July7th! It cant be truejust a coincidence. And the name Andrew. Same first name, different middle and surname. Its as if an adoption could rewrite a patronymic and a family name, even a given name
She stared at the portrait of the man for what seemed an eternity, hoping some familiar thread would appear.
In the humanresources office of Bristol City Council, the clerk signed the paperwork for a new employee and then called out:
Miss Emma, could you come in here? Your new colleague is waiting.
Soon after, Emma Andersonhead of facilitiesentered the modest office, her voice already thick with years of authority.
Are you the new cleaner? she asked.
Yes, replied the woman, her eyes bright despite the weariness.
Im the caretaker, Emma Anderson, the senior introduced herself, then turned to the newcomer. And you are?
Clara, she corrected, the silent question in Emmas gaze prompting her to add, Clara Edwards.
Come on, Ill show you your station, Emma said, leading the way down the corridor. Youll be on the entire third floor
***
Clara felt a sudden surge of joy at the prospect of work. She smiled, halflaughing, as she took in the small kingdom she would tend:
Two years until retirement, and perhaps I could keep working after that. The wage is eightthousand pounds, with occasional bonuses. With Daniel Hart Ill manage. The children are grown and have moved on. I dont even know the mayors namehow embarrassing if anyone asks! Lunch is soon; theres a photograph of every mayor on the first floor. How could I have missed it?
***
On her way back from the staff canteen she passed a display panel and read the mayors details: Andrew Burton born 1983.
A young man, not even forty yet, a thought fluttered through Claras mind, then a memory sparked. Andrew! 1983.
She turned back, reading the birthdate again:
July7th! It cant be truejust a coincidence. And the name Andrew. Same first name, different middle and surname. Its as if an adoption could rewrite a patronymic and a family name, even a given name
She lingered on the portrait, as if waiting for an echo of herself.
***
The new job settled into the background of her thoughts. That evening she talked at length with Daniel, then each slipped into their own roomshim to watch the football, her to read. Their threebedroom flat felt spacious now that the children had left. Daniel still shared the bed sometimes, but less and less.
Lying alone in her own room, Claras mind spun back to youth, to the secret she had never disclosed to her husband. She had a son once, named Andrew, when she was nineteen, penniless and unemployed, living in a cramped dormitory after leaving a trade college. She could only keep the baby for six months before handing him to a childrens home.
Three years later she married Daniel. They never spoke of the years before the wedding. Soon two daughters arrived, grew up, one moved to a university town and married there, the other settled in London. Grandchildren now toddle to school.
Clara never managed to obtain a professional qualification. For the past twenty years she had been a caretaker in a factory workshop, until the plant went bust and the workers were all let go. Then a friends daughter offered her a job as a cleaner in the council offices, and she accepted.
Now the mayor, AndrewBurton, born in 1983, held the reins of the town. Clara did not complain about her life, but the memory of her son resurfaced often, sometimes appearing in her dreams. She wanted, above all, to know whether he was truly her child and whether he was safe.
***
A few days later, while Clara swept the hallway, voices rose and the mayor, AndrewBurton, drifted past, chatting with a colleague. He glanced at her, tipped his head, and continued his conversation, disappearing down the corridor.
In that instant, a boy from her pastVictor Harpermaterialised before her eyes, the one she had loved forty years ago. He had been handsome and carefree; she had always imagined him growing serious and businesslike. Yet, seeing Andrew now, she realised that the version of Victor she had once pictured was identical to the mayors demeanor.
Victor had left the day she learned she was expecting a child, claiming he would go abroad to earn money. She waited, then understood he had simply fled.
Could Andrew Burton be my son? If I hadnt placed him in a home, would he be different? My daughters are thrivingmarried, a big flat, a car. My younger one is doing well too. But theres no son.
What if I had never married Daniel? My fate, his, and Andrews would be entirely different. Perhaps Andrew isnt my son at all. Could the world harbour such improbable coincidences?
She shrugged. It matters little now. He grew up with parents who, when he was six months old, likely never told him the truth. He now has a happy childhood, and its rare for an ordinary lad to become mayor.
***
After lunch, a young colleague, Olivia Clarke, approached Clara.
Hello, Aunt Clara!
Hi there!
Were celebrating Lilys birthday on Friday. She works on the fourth floor and turns fortyfive. Will you join us?
Of course! Clara replied, smiling.
Then itll be two hundred pounds from you, plus something original for the salad, Olivia said.
Alright, Clara handed over the money from her purse.
Everyone contributes to the celebrations, Olivia added.
Just call me Clara, not Aunt Clara. Were colleagues, after all, Clara reminded her.
Will do, Clara!
On Friday, after work, the team gathered on the seventh floor where a vacant office had been cleared and a table set. As is customary in any office, they raised glasses of red wine and offered toasts in turn.
The door swung open and in stepped AndrewBurton, smiling.
Lily, happy birthday! he announced, handing her a small wrapped gift.
Thank you, Mayor, Lilys eyes welled with tears.
Andrew, would you sit with us? the caretaker invited.
Just for a bit, he agreed, taking a seat beside Clara.
She placed a fresh salad on a clean plate, added slices of ham, poured wine into glasses, and the mayor offered a toast. Clara watched him, and a tremor ran through her. In that moment she was convincedthis was her son.
Andrew lingered for about twenty minutes, said his goodbyes, and left.
Thats the man! remarked Kate Simpson, the longestserving council employee, who seemed to know everyones story. Even the former mayor never imagined hed sit with us.
Has Andrew been here long? Clara asked.
A year. Remember we elected him last year? Kate replied.
Clara shook her head; she had never remembered that decision. Daniel had always made the choices for her.
His parents are wealthy and wellconnected, Kate continued, but they arent his biological parents.
Really? Lily gasped, surprised.
It came out two years ago when he was preparing for the election. He never seemed to notice.
Where did you hear all this, Kate? Clara pressed.
The former mayors deputy, Olga Parker, kept a file on Andrew, hoping to keep her boss in power. The oldguard didnt get reelected.
Does he know who his real parents are? Clara persisted.
Apparently not. He loves the people who raised him. As far as I can tell, our mayor is a decent man.
Clara stared at the doorway of the office where Andrew had just sat. Joy and sorrow tangled inside herjoy that her son, if he truly was, was doing well; sorrow that she would never be able to embrace him. She whispered to the empty air:
I wont bother you, my son. Ill always be near, in spirit.
The dream faded, the council lights flickered, and the surreal hallway stretched on, echoing with the soft thud of a broom and the distant murmur of a towns forgotten past.
