Chapter 38
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Brisbane
The drive up to Channel Seven’s studio on top of Mount Cootha was a short one from Mima’s hotel in Brisbane’s CBD.
She hadn’t told anyone where she was. Kate thought she was visiting a friend.
She’d forgotten that cover story when she told Reeda she had a doctor’s appointment.
Reeda had almost foiled Mima’s plans by insisting on driving her to the appointment, but she’d managed to deflect by telling Mima that her friend Betty had already offered.
She hated lying to the girls. They loved her and wanted to take care of her, but sometimes she needed to be on her own. And this was one of those times.
Even though she’d had multiple conversations with the producers, she still wasn’t entirely sure why they wanted her to come on the TV show.
It was called Find My Family, and they’d told her she would meet the son she gave up years ago.
But they must have it wrong — they’d likely confused her with someone else from the same hospital.
She hadn’t given up a son for adoption. It was a mistake.
So, should she go on a nationally televised show only for the host to realise the mistake live?
Perhaps she should try again to call them back.
So far, she hadn’t found anyone who took her concerns seriously.
They'd brushed her off, told her not to worry, everything would come to light when she was on stage, didn’t matter if it was a mistake—that it was all part of the drama.
Still, there was a constant and niggling thought in the back of her mind—what if it wasn’t an error?
Maybe someone had discovered the truth about her past. About the baby.
She hadn’t given him a name. Before he was born, she’d wanted to call him Oliver, but then she’d never actually had a chance to look him in the face or call him anything at all.
He’d died so quickly, and she was unconscious when it happened.
In truth, she was lucky to be alive. She’d come to this realisation after many years of pain and torment—that horrible day could’ve been her final one on earth as well.
And even though at the time, she might’ve welcomed the darkness as a relief, she was glad now that she’d managed to fight her way back and live a happy existence in Cabarita with all of the people she loved most in the world.
She’d made a life for herself, she’d healed from her brokenness, and she’d found her laughter again.
It’d taken time, but she was happy and whole.
If someone from her past wanted to reconnect, or a stranger was looking for family, she was ready to face that.
She had plenty of space in her heart for love and friendship now, and she was honestly curious about who it might be.
She’d simply have to go on stage and wait to hear what they had to say.
Even if it meant she was humiliated by some false narrative on national television.
She pulled her car into the parking lot.
A red-and-white antenna tower loomed over the squat building in front of her.
The building was nestled into the bush on the crest of a sloping mountain that overlooked the city of Brisbane.
Eucalyptus trees lined the road and circled around the studio.
A flock of cockatoos screeched as they flew overhead, white wings flapping in a steady rhythm.
They settled in one of the gum trees nearby, their raucous calls rising in a deafening crescendo before falling quiet.
Mima slung her purse strap over her shoulder and faced the studio with trepidation.
What awaited her inside? She wasn’t sure, but the possibilities were too appealing for her to walk away.
She wanted to know the secret they were holding so close to their chest. She had to find out what it was that had made the producers call her a month earlier.
She clomped through the automatic doors and checked in with the receptionist, then waited until a production assistant came to fetch her.
Before long, she was ensconced in the green room, with hair and makeup flitting around to all of the guests seated there.
Each person looked as nervous as Mima felt, and no one was talking.
Mima was too anxious to engage in the banter she normally utilised in order to get to know people or lighten the mood.
She wanted this to be over, to get through it without embarrassing herself.
When it was her turn to go on stage, the same production assistant appeared at the door and beckoned her to follow.
She asked him questions, but he brushed them off with a polite smile, saying he didn’t know anything more than she did.
She doubted that, but he was a nice boy, so she pretended she believed him and did what she was told with far more docility than usual.
The assistant stopped in front of her before a black curtain. She almost ran into him, but managed to halt in time.
“Whoops! Sorry about that,” she said, smoothing her skirt with both hands. “So, what do I do now?”
