7July! It cant be just a coincidence. And the name Andrew. Different middle name, different surname. As if an adoption could rewrite a patronymic and a last name, even a first name She stared at the portrait for a long time, as if hoping to recognize something familiar.
In the humanresources office of the town council, Mrs. Ingrid Anderson processed the paperwork for a new employee. She then called out:
Miss Evelyn, could you step into my office? Your new colleague is waiting.
Soon enough, Evelyn entered the modest office and was greeted by a woman far older than herself:
Are you the new cleaner?
Yes, the young woman replied.
Im the housekeeper, Ingrid Anderson, the senior introduced herself, then turned to the newcomer. And you are?
Evelyn, she answered, correcting the quiet question reflected in the seniors eyes. Evelyn Whitmore.
Come along, Ill show you your workstation, they walked out of the office, continuing their conversation. Your floor will be the entire third level
***
Evelyn felt a sudden surge of happiness at the prospect of work. With a bright smile she surveyed her new domain:
Two years until retirement, and I could even keep working after that. The pays £8000 a month, plus the occasional bonus. With David Ill get by comfortably. The children have moved out, the house feels spacious now. I cant even remember the mayors name! It would be embarrassing if anyone asked. Lunch is soon; theres a photo gallery of every mayor on the ground floor. How did I miss that?
***
On her way back from the staff canteen, she passed a display board and read the mayors details: Andrew Barlow, born 7July1983.
What a young man, Evelyn thought, a fleeting notion flickering. Hes not even forty yet Andrew? 1983?
She turned back, reading the birthdate again:
7July! It cant be just a coincidence. And the name Andrew. Different middle name, different surname. As if an adoption could rewrite a patronymic and a last name, even a first name
She gazed at the portrait for a long time, as if hoping to see a familiar face.
***
The new job sank into the background, and extraneous thoughts drifted away.
That evening she talked at length with her husband. He retreated to his room to watch football, she to hers.
Their flat was a spacious threebedroom dwelling. With the children gone, the rooms felt airy. He still shared the bed with Evelyn now and then, but far less often.
Now she lay in her own bedroom, thoughts swirling like autumn leaves. Memories of youth rose, tangled with a secret she had never shared with her husband.
She had once given birth to a son, named Andrew, when she was only nineteen. No money, no work; a hostel from her technical college, scarcely fit for a child. She managed to keep him for six months before surrendering him to a childrens home.
Three years later she married David. They never spoke of the years before the wedding. Soon two daughters arrived.
The children grew. One attended university in the county town, married there, and now has grandchildren in primary school. The other married and lives in London.
Evelyn never obtained a formal qualification. For the past twenty years she worked as a housekeeper in a factory workshop. When the plant went bankrupt and the staff were dismissed, a friends daughter offered her a cleaning job at the council. She accepted.
Now the mayor, Andrew Barlow, born in 1983, presided over the town. Evelyn did not complain about her life, but the memory of her son resurfaced often, sometimes even in dreams. She longed to be sure he was truly hers and that he was well.
***
A few days later, Evelyn was sweeping her floor when voices broke the hum. Mayor Andrew Barlow strode past, chatting with a colleague. He glanced at her, nodded, and continued his conversation, disappearing down the corridor.
In that instant, a boy named Victorher youthful crush from forty years agoappeared before her eyes. He had once been handsome and lively; she had always wanted to see him serious and businesslike, a vision she could never imagine. Now, watching the mayor, she recognized that the serious, respectable man she had imagined for Victor was exactly the image she held of the mayor.
Victor had left when he learned Evelyn was pregnant, claiming he would go abroad to earn money. She had waited, hoped, then realized he had simply fled.
Could the mayor be my son? she whispered to the empty hallway. If I hadnt given him up, would he be different? My daughters are thrivingmarried, spacious flats, cars. The younger one is doing well too. No son.
What if Id never married David? My fate, his, and Andrews would be entirely different. Perhaps Andrew Barlow isnt my son at all. Could the world hold such uncanny coincidences?
She sighed. He does have parents; he was a baby when he was placed in care. Those parents may never have told him he wasnt theirs. A different surname, a different lineage, yet his childhood seems happy enough. Its rare for an ordinary lad to become mayor.
***
After lunch, a young colleague, Olivia, approached her.
Hello, Aunt Evelyn!
Hello!
Were celebrating Lilys birthday on Friday. She cleans the sixth floor and turns fortyfive. Will you join us?
Of course! Evelyn smiled.
Then £10 for the cake, and bring something original for the potluck.
Alright, Evelyn handed over the ten pounds from her wallet.
Lets make a toast to all the birthdays, Olivia said.
Please, just call me Evelyn. Were colleagues, after all, she replied.
Certainly, Evelyn!
***
On Friday, after work, the staff gathered on the seventh floor. A vacant office became their makeshift banquet hall; they laid a table, poured red wine, and began the usual ritual of toasts, each sip punctuated by laughter.
The door swung open and in stepped Mayor Andrew Barlow, smiling.
Lily OConnor, happy birthday! he announced, handing her a small gift box. A little something.
Thank you, Mayor, Lilys eyes welled with tears.
Mayor Barlow, please have a seat with us, the housekeeper beckoned.
Only briefly, he replied, taking a seat beside Evelyn.
She placed a bowl of salad and slices of ham on a clean plate, poured wine, and listened to his toast. As she looked at him, something trembled inside herrecognition, certainty. This was her son; she no longer doubted.
Andrew lingered for about twenty minutes, then rose, thanked everyone, and left.
Thats the kind of man he is, said Kate, the longestserving council employee, who knew everyones stories. Even the former mayor never imagined sitting with us like this.
Has Mayor Barlow been here long? Evelyn asked.
A year. Remember the election last year?
She shook her head; she never recalled the details. Her husband had always made the decisions.
You know his parents are wealthy, wellconnected, Kate continued. But they arent his biological parents.
What? Lily gasped.
It came out two years ago, when he was preparing for the campaign. Supposedly he never knew. He didnt react at all, Kate said.
Where did you hear all this? Evelyn pressed.
The former mayors deputy, Olga Patel, gathered everything. She wanted her boss to stay in power, but the old mayors supporters didnt elect her, Kate explained.
So he truly doesnt know who his parents are? Evelyn persisted.
It seems not. He loves the people who raised him. Our mayor is a decent man in every regard, Kate affirmed.
Evelyn stared at the doorway where the mayor had sat. Joy and sorrow swirled togetherjoy that her son seemed to thrive, sorrow that she could never hold him. She was, after all, to blame for his absence. She smiled inwardly and thought:
I wont trouble you, my boy. Ill always be near, in spirit.
The dream lingered, the corridors of the council shimmering like a halfremembered watercolor, and Evelyn drifted back into the quiet of her bedroom, the echo of a birthday toast fading into the night.