Mark looked at the clock on the wall of his office: 3.36 p.m. Time seemed to be moving at a snail’s pace this Thursday afternoon. He had plenty to do, as usual, but he couldn’t get his mind into gear.
Having that pint of lager at lunchtime had been a mistake. A few of the senior staff had gone out for a bite to eat at the pub and Mark hadn’t been able to resist. The Mia and Diane situation had been playing on his mind all morning and he’d hoped a little alcohol might take the edge off.
It had certainly helped him relax and put aside his problems for the hour or so they were out. But once back at his desk, he’d started to feel sleepy and maudlin. At one point he’d had to take himself off to the loos to splash cold water on his face and – in a low moment, staring at his reflection in the mirror and wondering where this would all end – he’d barely avoided bursting into tears.
Thankfully, he had no meetings scheduled for the rest of the afternoon and the office was quieter than usual, due to it being peak holiday season. He was supposed to be concentrating on clearing the paperwork accumulating in his in-tray and catching up with all the unanswered emails in his inbox. But instead he found himself using his phone’s web browser to research DNA paternity testing.
This was something he’d started thinking about after failing to make direct contact with Diane. He’d tried phoning her numerous times now, leaving her five voicemails as well as sending three texts. He’d been careful in terms of what he actually said or wrote, making no specific reference to the real reason he desperately wanted to speak to her, but he hadn’t received any response at all.
She had at least phoned Mia eventually and sent Hannah a text. So where was his reply? How dare she ignore him after dropping that bombshell last Saturday! It was so out of order, particularly as it had left him fearful of what she was up to; fretting over whether she was on the brink of coming clean to Hannah too.
As for Mia, having spent some time with her now, he was pretty sure she had no knowledge about it so far. Whether or not that would remain the case depended on her mother. However, for all her faults, he couldn’t see Diane wanting to mess with her daughter’s head over such a sensitive issue.
She apparently had no such qualms about messing with his head, though. For the umpteenth time in the last few days, Mark’s mind jumped back to that one-to-one discussion they’d around eleven years earlier in the aftermath of Maggie’s death and the couple of days he’d spent looking after Mia.
‘I’ll tell you the truth if that’s what you really want, Mark,’ Diane had said to him.
And then, if what she was now claiming to be true was to be believed, she’d done the exact opposite and told him a pack of lies.
‘Of course I want to know the truth,’ Mark told his sister-in-law. ‘You owe me that at least.’
He wished Diane wasn’t wearing the green top she’d borrowed from Hannah, which almost made him feel like he was talking to his wife. This exacerbated his sense of guilt and brought back to mind the events of that damned night, when he was now convinced Mia had been conceived. He usually did his best to avoid thinking about it, especially around Diane, since doing so served no purpose. The fact was that he’d slept with his wife’s sister and hidden it from Hannah ever since. Dwelling on the matter wouldn’t change a thing.
It terrified Mark that, by pushing to discover the truth about Mia, he risked opening a can of worms that could devastate his marriage. But he couldn’t stop himself.
‘So is she my daughter?’ he asked, sitting forward in his chair and taking a sip from his bottle of beer.
After a long pause that made Mark want to shout at her to stop playing games, Diane finally replied. ‘No, she’s not. It’s nice that you bonded with her, though. She is still your niece and, seeing as her father isn’t around, it’s good for her to spend quality time with a close male relative.’
‘What?’ Mark snapped. ‘I thought you said you were going to tell me the truth, Diane. How’s this any different to what you’ve said to me before?’
‘Give me a minute, will you? But you can’t repeat what I tell you: not even to Hannah. If you do, well, you’ll force me to deny it and reveal that we slept together.’
‘Why would you threaten to do that?’ he said in a raised voice, shaking his head in disbelief. ‘If I’m not Mia’s father, then what purpose would it serve other than to break your sister. Is that really what you want?’
‘Keep it down, please,’ Diane replied in little more than a whisper, ‘or you’ll wake Mia up. Is that what you want?’
Mark didn’t reply, taking a minute to calm down while she glared at him. God, she was a piece of work. How could she and Hannah have such different temperaments, despite being raised in exactly the same environment?
‘If I wanted to tell Hannah, I’d have already done so by now,’ Diane said. ‘But if I tell you this, I need to know you won’t repeat it.’
‘Fine,’ Mark replied, sighing. ‘But whoever this man is, how can you be so certain he’s the father and I’m not?’
‘For a start, I know when I took precautions and when I didn’t. But I’ve also had a test carried out to be sure. The father paid for it and now we have an agreement whereby I keep quiet about his involvement and he does the right thing financially.’
‘Doesn’t he want to be involved in Mia’s life?’
‘We both agreed it wasn’t a good idea.’
Mark shook his head and took another swig of his beer. ‘So are you going to tell me or not?’
‘Do I have your word you won’t repeat this?’
‘Yes.’