He fastened a microphone to her collar, threaded the line down to a place on her back, and then pulled aside the curtain and pushed her through the opening with one hand on her waist.
“Oh, okay… Wow. Hold on…” Mima was blinded by a flash of light. There was the roar of applause and cheering coming from what must’ve been a live audience, although she couldn’t see a thing. She raised an arm to her face to block the glare, then stepped forwards.
“Come on over here, Jemima Everest!” a man with a smooth, jovial voice called out to her.
She blinked and saw him waving at her. He wore a navy suit with a red tie, and his lips were pulled into a wide smile, exposing large white teeth. She shuffled towards him. Her eyes adjusted to the light and spotted an audience seated in rows of stadium chairs in front of a rectangular stage.
“We’re so glad to have you join us. Won’t you take a seat?”
She nodded. “Thank you.”
“I’m Jimmy Cahill, and I’m the host of Find My Family. Do you know why we’ve asked you to come here today?”
“Hi, Jimmy,” she replied beaming for the audience. “No, I’m not sure why I’m here. But I’m certain you’re about to tell me.”
The audience tittered and Mima sat down, shifting her weight so she found a comfortable position on the hard couch.
“We have a secret,” Jimmy said with a dip of his head.
“Oh? How exciting.”
“I wonder if you recall back in December of 1953, when you had a baby...?”
Mima’s world stopped. The sounds of the crowd fell away, and she heard only the noise of her heart thundering against her ribcage.
Then the crowd was back. Jimmy leaned towards her, his brow furrowed in mock concern.
He pressed one hand to his knee. “Mima? Are you all right? Did you hear what I said?”
“Huh? I’m sorry. What?”
There were whispers throughout the audience.
What was going on? Why was Jimmy talking about the baby she’d lost decades earlier?
How did he know? Where was this going? She should get up and leave.
Although part of her had known the show might be connected to her baby, she’d told herself it wasn’t possible.
No one had access to those records. She’d searched for years, trying to find the baby’s birth certificate so she had something to remember him by.
She’d wanted to change it so it had the name on it that she’d hoped to give him, had he lived.
Little Oliver Everest would be immortalised.
But it’d been impossible. She hadn’t found any record that remotely resembled her boy’s birth certificate.
It’d been lost, or destroyed—she had no way of knowing which.
But there was no chance a TV show could’ve found what she’d spent so much time searching for, was there?
Jimmy offered the audience a conspiratorial grin, somehow still laced with patronising concern. “The baby you had in 1953. Do you remember him?”
“That’s not exactly something you forget, Jimmy,” she replied with cold disdain. She poised herself, ready to get up and leave.
“Of course it’s not.” He shook his head sadly. “What happened to that baby?”
She glared at him, her heart aching. “He died.”
There was a further gasp from the audience, followed by the hum of conversation. Someone by the front of the stage held up a sign towards the audience. Silent! Quiet on set! The noise died down instantly.
Jimmy looked at her, gathering his face into a mask of compassion. “I’m here to tell you that he’s alive.”
Mima gaped. Her eyes widened, and she searched Jimmy’s face for the truth. Was he lying? Why would he do that? And on TV? It didn’t make sense. “He’s alive? How is that possible?”
“Not only is he alive, but he’s here in the studio with us today.”
Mima’s head spun. The studio seemed to tilt on its axis. She pressed a hand to the couch to steady herself. Her lungs filled with air, but she couldn’t seem to get enough of it. “I don’t understand. They told me he died. You must have the wrong person.”
“Your son, Allen Younger, has searched for you for decades. When he finally realised he needed help, he contacted the show, and we located you within weeks.”
“I… don’t know what to say.” Mima’s heart thudded loud in her ears. She turned to the left and right, scanning the crowd and the people on the sides of the stage. Was he there? Which one was he? Would she know him to look at him? And how had this happened?
