Now then. Let’s get started shall we?’ They sat down opposite each other and Simon got to work asking questions and testing her hearing with all kinds of different methods and equipment. After an hour or so he made his recommendations and told her the price. She looked at the leaflets he put in front of her and thought quietly for a second, as Simon waited anxiously to find out whether he’d made a sale or not. She agreed to the lower priced hearing aid and he made the moulds. As he left he stood at the door and shook her hand. ‘I will see you in a couple of weeks,’ he said.
‘Okay. Thank you.’ She went to close the door, before he turned back.
‘Oh. I was meaning to ask you. What is the building at the end of the street used for?’
‘That is a children’s home,’ she said.
‘Oh, is it? Okay. Thank you,’ he replied politely. He went back to his car and stopped briefly outside the home. He parked up and got out leaving the engine running and the door open. He found the sign and sure enough it was almost exactly the same, just laid out differently to what he remembered from the dream. ‘Near enough’, he said to himself out loud. He then set off home. He struggled to take his mind off it for a while afterwards, running over all the possibilities in his mind, trying to remember any more details.
He arrived at his house and pressed the remote locking key with a flash of the indicators and the clunk of the central locking. He turned the key in his front door and walked into a cold empty house. He was twenty-five and had never really felt like settling down with any one. He had no real reason for not finding someone. He was a little indifferent to it perhaps. He had all the time in the world. He was young enough not to rush along, feeling that everything had to be perfect. He hung his coat up and off loaded the uncomfortable suit he had to wear everyday. He flicked on the television and put his feet up thinking about getting some food. He had a range of pre-prepared food he’d got into, not really that bothered about learning how to cook. His slim muscular body reassured him that he didn’t have to try too hard to look after himself. After all he’d played football and cycled every weekend. He lifted himself out of his chair and went off to find the temperature gage to turn the heating up. He had one of those tightly insulated new homes and so it didn’t take long for the house to warm up. It was nine before he sat down to eat, his appetite not up to much these days.
He finally took himself off to bed at ten thirty, feeling a little lonely and deflated. He lay down on his side and just stared into the darkness as the radio played dance music. He lifted up the remote control and switched it off, turning on a CD he’d put in last night. He pressed play then settled down again, quickly drifting off to sleep. His last thought was his dream.
He woke up early and lifted himself reluctantly from the bed and switched on the radio while he got ready. Eventually he climbed down the stairs and made himself a drink before checking his diary. He had an appointment in Bristol again at eleven, which gave him a spare couple of hours, but nowhere near the children’s home. He felt a little relieved, that he would not be tempted to drop in, wanting instead to hold on to common sense. After all he didn’t believe in that kind of thing. He was an atheist. He didn’t believe in anything supernatural at all. He thought about all this while he made himself some toast and just stared at it, as the butter melted. He felt as little depressed. He hadn’t spoken to a friend or relative for a couple of days. He finished eating and lazily wiped his hands clean of melted butter on a tea towel instead of running his hands under the tap, as he should have done. Then he switched on his computer and opened up the browser. It quickly opened up the search page and he entered ‘dreams’ into the search box. A dream website appeared on the list and he clicked it. He then typed ‘premonitions’ in the search box. It told him that a premonition could be just a coincidence. It didn’t really help him much. He felt more than a little puzzled.
The following week he needed to return to see Mrs Edmunds for her fitting. As soon as his sales agent had emailed him about it, he began to think about whether he would drop into the home and look at the interior, just to see it. Just to answer his nagging questions. Nervous and unsure of where this was heading, he carried out his appointment, his mind elsewhere and far from concentrating on what he was doing. Mrs Edmunds spoke a couple of times and he missed what she said and had to ask her to repeat things. Afterwards he sat in his car to pass the time, listening to the radio. Eventually he slowly moved the car fifty yards up the street to the car park and parked in the space nearest the exit. He looked at the building briefly, then turned off the ignition, before climbing out and strolling confidently over to the door. He looked for a knocker, a bell or anything to use to get attention before noticing a gap in the door, which indicated that the door was usually kept slightly ajar. He pushed it and walked through to a glass interior door with a bell, which he pressed. The hall had a tiled floor and a smell similar to a church or an old private school. A woman came to the door and opened it slightly.
‘Yes,’ she said cautiously.
‘I would like to see the matron if that’s possible,’ he said, unsure about what the correct job title would be these days.
‘We don’t have matrons. Our manager will see you though. What’s it about?’ she asked. Simon knew if he answered this question wrong he wouldn’t get inside to see the interior, and he might never know about his dream.
