After leaving Paige’s mum’s house, Josie made a beeline to the nearest bottle shop.
‘Have a nice night, sweetheart,’ said the bloke behind the counter as he handed over two wine bottles in a brown paper bag. Somehow she managed not to whack him with the package.
‘Thanks,’ she said. ‘And actually can you give me a small pack of Winfield Silver and a lighter as well, please?’
It was illegal to drink while driving, but it wasn’t illegal to light up, so she paid for her cigarettes, went outside and did exactly that. She wasn’t supposed to be drinking or smoking but these were extenuating circumstances. It wasn’t every day you found your biological mother and in the very few times Josie had contemplated the possibility it had never been like this. She’d imagined them connecting through one of the adoption registers, getting to know each other via phone calls or emails first and then finally, one day, maybe meeting in person. And she’d never contemplated the possibility she might meet a half-sibling first.
As she drove, she glanced over at the handbag sitting on the passenger seat as if it were a ticking bomb about to explode—inside was The Letter. What did it even mean? Pausing at traffic lights, she yanked the paper from her bag and stared down at the date. Last week. It had only been sent last week. Josie knew enough to know that Rebecca could only have requested the information recently. But why? Why after all these years had she suddenly decided to do something? And was she planning on confronting Josie?
Someone behind beeped their horn, signalling their annoyance that the lights had gone green and she hadn’t moved. Josie turned her attention back to the road and drove as fast as she could. Once home, she kicked off her boots and headed for the kitchen where she retrieved the largest wine glass they owned and filled it to the brim. Then, she took the letter, her drink and the rest of the bottle into the living room and sank down onto the couch. She absent-mindedly picked up the remote and turned on the TV.
Just when she’d finally been starting to feel a little better, life had gone and thrown this at her. Oh how she wished her mum were here right now to call for advice. She thought about phoning her dad, but immediately decided against it—this wasn’t something she wanted to land on him over the airwaves.
A tear snuck down her cheek and she brushed it away.
There were so many questions whirling in her head. If Rebecca was her mother, who was her father? Maybe she was the product of rape? Bizarrely, the thought had never crossed her mind before but there was no biological father named on the birth certificate.
A whole other glass of wine was required for that thought. This was exactly what she’d feared all her life—that if she dug into her past she’d uncover things she didn’t want to find.
Eventually, after almost a whole bottle of wine, she stumbled into the kitchen for a snack. Two-minute noodles were the easiest option and were something her mum often made her when she came home from school; the perfect quick comfort food. Josie put water into a saucepan, drank another half glass of wine while she waited for it to boil and finished the bottle as the noodles cooked to perfection.
When they were done, she grabbed a drainer, carefully—so as not to burn herself—poured the noodles into it and then set the saucepan down on a chopping board. A glass chopping board she realised as it instantly shattered. It was like a bomb going off in the kitchen. Tiny shards of glass sprayed everywhere. She dropped the drainer and the noodles all over the floor as she instinctively reached out to retrieve the saucepan. Somehow in doing so, she not only managed to burn her hand on the pan but wedge a large piece of broken glass between two of her fingers.
‘Shit, ouch, shit, ouch,’ she yelped, bouncing around on the shattered glass. Thank God she was still wearing thick winter socks, which offered a slight layer of protection.
Of course Nik chose that moment to arrive home. She cringed as she heard the door open—not even Mary Poppins would be able to clean up fast enough.
‘What have you done to yourself?’ he asked as he appeared.
‘And a very good evening to you too,’ she retorted, then glanced down at her hand to see she was dripping blood all over the floor. Surprisingly, it didn’t hurt.
She followed Nik’s eyes from her hand to the empty wine bottle on the kitchen bench. ‘Don’t even start. I found my mother today. Or at least I found out who she is.’
At this declaration she burst into tears.
‘What?’ He looked momentarily shocked, then he launched into action, grabbing paper towel. ‘Let’s get you out of this mess,’ he said, ushering her out of the kitchen and into the adjacent, small dining room they rarely used.
‘It’s your fault for making me give Paige the dress,’ she sobbed as he gently took her hand in his and surveyed the damage.
‘I’ve no idea what you’re talking about. Let’s get you fixed up and then you can tell me.’ He stuck his tongue out, concentrating hard as he tried to remove the glass from her skin.
‘Youch!’ she yelped as he succeeded in plucking it out—it was more the visuals than any pain. Her hand felt numb and she hoped it was the alcohol, not that she’d severed an artery or anything.
