It was Jack’s eleventh birthday and Aidan had just seen off the last of the guests. He knew today was going to be tough for Jack, facing his first birthday without his mother, and he’d wanted to try and make it as special as he could for him. His own parents and Gemma, as well as Sheila and Philip, had all come over to wish Jack a happy birthday and he had invited some of the boys from his class for a small party. They had all been charging around the house upstairs, with Milly running after them. Callum had been holed up in his room as usual.
Rowan had always made a big deal of birthdays. She baked their birthday cakes herself and would have had the kitchen decorated with bunting and balloons. As it was a Wednesday, Aidan had taken a half-day from work to get organised and in his rush out of the office on time, he hadn’t managed to get any decorations. He had quickly stuck up a couple of balloons he had found in the drawer when he got home. Gemma had offered to bake the cake, so at least that was one less thing to worry about.
‘This looks great, Aidan,’ his mother had enthused, looking at the platter of party food he had spread out on the centre of the island for people to help themselves to. She’d picked up a cocktail stick and used it to spear some sausages onto a plate for herself. ‘Will you have some, Philip?’ she had said, gesturing towards the food.
Philip had eyed the food as though it was contaminated. His face was scrunched up angrily and Aidan had a feeling that one of the outbursts that he reserved especially for him was coming on.
‘Sheila?’ Agnes had tried then, when it was clear that Philip was boycotting the food.
‘Thanks, Agnes,’ Sheila had mumbled as she used a cocktail stick to pick up a spring roll.
They’d all fallen into awkward silence, nibbling away at their food.
‘I see you've been making some changes,’ Philip had said finally.
‘Huh?’ Aidan had asked, trying to swallow the sausage that he had just bitten into.
‘I noticed it the last time I was here but couldn’t work out what was missing…’ He was eyeing up the space on the wall where their wedding photo used to hang, and Aidan had suddenly realised what he was angry about. ‘She's not even cold in the ground and you've stripped all memories of her from her own home.’
‘Now hang on a minute, Philip, I still have the photo, it’s just painful, you know… every time I look at it… well, it hits me all over again…’ Aidan had tried to explain.
Agnes had nodded sympathetically.
‘You can’t just forget about her,’ Philip had continued. ‘It’s important that the kids still see photos of their mother.’
‘Nobody is going to forget her,’ Aidan had said, defending himself. ‘I just need a little time. It’s still so raw.’
‘Everyone grieves differently, Philip, I don't think Aidan meant any harm,’ Bill had interjected. ‘We’re all missing Rowan.’
‘I think at this stage of his life, your little boy is big enough to stand up for himself, don't you, Bill?’ Philip had barked back at him.
His clearly chastised father had looked back down at the plate that was balanced on his palm as silence fell on the room once more. Just then, they had been interrupted by the doorbell and Aidan was glad of the excuse to escape the atmosphere in the kitchen.
Bloody Philip, he’d thought angrily as he’d walked down the hall, could he not keep a lid on it for one day?
Aidan had opened the front door to see the postman standing there. He’d handed him a registered letter and Aidan’s heart had sank as he’d signed for it before taking it from him. He knew what it contained. All parties had been told to expect the results this week.
‘Should we do the cake?’ Gemma had suggested as he’d returned to the kitchen.
‘Good idea,’ Agnes had agreed readily. ‘I’ll go hunt down the kids.’
Aidan had slipped the letter inside a drawer and tried to push it from his mind. Today was all about Jack.
Soon the children had all rushed into the kitchen, shepherded by Agnes, and the adults had plastered smiles on their faces and gathered around to sing Jack a happy birthday.
By the time Aidan had finished cleaning up, his head was thumping with a headache. He saw Milly had started to nod off on the sofa, exhausted from the all the fun, so he carried her up the stairs and placed her down on her bed. He left her in the leggings and T-shirt that she had been wearing that day and just removed her shoes. He placed Mousey in beside her and tucked the duvet right up underneath her chin, before kissing her smooth forehead. He brushed back her hair with his fingertips, caressing her skin that was so soft, like only a child’s could be. She looked just like her mother, but a chubby-cheeked version.