‘I am an audiologist. I believe you have a someone here who may need a hearing aid,’ he lied, hoping she would not ask too many questions.
‘Okay. Can I see some ID?’ Simon reached inside his pocket and pulled out his company ID, with his photo on it. He passed it through the gap in the door, which she now opened more fully, feeling a little more reassured. Prompted by her moving backwards to make space for him, he stepped inside. ‘Wait through there please,’ she said pointing through into a waiting area. She didn’t ask for a name and he walked through the open door into a room with dark wood panelling on the walls, and Parkay flooring. He sat down in a green chair with stains on it. In front of him was a set of glass doors, which stretched across the space, just like his dream. He wiped a little sweat from his brow, the Sun creeping in through the slim windows at the top of the wall behind him. Then without warning a little girl of about eight slid open the doors and ran into the room, straight towards him and hitting him the crotch, with her hands.
Feeling immediately uncomfortable, he gently moved her hands away and said, ‘Careful little one,’ and smiled at her. She had huge brown eyes, long jet black hair, a little dishevelled with a scruffy green summer dress on, the same colour as the cushions on the chairs. She looked the same as the girl in the dream and this made him feel a little stressed out and dizzy.
‘What’s your name?’ she said.
‘Simon. What’s yours?’ he asked her, before she was pulled away by the arm by a young girl, not much older than sixteen.
‘Come on Macy. Leave the nice man alone,’ she said. The nurse turned to him, just before she disappeared behind the glass doors, ‘I’m sorry sir. The manager will be with you soon.’
The manager arrived a second later and stood in the doorway looking annoyed.
‘Yes, Mr?’ she let the word hang in the air expecting him to say his name and finish her sentence for her.
‘Weller,’ he stood up and shook her hand.
‘I’m Sandra Cartright, the manager here. You said that you are here to test someone’s hearing, but I have to say that there is no one here that has a hearing problem.’
Simon had already seen enough, so he stood up to leave. ‘Oh,’ he said. ‘Is this a children’s home or an old peoples home?’ he asked.
The manager smiled. ‘Sorry I think you’ve come to wrong place,’ she said.
He headed for the door, then turned back. ‘Oh, I was just wondering. How easy is it to adopt a child these days? Who would I contact?’
‘You can contact the Bristol Social Services Adoptions Department.’
‘Okay,’ he said.
‘Is this for you and your wife?’ she asked, searching for that vital piece of information about his marital status.
‘Yes,’ he lied, feeling conscious of the fact that he was not wearing a wedding ring. He noticed her glance down at his hands, but far too briefly to really see if he had a wedding band or not.
‘I see. Well good luck,’ she said. The manager went back into the corridor from where she’d come from and Simon easily found his own way out.
Once outside, the cold winter air hit him. He realised that the encounter he’d just had with that little girl, the interior of the room, everything about it was exactly the same as his dream. His heart raced and his mind span with all kinds of thoughts and questions. What was this all about? It must be that this girl is in need of help and that somehow the universe, or God or something had reached out to him. He looked round at the building, noticing the net curtains were twitching. They were waiting for him to leave. He got into the car and reversed quickly onto the street. He was so unnerved he could hardly concentrate on driving. He was, quite out of the blue, thinking that maybe he should adopt this girl. Someone or something wanted him to. Something or something wanted him to do something. That was clear. It was also clear, that he needed to change his opinions and his beliefs about this sort of thing. It had been proven, without a doubt that sometimes the supernatural does occur. That in some circumstances, only the unusual, unexpected explanation would account for the strange events he’d just been witness to.
It was a week before he managed to get in to see someone at Social Services. He felt sure this was right for him. This was the missing piece in his life. As he arrived he was very nervous and hot. It was quite cool out, so he stopped and stood in the middle of the car park and let the breeze cool his face. He took a swig of his bottled water and then walked into the building. Then he reminded himself not to mention the dream to the staff here. It would not go down well. He’d had to tell himself that several times, on the build up to the meeting. He didn’t want it to slip out.
He was ushered through the waiting area to an office. Two women were sat on the other side of a desk, which was empty except for a folder and some forms. He was guided through the application process and they filled in details into the form as he answered questions. As expected when they got to marital status he hit a problem.
‘We don’t normally allow single males to adopt Mr Weller. Perhaps you can come back when you’re married,’ the younger woman said. It seemed such a ridiculous thing to say, and left him a little speechless. He found his words after a second or two.
‘So you have no single men on your books at all, that have either adopted or are waiting to adopt?’ he asked.