‘Fine, it’s a bloke I used to work for – an old boss of mine. He’s quite a bit older than me and married with kids of his own. We had a short affair. There were no real feelings: it was just sex. Things were already over by the time I discovered I was pregnant. Neither of us wanted any more from the relationship. He was never going to leave his family and I didn’t want him to, so we reached our agreement instead. He’s kept up his side of the bargain – financially, I mean – and I’m happy with that.’
Mark paused, expecting Diane to elaborate, but instead she took a swig from her bottle of beer and stared at him, apparently waiting for a response.
‘Seriously?’ he asked. ‘That’s all you’re going to tell me? And his name?’
‘That’s irrelevant. It’s none of your business. I’ve already told you more than I’ve told anyone else.’
‘What about Mia?’ Mark asked. ‘You’re happy for her to grow up without a father?’
‘I’m perfectly capable of deciding what’s best for my daughter, thank you very much.’
Mark knew better than to push this any further. He finished his drink and made his excuses. Why stay? If he wasn’t Mia’s father, what more was there for the two of them to discuss? All in all he felt pretty stupid, wondering what had gone through his head to make him so sure Mia was his daughter. He was also uncomfortable about having discussed his and Diane’s night of shame, which neither of them had mentioned in a long time. Doing so was like reopening an old wound; it felt more real as a result, sharpening his sense of guilt and increasing the negativity he felt towards his sister-in-law.
As for Mia, he couldn’t simply switch off the powerful feelings he’d developed over the past couple of days. Whatever he felt about her mother, she was a lovely, sweet little girl. He’d have to settle for calling her his niece.
In the car on the way home, Mark gave himself a firm talking-to. ‘Come on,’ he said to his reflection in the rear-view mirror. ‘Stop sulking. You should be glad about what you’ve learned. You never wanted kids anyway; especially not with Diane. And where would you be now if she’d told you otherwise? You’d be panicking about what to do next, terrified your marriage was doomed. Move on now, Mark. Get on with your life and forget about this.’
The sound of Mark’s desk phone ringing snapped him out of his memories and back into the present. He shook his head to try to clear the fog and, stifling a yawn, picked up the receiver. ‘Hello?’
‘Hi, Mark. It’s Sharon on reception. Sorry to bother you. I’m actually looking for Adam King, but he’s not answering his line. Do you know if he’s around?’
Mark looked up, glad it wasn’t a call for him. He spotted Adam, who’d also been at the pub earlier, talking to another colleague on the far side of the office. ‘Yes, I can see him. If you send the call back to his desk, I’ll let him know to take it. Who’s calling?’
‘Joe Wilder.’
‘Right. I’ll tell him.’
Mark jumped to his feet and called over to Adam, the firm’s commercial director, who flashed him a thumbs-up and dashed back to his desk to take the call.
Mark frowned at his busy in-tray and was about to start tackling it when he was overtaken by an urge to have another quick look on his phone about DNA testing. He recalled reading newspaper articles and seeing TV programmes about how easy it was to do these days: something his searches so far had confirmed. However, they’d also thrown a spanner in the works, in that his initial idea had been to do it secretly, without Mia or Diane’s knowledge, and that no longer looked feasible.
He’d pictured being able to sneak some hairs from Mia’s brush and post them off to a lab together with whatever sample was required from him. But the more he read online, the less likely an option that became. Apparently hairs were only useful if they included the root and up to ten could be required; even then, they were less reliable than the favoured option of an oral swab.
What’s more, he’d also discovered it was illegal for DNA testing to be carried out in the UK without the consent of the person from whom the sample was taken or, in the case of minors, someone with parental responsibility for them. It was even illegal simply to collect a DNA sample from someone without their explicit consent.
In other words, there was little chance of him being able to get a paternity test done without involving Diane and Mia. Certainly not if he wanted to stay on the right side of the law anyway. He kept looking, though, in the vague hope he might somehow find a way.
It probably would have been quicker to look using his desktop, but he didn’t want there to be a digital record of the sites he’d been visiting that one of the IT guys might come across. He also used his personal phone, rather than his work one, making sure to clear his browsing history afterwards.
All the actions of a guilty man, he thought. And he was inevitably digging himself deeper. Every new secret he kept from Hannah, every extra deception, was like a needle unpicking a crucial defence: that his mistake, horrendous as it was, had happened once, about fifteen years ago, and never been repeated.
He had never cheated on Hannah before or after that night. He loved her with all of his heart and had no interest in being with anyone else. But how could that ever excuse all of his lies?
He knew plenty of men who’d been spurred on by not getting caught having a one-night stand or even an affair; it had led to them doing it again. But that hadn’t been his experience at all. He’d never stopped feeling guilty and, even with Diane out of the picture for so long, he still worried about his wife finding out.
Following the sisters’ big quarrel, Mark’s greatest fear had been that Diane might finally tell Hannah out of spite. That idea had terrified him – literally kept him up at night, running worst-case scenarios through his mind. This had eased with time, as he and Hannah had both started to accept they might never see Diane or Mia again.
