Lucian's Children

CHAPTER 10

I woke up early Monday morning and armed with my laptop, diary, purse, and passport set off for Richmond in Surrey.

I felt like a child who had just set out on a big adventure. While driving I repeated the date of Lucian’s birth to myself, twenty sixth of November 1975…

I just had to find something, I just had to.  For my sake as well as that of my children.  I realized that there were many women in the world raising children by themselves as I had intended doing but finding Lucian had become more to me than finding the father of my children.  It was a mystery I just had to solve.

Arriving in Richmond, I had difficulty finding parking close to the National Archive building, but I was so excited that I pulled into the first available parking place I spotted and walked the three city blocks back to the old building. My breathing was shallow and my heart beating as if I had run a mile by the time, I reached the front entrance.  It was not because of exhaustion though but from pure excitement. On the spur of the moment, I decided to sit down for a moment and have a cup of coffee.  Looking around I found a small coffee shop and headed in that direction. I poured three sugars into my coffee. I smiled at myself, I had never taken more than one sugar in my coffee before, but somehow, I felt I needed the sweetness along with the tangy aroma of the strong coffee.

Strengthened I headed back to the old building.  Explaining my predicament, okay, not exactly, but my story was good enough for the lady to take some interest and turn from a government official masked face to a friendly, sympathetic listener.

She asked me whether I had the death code…oh I nearly fainted, I could not imagine coming all this way just to be hindered by some code.  I explained to her that I had not.  She then proceeded to ask me simple questions, which finally led to the code, namely ‘id’, or infant death. She explained to me that should the baby have been stillborn there may not be a record of the death. This did not come as good news to me, particularly as I did not even know whether I was at the correct office, but the lady explained to me that even if the actual records were not kept at that particular office, record of the death, if it had been in fact reported, could be found either on microfiche or on the computer system.

The lady led me to a huge hall, and I was faced by rows upon rows of similar greyish brown files.  She proceeded to tell me how to figure out the codes, which in turn would make my search easier.  The codes contained ‘id’ for infant death, ‘f’ or ‘m’ for male or female, date in year, month day order, a number and initials of the deceased. With the information I had that only left me with a hundred or so options and I told the women I had better get to it then had I wanted to get home before dark that evening. Soon I had located the metal shelf containing the ‘idf’ (infant death female) files, then within a matter of minutes I located the files dated 1975 and soon I had reached November.  There were a few dated the twenty sixth, but not nearly as many as I had anticipated and only four codes were followed by the letter G.  I could not believe my luck.

My happiness was short lived when I found none of those containing information on a Grey baby.  Disappointed I made it over to the microfiche and the computer allocated to me, hoping against all odds that somewhere in another district may be such a recorded death.  After lunch I returned and reversed my search.  I took to the microfiche and computer again, this time looking instead for the recorded birth of Lucian Grey on 26th November 1975. Just after four that afternoon I had to admit defeat.  I had a short talk with the lady I had met when I first came in and she suggested that I try the other National Archive offices as some of the paperwork may have slipped through the cracks as far as recordkeeping between offices went, however she doubted I would have much luck and suggested I try the Home Affairs offices in London.

Driving home that night I felt like crying. Me, the intelligent, professional woman, who I had considered myself to be, felt like bawling like a baby.  I was more disappointed than I had ever been before in my life.

I felt like pinching myself, yet could not believe that a man like Lucian, the flesh and blood person I held close, learned to love and the man who had fathered my beautiful children could just vanish as if he had never existed.

I found a quiet home when I arrived back.  The children had already gone to bed.  Mom came from her room greeted me but took one look at my face and told me that we could talk about it the next day.  She did however make me some hot chocolate before disappearing back into their room.

I was left alone to think.  Finally, I went to Marcus and Mary’s room. They were fast asleep. Watching Marcus sleep I was reminded of how much like his father he looked, and I wanted nothing more than to bring his father back to him, even if just for a while.

