Who Was Angela Zendalic (25 page)

‘It'll be alright,' Carrie soothed. ‘Whatever happens you've got us to support you. Actually, we must try to get together soon and blitz the house. Oh, it's so painful, isn't it? Turfing out Mummy and Pa's stuff as if it's rubbish. Emptying the place so some bastards can take it away from us.'

‘Unbearable,' I said. ‘I went up this morning and the For Sale board was going up. By the way ...' It was time to tell her about Howie being in residence, but she was surprisingly calm.

‘I trust Father Crowley,' she said, ‘and the chap certainly doesn't seem a hopeless crook type. It'll actually be good to have someone there with people invading the place.'

‘He's actually very nice and I've talked to him alot. About the garden mostly. Do you know what he said? He said he'd fallen in love with it, and he's got lots of amazing ideas for changes. Not to rip it all out and start again, but develop the unused corners in what he calls the blueprint of the place. I just hope the new owners can take him on and let him look after it. Like a memorial to Mummy.'

‘And she still
is
your mum, isn't she.'

‘Of course she is. Angela's just a mystery I have to solve.'

‘I popped in to see her yesterday. She was sound asleep and I didn't have the heart to wake her.'

‘I haven't been for over two weeks. Aren't I a cow? I'll go tomorrow.'

‘Don't beat yourself up. You've had alot to cope with. We both know she's too far gone to notice if we've been or not.'

‘I'll still go. And I'll take her a big bunch of flowers from the garden.'

With Carrie gone I sat down with the laptop, called up my ‘Headed Notepaper', and stared at the blank page. What on earth was I going to say to Michael Zendalic, and what was I going to turn up? He
had
to be connected, so was my existence going to be a cruel family bombshell? Would I be a hidden secret appearing out of the blue, like a genie from a bottle? Did I, or didn't I, want to continue? I concluded that I'd get no peace of mind until I'd tried and failed.

Dear Mr Zendalic

Please forgive me for writing to you without prior introduction. My name is Sarah Penney. I am seeking information about a person called Angela Zendalic, and you are the only person with this unusual surname I can find living in the UK. I am going to be perfectly truthful as to why I'm writing to you, and this may come as a shock.

I was born at the John Radcliffe Hospital, Oxford, on 15th February 1973 and only discovered, on the death of my father, Sir Piers Penney, the composer and conductor, that Angela was my natural mother; a devastating shock as I'd always thought my mother was my father's wife, Merryn, who brought me up with my three sisters. If this information is likely to cause embarrassment or misery to you, or to any of your living relatives, please destroy this letter and conclude the matter closed.

As to other members of ‘the family' (my family?) I have found public archive records for two half-brothers, Stanley (1906) and Arthur (1921), sons of a Rudolph Zendalic. Stanley married Edith Piper, in 1926, and had one daughter, Brenda, who married a Norman Brown. Arthur married a Patricia Baker in 1948, but thereafter I have no leads as to any future generations.

Mr Zendalic, I am merely enquiring to answer some open-ended questions in my life, and would not intend to encroach on your life, or those of your family, in any way. If you have any information that might be useful I'd be very grateful if you could communicate with me. All my contact numbers are as above.

Naturally if you are not connected or related to Angela in any way I apologise for troubling you.

Yours sincerely

Sarah Penney

March 1972
Aston Street Oxford

T
he
front door was open to the handle; a sitting duck to a burglar, as Ted well knew from working the patch as a PC. He stood in the narrow hall, and it was, as expected, dilapidated, fetid, and freezing cold, with a mixed pungency of rising damp and stale air. What a dump! A scruffy notice on a wall board, announced
Warlock/Zendalic
Top floor – 6
and he climbed the creaking, carpet-less paint-peeling stairs.