He thought about the letter that was waiting downstairs for him. He hadn’t opened it yet; he wanted to wait until the kids were in bed so that he would have the space if necessary to deal with whatever it contained. He was swinging wildly between absolute certainty that Milly was his child, to the terror of what if…? As the days of horrible waiting had passed, Aidan felt his assurance that he was her father start to falter. Horrible thoughts and doubts were worming through his brain, keeping him awake in the dead of night.
It was now late November, and it was almost three weeks since the court hearing. It had gone as Brendan Waters had predicted it would; even though his solicitor had done his best and argued that James was being vexatious, the judge had sat up and listened carefully to the circumstances of James’s claims and had even raised his brows when he heard James and Rowan had been travelling in the car together at the time of the crash. It wasn’t a surprise to anyone when he upheld the motion and ordered both men to do a paternity test. So, two weeks ago, Aidan had brought Milly to the clinic designated for the sampling appointment to have the test done and witnessed. He couldn't believe how straightforward the whole thing was; he had had visions of hauling her into a lab somewhere and holding her down while she was prodded with a needle, but it only took a simple cheek swab. Milly had squirmed for a moment as the doctor had run the swab inside her cheek, but it was painless. Aidan had done the same himself and then, while Milly played with Lego in the corner, the doctor had explained carefully that fifty per cent of the genetic markers of a child come from each parent, so if half of his markers didn’t match Milly’s, then they could exclude him from being her father.
‘I wuv you, Daddy,’ Milly said with a breathy sigh as she sank down on the pillow.
‘I love you too, darling girl,’ he whispered, watching her eyelids grow heavy. ‘Sweet dreams.’
He stayed sitting on the edge of her bed for a few minutes, tracing his finger along her cheekbone until her eyelids grew heavy as she fell into a deep sleep. He observed her for a moment to see if he could see any part of himself in her. Something that would give him hope. Milly’s nose had the same upturned slope at the end, just like his and they both had blue eyes; although she was more like Rowan, she definitely had some of his features too.
Aidan went into Jack’s room next. He was lying on the bed reading a David Walliams book.
‘Hey, birthday boy, it’s time to get some sleep,’ Aidan said, coming over and sitting down on the edge of his single bed. Jack slotted his bookmark in between the pages and closed the book. Aidan noticed a crumpled-up T-shirt stuffed beneath his pillow. ‘Hey what’s that?’ he asked, pulling out the sage green, cotton T-shirt that had a picture of a roaring lion emblazoned across the front. It had belonged to Rowan. He could still see her wearing it with her jeans, her hair piled up messily on top of her head.
‘It still smells like her,’ Jack admitted, with tears filling his eyes.
‘Oh come here,’ Aidan pulled him into a hug.
Jack resisted at first, but after a moment Aidan felt his small body soften as he gave up the fight. ‘It’s not the same any more,’ he sobbed. ‘Mam always put balloons up around our beds for our birthdays and Auntie G made me a chocolate cake and I hate chocolate cake.’
Aidan exhaled heavily. ‘We’re all trying our best, Jack. It’s hard for me to remember everything, your mam was much better at those things.’
‘She knew the way I liked things. You keep giving me ham sandwiches for my lunch and I keep telling you that I don’t like ham and sometimes she put little notes in my lunch box too.’
‘What did they say?’ Aidan asked, feeling crestfallen. He had wanted today to be special for Jack but it felt as though he was falling at every hurdle.
‘Just things like, “I love you” or “Have a nice day” or “I’ll have your favourite muffins for you after school”.’
He never knew that she had done that, all these little things that helped to make their childhood special. She had been a great mother. It was just the wife bit she had struggled with, he thought grimly.
‘When will I stop feeling sad?’ Jack went on.
The question blindsided Aidan.
‘I really miss her,’ Jack said tearfully.
‘I know,’ Aidan agreed. ‘I miss her too.’ It was the truth. Despite everything that had happened, he knew he would forgive her everything if he could get another chance to have their family back together, the way it used to be again. ‘I wish I could tell you that you will feel better next week or next month, but the truth is you’ll probably always be sad when you think about your mum.’