I could not sleep that night.  Memories flooded my mind. Lucian’s deep baritone voice with the British accent, his thick hair, blue eyes, the smell of him, it was all so real to me although it had been just over three years since I had last seen him. I had to admit to myself then that it was more than the mystery surrounding him that had me running all over Britain to find him, but that it was instead love, my love for a man who had given me all I had ever wanted.

I told my parents and the children about my day in …. over breakfast. My parents made the right noises in sympathy to my plight, but the children looked more than disappointed. Their sadness was tangible. I hugged them and assured them that I was not giving up.

Later when my parents had taken the children for a walk, I telephoned Cambridge University and asked for admissions.  My inquiry did not bear much fruit, but I was assured that there would be someone to assist me should I present myself at the university where my credentials could be checked or if I could fax or e-mail an official letter requesting information. As I was not Lucian’s employer, but instead his lover, which I am sure would not constitute acceptable credentials, I told the lady that I would be visiting the campus later in the week. I collected my children’s passports and the photo of Lucian and slipped it into my laptop bag before my parents and the children returned from their walk.

Let me not bore you with the details other than to say I fell in love with Cambridge.  The beautiful old buildings, the stunning surrounding area and the quiet aura of respectability and academia had me swooning. However, again no trace of Lucian having attended or graduating from Cambridge could be found.

I again drove back home dumbfounded and sad.  All that remained was to search the military for a brother, but I knew that doing that would possibly be ten times harder than trying to find information about Lucian himself.

At home my children were back to being their unusually quiet selves. I felt as if there was no way in which I could reach them on any level, emotionally or intellectually.

For the next few days Marcus stayed in their room, building things, or staring into the small microscope which came with his chemistry set. Mary looked listless and instead of hanging around her brother followed me around sheepishly.

I astounded myself when I realized that although I considered myself to be clever, I was faced with a problem that I may not be able to solve.

The best I could come up with hoping to lighten the mood was another shopping trip, this time for warmer clothes as the nip in the air had become slightly more than a nip.

The children, even if they had been excited, showed no emotion and sat next to me like two wooden puppets on the train on our way into London. I had intended to take them to Lillywhite’s on Piccadilly but changed my mind and instead got onto a bus to Camden Market, hoping that the atmosphere and the liveliness of the market would cheer them up. It did not.

I cannot explain what happened but suddenly I was angry. I was angry at the children.  They were only six months old when their father left, yet they continued to mourn him like they had known him for years. I knew they were still toddlers and did not expect them to understand my feelings, yet when they did not so much as react with a thank you when I bought them each a padded hoodie jacket, I lost it.

“You are not the only ones missing your father!  I lived with the man, slept with him, he was there when I gave birth to you, how do you think I feel? Do you see me moping around? No, I have you guys to think about, so could you kindly spare a thought for me and just try and be nice?”  My face flushed with anger, and I immediately regretted my outburst.

My children froze to the spot, I had never spoken to them in anger and the shock of it was clearly visible on their little faces.

“We are truly sorry Mommy.” Mary said and took my hand into hers.

“Yes Mommy, we are sorry for upsetting you.  We promised Daddy we would be kind to you and take care of you, he’ll be very angry if he finds out that we had upset you in any way.” Marcus made eye contact with me while giving his speech and I saw something in his face and eyes that I have not noticed before. His eyes were not those of a three-and-a-half-year-old, but rather of an older, if not mature yet, person. This time it was my turn to remain quiet. Although I had hoped for intelligent children, it bothered me that my children were far too mature and well-spoken for their age. For the first time since they were born I realized my children were not exactly ‘normal’.

Along with that thought came the understanding of what Marcus had said and it hit me in the pit of my stomach.  I knew that addressing his comment there and then was not the right thing to do but considering my own emotions at that moment I no longer blame myself or regret my actions of that day.

“When exactly did you promise Daddy that Marcus?”

“Shortly before we left home Mommy.”

“Marcus, honey, I do not understand… Daddy had been away for more than two years now. You have been as anxious as I am to find him.  How could you have spoken to him?”

“But I did Mommy! Why don’t you believe me?”

I am still grateful that I managed to keep a cool head that day.  Without blinking an eye, I spoke to my son.

