Page 87 of The Secrets of the Tea Garden

CHAPTER 17

Newcastle, late May

Since Sam’s fortieth birthday at the end of April, Adela had been attending church on a Sunday morning. The congregation of the Gospel Missionary Church met in a small redbrick building in Sandyford, a modest suburb of railway workers’ terraces. Their grander church had been destroyed during the War.

‘Don’t know why you want to go there instead of StOswald’s with me,’ Tilly had said in bafflement. ‘I bet the sermon’s twice as long and you don’t get all the local gossip afterwards.’

‘Lexy likes to go,’ Adela had said, ‘so I said I’d take her.’

Sam had given her sceptical looks but didn’t question her sudden interest in religion. They didn’t talk about much any more. Her attempt to give him a special birthday by inviting his mother to a picnic tea in the local park had been a disaster. The cake Adela had made collapsed in the tin and MrsJackman had spent the afternoon chiding Adela for not asking her to make it. A dog had run off with the cold sausages and rain finally chased them indoors. Sam had taken his mother home and didn’t return in time for Adela to take him to the cinema. By then she had polished off a bottle of sherry with Josey in the kitchen while Tilly worked in the sitting room on the stamp collection she was building up since leaving her old one in India.

Adela had not been able to hide her annoyance. ‘Your mother knew we were going to the pictures. I really wanted to seeBlack Narcissus.’

‘We can go another night,’ Sam had said, eyeing the empty bottle. ‘Anyway, you seem to have made the best of your evening without me.’

‘At least Josey knows how to have fun,’ Adela had retorted.

‘Leave me out of this,’ Josey had said, getting up from the table. ‘You lovebirds need time alone.’

Adela had tried to curb her resentment at Sam’s mother spoiling the birthday but in bed that night, she pretended a headache so they didn’t make love.

‘Drinking too much gives you that,’ Sam had muttered and rolled away from her.

Adela had lain awake feeling wretched and wracked with guilt. Why had her interest in sex shrivelled so quickly? It wasn’t that she didn’t love Sam, so what was the problem? But after that, Sam only spoke to her about the mundane day-to-day running of the café and kept out of her way. His commissions for wedding photography were increasing and took him all over Newcastle. On Sundays he went off with his camera on long walks and sometimes didn’t return until suppertime. Adela knew that she should be putting more effort into her marriage but all she could think about was tracking down her lost son.

She felt achingly alone. Why did Sam not understand her yearning to find her boy? Surely, he of all people should realise how she felt? He had been wrenched from his mother at an early age and knew how damaging it was to have the mother-son bond severed. If only he would let her talk about it, she could make him understand, but he never brought up the subject. Adela consoled herself with the hope that finding her son would bring her and Sam together again in a common purpose – loving John Wesley and giving him a home. That was her unspoken dream; it’s what kept her going through the relentless drudgery and worry of running the café. She would patch things up with Sam soon.

At least Lexy still understood her need to find John Wesley. When Adela had shown her the letter from the Reverend Stevens of the mission society, her friend had been indignant at its patronising tone. ‘Thinks he’s better than the likes of us lasses – the cheek of it!’ It had spurred her on to help in the search.

It was Maggie, Lexy’s old friend, who had remembered the name of the women who had come from the mission church to take away Adela’s baby in 1939. MrsSinger and Miss Trimble.

‘Reminded me of sewing machines and thimble,’ Maggie had said in a rare moment of lucidity. ‘Singer and Trimble.’

Adela had tracked down the congregation – now reduced to a couple of dozen mostly female attendees – to the small hall in Sandyford. Lexy had agreed to go with her if Adela would drive her in the café van. This had been another cause of friction with Sam, when he’d wanted the van to get to an outlying village to take photos at a christening. Tilly had quelled the argument by offering Sam her car instead.

It was three Sundays before Adela plucked up the courage to ask about Singer and Trimble. She stayed behind to talk to the elderly preacher.

‘Miss Trimble died last year,’ the pastor said. ‘But MrsSinger is still very much with us, I believe. How do you know her?’

Adela hesitated. Lexy said, ‘She used to come in the tearoom where I worked. Lost touch during the War. It would be canny to see her again.’

‘I’m afraid she doesn’t live in Newcastle any more,’ the preacher said.

‘Where is she?’ asked Adela.

He frowned. ‘I think it was Durham. She went to live with her daughter.’

Adela’s insides twisted in disappointment. ‘Do you know where?’

He gave her an enquiring look. ‘I’m not sure I do.’

‘But you know she’s still alive?’ Adela persisted.

‘She keeps in touch with MrsKelly, the organist.’ He looked around. ‘It would appear she’s already gone home.’

Adela could hardly curb her impatience for the following Sunday morning to come. She made sure that she spoke to MrsKelly before she left church. The woman was large and wheezed as loudly as the bellows on the ancient organ that she wrestled with each week.

She beamed at the mention of her friend. ‘I was that sad when Lily moved away. But her daughter married and settled down Durham way and Lily was already widowed so she followed her. Friends of hers you said? Not regular church people though? Lovely voice you have, pet. Noticed it straight away. Makes a difference to the hymns.’