best…’
Before I could ask him to explain himself, Mum came back with a large shoebox in her arms. Her eyes were rimmed with red, as though she’d been crying, and her skin was paler than ever.
‘Emily, before you open this box… I… I just want you to know that I love you sweetheart. And so does your dad.’
She handed the box over to me, hands trembling and breathing ragged in her chest. I stared down at it, tracing the worn brown cardboard and wondering what lurked underneath. Whatever it was, it was enough to unsettle my usually unflappable mum and make my dad upset.
I pursed my lips and looked up at them. Dad’s hands were on Mum’s shoulders and they looked as though they were bracing themselves for the dire consequences of my opening the box.
‘I take it there’s not a pair of brand-new Louboutins in here?’ I managed a weak chuckle, but it wasn’t reciprocated. ‘Guess I’d better open it then…’
I sucked in a huge lungful of air and lifted the lid, half expecting a load of demons to come flying out like Pandora’s Box. However, all I found inside was a huge pile of letters.
I frowned, picking one up like it was an unexploded bomb. ‘Oh God, guys, don’t tell me these are your old love letters to each other!’
Mum let out a huge, sharp sigh. ‘No, not quite.’
Dad ran a hand across his tired face and looked like he wanted to run out of the room and never come back. ‘I told you this was a bad idea, Pamela.’
‘She deserves to know, Simon! We should’ve told her years ago!’
I couldn’t take their bickering any longer; it wasn’t helping anyone. As they sniped back and forth at each other, I reached into the box, took out a letter and ripped it open. The sound of the envelope tearing brought the argument to an abrupt halt and they looked at me as if I’d just unleashed hell.
‘Oh God…’ Mum’s voice was a ragged, trembling whisper. Dad clutched her hand as sweat began to bead on his forehead.
‘Let’s see what all this is about, shall we?’ I forced brightness into my voice and smiled, hoping it would lessen the tension in the atmosphere. By the looks on my parents’ faces, it hadn’t worked.
I wriggled the letter out of the envelope, treating it like it was made of fine china. Whatever was on this page, I said to myself, it wouldn’t have the power to change anything. They were just words; why were Mum and Dad so scared of a bunch of words?
Then I read the letter, and that was when all hell broke loose.
Dear Pam,
Thank you for your letter and the pictures you included from Emily’s fifth birthday party. She looked absolutely beautiful in her pink party dress, didn’t she?
I know this is yet another special occasion I’ve missed. I’ve spent the last five years wondering about her: if she looks like me or if she has any of my personality traits. I know our arrangement is in place for a reason – my marriage to Diane would be ruined if she found out I’d fathered another child – but it still hurts that Emily has to miss out on knowing her real father. Still, I know it’s for the best. She has a man to call Daddy and I’m sure he’s a wonderful father to her. It’s best for everyone if I stay away, live my life and let you all live yours.
I still think about that night, you know. The moonlight on the bay, the look in your eyes, the texture of your skin: it’s all so clear to me, even though five years have passed. I do wish things could be different and that we could be together with our beautiful daughter. I have a wonderful life with Diane and out daughter, Nicola – they’re the best family I could ever ask for – but I can’t quite forget what I had with you. It’s just a wish, though, and where does wishing ever get you? I hope you, Simon and Emily are happy in Glasgow; from what you told me, you have a very good life there. I’ll always remember my brief time with you with fondness: it gave me some incredible memories that I’ll never forget. Hope you and Emily are both well. Perhaps one day in the future, I can meet her. One day.
All my love,
Derek
I read the letter over and over again, hoping that would somehow change the words within it. Each time I looked, though, the message was the same. My world cracked and slipped beneath me as I tried to wrap my head around what I’d just seen.
‘Who’s Derek?’ My voice came out as a strangled croak because my mouth was so dry. ‘And why were you sending him photos of my birthday party?’
I looked up at my parents, studying their expressions. Both of them looked utterly devastated. Mum had started to cry, while Dad didn’t know where to put himself.
‘Come on, guys, who is he?’ I’d learnt a long time ago never to ask a question I didn’t already know the answer to. I knew exactly who Derek was; there was only one reason Mum would be sending him photographs of me. All I wanted was to hear it from them. Maybe I’d be proven wrong and this nightmare would be over.
It was Mum who spoke first, as usual. She’d regained some of her composure, but not enough to mask how worried she was.
‘Derek is… Emily, he’s—’
‘He’s your real father.’ Dad’s voice stabbed the air, none of its usual warmth and humour present. ‘Derek Simpson is your biological father.’
With that, my neat and ordered world slipped and crumbled around me.
*
Of course, I wanted answers. I demanded to be told absolutely everything from start to finish, with no details left out. And, while dessert was being dished up, Mum obliged.
‘Just after I married your dad, I went on holiday to visit a friend who lived in a little village in Yorkshire called Luna Bay. It’s a beautiful place, right by the sea. While I was there, I…’ She trailed off to take a sideways glance at Dad, tears sparkling in her eyes. ‘I met a man named Derek Simpson. We, er, became friends, I suppose and… Well, one thing led to another and I found out I was pregnant shortly after I came back to Scotland.’
Out the corner of my eye, I could see Dad visibly tense up. It was strange to see him be anything other than carefree and happy. Usually, he was telling Mum to calm down if she was flapping about something, or cracking a joke to lighten the atmosphere.
I rose from my chair and turned to face him. ‘Dad, please tell me this isn’t true.’
He blinked back tears and stared down at his hands. ‘I’m sorry, Emily…’
With that, my last shred of hope disappeared. I felt as though I was in some sort of nightmare I couldn’t wake up from. I could feel the last twenty-five years unravelling at a rate of knots. The man I’d called Dad my whole life wasn’t my dad. I’d apparently been the product of some ill-fated holiday romance with someone Mum had barely known.
‘Emily, you know this doesn’t change anything,’ said Dad. ‘I’ve loved you
