3
The Search
Of course, as soon as I’d got halfway down the street, I wanted to go back. I wanted answers. I didn’t understand what I’d heard, just that Sam Purditt wasn’t my biological father. But how that was possible I couldn’t imagine.
I reached Jam and Lauren’s car and stopped running. Yes, I wanted to know more, but I couldn’t go back. It was too humiliating. All the people in the room – all the mums plus Lauren – they clearly knew the whole story. About my dad. And yet no-one had told me. Why? Was there some terrible secret they thought I wasn’t old enough to cope with?
Footsteps sounded along the pavement. I looked up as Jam pounded up to me, then bent over, catching his breath.
‘Mo,’ he said. ‘They are such idiots. I can’t believe no-one told you.’
‘You knew too?’ Tears bubbled behind my eyes. I couldn’t bear being left out like this. And I still didn’t know what they were all talking about. ‘What did they mean? Who was my biological father?’
‘I don’t know.’ Jam frowned. ‘I don’t know any of the details. I haven’t talked about it to anyone since . . . man, it was years ago. There was a letter we found, me and Lauren. Your dad – Sam – he’d written to Lauren before he died, explaining that they used a sperm donor for you and Lauren because Sam couldn’t have kids.’
‘A sperm donor?’ The world felt like it was spinning inside my head. My father was a sperm donor . . . out of a test tube? ‘Who was he?’
‘I don’t know,’ Jam said. ‘The letter didn’t go into details. I . . . I wanted to say something, but it wasn’t the right time . . .’
‘You wanted to tell me?’ My heart was racing.
‘Actually, back then I wanted to tell Shelby. There was a letter for her as well.’
‘Right . . . thanks.’ I turned away. Shelby was my other sister. She died in a fire the year after Dad. ‘You’re saying you thought Shelby had a right to know, but not me?’
Jam grabbed my arm. ‘The letters were for Shelby and Lauren, not you.’
My mouth trembled. So Sam Purditt not only wasn’t my biological father, he hadn’t even bothered to write me my own letter telling me so.
Jam obviously saw what I was thinking.
‘Shelby got a separate letter because her dad was . . . different from yours and Lauren’s,’ he said.
‘Right,’ I said.
‘And because you were so little,’ Jam went on, ‘I thought your mum should tell you or something. Please, Mo, you were only eight.’
‘OK, but I’m not eight now.’
‘I know.’ Jam sighed. He glanced back towards the apartment. ‘Annie’s having a total meltdown in there because she knows she should have told you and couldn’t face it.’
I nodded. I was used to Annie’s meltdowns.
‘So will you come back inside?’ Jam asked. ‘Lauren feels terrible.’
I hesitated a moment. I still wanted answers. Most particularly, I wanted to know who this sperm donor was. But I couldn’t face Annie in hysterics right now. And I couldn’t face all of them together, feeling sorry for me.
‘No,’ I said. ‘Not right now. I just want to be on my own for a bit.’
Jam nodded. Like Lauren he’s good at sensing when it’s best not to push me. In fact, he’s good at that with everyone – it’s one of the things that I imagine makes him a great teacher. ‘OK, that’s fair enough.’ He cleared his throat. ‘Hey, Mo, you are pleased for me and Lauren, aren’t you? About the baby, I mean?’
I nodded. ‘Sure,’ I said. ‘Course I am.’
Jam went back inside and I trudged away, turning off my phone in case Annie tried to call me. I’d intended to walk around for a bit, but I soon found myself outside a tube station and once I was through the barrier there didn’t seem much point doing anything except going home. While Lauren’s apartment is close to central London, Annie and I live just ten minutes’ walk from Lauren’s adoptive parents in north London. Annie chose the house years ago, when Lauren still lived at home, so I could be near to my big sister.
How could Lauren have kept such a massive secret from me for so many years? I was used to Annie getting stuff like that wrong. But not Lauren. She’d always been so totally on my side – fierce and loyal and true. And yet she hadn’t been honest with me about who our father was. It hurt more than I could bear.
