‘It might or it might not. Who knows? You need to prepare yourself for every possible outcome. All we can do is wait. These types of searches can take weeks or even years, and your mother might not want to be found.’
‘Or she could have passed away.’
‘That is also a possibility,’ Irene admitted. ‘But you need to keep an open mind and be hopeful, think positive. The only way we’re going to discover the truth is if we find your mother, and even then she might not want to talk about it.’
Elle knew Irene was talking sense, and she might just have to accept not knowing where or who she came from, despite the feeling of abandonment that still ached deep inside her.
‘I know.’
‘Have you spoken to anyone else about this?’ Irene asked.
Elle leaned forward and took a sip of wine. ‘I’ve thought about talking to Pippa about it all.’
‘But you haven’t yet?’
Elle was silent for a moment.
‘Once I’ve crossed that line, there’s no going back. She’ll know you aren’t my biological mum.’
‘Pippa isn’t a gossip. She’ll support you. I know she will. Have a think about it.’
‘I will,’ Elle agreed. ‘She’s going to be moving in with me next week, which will help me out financially too.’
‘I think that’ll be good for you – not just for the money but for the company too.’
Just then they were interrupted by the oven timer beeping.
‘You go and wash your face. I’ve set the table in the dining room.’
‘Thanks, Irene.’
‘What for?’
‘Just for everything.’
‘You don’t need to thank me.’ She smiled lovingly. ‘I’ll dish up and then you can tell me all the gossip from work.’
‘And you can tell me what you’re doing with your days now you aren’t up at the crack of dawn.’
* * *
After Elle had finished touching up her make-up in the downstairs bathroom, she opened the door to the dining room and smiled. Irene had done a superb job of setting the table, and she’d even tied the balloons to the back of Elle’s chair like she’d done from the very first birthday that Elle had spent in her care. On top of her happy birthday napkin lay a small gift wrapped in shiny silver paper.
A few seconds later, Irene appeared in the doorway clutching two plates brimming with food.
‘Wow, there’s enough to feed a small army!’ Elle exclaimed, sitting down at the table and staring at the plate in front of her. ‘Back to healthy eating next week.’
The home-made bread was cut into large doorsteps, the sandwich piled with fish fingers and crisp iceberg lettuce. She lifted the top of the sandwich and smeared it generously with tomato ketchup, then put the bread back on top and pushed it down using a little force, which for some reason always seemed to make it taste better. By the side of the sandwich were a handful of thick-cut chips and a freshly prepared salad.
‘This looks absolutely delicious. Thank you,’ she enthused, picking up her fork and stabbing a chip with it before popping it into her mouth.
‘There’s a pot of tartare sauce there too. Would you like a top-up?’ Irene said, hovering the wine bottle over Elle’s glass.
‘Oh go on then. It is my birthday after all.’ Elle held up the small gift on the table. ‘Is this for me?’
‘It is indeed.’ Irene pulled out a chair and sat down opposite her. ‘Open it.’
Without hesitation, Elle ripped open the wrapping paper to reveal a burgundy box. Slowly opening the lid she saw sparkling back at her the most stunning diamond ring she’d ever seen.