‘But it’s not fair,’ Jack said angrily as fat tears began to course down his small face. ‘Why is it my mam and not someone else’s?’
‘I’ve no answer to that,’ Aidan said truthfully. ‘Sometimes life is really unfair.’ He felt dampness against his cheek and he realised that tears were spilling down his own face and landing in Jack’s hair. He stroked his son’s sun-kissed face. His freckly skin wasn’t like Milly’s, which turned a golden olive shade with the merest hint of sun.
When Jack had finally exhausted himself from crying and had fallen asleep, Aidan tucked him underneath the blankets and crept out to the landing, pulling the door behind him so just a chink of light from the hallway would shine through. He made his way down the landing and paused outside Callum’s door. Callum closeted himself up here night after night and never joined the family any more. Aidan placed his hand on the handle, wondering if he should go in to say goodnight but then decided against it. He was exhausted and it would only end in a row, like it always did.
He descended the stairs and entered the kitchen. The early winter evenings were beginning to close in, and darkness had dampened down the daylight several hours ago. Aidan had a list of things he needed to do; life seemed to be a never-ending hamster wheel of work, dinner, school lunches, laundry, so that Aidan fell into bed exhausted every evening, but right now he couldn’t face any of it and instead he took the envelope from the drawer and turned it over in his hands. He placed it down on the countertop and walked over to the high cupboard above the fridge where they kept the spirits. He lifted down a bottle of Hennessy and poured himself a generous brandy. It had been a long time since he had had a drink, but he needed something to fortify him. The amber liquid burned its way down his throat as he lifted the envelope once again. He clutched it in his hands, torn between wanting to know what was inside, and not wanting. But the wanting was stronger.
He took a deep breath and slid his finger along the underside of the gummed seal of the envelope. He hesitated on the last part; whatever was inside this envelope could potentially change everything. Now that the time had come to open it and he was a step closer to resolving this whole nightmare, he wasn't sure that he wanted to do it. What if the results weren't what he wanted them to be? But something deep within told him that everything would be fine – there was definitely a resemblance between him and Milly, but it was more than that – she felt like his – it didn't get any more certain than that. His gut – a connection pulling inside him – told him that she was his child.
He took another sip, feeling the alcohol warm his insides, until the curiosity finally got the better of him and he inserted his finger underneath the final part of the flap and ripped the seal apart. He automatically found himself making the sign of the cross before gently pulling out the letter that was inside. He took a deep breath and then unfolded the sheet of paper. His eyes immediately went to the end of the letter where the result would be. The words jumped around the page.
He shook his head and read it again, but the letters stayed the same. His eyes fixed on the words:
The alleged father is excluded from being the biological father to the child. This exclusion is based on the lack of genetic markers that must be contributed to the child by the biological father. The probability of paternity is 0%.
The words burned through him, and he felt a ringing in his ears. This could not be happening. And yet it was. It was printed on the page before him – he was not Milly's biological father. The shock hit him full force in the stomach like a punch. His ears filled with blood, and everything seemed to be miles away. His legs grew weak and he manoeuvred himself backwards until he found himself sitting in a chair.
How could it possibly be right? But that’s what it said, there it was written in the cold harsh reality of black ink. As Aidan clutched the paper in his hands, he couldn't help but wonder if Rowan had known the truth all along? How could she do that to him?
He thought of his beautiful daughter who was sleeping soundly upstairs, oblivious to the fact that the very foundations of their world had just been decimated. He thought of her cheeky smile and those beautiful dark eyes, her silky skin and her joyous giggle that filled his heart. He thought about all the things he adored about her and felt panicked. What was going to happen? And how on earth was he supposed to hold onto Milly now that his worst nightmare had materialised? Would she be ripped straight from his arms, from the family that loved her dearly, and sent to live with a stranger? He couldn’t allow that to happen, he had to fight to protect his daughter. He would do whatever it took to keep her within the only family she had ever known.