“I do believe you Marcus.  I just need to understand how and where you spoke to Daddy as I love him to and would love to speak to him myself.”

“Daddy said I should not tell you as you would not understand…”

“Even daddies can be wrong sometimes Marcus. As you know, I am a scientist, I am rather clever, and I really do need to understand.”

“Daddy speaks to me here…” Marcus tapped his head.

Mary clung to her parcel, but had taken a very guilty looking stance, staring at her feet and sucking her thumb.

“And you Mary? Had Daddy spoken to you in that manner before?”

“Yes Mommy, he sometimes speaks to me and Marcus.  Daddy told me that I would be the healer in the family or as they call those people in his family, the Caretaker.”

Standing there at Camden Market with people milling about, laughing, and enjoying themselves, I went cold. For a while I imagined my son having a vivid imagination, but my daughter’s last comment had changed my mind. But how? Telepathy? I did not know, but I needed to find out.

I took the children to have a Chinese take-out. I approached the subject again once we were well into our sweet-n-sour pork and noodles.

“Do you guys think you can teach me how to speak to Daddy? I really miss him and really want to ask him some things.”

“I do not know Mommy, we can try.  Daddy did say there are some humans who can be taught to communicate with the mind.”

“Marcus, explain something to me please. If you and Mary speak to Daddy sometimes, then why are you so anxious for me to find him? Couldn’t he just tell you where he is?”

“No Mommy, we asked, but he said he could not tell us as there are some very bad people who should never find out where he is, and should he tell us Mary and I may be in danger. Mommy, we know Daddy is in trouble and we are afraid for him.  We really want you to find him, together we may be able to protect him.”

Going over the information my son had provided something did not make sense, but I guess I was too emotional to understand what it was then. Genius or scientist, a mother is a mother and any mother hearing that her children may be in danger is entitled to some emotion and panic.

“Marcus, you and Mary really need to show Mommy how you communicate with Daddy, maybe I can convince him to let us help him.”

“Sure Mommy, we’ll try.”

We continued wandering through Camden, stopping to admire a variety of wares on display.  The children seemed more relaxed after our talk, and I would like to think that they had gained a little more respect for their brave mother.

We ended up spending much more than we intended to.  My children had strange but eclectic taste and as such we returned home with an assortment of odd items.  Mary saw an array of old buttons at an antiques stall and was so enthralled by it that I told her to select a handful of her favorites and I ended up paying more than anticipated for her selection.  Marcus loved the old military badges and insignia, and I followed the same route with my son. At an antique clothing store, I bought myself an old dark green dress with a tight bodice, broad belt and flared skirt. Looking at myself in the full-length mirror I thought I looked like an actress in one of those old black and white movies. I also bought Marcus a tweed cap and Mary a fake fur stole which she loved.

My mother just shook her head and laughed when we paraded in our purchases in front of her. Marcus asked my dad to take pictures of us. At last, we again had fun and could laugh at ourselves.

When I took them off to bed that night the seriousness of our earlier conversation returned.

“Marcus, do you think we can speak to Daddy from here or do we need to be at home to do so?”

“We have not spoken to Daddy since we came to Britain, but we could try Mommy.”

The three of us were sitting on Marcus’ bed. Marcus and Mary were on either side of me and took my hands into theirs. Closing their eyes, the room became eerily quiet.

After a few minutes Marcus spoke.

“Daddy is there, Mommy, I can feel him, but he is not answering me.” My son sounded distressed, and I hugged him.

“Let us try once more Marcus.  If it does not work, then we’ll try again tomorrow.”

Marcus nodded and the two children closed their eyes.  This time I did the same and tried to still my mind.

Then I felt Marcus’ hand tighten in mine and soon thereafter so did Mary’s.

Then I heard it. A faint echo, words that I could not make out no matter how hard I listened. My children remained still holding onto my hands so tight that my fingers were going numb.

The echo of voices continued, and I imagined I heard Marcus and Mary’s voices in the fracas.

After about twenty minutes Marcus let out a sigh and let go of my hand, Mary did the same.