I let myself in and went up to my room. I was sure Annie wouldn’t be far behind me and right now I couldn’t face the thought of speaking to her. I switched on my phone – missed calls from both Annie and Lauren. I didn’t listen to their messages. Instead, I plugged my headphones into my mobile. I needed music. I needed to lose myself in someone else’s pain, so I didn’t have to think about my own.
I was about to press play when the doorbell rang. I hesitated. I wasn’t expecting anyone – and it couldn’t be Annie or Lauren. They both had keys. The doorbell sounded again – a long, persistent ring. Sighing, I went downstairs.
Lauren’s adoptive brother, Rory, was standing on the doorstep, his friend Marcus beside him. I tugged self-consciously at my hair. It wasn’t Rory I was embarrassed to see – we’ve known each other for years and we go to the same school. He’s like my cousin or something. We’re not close, exactly. But we get on OK.
No, it was Marcus I was shy around. He’s the same age as Rory – seventeen – but, like, the most good-looking boy in London. Cool hair, styled with a long fringe today, tall and broad-shouldered, with piercing green eyes. I’d had a crush on him for two years.
‘Hey, Madison.’ Rory’s ruddy cheeks stretched into a smile. ‘Are you OK?’
‘Sure.’ I glanced at Marcus, feeling my face reddening. He was looking bored, stifling a yawn as he leaned against the door frame.
‘Mum made me come round, to see if you were here.’ Rory rolled his eyes. ‘They’re all in a panic about you down at Lauren’s. Is it true she’s pregnant?’
‘Yeah.’
Rory rolled his eyes again. ‘Is that why you flipped out?’
‘No.’ My cheeks burned even hotter.
Marcus stifled another yawn. ‘If she’s OK, can we go?’ he said.
Rory looked at me. ‘Sure you’re all right?’
‘Course.’ I flicked back my hair in what I hoped was a vaguely sophisticated and confident gesture. Marcus gave no sign that he’d noticed. Then a thought struck me. ‘Hey, Rory, d’you know anything . . . about my dad? Stuff that my mum might have told yours, maybe that she didn’t want me to know about?’
Rory made a face. ‘No. Why?’
I shrugged. ‘Never mind.’ I started to close the door. Marcus caught my eye and winked. What was he doing? He’d looked so totally bored just a second ago. I smiled uncertainly back.
‘Hey, Madison.’ Rory’s voice almost made me jump.
‘What?’
‘My mum keeps a bunch of diaries about old stuff,’ he said. ‘Maybe yours does too.’
The two boys set off along the pavement. In spite of all the turmoil in my head, I couldn’t help wishing I’d been a bit cooler around Marcus. He walked with a rolling swagger that managed to convey absolute confidence with a hint of ‘don’t mess with me’ danger.
I shut the door and thought about what Rory had said. Diaries. I couldn’t imagine Annie keeping a diary. She had enough trouble keeping track of everyday life to do anything requiring that kind of focus. She didn’t even own a computer. Still, it was worth a look.
I raced up to her bedroom, guessing that’s where she’d keep something as personal as a diary. Our cleaner had been earlier, so the surfaces were all clear and tidy, but I knew the chaos that would face me as soon as I opened any of the cupboard doors. I tried the bedside table drawer. Sure enough, it was overflowing with tissues and hand creams and manicure kits. No paper at all. Then I opened the wardrobe door. That was crammed with dresses and tops and trousers, most of them half off their hangers. Shoes littered the floor space, plus a pair of my old dolls, three plastic
bags, a pottery cup Shelby and I made for her at camp one summer, a box of old lipsticks, and a wooden drumstick – goodness knows where that had come from.
I sat back on my heels, feeling overwhelmed. Didn’t Annie ever throw anything away? I rummaged right to the back. There were several cardboard boxes here, plus a couple of small suitcases. I pulled them out and opened them one by one. Piles of clothes met my eye. One box was full of old jumpers and skirts. Another was crammed with little girl dresses. I didn’t remember wearing any of them. I guess they must have been Shelby’s or Lauren’s. I was trying to be systematic, but once all the clothes were on the carpet, it was hard to keep track.
‘Madison, sweetie?’ Annie’s voice quavered from the doorway.
I spun round. I’d been so caught up in my search for a diary I hadn’t even heard her come in.