It was Garvie who opened the door, releasing a guff of heat and spices. He sighed arrogantly. ‘Oh, dear. It's Uncle Teddy Bear. The Old Bill.' Angela, who was sitting cross-legged on the rumpled bed, looked up with a stunned expression, an expensive Roberts Radio blaring out beside her. A tiny gas fire with broken elements blazed, dirty dishes were piled up on the floor, and their effects lay in chaos. Ted was overcome with sadness to see her in such squalor. So this was what she'd sunk to; the happy, chattering child they called their Princess. The band-box neat little girl, performing on stage at The Sheldonian in a yellow, full-skirted dress, cheekily waving to the clapping audience as she skipped her little legs off the stage. The joyful, leggy actress, and the choirgirl with the voice of an angel.

Ted said nothing, ignored eye contact with Garvie, and stared only at Angela. The seasoned performer couldn't hide her shock, snapping off the radio, and scowling. ‘What do you want? I'm not coming home.'

He didn't react. ‘There's a pub on the corner of Magdalen Road. I'll go there and wait for you.'

‘I'm not coming home,' she repeated.

‘I heard what you said. I'm not deaf. I'll see you in ten minutes.' He then turned to Garvie with a piercing look of hatred. ‘You're not welcome, but you'll have worked that one out, won't you.' Then inhaling deeply he lowered his voice. ‘Nice aftershave you use, Garvie. I've smelled it many times before. Old Teddy Bear and his mates might just be back for another good sniff.'

‘Why don't you fuck off?'

Angela came in, walked up to the bar, and bought herself a beer. She sat down carefully, her look haughty and superior, as if to say, ‘You're a pathetic old fogey, and you're wasting your time'.

‘I'm not here to read you the riot act,' he began calmly. ‘If you want to chuck away your education and all your talents to live in a shit-tip with an ignorant little oik, that's up to you. But I don't get it. You've always been so fussy about yourself, haven't you? You never left the house if you didn't look a million dollars, and now look at you.' He paused to peer up and down at her clothes. Worn, holed jeans, a grubby oversized Guernsey sweater, and a scuffed pair of men's suede desert boots. She dropped her eyes and didn't answer. ‘Listen love. Your mum and dad are on the point of nervous collapse, Auntie Peg's gone into a serious depression, and I'm the one who has to try and hold it all together. We've loved you all your life, and we still love you, but I think that's the problem, isn't it? You're fed up being smothered. You want to leave the child behind, and you know you won't be able to grow up without running away.' She nodded. ‘And Garvie offered a way out.'

She nodded again. ‘Don't be too hard on him. He's not all bad.'

‘Try and convince me.'

‘He only left home because his bitch of a mother tried to make him get rid of me. And don't ask why, because you know the answer. He can be tricky, but he really loves me. Honestly.'

‘So that kind of love's OK? What your mum and dad would call living in sin, and love for your family flushed down the toilet. So what comes next? A message you're up the spout, Garvie's done a runner, and you're bawling your eyes out; blackmailing everyone to come and pick up the pieces, and make sure you don't have a minute's misery over it all. And you know we'd all come running, don't you.'

‘Won't happen. I'm on the pill. I'm not stupid.' She hesitated and swallowed nervously. ‘My real mother, my birth mother, was stupid, wasn't she? She must have been. Getting herself pregnant by a man who dumped her, and then having to dump me...'

‘You weren't dumped, Angela.'

‘What's another word for it then? Re-homed like a stray dog.'

‘So that's what all this is about?'

‘That and other things. I love mum and dad, but right now I can't cope with them.' She tapped her chest. ‘They're not
me
. I need to know who I am, and what really happened.'

‘Angie, you've got to live with it, like all the other thousands like you. The law makes sure you know nothing as a protection to both you and your real parents. I'm sorry, love, but it's all part of the extra bit of growing up you've been lumbered with.' He slurped his beer deeply and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. ‘I'm going to tell you a little story. It'll be news to you, but don't interrupt.' He took a deep breath and began. ‘My wife and our baby son were killed in the war. Bombed out. I was away with the navy in the north Atlantic and I never saw him. Not once. Not even in a photo.'

Angela's face dropped and she bit her bottom lip. ‘I didn't know ...'

