pharmacy counter. It didn’t take long to find what I was looking for. Nestled between the blood-glucose meters and allergy-testing kits was a row of large white boxes, each one decorated with a green double helix and the words Cellmark Labs. I picked up the box nearest the front and was surprised to discover something so important could weigh so little. I remembered the furore when they’d first announced they were going to start selling such things. The newspapers had claimed this new, easy access to paternity testing could tear certain families apart. It was strange, when you thought about it. This slavish obsession we had with DNA. Memories and experience seemed to me to shape our identity so much more than a series of cells and chromosomes.
Giving it a shake, I heard a paper-plastic rustle and, reassured, placed it in the basket. On the way to the till I felt another twinge, stronger this time, and decided to pick up some paracetamol and tampons while I was here, just in case.
Purchases made, I beelined for a nearby coffee shop. Ordering a black coffee, I settled myself at a secluded table and got out the Cellmark Labs box. Studying the instructions, I soon discovered that, although the kit itself had cost £15, there would be an additional lab processing fee of £129. I winced. I couldn’t have afforded this even when I had a job to speak of. I’d have to put it on my credit card.
I looked further down the page. Boxed off from the rest of the text in bold black capitals was a warning. Asking anyone considering a paternity test, or any type of DNA test, to think carefully about the potential repercussions, it urged me to properly consider and assess the impact the results would have on the child or children involved. Skimming over the subsequent list of counselling helplines and websites, I found the bit I needed: step-by-step directions for paternal sample collection.
I’d taken Jason’s hairbrush from the dressing table before I left the house. Removing it from its sealed plastic bag, I selected four strands with the white root plug still intact and placed them in the long blue envelope provided. Once it was labelled, I was ready to repeat the process.
I got Lauren’s compass out of my bag and held the silver disc flat in my palm. Careful not to disturb the treasure inside, I gently popped the pull-fit catch. There, curled round the cover’s inside diameter were three strands of blond hair. Only one of the strands had a viable root plug still attached. Hopefully it would be enough. Placing all three hairs in the long yellow envelope, I forged Jason’s signature on the consent form, filled out the credit-card details and sealed them both into the pre-addressed Jiffy bag. A couple of first-class stamps and I was good to go.
I knew I had some in my purse but, after mooching through it for a few minutes, I lost patience and tipped the entire contents onto the table. Bingo. There amidst the jumble of old till receipts and loyalty cards was a book of twelve. Attaching three to the envelope, I was putting everything back in my purse when I came across Mark’s business card. The journalist. The name of the newspaper he worked for was in its upper-right corner, garish and red. He hadn’t bothered us since that day I’d caught him hanging around outside the college. Still, who knew when he might decide to show his face again? I decided that, for the time being, it would do to keep hold of his details, just in case.
While I’d been sitting down, my tummy cramps had seemed to subside but now I felt my belly spasm: a short, sharp pain that left me fighting for breath. Searching for the paracetamol I’d bought, I washed down the tablets with the last of my coffee and hoped it wouldn’t be too long before they took effect.
Leaving the café, I put the Jiffy envelope into my bag. I’d pop it into the first postbox I saw. I checked the time. It was barely 10 a.m. I still had an entire day to kill. I decided to try and find an internet café. I could start trawling for a new job. If I got a couple of applications in today, then maybe by this time next week I’d be going for interviews.
I hadn’t gone far when the cramps at the side of my abdomen took