“Did you hear Daddy? Do you believe us now?” Marcus looked anxious. I did not know what to answer my son but chose my words carefully.

“I heard something, but I could not make out the words son.”

“Daddy said he loves us all and misses us but cannot come home yet.  He said he has many things to tell us, and he told me to tell you not to worry so much.”

“He did?  Did he tell you where he was?”

“No Mommy.”

I then looked at my little girl and I saw tears in her eyes.

“What’s up Mary? Why are you so sad?” I said, hugging her close.

“I want Daddy to come home Mommy.  I cannot understand why he cannot come home if he loves us so much…”

I wished I could tell my daughter that I felt the same, but I had to be strong, for myself and for them.

For the next few days, I battled with what I heard and learned and as much as I wished to continue my search for Lucian, I was not exactly sure whether I should. Finally, against my better judgement, I made a decision.  I contacted a private investigator, whose name I found in a local newspaper. I gave him as little information as possible over the telephone and made an appointment to see him in his office the next day.

This time I did not tell my parents or the children where I was going, instead just telling them that I needed to deal with some private business in the city.

On the train, on my way into London, I had this odd feeling that I was doing the wrong thing but persevered anyway.

The private investigator’s office was rather luxurious and not at all what I expected, having read too many novels where the PI had a dingy smoke-filled office in an old building strewn with litter.

The receptionist asked me to wait while she announced me to her boss.

Garth Henderson was a tall, rather good-looking man and again I was rather surprised thinking I would find a retired, rather overweight policeman with a cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth. Mr. Henderson was probably in his early thirties and clearly subscribed to more than a few men’s health magazines.

He was courteous but business-like and for a few seconds I felt like an i***t coming to him, asking him to look for a missing lover who obviously did not want to be found. I composed myself and thought that he had most likely heard worse and settled in to tell him my story.  I tried to stick as close to the truth telling him about the parcel we found in the park and so on, only omitting telling him about the children’s communication with their father. To be honest, I still had a hard time believing what I heard and did not expect a stranger to think anything other than that we were all crazy.  And if we wanted Mr. Henderson to give it his best, we could not have that, could we?

Garth Henderson’s eyebrows lifted a little when I told him how it came that I met Lucian, but other than that he remained impassive, listening to my story without interrupting. Once I stopped talking, he took his time drawing a notepad closer to him, opening it up and clicking his pen into action.  Then the questions came.

Have I ever seen, or did I still have any credit card receipts, phone bills of Lucian’s? No, I have not seen any ever and no I did not have anything like that.

Had he ever spoken to family or friends over the phone in my presence and if so, can I remember the conversation?

No, he did not.

Had I ever overheard a telephone conversation between Lucian and someone else?  Yes, I had, but it seemed to be about work, it was all very technical and the only words which made sense to me were words like ‘project’, ‘plans’ and I remembered him telling someone that they had to re-look and possible re-work some of the already drawn up plans.

The questioning went on for another hour or so and I must mention that Garth Henderson seemed to be a very thorough man who took his work seriously, particularly after I did not flinch when he told me his price.

Finally, he sat back in his chair and gave me a piece of his mind.  Although he did not say as much, I gathered that he thought me rather dim for the intelligent person I thought I was, mainly because I allowed myself to get so heavily involved with a man I knew so little about.  I could not blame him for thinking that, could I? He took the photograph I had of Lucian, placed it in his scanner, scanned it, printed a color copy, and handed the original back to me. He assured me that he would do his best and that he would check in with me every two to three days.

After making a significant deposit into his bank account by using my laptop and internet banking facilities, we shook hands solemnly and I left, no happier than when I arrived.  I told myself that at least I was not sitting around doing nothing, at least I was trying something.

My parents had left a note saying that they took the children to my aunt’s, and I had just over an hour to myself. I spent the time making notes of everything I remembered about Lucian.  Mr. Henderson told me to do so, as often when in conversation things may be overlooked. He told me to take my time but keep the notebook handy in case something I had not thought about before came to mind.