“Allen was raised by a loving family near Bundaberg after his parents were unable to conceive in the post-war years. They adopted him in Sydney then returned to Queensland with him, where he grew up on a sugar cane farm. His parents told him about the adoption when he was eight years old, and as an adult he chose to search for you. Every avenue he followed led to a dead end. There was simply no record of his birth, or his mother, until he called us. We were able to locate his handwritten birth certificate, which had been edited to provide him with the wrong birthdate and surname. The only consistency was the location of his birth and your first name, Jemima. The certificate listed you as Jemima Earhart. That’s why he hadn’t been able to find you previously.
But once we discovered that anomaly, it wasn’t long before we were able to track you down. What name did you give him, Jemima?”
Mima blinked. “I wanted to call him Oliver Everest. But after he was born, I lost consciousness due to a haemorrhage. When I recovered, they told me he was stillborn. I never got to name him or hold him.”
The audience exclaimed with oohs and aahs, then held its collective breath.
“Did you intend for him to be adopted?” Jimmy asked, looking genuinely curious for the first time.
“No, of course not. I wanted to keep him so badly. My plan was to take him to Bathurst to stay with my parents. It wasn’t a very good plan, since in the end they wanted nothing to do with me. But whatever we did, we’d do it together. He has to know that he was very loved and very wanted.”
“Are you saying they took your child away from you forcibly?”
Mima inhaled a slow breath. “So it seems. And it happened to my friend Fran too. I didn’t realise they’d done it to me until this very moment.”
“What happened to Fran?” Jimmy asked.
“They took her baby, broke her heart and then she left.” Mima’s voice faltered. Her throat felt as though it was on fire.
“You were robbed of the chance to know your own baby. Now, this is your opportunity to finally meet the son you thought was dead. Are you ready to meet him, Jemima?”
She pressed her eyes shut, pushing out the noise. This was it. Her whole life was about to change. She opened her eyes and gave him a quick nod.
“Jemima Everest, meet your son, Allen Younger,” Jimmy shouted in a tremulous voice.
Mima stood to her feet and faced the direction Jimmy had pointed. Her legs felt as though they might collapse. Her heart skittered in her chest. She didn’t dare to blink again in chase she missed the moment he stepped onto the stage. And then she saw him.
He was dressed in a shirt and jeans. His caramel curls looked so much like her own, like her mother’s. His dimples were hers as well. He was tall and muscular as he jogged across the stage with a broad smile. Nothing like his father. He was all hers.
She held out her arms to him, unable to move.
Tears wet her cheeks before she realised she was crying.
He bent to hug her, and she clung to him, sobbing against his shirt.
She tried to pull herself together and sat on the couch beside Allen, their hands still linked.
She sniffled and wiped her nose with a tissue, swallowing back the emotion that’d built in her throat.
Jimmy was still talking, and she tried to focus on what he was saying, but all she could think was that her son was alive and seated right next to her. Her brain struggled to comprehend this truth.
“On the screen, we have a series of photographs of Allen throughout his childhood,” Jimmy said, pointing to a projected set of images.
Mima watched the slideshow play out across the screen as the audience cheered and clapped over photographs of little Allen playing on a seesaw, then digging a hole at the beach, riding on his father’s tractor, followed by teenaged Allen playing soccer in a blue-and-white jersey, riding a horse through the cane fields, attending a formal with a girl in a voluminous pink dress, him in a black suit with a white dress shirt underneath it.
The man seated next to her was forty-five years old.
So much of his life had passed by without Mima even knowing he was alive.
She’d been robbed of everything. And yet, all she wanted now was to get to know him, talk for hours, laugh together, spend what little time they had left as a family. She hoped he wanted the same thing.
She turned to look at him at the same moment that he shifted his gaze towards hers. His lips pulled up at the edges, eyes dark under the bright lights. She returned his expression through a veil of tears and squeezed his hand. “My boy,” she whispered beneath her breath. “You’re alive.”