‘What are you doing?’ she said, looking round at all the clothes on the carpet, her voice breaking into a sob.
I stood up. ‘I want to know everything,’ I said. ‘I want to know why you used a sperm donor. I want to know who he is. And I want to know why everyone else except me knew about him for seven years.’ I folded my arms and glared at her.
A tear trickled down her cheek. Her hands were shaking as she twisted them over each other. How I hated that gesture of hers. Sometimes, though it felt horrible to admit it, I hated Annie herself. She was always so weak and miserable. For as long as I could remember, I’d felt it was my job to look after her. But why should I have to do that? It wasn’t fair.
‘Madison, I realise what you heard was a shock,’ Annie said. ‘But I’ve kept certain things from you to protect you. Because I didn’t want you to be hurt . . .’
My guts tightened into an angry knot.
‘I get you’ve been trying to protect me,’ I said, clenching my fists. ‘But you need to get this: I’m not a little girl anymore, and what I overheard was something important about my dad. You owe me an explanation, because I don’t understand and that’s worse than anything.’
We stared at each other. Annie blinked rapidly. She wasn’t going to tell me. I could see the resistance in her eyes. I clenched my fists, ready to storm out. Maybe I’d go back to Lauren. Try and get the truth from her. And then Annie wiped her hand across her face, brushing away her tears. She looked up at me, clear-eyed and with a smile of resignation.
‘You’re right, Madison,’ she said with a sigh. ‘It’s time you and Lauren knew the truth about your birth father. Please come downstairs. Lauren’s here too. I’ll tell you both everything I know.’
4
Allan Faraday
I followed Annie downstairs, into the living room, where Lauren was perched on the edge of the couch. She looked up as I walked in, her face scrunched up with misery.
‘Mo?’ she said.
‘It’s fine,’ I said, without meeting her gaze. It wasn’t fine, of course. Lauren had failed to tell me what she knew about my dad and that she was pregnant. But I didn’t want a big fight with her.
I sat down across the room and waited, as Annie produced a small wooden box from the depths of the large scroll-top desk that stood in the far corner. With trembling fingers, Annie unlocked the box and drew out a sheet of paper. She turned to me.
‘Lauren already knows this part: your dad and I tried to have a baby for over a year. We had some tests, and found that we couldn’t have children together. I was fine, but there were problems with . . . with your dad. We talked about it for a while, then decided we should use a sperm donor.’
‘Did you do IVF?’ I asked.
Annie nodded. ‘The donor was anonymous. All we were officially told were the things we’d been able to choose – like him having dark hair and eyes, the same as your dad, and being six foot . . . so the same height . . . and that he was twenty years old.’ She hesitated.
‘But you found out more?’ I said. I glanced over at Lauren. She was sitting forward, listening intently, her hands folded over her swollen belly.
Annie nodded slowly. ‘Like I say, that’s all we were officially told, but when I was in the clinic in Evanport, having the treatment, I got friendly with one of the nurses. I told her how anxious I was about genetic problems . . . you know, things being inherited like diseases and conditions . . .’
I frowned. ‘Don’t they check out the sperm before they give it to you?’
‘For some things,’ Annie said, ‘but not everything. It would be too expensive.’ She hesitated again. ‘Anyway, this nurse happened to be sympathetic. She thought the clinic was skipping even the basic tests and trying to do things on the cheap. So . . . well, she didn’t want to make a fuss. She was scared of losing her job. But she gave me some extra information about our donor. Not much, just a name and an address, but it was enough to make it possible for me to hire someone to investigate. I had to know everything would be all right.’
Well, that made sense. Annie was such a worrier – though I could hardly imagine her having the drive actually to organise an investigation.
‘Did Dad – Sam – know what you were doing?’ Lauren asked.
‘No.’ Annie sighed. ‘Your father was struggling enough as it was with the idea he couldn’t have his own children. It was different after you were born but, back then, he couldn’t have handled knowing the other man’s name, let alone any other details.’
‘So . . . what did the investigator find out?’ I held my breath.
Annie handed me the piece of paper from the wooden box. ‘This is everything I know,’ she said.
