" f you’re looking for Marie you just missed her. She’s gone up to the hospital, to sit with Joe.”

“Joe?” The man turned from the door.

“Her husband, poor chap. Been proper poorly he has. She goes up there every day, but he doesn’t seem to be getting much better. Shall I give her a message when she comes back? Who should I say called?”

The woman leaned her face towards him, obviously eager to glean any information she could.

“It doesn’t matter, I’ll call back later.” The woman watched him walk away her face a mask of disappointment.

It started to snow as Marie made her way home. Thick sluggish flakes that turned into icy mush as they made ground contact. By the time she left the bus, the flakes were more solid, dusting the grimy pavement with a frosting of white.

Snow on Christmas Eve would normally have elated her, but not this year. This year nothing had the power to lift her spirits. She felt isolated from the seasonal gaiety that surrounded her as she trudged home, imprisoned in her own unhappiness.

As she neared her house she saw Molly, her next-door neighbour, surveying the street impatiently. She spotted Marie.

“Marie! You’ve had a caller.”

Marie sighed; even the snow was no detriment to Molly’s nosiness. Usually she found it amusing, but today she was in no mood for the woman’s endless chatter.

“Middle aged chap, not bad looking. He wouldn’t leave a message or anything. I wonder who he was?” Her avid little eyes glittered in the light from the street lamp.

Marie shrugged. “No idea Molly. If it’s important I expect he will call back.” Without waiting for Molly’s reply, she went into her own house, closing the door firmly behind her.

She went through to the kitchen and put the kettle on for tea. As she waited for the water to boil, she thought about Joe. Life had changed so quickly for the two of them. Before his stroke two weeks ago, life was good. Even after so many years together they had been as close as in the beginning. Now they couldn’t even communicate.

The doctors had urged her to sit with him everyday and talk. They assured her that he could hear everything she said, that in a lot of cases this helped to bring back the patient’s own speech. But it hurt so much to see him so helpless, her Joe, the one who had always been so strong.

Today the doctor had taken her to one side and told her he was worried about how tired she was looking. He had suggested gently, that other people could take some of the strain. Perhaps their children could visit sometime and give her a break.

Children, the word had dredged up the painful memory of another doctor, many years ago. He had tried to be gentle too, as he told them that they would never have the family that they longed for. It had been a bitter blow at the time, but they had survived it together, as they always did. But now there was no one to help her survive this.

The kettle gave a shrill cry, startling her back to the present. When the tea was made she carried it through to the living room. As she was about to sit down there was a rapping at the door. She gave a sigh and put the tea back onto the table. No doubt it would be Molly bursting with some snippet of gossip she had picked up. She flung back the door, ready to tell the busybody that she needed to be left alone, but it wasn’t Molly who confronted her.

A middle-aged man stood before her, his head and shoulders coated in snow.

“I’m looking for Marie Shepherd,” his tone was almost apologetic.

“Then you’ve found her.” Marie said.

“I wonder if I could come inside and speak to you about something?”

Marie was about to tell him, that whatever he had to say could be said here, when she caught sight of Molly hovering behind him, ears pricked. On impulse she stood back and beckoned him inside closing the door on Molly’s astonished face.

He seemed taller than she first thought as he stood in the cramped living room. She studied him as she waited for him to speak. His clothing was obviously expensive and despite his age his face was surprisingly youthful. But it was his eyes that drew her, so blue that they were like sapphire. A strange premonition ran through her, but she shrugged it off as he spoke.

“I hardly know where to start,” he said quietly. “My name is Jerry Clarke and I am adopted. It’s my birthday tomorrow and I will be---.”

“Forty three,” whispered Marie as realisation flooded her. They stared at each other for endless minutes until Jerry broke the silence.

“Are you my mother?”

The starkness of the question assaulted her. She sank into a chair, unable to tear her eyes from his face, her silence leaving no room for denial.

“I just need to know why you didn’t want me.”

“Not want you! How could you think that I didn’t want you? I wanted you more than you could ever imagine. When they took you away I thought I would die.”

“But you still let me go.”

The accusation pierced her. “You don’t understand. It was a different world in the fifties. I was fourteen years old; I didn’t have any choice, my dad made that plain enough. Back then there was none of the help you get today. An unmarried mother was the lowest of the low. Without the support of my parents I wasn’t allowed to keep you. I would have given my life if I could to---.” Her words trailed away lost in the bitter memories.

“Where there---did you have more children?”

She shook her bowed head. “They sent me to a home for unmarried mothers, that’s what they were called then. Really it was just a place to hide you away. The birth wasn’t straightforward, there were complications and they botched it. That little mistake put paid to any more children.

Without asking, Jerry pulled out a chair and sat facing her. He leaned towards her and put out a hand, as if to touch her. For a moment his hand hovered indecisively above her bowed shoulders, then abruptly he withdrew it.

“Can you tell me about my father? Do you know what happened to him?” Marie lifted her head, a look of confusion on her face.

“Your father, I—I married him. They tried to keep us apart, but we bided our time. As soon as I was sixteen we ran away. Eloped to Scotland.” A hint of a smile played around her mouth as she relived the past. “It should have been the happiest day of our life, but both of us were thinking about you. And we’ve thought about you ever since.” Her eyes held his in a steady gaze. “We tried to find you, but like I said, it was different then. We weren’t allowed any information. They said you would find us if ever you wanted too. “Why did you wait so long?”

It was Jerry’s turn to bow his head. “My parents; the people who adopted me. I loved them dearly. I was afraid of hurting them. They died last year, within a few months of each other. That’s when I started looking. No matter how much your adoptive parents love you, you never get rid of that feeling of rejection.”

Marie reached out and put her hand over his. “ There was no rejection, we never stopped thinking about you. Wait, I’ll show you.”

She rose and left the room, returning with a carved wooden box, which she placed before him.

“Open it.”

Jerry bent and lifted the lid. Inside were envelops; lots of them, each one bearing the name Christopher. Puzzled, he raised his head and stared at Marie.

“They’re birthday cards, one for every year. The next one is waiting over there on the dresser. On Christmas day, after we’ve toasted your health, we put it with the others and keep on hoping.”

“Christopher?”

“That’s what we called you, because of the day.”

She was crying now, her face awash with tears. Jerry rose from his seat and finally embraced her.

Much later, lying in the bed that had become much too large without her Joe, Marie thought about the night’s events.

She had never been a particularly religious person, but in the last few terrible weeks, she had prayed. Prayed fervently for some way to help Joe. And it seemed her prayers had been answered and in a way she never thought possible

Tomorrow, Jerry would go with her to visit Joe and surely if anything could penetrate his silent prison, this would be it.