I've sometimes wondered how my life would have been if I'd never tried to find my mother, but at the time I had this aching curiosity about her.
I didn't see it like this at the time but I suppose being brought up in an orphanage, and lacking the sort of love that ideally you get one on one with a mother, I wanted to know why I had been deprived of that love.
I was twenty one and I'd been out of the orphanage for three years; life seemed to be as good as I could expect and I was doing well in my university studies, so why I got this sudden urge to meet my mother is a bit hard to fathom.
Whatever the reason, I got in touch with the authorities and was put through the bureaucratic mills. First it was a social worker contacting my mother to ask if she wanted to meet me. When she got a yes I was allowed to send her a letter through the social worker and got one back by the same route and next it was a telephone call.
After that officialdom dropped out of the scene and we exchanged several telephone calls. The objective was that we should meet each other, and although we both expressed the wish to do just that, we kept on delaying it. I suppose when it came right down to it we were both scared of what we would see and how we would feel if and when we did meet.
I was surprised that we both lived in the same city and we wondered if we'd seen each other in the street or in a shop, or somewhere like that. In the end it was mother, whose name was April Blake, who took the step, and we arranged to meet in a café -- neutral ground I suppose.
My name is Mark Applegate but how I got the name Applegate I don't know. Perhaps it was my father's name or one they gave me at the orphanage. I decided I'd ask mother when we met what my father's name was. But then I changed my mind. It's an odd thing, but I didn't seem have any interest in my father, only my mother.
* * * * * * * *
I arrived early at the café and sat waiting for her at a table outside. We had not made any special arrangement, no signals, no wearing a flower or holding a newspaper, and I wondered how I would recognise her. I remember my stomach felt as if it had, not butterflies, but large birds flying around in it and my throat seemed to have got something stuck in it.
She arrived about half a minute before the time arranged. She told me later that she'd arrived half an hour before time but was so nervous she couldn't sit still and had been walking around trying to compose herself.
It was strange because as I saw her approaching I recognised her immediately; not physically but - how can I put it? It felt like a jolt of recognition. There was only one moment of doubt as I thought, "It's not possible she's far too young."
I thought I detected reciprocal recognition in her eyes and as she afterwards told me, "I think I would have known you anywhere," and when I told her about the strange sensation I'd experienced she said, "Yes, I felt that too."
She was wearing a smart black skirt and a white blouse, three buttons at the neck undone. Despite the simplicity of her outfit she looked the sort of woman who could manage to make yards of haphazardly arranged coloured silk look like the very latest fashion. She was not particularly tall, but very slender, with short chestnut hair framing a perfectly oval face.
I wasn't sure what to expect at this first meeting. Would we burst into tears, fling our arms round each other saying things like, "At last I've found you?" If I'd been expecting that, then I was due to be disappointed because our greeting and what followed was quite cool if not formal.
As I hesitated she came straight to me and said, "Mark...Mark Applegate?
I stood up and said, "Yes...er...April Blake?"
She replied, "Yes, I'm your mother; shall we sit down?"
We sat and she took control of the situation immediately. "I think we should have some coffee." She called the waitress over and gave the order.
We spent the next five minutes talking, of all things, about the weather and trying to surreptitiously examine each other, which from my point of view was difficult because she had the most piercing green eyes I'd ever seen, and they were focused right on me.
Her chestnut hair was cut short in a rather mannish fashion but it seemed to enhance her facial profile. She had an unfashionably long nose, but straight and beautifully shaped. Her mouth was small with plump lips, her lower lip protruding very slightly. Her neck was long and graceful and her unbuttoned blouse gave a hint of her cleavage that indicated quite small breasts.
She had the look of a professional woman which was later confirmed when she told me she was a lawyer.
She was inclined take the initiative and I was glad of this because having been the initiator of this meeting, and having gained my original objective, I didn't really know how to proceed. There was only one burning question I had in mind, and that was why she had given me up, but I wasn't sure how to put it to her.
The coffee arrived and she when she had paid for it she began by asking me about my life in the orphanage. She listened intently as I told her that it had been okay -- not a bit like a Dickensian orphanage.
She went on asking questions that brought us right up to date. She seemed to be pleased that I was studying law at the university and it was then she told me she was a lawyer.
She asked, "How are you managing now...I mean...financially...where do you live?"
I went into a bit of detail about this, telling her that I'd taken out a government loan to be repaid once I'd graduated plus a bit I earned working evenings at the "Happy Chicken House," and I'd got a room in a boarding house.
Having failed to ask what for me was the vital question it was she who brought it up.
"I suppose you want to know why I let you go."
"Yes," I said cautiously, "I had wondered."
She looked at me steadily for a few moments as if trying to assess in advance how I would respond to what she was about to say. When she spoke what she said seemed unrelated to the subject.
"Tell me," she said, "are you all right?"
"All right?"
She seemed to hesitate before going on and then obviously trying to sound casual asked, "Any health problems; any learning difficulties, anything like that?"
Taken by surprise I stammered, "H-health problems? N-no, although I did have a cold once."
"No I mean serious problems," she said.
"Ah, not that I know of, but if you mean intellectual disabilities I did score a hundred and twenty five on an IQ tent once."
She looked relieved and went on, "I was too young."
"Er...too young for what?"
"To keep you."
Oh, how young?"
"Very young," she replied, without specifying an age. That accounted for why I'd thought she was too young to be my mother when I first saw her.
Taking the plunge I asked, "Did...did you ever think about me?"
So far she had behaved like an efficient professional woman in a business meeting, but for a moment she looked as if she was going break up and cry. Then clearly trying to overcome her emotions she said, "Yes, often, but particularly on your birthday." She managed a wan smile and went on, "It was strange, but on your birthday the weather was always gloomy."
"Well it is in the middle of winter," I said, trying to sound cheerful.