‘Mm, we have one or two,’ she replied.
‘Well there you are then. Look the fact is I have a little girl in mind. I met her at a children’s home in the course of my work as an audiologist. It seemed to me that she was such a friendly little girl, but perhaps too old to be adopted by couples who prefer to adopt babies. I could offer a good home. I have a good income and I am close to my extended family.’
‘Where is this child and what is her name?’ the older woman asked.
‘Her name is Macy and she is at the children’s home on Canterbury Street.’
‘I know it. Just wait here a second.’ The two women got up and left the room. He could see them engaged in a heated discussion in the next room through the glass. Then one of them moved away and returned quickly. They re-entered and took their seats. This time they sat the other way around. The older woman put a folder on the desk, and opened it. Simon looked at the paperwork, trying to read up-side-down. He couldn’t see much except for a name and some badly written notes that he couldn’t decipher. The name was ‘Ellen Michela Richards’. It meant nothing to him.
‘This is Macy’s file. She has been in the adoption system for a long time.’
‘Perhaps I should meet her properly?’ he suggested.
‘Maybe. Once your application is assessed. But this is no guarantee that your application will be successful.’
‘I see,’ he pushed himself back in his chair, his back aching a little.
‘We’ll be in touch Mr Weller.’ They all stood up and shook hands and he left. He felt happy with the meeting; that it went well in the end, but only after he’d mentioned Macy. He suspected that they were keen to get her off their books. Like he said, older children don’t get adopted very often.
That evening he took himself off to bed early as usual. He turned to his clock and looked at the time. It was twelve minutes to ten. He groaned to himself. It was far too early. He switched on the radio for a while, trying to kill some time and distract himself from thinking about Macy and the dream and what it all meant. He wasn’t tired enough to sleep just yet. Ellen Richards. Was that the girls mother’s name? He knew an Ellen once. He met her in a club. She was a pretty, but troubled girl. He remembered her because he slept with her and then she got up and left his parents house at four in morning. He’d kept her number and so he rung her the next morning to ask if she was all right. She answered and he managed to get the truth out of her, that she had an on, off boyfriend. He asked around and found out where she lived and that she had drug problems, and her boyfriend was a heroin addict. After that he felt sure that he didn’t want to know her any more than he had already and was happy to let that night pass into history.
An hour passed and he moved in and out of sleep, just dozing with the radio on in the background. About midnight, a thought crept from the back of his mind and slowly leaked into his consciousness, as if it needed time to build up momentum. The strange disconnected elements needed time to connect and reignite old memories, which had long been neglected, so much so that they were mere dots. Single minute entities barely able to survive among his other myriad of memories. His training as an audiologist. His arguments with his ex. His first sale, his first mortgage. Then it arrived in his head, suddenly, like a heart attack. He then had the most significant epiphany of his entire life. The woman he’d spent the night with all those years ago, was called Ellen Richards, and that the timing was right for that little girl to be his daughter. He sat up and threw off his bed linen and stood up and paced up and down the room, not sure what to do. He felt like ringing Social Services there and then. He grabbed his phone and toggled through to his parent’s number, wanting to ring them and tell them. He changed his mind and sat down on the bed, putting the phone down next to him. He sat and thought about how Macy could have ended up there. How she would have given her away because she was doing a lot of drugs and the rest. Or, she could have had Macy taken from her by Social Services in the first place. Maybe she’d had custody for the first couple of years and then lost her? Those awkward women at Social Services would obstruct him he was sure of it. DNA, he thought. That can’t be denied. He went downstairs and switched on his computer. It whirred into life, but not fast enough for him. He was sat in his underwear, feeling a little cold and silly, while he waited.
He immediately went to the search engine and typed ‘DNA services’ into the search box. He found a private DNA company offering DNA services to the public and noted their telephone number and then dug a little deeper, to see if he could order a profile on someone who hadn’t given consent. He couldn’t see the answer straight away, noticing that it took six months to get results back. He decided to look instead for family lawyers. He rubbed his face with tiredness and stress. All this time he could have been caring for her and instead he, well her mother, had abandoned her to the care system. If he was right; if his memory had served him correctly and fairly, he had a daughter. A nine year old daughter. The computer whirred defiantly while he waited. He wanted the answers now. Not tomorrow or in six months time.