Now he was terrified of being discovered afresh.
He had the feeling Diane’s letter to him was only the start. The fact that she wasn’t responding to his attempts to contact her did nothing to ease that concern. So what was she going to do: return whenever she felt like it and make a big announcement to the others? He couldn’t rule out that possibility. So, as things stood, if he wasn’t able to arrange a DNA test, what options were there apart from waiting to find out, while rehearsing what – if anything – he might say to his wife to soften the blow?
After looking around the office to make sure no one was too close to see, he pulled Diane’s letter out from where he’d stashed it, at the very back of the lockable drawer in his desk.
Her use of the words now it’s time for the truth particularly bothered him, as did the bit about secrets and lies. They eat you up inside, she’d written, which he couldn’t disagree with. But that didn’t mean he was happy for her to do and say whatever she liked, regardless of the consequences. Surely the two of them ought to at least have a discussion first. Was that really too much for a guy in his situation to ask?
The one part of the letter that gave him a glimmer of hope was right at the end, where she apologised for everything she’d put him through. It would be a bit odd for her to write that, assuming she meant it, only to drop a grenade in his lap.
He let out a long, frustrated sigh. All this speculation was hurting his head, but what else could he do when speaking to Diane wasn’t an option?
‘Bloody hell, mate,’ a voice from behind him said. ‘It can’t be that bad, can it?’
Mark froze. He recognised Adam’s voice and did not want him to see the letter. Leaving it where it was on the desk, he slowly swivelled around in his chair, hoping his body would hide what he’d been looking at.
‘Adam,’ he said, forcing a smile on to his face. Apart from the odd pub lunch, like today, Mark wasn’t much of one for socialising with people from work, unless there was a good business reason. He preferred to keep the two things separate, as in his experience it led to lots of talking shop when he’d rather be letting his hair down.
However, Adam King was an exception to the rule. The pair had started at the firm around the same time and, being on a similar level and both in their mid-forties, they’d naturally become friends. Adam, a portly, bald chap who loved his food and drink, was also married without kids.
The couples had tried socialising together on one occasion, but neither Mark nor Hannah had really clicked with Adam’s wife, Mary: a brash barrister with a habit of rubbing people up the wrong way. Although the men had never discussed it, Mark suspected Mary hadn’t taken to them either, since there had been no further such invitations from either side. Not that it had harmed the men’s friendship. They’d carried on as they had before, both asking after each other’s wives from time to time, but leaving it at that.
‘That sounded like a Monday morning sigh to me,’ Adam went on. ‘What on earth’s so bad that it’s stressing you out on a Thursday afternoon?’
‘Oh, nothing,’ Mark lied, widening his smile. ‘I’m just ready to go home, I think.’
Adam lowered his voice. ‘You’re not kidding. I’ve hardly been able to keep my eyes open since lunch. I don’t know about you, but I’m thinking of knocking off soon.’
Mark laughed. ‘Sounds like a plan. What did Wilder want?’
Joe Wilder, the man who’d phoned for Adam, was the boss of another firm they’d recently taken over down in Southampton. He was a moaner, always finding problems and looking for other people to solve them.
‘Oh, the usual complaints. I think I’m going to have to go down there next week. You don’t fancy coming along too, do you? Maybe you could crunch some numbers to make him look bad; get him off our case a bit.’
Mark was about to decline, since he knew it would probably involve an overnight stay and, with things as they were at home, it felt like bad timing. But then it occurred to him that Southampton wasn’t too far from Bournemouth, where Diane lived.
‘Possibly,’ he replied. ‘What day were you thinking of going down?’
‘I’m fairly flexible, although not Monday, as I have meetings here that I need to attend. I can’t be bothered trying to do it all in one day. We’d fly, obviously, but that still takes a while when you factor in all the messing around at the airport and the transfers.’
Mark nodded while his brain whirred, weighing up the options. He’d have to check how long it took to travel from Southampton to Bournemouth. Hopefully there would be a direct train; if so, it might be feasible for him to nip over there and try to find Diane. He’d have to get her address first, but Mia could provide that. The question was whether to do it on the quiet, which could get complicated, or tell everyone what he was doing, obviously without mentioning the reason he was so desperate to see Diane.
The latter made more sense, although he’d have to suggest it to Hannah in just the right way, so she thought it was a good idea. If she said not to bother, that would leave him in a tricky situation where going ahead regardless could reveal his own interest in making the trip. But telling her felt like the best move. It would also make life easier in terms of finding out the address from Mia.
‘Can I have a word with Hannah and let you know tomorrow?’
‘No sweat. It would be great to have you along, mate.’
Once Mark was alone again – as much as he ever could be in an open-plan office – he hid Diane’s letter back in the drawer, which he immediately locked. He had to be more careful about where and when he looked at it in future. The idea of anyone else ever discovering its contents terrified him.