by Sam Anthony
◆◆◆
I hear the front door open and close, and the sound of footsteps approaching from the hallway. The living room door swings slowly open, creaking on its hinges as it does so. It’s Charlie. She slumps down on the sofa and rips open an envelope.
“Hi, Dad.”
“Hi, pumpkin. Had a good day?”
“Meh! You?”
“I’ve had better, to be honest.”
“Mum home yet?”
“No, not yet.”
Charlie takes a sheet of paper out of the envelope and reads it. She looks confused at first and then her frown deepens.
“Well, this can’t be right,” she says.
“What is it?”
“My DNA results have come back.”
“Huh?”
“You know. Nana and Greg bought me a DNA testing kit for my birthday. I sent it off a few weeks ago.”
I’d missed that.
“They must have made a mistake,” she continues. “According to this, I’m forty-seven percent European Jewish.”
She hands me the piece of paper. I study it carefully as a hot ball of dread forms in my bowels and begins to expand within me.
“It’s definitely got your name on it,” I manage to say. In my head, random thoughts are firing and coalescing.
“I didn’t think there was any Jewish ancestry in our family. Is it your side or Mum’s?”
“Neither, as far as I’m aware. None of our grandparents were Jewish. Nor our great-grandparents.”
“Well, for me to be forty-seven percent Jewish, wouldn’t either you or Mum have to be practically a hundred percent Jewish?”
“Yes.” I force a smile. “You’re right, Charlie. It must be a mistake. They’ve obviously mixed up your saliva with someone else’s.”
“That’s annoying. I’m not paying to do it again.”
“Didn’t Nana pay? I honestly can’t remember her giving it to you. My memory’s definitely getting worse.”
“Actually, now I think about it, you’re right. Nana came up to my bedroom and gave it to me there. She told me not to tell you or Mum so it would be a surprise.”
Charlie screws up the letter and throws it in the bin.
“Waste of bloody time!” Charlie mutters as she stomps upstairs to her bedroom.
I retrieve the letter, flatten it out and inspect it, thoughtfully.
There’s no mistake.
Charlie is nearly half Jewish.
I’ve never felt more certain about anything in my life. The moment the idea popped into my head, I knew it was true.
Jake is Charlie’s biological father.
◆◆◆
I sit in the living room and ponder, staring at the photos of Charlie and John on the walls and the sideboard. They certainly resemble each other quite closely, and Charlie looks a lot like Tamsin, but neither of them has inherited any of my features. My father and I have a distinctive nose which neither of the kids has acquired. I’m surprised I haven’t noticed this before now. The longer I study their faces, the more of Jake I can see in them both. Can it really be true?
◆◆◆
The front door opens and closes again.
“Hello?” Tamsin calls.
“In here, Tam.”
She enters the living room, looking flustered, and deposits her handbag on the floor.
“You know the Year 6 residential trip tonight and tomorrow?” she says.
“No.”
“Yes, you do. It happens every year.”
“Okay.”
“Well, someone’s dropped out, so I’ve got to go instead. We’re leaving in an hour.”
Exasperated, she leaves the room and runs up the stairs. I assume she’s going to pack, but it sounds as if she’s having a shower first.
On the floor I spy her cell phone, peeking out of her handbag.
I pick it up.
Apart from my recent browse through the contents of Tamsin’s laptop, I’m not one for snooping, but I can’t shake my fear that Jake is the biological father of Charlie and John. If I’m right, and my gut is telling me that I am, then I’ll need some evidence before I confront Tamsin. Perhaps I can find something on her phone.
I press the home button and the screen springs to life. It’s not even password protected. What a schoolboy error!
I’ve looked at Tamsin’s phone before. She’s perfectly happy for me to use it whenever I need to. However, this time, I have a specific target in mind: Jake.
I begin with Tamsin’s text messages. They’re in order, according to who she’s communicated with most recently. I don’t find any surprises amongst the recipients: me, Charlie, John, Nilofer, her mum, my mum, colleagues from work, people from the tennis club, Jake …
I go straight to the messages Tamsin has exchanged with Jake. The most recent communication is several weeks ago:
“What time are you picking John up for the football?”
“12:30? I thought he might like to get some lunch first.”
“Good plan. See you then. X”
This was followed, several hours later, by:
“Thanks for taking John. He had a great time. X”
“My pleasure.”
This isn’t what I was dreading to find. On the contrary, it seems more like the text message exchange between two friends with nothing to hide. I’m mildly concerned about the kisses at first, but, after a quick inspection of Tamsin’s messages to other people, it’s apparent that she uses kisses routinely with anyone she knows well.
I scroll back in time to the previous exchange between her and Jake:
“Happy Christmas! Xxx”
“Same to you. Looking forward to seeing you all later.”
“What time are you coming?”
“Probably around 4 p.m.”
“Ok. See you then. X”
I scroll back further.
There’s nothing suspicious. Every few months Tamsin and Jake exchange innocuous text messages about routine things. Is it all in my imagination?
