Blood Loss

of my mouth. Oops. It occurs to me that I haven’t checked that the cheesecake is vegan and I’m about to ask when he leans forward and kisses me, burrowing his tongue between my lips.
Eugh. Gross! I push against his chest and lean away from him but he moves forward, one arm around my waist so he can keep his mouth on mine. I push again, and take a step backwards, but my heel catches in something and the pushing turns to clutching as I fight to keep my balance.
‘What the hell are you doing?’
Ellis releases me suddenly and I nearly overbalance. I steady myself only for Lucy to shove my shoulder with the flat of her hand, almost knocking me over again. Her eyes spit fire at me.
‘She threw herself at me,’ Ellis is saying. ‘I was trying to get her off.’
Lying bastard. ‘He’s—’
A ringing slap stings my cheek but I don’t feel much pain. The alcohol has dulled my senses.
‘How could you? Today of all days – and with my fiancé! You’ve always ruined whatever I have. I want nothing more to do with you.’ Lucy puts her face an inch from mine. ‘In fact, I disown you. You are no longer my sister.’
My cheeks are hot and not just from the slap. I stretch to my full height and look down at her. She hates that I’m taller. ‘I didn’t ask to be your bloody sister!’ I say, wobbling on my heels. ‘Anyway, you’re welcome to this piss drip of a man. If you can call him a man when he’s got no balls.’
I grin at my own joke until her small, bunched fist flies out and she punches me in the eye. I stagger backwards and fall hard on my bottom. Fuck. That did hurt. The alcohol isn’t strong enough this time to deaden the dual paths of pain shooting through my coccyx and eyeball. Tears spring to my eyes and through the blur I see Mum and Grace appear behind Lucy.
‘She was kissing Ellis!’ Lucy screams. ‘I want her out of my life.’

Chapter 15


The Previous February | Sarah
I’m glad I decided to volunteer here as it’s given me unlimited access to the library computers and internet, and all for free. I scan the national news websites for any mention of the incident in Scotland and am relieved that again there’s nothing. Maybe it isn’t newsworthy enough and I should stop worrying.
Yesterday I researched the DNA testing process and discovered that it takes around four weeks to get a result from the ancestry testing company. I can’t wait that long. I found a paternity test clinic instead and was delighted when I read they provide results within twenty-four hours.
I also rang the prison service and they said they’d facilitate a DNA test if I wrote to my father for consent and sent them the kit. I’m certain Dad will jump at the chance to find out once and for all whether Mum did have an affair, and whether I’m his daughter. If these tests had been invented years ago, I bet he’d have taken one then. Mum has refused to discuss the issue after she threw her glass at me, but I don’t care. I got the address myself in the end and there’s little for us to say to each other now.
I’m not sure how I’ll feel if I find out John Butcher isn’t related to me. Relief? Disappointment? Anger? Definitely anger – towards Mum for deceiving us both all these years. And how will John feel? I’m sure disappointment won’t be in the mix as he’s always hated the sight of me, but perhaps he’ll feel as angry towards Mum as I will. Perhaps he’ll feel vindicated too for murdering Colin Evans in a jealous rage. And maybe it wasn’t just jealousy but also fury because he thought Colin had foisted an unwanted child on him.
Back at the shelves with my trolley of books, I glance around the library to check Mark isn’t lurking somewhere, watching me. I don’t want to meet him again. I don’t want to see anyone who knows my past. Thankfully, the only visitors appear to be a grey-haired couple and a young mum and toddler. I pick up another book and study the cover. It’s a feel-good saga and shows a family on a sunny beach, arms casually slung around each other and laughter on their faces. A sudden pang of longing, so strong it hurts, makes me straighten my back and stare unseeing out of the window.
What must it feel like – that sense of belonging? To know that your family wants to spend time with you, to listen to your worries and fears, celebrate your achievements and look at you. Really look at you. My Dad – my non-Dad – couldn’t bear to make eye contact with me. Occasionally I’d catch him watching me but then his gaze would flick away. I realise now that he was probably studying me for signs of who I resembled. Puzzling why my hair was blonde and my skin pale when my parents had dark hair and skin that turned golden at the merest touch of sunshine.
I remember being at a friend’s house once and her dad had come in and ruffled her hair. Such a small gesture to her, but huge to me. I desperately wanted my dad to ruffle my hair so tenderly. If I’d been raised by Colin Evans I might have had a dad who loved, nurtured and protected me instead of treating me with cold contempt. I’ll be gutted if I discover he was my real father and I’ve been denied the chance ever to meet him.
The DNA test might even reveal other relatives, if they’re on the database, but will they want to see me? It’s all such a mess. I just want to find out who I am then move on with my life and start over. To find someone who will love