I looked at the sheet. It was a report, typed in three paragraphs, on a man named Allan Faraday. I read the lines, but I couldn’t take in any of the information. This whole thing felt surreal. I mean, how was it possible that this stranger was my biological father? I tried to read the three paragraphs again. This time I picked up the crucial bits of data: at the time of Lauren’s conception, Faraday was twenty, and a student at New York State University. He had grown up travelling around various capital cities in Europe thanks to his dad’s banking job and suffered ‘the normal childhood illnesses’ the report said. He was basically fit, healthy and a keen basketball player. He only drank in moderation, didn’t smoke, didn’t take drugs and had achieved good grades in his most recent set of exams. The only negative given in the report was that he tended to spend extravagantly – hence his attempt to increase his income by donating sperm.
I skim-read the next paragraph which gave details of Faraday’s wealthy parents – his dad was American but his mother was from Britain – and their medical history, then the next, with data on the two sets of grandparents. All four individuals were still alive in their eighties. No indications of cancer, heart problems, dementia or degenerative diseases. I looked up.
‘This is our real dad?’ I said. ‘This . . . Allan Faraday?’
‘Sam was our real dad,’ Lauren said firmly. ‘This man just provided a . . . a genetic base for us.’
I shook my head. It was all right for Lauren. She had known Sam when she was my age. Plus, she had her adoptive dad as well. But I had no-one. I didn’t even properly remember Sam.
Annie wrung her hands. ‘Lauren’s right,’ she said, her voice all trembly. ‘Sam took care of you and loved you and played with you. You know that, Madison.’
‘Earlier, you said something to Lauren about finding out more about the sperm donor’s medical history . . .’ I said. ‘Does that mean you think we should get in touch with him?’
‘No.’ Annie’s eyes widened. ‘Definitely not. I was . . . I was just surprised about Lauren being pregnant. But she was right, if there had been something wrong with him, it would have shown up in you or her by now.’
‘Anyway, I’m going to have the baby in a few weeks,’ Lauren said. ‘That’s going to happen whatever, and afterwards we can do any tests we want.’
‘Don’t you want to find this man?’ I persisted. ‘I mean, he’s your blood father.’
‘No.’ Lauren shook her head. ‘He doesn’t me
an anything to me.’
‘But . . .’ I frowned. ‘But you wanted to know about us. About your original family. Why not your birth dad?’
‘That’s completely different, Mo,’ Lauren said. ‘I was stolen away from Annie and Sam – from my original family. This man just donated a bit of himself. It’s . . . it’s meaningless by comparison.’
I couldn’t believe it. Of all the people in the world, Lauren was the one I’d have expected to understand. She’d grown up away from us because she’d been kidnapped as a toddler and later adopted by another family. She had gone in search of her birth parents, just like I wanted to. Yet here she was, not getting it at all.
‘I want to know him,’ I said, my anger rising. ‘I want to know my birth dad, if I can.’
Annie was on her feet, tears welling in her eyes. ‘No, Madison, that’s a terrible idea.’
‘Why?’ I protested. ‘I’ve got a right to know him.’
‘Mo, listen.’ Lauren’s eyes pleaded with me. ‘I understand you want to find out about your roots. But Sam was there from the beginning. He wanted you. This man – Allan Faraday – he doesn’t even know we exist. Remember, the sperm donation was supposed to be anonymous. He . . . he might not want to know you. And I’d hate to see you hurt.’
‘Oh, so would I, sweetie,’ Annie added.
I couldn’t be more hurt by him than I have been by you two and your lies.
I thought the words, but I didn’t say them. Instead, I looked down at the living room carpet. A tuft of wool stuck up by the leg of the couch where Lauren was sitting. I chewed on my lip. OK, so Annie and Lauren didn’t understand why I needed to find Allan Faraday. Well, I wouldn’t bother to talk to them about it anymore. I held out the piece of paper to Lauren.
‘D’you want to look at this?’
‘No thanks,’ she said.
I folded it up and put it in my pocket.
‘Madison, please promise me you’re not going to do anything stupid like . . . like try and find this man.’ Annie sounded on the verge of tears.
Missing Me Page 2