‘I came to Oxford in 1951, on a transfer with the force for a new beginning. I found lodgings with your mum and dad, and right away I fell in love with the girl next door. Yes, that's right. Your Auntie Peg. Miserable thing was, she didn't feel the same way, but we've always remained good friends. Over the years neither of us has managed to find anyone else, and one of the things that's made our dull, boring lives such a joy is watching you grow up. Look love, life can be a bummer. It's called the University of Hard Knocks, and one way or another you're in right old mess. Stay away if you must, and try to sort yourself out, but will you please make contact with your mum and dad. Tell them you love them but you just need some time on your own, that Garvie's looking after you, and you're happy. And Auntie Peg as well. Just a little note. She's been right good to you, what with stumping up for St Paul's and Bevington, and she deserves better. Will you do that?'

She nodded. ‘Alright then.'

‘You'll be glad you did. You might think you never want to see any of us again, but you will in the fullness of time.'

He walked her back to Aston Street under a starry, frost-bright sky. ‘Take care, sweetheart. I'll report back to the troops, and try to keep a lid on things. Now promise me again. You will get in touch, won't you?'

She nodded. ‘Yes, I will.'

They hugged each other, both feeling that just for a moment there was no agenda of dissent. ‘Off you go. Keep on the straight and narrow, and don't put up with any bullshit from Garvie.'

She walked slowly back into the house without looking back.

Half an hour later Ted reported back to Stan and Edie, in the kindest way he could, that Angela ‘needed some time to herself' and that ‘she would be in touch'. A gentle explanation that he hoped would take the heat out of the boiling situation. Some crumbs of hope that they would be wise to ‘let her be', and things would resolve in the fullness of time. But their faces showed they weren't convinced. They wanted her to come home.

He now sat at the table in Peggy's back room. She, with a schooner of sweet sherry, and he, with a large scotch. ‘What a shambles,' he sighed. ‘You know what all this is about, don't you. It's not just about enjoying herself. Underneath it all she's confused, and she wants to know more. The whole story, like. I told her there was no hope – that the law forbids it – but it's still driving her mad.'

‘Oh, Ted. The world's changed, but has it changed enough? I want to tell her, but how can I? How would Stan and Edie cope with the shock? And then the shock would turn to fury. They've made her everything she is. All the care and the worry, and wearing themselves out. All I've ever done is shell out money, buying my way into her life. It would be like I was snatching her back when all the hard work had been done. How could I be so callous? And there'd have to be the revelation about Joseph disappearing as well. Another disappointment for her.'

‘Ever thought about trying to find him?'

She nodded. ‘I
have
tried, Ted. I didn't tell you in case you thought I was stupid. Holding a candle for a man who'd deserted me.'

‘And?'

‘A few of years ago I told Piers Penney I'd like to get in touch with an old Tavistock scholar I'd befriended in the fifties. He suggested I contacted the Professor of African Studies, a Dr Estavan. I wrote to him and he got back to me with some news.'

‘I take it, it wasn't good news.'

She shrugged. ‘Ten years ago he and his family were hounded out into exile, with new passports and identities. They all drifted into obscurity, so he might be alive, he might be dead, but one thing I do know. He never came back for me. We can only pray that Angie doesn't make the same mistake as I did.'

‘She's assured me she won't. She said she's on the pill.'

‘I was hoping she was. If Edie knew it'd be another huge shock, but it's good news.'

Peggy then put down her glass with a start. ‘Oh, Ted, I've kept my mouth shut all her life and I'm sick of it. I've always wanted to blurt out the truth, and do you know why I don't do it now. It's not
all
about Stan and Edie's feelings. It's because of me! What if she doesn't want me to be her mother? She's likely to be having some fanciful thoughts about her real parents, like there's an exciting drama to be revealed. You know – they're rich, and important, and glamorous. That they parted in dramatic circumstances, and they've spent all their lives thinking about her, and wanting her back, and that she'll re-unite them, and they'll all live happily ever after. Don't you think the bubble would burst when she found out it was only dreary old me and the invisible man.'