A dilemma

I was so fortunate when I went away to study for my degree, that I met up with some great friends, and some of the friendships continued over many years.

One of my friends was someone I shall call Nancy. She was slim and dark and very attractive; she had a sort of intensity about her and when I first saw her in the early days at college, I was a little in awe of her. Nancy was very very clever, a real intellectual, but she also had a great sense of fun, and we shared many happy times together. She always lived on her own, I was always lucky enough to share accommodation with other people, but Nancy preferred to have her own privacy.

She was a great admirer of Sylvia Plath, and she too wrote poetry, dark and clever poems, sometimes a little beyond me. She had no brothers or sisters, and did have a solitary side to her, but she was also very friendly and loved being in the gang, and would come pubbing and clubbing around Manchester. The other  side of her character did lead her into strange situations, and she had odd fears and obsessions; she once came round to our flat at about three in the morning because there was a spider in her bath. I got up and trailed through the night to where she lived, rescued the spider and came home.  She also had a really strong fear of enclosed water, in tanks or locks for example. I don’t know where this fear came from but she would write about dark water, write poems about deep pools and canals.

Nancy had relationships with several different people, and one day, long after we had left college and were all working, mostly as teachers, she came to visit us as she’s moved away. To our surprise she’d had a child, called Eve (not her real name) who was being cared for by an older couple who, I believe already had children.

Shortly after this, we learned that Nancy had died, by her own hand. We were terribly shocked, she was young, she had a wonderful life ahead of her, and she had a daughter, Eve. I attended the inquest, I had missed the funeral, and met Eve’s foster-parents; they said they’d like to keep in touch with me and Nancy’s other friends, but it didn’t happen. This was in the days before internet and mobile phones, and letters were not answered, and phone calls weren’t always picked up.

Now here is my dilemma; I have a few photos of Nancy, and many stories about her, about happy times, and funny things, and silly moments. I don’t know Eve,  who is now a woman about the same age as Nancy was when she died. I know her name, and thanks to the internet I am sure I could find her if I tried… but should I? Her grandparents, Nancy’s mother and father  were elderly and I believe they died not long after Nancy, when Eve was still very young. I often read stories about adopted children wanting to trace their birth parents, or find out about them… does Eve want to know about Nancy? Does she even know she’s adopted?  It’s a dilemma, but I think I know the answer… do nothing.