Nik shoved a wad of paper towel between her fingers. ‘Is that a burn too?’
‘Oh, yes.’ She’d forgotten about that. Guess it must be the alcohol numbing the pain after all.
‘You’ve really done a number on yourself, haven’t you? Hold this,’ Nik told her, gesturing to the paper towel, before rushing over to the fridge—the glass crunching beneath his shoes—and grabbing an ice-pack. He wrapped it in more paper towel and then pressed it against her hand. ‘Cold water would be better, but I think stopping that bleed is more important.’
She nodded and he let out a deep breath.
‘So, you found your mother? I didn’t know you were even looking.’ His tone was slightly accusing as if this was just another thing in a long line of things she’d done recently to let him down.
‘I wasn’t,’ she said indignantly. ‘I was at Paige’s mum’s house this afternoon with her and—’
‘That blood isn’t stopping,’ Nik interrupted, gently peeling back the now-red paper towel. ‘I think we’re gonna have to take you to the hospital. I reckon you need stitches.’
‘No,’ she groaned. After her miscarriages, she hated hospitals and they’d all think her some stupid drunk who’d got sloshed and then injured herself. All those weeks of being sober wouldn’t mean a thing.
But Nik wasn’t taking no for an answer. Within minutes, he’d bundled her—and two more rolls of paper towel—into the car and they were on their way.
‘Okay, I’m all ears,’ he said.
‘Well,’ Josie began. ‘So. Paige and I found a letter.’ Her head started to throb, so much for the anaesthetising qualities of alcohol—and suddenly she felt like she might throw up. Telling him the rest of the story was not an option right now.
‘A bottle of wine will do that to you,’ Nik said dryly as she tried to stop herself from hurling all over their car. She thought she deserved a little more sympathy considering the circumstances.
When they arrived at the hospital, Nik helped her out of the car and she leaned on him as they headed inside. He dumped her in an uncomfortable plastic chair, grabbed a cup of water for her from a dispenser in the corner and then went to register at the arrivals desk. By the time he returned, Josie’s nausea had settled a little and she managed to get the gist of the story out.
‘So let me get this straight,’ he said when she’d finished, ‘you wore your mother’s wedding dress when you got married?’
Oh good grief—until that moment she hadn’t even thought about that connection.
‘Biological mother,’ she corrected him. Thinking of Rebecca as anything else felt not only weird but also a betrayal of the woman who’d raised her. Her real mum.
He shook his head slowly and scratched his chin as if still trying to get this straight. ‘Fuck, Jose,’ he said eventually and then pulled her against him. ‘Why didn’t you call me?’
‘I’m not supposed to interrupt you at work unless it’s an emergency.’
He pulled back slightly and gestured to the blood still seeping through the paper towel and all over his shirt. ‘I kinda think this fits.’
‘I guess I wasn’t thinking straight.’
‘It’s okay,’ he said. ‘Geez. So does Rebecca know you know? How do you feel about this?’
‘I guess Paige would have told her by now—I’ve had missed calls from her and someone buzzed the intercom this evening, that could have been Rebecca, but I pretended I wasn’t home.’
‘I wonder who your dad is. Are you even the slightest bit curious?’
‘Of course I am,’ she snapped. ‘But …’ Before she could continue, she glanced upwards and her gaze caught on a sign on the wall.
ARE YOU AN ORGAN DONOR? was in big bold print and beneath it a list of all the reasons you should be.
‘Oh my God.’ Realisation dawned hard, fast and cold.
‘What?’ Nik asked, looking worriedly to her hand.
‘That’s why Rebecca has suddenly decided to look for me!’
Nik frowned; although she was the one half-cut, she had to explain it to him.
‘Remember why Paige wanted to find the wedding dress?’ It was a rhetorical question but Nik nodded as she continued. ‘Because Rebecca is sick. She has kidney failure and needs a donor to save her.’
He took a moment and then, ‘That fucking bitch. How dare she!’
Josie found herself torn between the rage Nik felt and heartbreaking pain. For the briefest of moments she’d thought maybe her biological mother wanted to find her because she actually cared but the timing was hard to ignore. Tears came to her eyes.
‘Josephine Mitreski?’
They looked up to see a stern-looking nurse standing a few feet away.
‘Coming,’ Josie said, rising to her feet and almost falling right back down again. Nik caught her and assisted as they followed after the nurse.
She hoped the hospital would give her some very good drugs that would make her sleep very well and when she woke up she’d discover this had all been a dream, like one of those badly written stories some of the kids in her class dared to hand in.