Finally, I heard my parents and the children outside and before closing the notebook I gave the pages I wrote a quick glance.  I could not think of anything on there that I had not told Mr. Henderson.

My father was the first to enter the dining room and judging by the way he headed straight for me I knew something had happened.

“Hey Dad, what happened?”

“Did you know your son could read?”

“Seriously Dad, he is only three years and a few months old.  I know both him and Mary recognize certain words if that is what you mean.”

“No, my dear, I left my reading glasses here and could not read the paper I bought. I was rather frustrated when your uncle offered me his and I still could not read the paper.  Then Marcus offered to read it to me.  I thought he was joking but handed him the newspaper.  You could have tipped me with a feather when he started reading the articles to me…fluently.”

“Dad, it cannot be. Although the children are in a school for gifted children their curriculum does not provide for three-year-old's to learn to read fluently.  Last I saw they were still learning the alphabet…”

“Well, I am telling you…Marcus says he learned to read by following in whatever book you were reading to them at night.”

“I am as surprised as you are Dad. I know my children are advanced in their learning, but I certainly did not know that Marcus’ reading had progressed to a stage where he could actually read from a newspaper.”

Just then my mother and the children came in.

“Mommy, mommy, I read Grandpa’s paper to him today!”  Marcus was clearly excited.

“I just heard son.  I am so proud of you but where on earth did you learn to read so quickly?”

“Oh Mommy, I had always followed the words in the books you read to us.  I was sure I could read but just did not want to try it, but today Grandpa left his glasses at home, and he really wanted to get the news from the paper… I tried and I did it!”  Marcus clapped his hands in glee.

I had heard of other protégé’s, children who did math's at an early age, children who could read or point out places on maps at an early age, but a child who taught himself to read at age three?  No, the other children I had heard about were mostly taught the skills they obtained and were famous for, my son however taught himself to read.  I tried convincing myself that I had to be grateful and celebrate my children’s intelligence, but deep inside me I had this gnawing feeling that all was not what it was supposed to be.

I do not know exactly how to describe what happened over the next few days, but it was so amazing that I had almost completely forgotten about Lucian until the phone rang one morning, I picked up to find Mr. Henderson on the other end of the line.  But I do not wish to rush the story at this point as what was to come is linked directly to what transpired over the next few days.

At first, I thought it was my imagination sparked by my father’s revelation. Marcus started insisting on reading parts of the newspaper to Dad and then took to asking me whether he could go on the Internet using my laptop. At the dinner table he took to discussing the news at length.  His opinions were of such adult nature that it had all of us gaping in surprise.  As had always been the case, Mary soon followed suit.  My children’s diverse interests were highlighted during these discussions.  Mary seemed to be more interested in humanitarian matters and Markus reveled in politics and economics. Both children also seemed to undergo a growth spurt. Pants I had bought Marcus only weeks before we left home were now at least an inch too short and Mary complained about shoes pinching her feet. I tried my best to make light of the situation by blaming my mother’s cooking for their growth, but inwardly I was confused and scared. Even as a scientist I could not understand what was happening to us. I managed however to suppress my anxiety until my mother cornered me in the kitchen one morning.

“Darling, we need to talk about the children…”

I really did not want to talk about my children, mainly because I did not know what to say, but my mother had me cornered and I knew there was no way out.

“Darling, I realize that both yourself and the children’s father are highly intelligent people and as such I expected the children to be bright, but I have never seen anything like this.  These children are growing like weeds and every day brings a new surprise in their emotional, intellectual and physical growth...” Yes, my mother was not a dumb nut either, had she had more opportunities available to her in her youth she could have been anything and done anything she wanted.

“I would have been more able to understand it if they had a daily tutor or something, but your father and I had only been trying to show them a good time and you had been absent… I thus just do not understand where they could possibly be picking up on all the things, they are coming up with…”

I hesitated before I spoke, because suddenly it dawned on me that if my mother noticed the change in my children, so would others and in my heart, I knew that life would not get any easier for us because of it. I had nothing else to offer but the truth.

“I do not know or understand it myself Mom.  All I know is that I am anxious and afraid for my children…”