The following day was Saturday and he was up early, having slept for less than four hours. He hovered his hand over the phone, unsure whether to ring his mum or not. Then he remembered that he kept old diaries and phone books in his filing cabinet upstairs in the spare room. He could check it and find out whether he had a record of her name and number, hoping that he could find her full name in his old records. He’d only known her for a few hours, so the chances were slim. But he had to check. He bounded up stairs and opened up the diary dated from eight years ago. He would have been only sixteen and she was a little older, eighteen maybe. He reached into the drawer and fingered through the edges of each book, until he found his 2002 diary. He opened it up, with his arm resting on sides of the drawer, too impatient to remove it completely from the filing cabinet. What time of year was it? He began at January, picking up each page with his finger tip, leafing through each page quickly, pausing only to look at occasional entries. He then realised that it must have been around October because he’d passed up a Halloween party to go to out with Craig and Hazzard – a strange party animal who always seemed to be on a high or crashing from one. He couldn’t even remember his real name. It was Hazzard who had got him some information about her the following day. He’d known her from the party circuit and also knew her boyfriend.
She had been a gorgeous young woman, and looked just like Macy. She was fun, but feisty. Always on the edges of life, experiencing new things. Troubled and heavily into drugs. Anything went with her. Heroin, speed, E’s. Anything that was on offer. She was on E the night she had stayed at his parent’s house.
The entry was in October. Her number. It was next to a note he’d made, although he didn’t remember writing it. It said ‘Ellen R’s number – SCORE!’ He laughed to himself out loud and wondered whether he should ring it, see if it was still in service.
Simon decided to approach Social Services and make the claim that Macy was his daughter. It was now just a matter of time before he would know for sure. It would be some time before he could answer this question, that had some how made its way to him, through his dreams and that all important epiphany.
The formalities took a few weeks; the DNA confirmation came through a few weeks after that. A letter confirmed he was her father. It was time to tell his family. He then arranged to pick her up. Within hours, he would have a daughter, he would have saved from a life in care. A daughter he could shape and mould into someone new. Someone without fear and self doubt, because she would have a home and a father who loved her. She would have grand parents, money and nice things. A future. He had an hour to go as the butterflies in his stomach kept him jittery and unable to concentrate on work. An hour before he set off to meet her, he sat in front of the television, while he waited. He’d told no one that he’d had visionary experiences, some kind of premonition. A kind of communication with her, or God or something. He didn’t want to jinx it. He didn’t want to open up the possibility that he would be accused of being unwell or strange and lose this momentum.
As he arrived she was dressed nicely and stood quiet and still outside the door, with a social worker on one side and a bag of her things on the other. All around her were the other kids, with nursery nurses running round after them. They’d obviously come out to see her off. Simon had already prepared her room, buying new furniture and a little television, and some bits and pieces he thought she’d like. He didn’t know anything about her. Her likes and dislikes. Her clothing sizes. Nothing. Just this image of her left over from his dream and his visit weeks earlier. He climbed out of the car and the kids were brought to order and they all stopped running around. They all got into a line, the big boys at one end, the older girls holding hands with the very young kids. Simon had to resist running over to her and hugging her. The Social Worker smiled from ear to ear. He walked slowly over to Macy as she stood still, her large brown eyes following him as he approached. He said a cordial hello to the Social Worker, then knelt down.
‘Hi Macy,’ he said. ‘I’m your dad,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry it took so long to come and collect you. No one knew you were here,’ he said.
‘Don’t worry,’ she said quietly.
‘Come on then, let’s get you home,’ he said and he stood up, then gently placed his hand on her back and led her away. The Social Worker wiped her tears away and waved goodbye to Macy.
‘Say goodbye to Macy,’ one of the nurses said, in a loud voice. They all said goodbye at the same time, and she turned and said goodbye and waved. Simon looked back once they were in the car. The Social Worker and one of the nurses waited until they’d gone out of sight, as Macy waved goodbye and they waved back. He smiled.
Simon had already arranged for the whole family to meet him at his parent’s house, for the announcement of a surprise. His two brothers, their wives and his parents were waiting, as Simon made sure he was a little late. He climbed out of the car and walked the few yards to the door, pressed down on the handle and walked in then through to the lounge. Macy followed him, hidden by Simon’s larger frame. Everyone was in the living room, looking at him a little bemused. He then beckoned her forward and placed his hands on her shoulders and said, ‘Everyone this is Macy. Macy is my daughter. Macy, these are your uncles and aunties and this is your Gramp and Gran.’ Silence followed for what seemed like minutes. Then the room erupted and she was beckoned into her grandmother’s arms, as questions began to fly. Simon felt so happy he struggled to maintain his usual cool exterior. It was quite a time. A time of happy shocks and to make up for lost time. This day would be something none of them would ever forget; these strange events etched into their minds forever.