her relief at their attention being captured at odds with knowing the mess chocolate fingers can create.
‘Don’t be silly,’ says Carol. ‘This is exactly what they’re for. They’ll only sit in the cupboard for another year.’
Lauren smiles, wondering when Carol last had a visitor. The very least she can do is accept her courtesy with grace.
‘So, about what happened,’ says Jess, pulling Carol back to the matter in hand.
‘Ah yes,’ says Carol. ‘So one Thursday night, I think it was, there was this almighty commotion. We could hear shouting and screaming, and I said to Roy that we should call the police, but he told me not to get involved. Anyways, the very next morning, the place gets sealed off and poor Julia . . .’
Lauren looks at her wide-eyed, silently pleading with her not to say what she thinks she’s about to say.
‘She was . . . she was dead?’ croaks Jess.
Carol nods. ‘And he did a runner, never to be seen again.’
Lauren’s heart sinks.
‘So, he got away with it?’ asks Jess. ‘But what about their baby? What happened to it? Did he take it with him?’
Carol shrugs her shoulders. ‘I don’t know about the baby. There were all sorts of stories at the time, but I don’t know that any of them were true.’
Lauren can see all the connotations flickering behind Jess’s eyes as her brain tries to process how she might fit into all of this.
They drink their teas quickly, making distracted small talk with the lonely old lady, before stepping back out into the heat of the afternoon.
‘Well, that was a shock,’ whispers Lauren, as they put the children back in the buggy on the garden path. ‘I think we might have bitten off more than we can chew there.’
‘But what if there’s something in it?’ says Jess, making Lauren’s head bang more than it is already. ‘What if that baby was me?’
‘But you weren’t their child,’ says Lauren, holding the gate open for Jess and the buggy. ‘We know that already, because you’re genetically my half sister.’
Jess nods, deep in thought. ‘But what if I’m Julia’s child? What if I’m the result of an affair she had with your dad? What if she’s who you saw your dad with?’
Lauren blanches, because despite thinking she knows what she saw, the reality of hearing it out loud still hurts.
‘What if her husband found out?’ Jess goes on. ‘What if he found out I wasn’t his and killed her?’
‘That’s a lot of what ifs,’ says Lauren. ‘And besides, the only reason we’re drawn to here is the vague memory that I might have seen him with a woman over twenty years ago.’
‘But it might have been Julia and me that you saw him with,’ insists Jess.
‘It wouldn’t make sense for you to be this woman’s child,’ says Lauren, trying to stay patient. ‘If you were, you’d have disappeared with her husband when he went on the run.’
‘He wouldn’t have taken me, if he knew I wasn’t his,’ says Jess, playing devil’s advocate.
‘If that was the case, then the baby would probably have been placed with a family member. Maybe she had a sister that would have taken the baby in.’
‘Or, maybe the baby was put into foster care.’
Lauren sighs. ‘Don’t you think I would have known if my family were involved in this in any way? Don’t you think my father would have moved heaven and earth to keep you with him once he found out what had happened to your mother?’
‘Maybe he killed her,’ says Jess, as casually as if she’d said, Do you want a sugar in that?
Lauren can’t help but laugh, yet inside a bolt shoots across her chest, sending shockwaves up her neck and into her head. ‘You can’t be serious.’
Jess fixes her with an intense gaze. ‘Why not?’
‘My father was a lot of things, but he wasn’t a murderer.’
‘How would you know? How would any of us know what someone is capable of, until they find themselves in that unenviable position? People can make snap judgements. Maybe your dad just snapped.’
‘It was a mistake coming here,’ says Lauren. ‘I thought it would help you find closure, but it seems it’s only served to open up new wounds.’ She takes Jess’s hands in hers. ‘This is not your story. You were adopted by a loving couple who loved you as if you were their own. Why don’t you focus on them, remember what they were to you, because you’re never going to find what