I search through Tamsin’s recent call log. Again I find telephone calls to and from all the usual suspects, but I can’t find any record of ingoing, outgoing, missed or failed calls between Tamsin and Jake. I’m relieved by this at first until I realise that I know for a fact that Tamsin has phoned Jake in the last few months; I’ve witnessed it. So, why is there no record of these calls? Has she deleted it?
Next, I try Tamsin’s email. A quick scan tells me that they’re fairly humdrum. There’s lots of work stuff, but not much more. I try a search for ‘Jake’ within her email app, but it doesn’t locate any emails from, to or about Jake at all.
◆◆◆
The creaking floorboards above my head tell me Tamsin is out of the shower and moving around our bedroom. I figure that she’s frantically packing, so I’ve still got a few minutes to snoop.
What about photos? There are 12,791 photos and 133 videos stored on Tamsin’s phone. I haven’t got time to inspect them all, but I have a quick look at some of the videos: mostly family events like Christmas, birthdays and holidays. There’s nothing dodgy here. I scroll through the photos, but none appear suspicious. I locate Jake in a few shots, but can see nothing to be concerned about in any of them. There are a couple of restaurant photos of the seven of us from university, presumably taken by one of the serving staff, and Jake also appears in some of our Christmas day photos, but that’s all.
Worried that Tamsin will come downstairs at any moment and catch me looking through her phone, I have a quick peek at the Maps app, but she’s still got Location Services switched off, so there’s no record of her movements around the country. I doubt I would have learned anything useful from that anyway.
◆◆◆
I hear heavy footsteps on the stairs as Tamsin comes thumping down, and I barely have time to switch off the screen and throw the phone in the direction of Tamsin’s handbag before she bursts into the room. Fortunately it was a good throw.
“Right. I
’m off.” She’s breathing heavily as she places the strap of her handbag over her shoulder.
“Before you go, there’s something I have to tell you,” I say.
“I haven’t got time, Lee. Can’t it wait till tomorrow night when I’m back?”
“Yeah. I guess so.”
Tamsin kisses me on the cheek, shouts a general “Bye!” up the stairs at anyone who may be up there and exits, slamming the front door behind her. I hear the tyres spin on the gravel as her car accelerates off the drive.
Sitting back on the sofa, I exhale an extended sigh. Either my hunch is wrong, or Tamsin has meticulously removed everything suspicious from her phone relating to Jake.
◆◆◆
Unconvinced and undeterred, I decide to spend part of the evening searching the house for any evidence which implies that Jake might be the biological father of Charlie and John. I’m not exactly sure what I’m looking for, but I’ll know it when I see it.
Beginning in our bedroom, I remove the top drawer of Tamsin’s bedside cabinet and empty the contents onto the bed. I study each item in turn before replacing it in the drawer. There’s nothing questionable. I repeat this process with every drawer in the bedroom, even my own, until I’m satisfied there’s nothing untoward in any of them. Then I switch to the wardrobes, painstakingly relocating every item of clothing onto the bed, inspecting each garment, one item at a time, and checking any pockets, before replacing them in the wardrobe.
Still nothing.
I move onto the en-suite bathroom. Each object there is inspected and replaced, but I fail to find anything suspicious.
◆◆◆
I continue my meticulous search, room by room: the kitchen, the dining room, the living room, the bathrooms, the spare room, the garage, the shed. All clear. My only reward is £2.73 in loose change.
By 10 p.m. I’ve painstakingly searched everywhere in the house except Charlie’s room, John’s room and the loft. There’s no way I can examine these three remaining spaces without Charlie and John noticing what I’m up to, so I resolve to call in sick at work tomorrow and complete my search then, when I’ve got the house to myself.
◆◆◆
I go to bed earlier than usual, but I suspect I won’t be able to sleep. My mind is churning with unwelcome thoughts. I really want to talk to someone about this, but who? Sophia was my confidante, but she’s dead, by my own hand. I’d thought Jake was my friend and ally, but now I’m not so sure. I can’t just confront him or Tamsin without any evidence to support my life-changing suspicions.
I ring Nilofer.
“Hi, Nil. It’s Lee.”
“Hi, Lee. Is everything okay?”
“Yes, fine.”
“You’re phoning very late. I’m in bed.”
“Sorry about that. I didn’t realise the time. I just wanted to ask you a quick question. It might sound a bit weird, I’m afraid.”
“What is it?”
“Well ... it’s about Tam and Jake.”
There’s a brief silence.
“ ... What about them?”
“Is there anything I should be aware of?”
“Like what?” I can hear an edge to her voice.
“Are they just friends or is there anything more to their relationship?”
“Oh, Lee. Please don’t get me involved.”
“Involved with what?”
“Nothing. Look, as far as I know, Tamsin and Jake have been no more than good friends since university.”
“Did something happen at university? Were they more than friends then?”
“Well, they went out with each other for a few months in their first year. You knew that.”
“I certainly did not! They were a couple?”
“Yes. Just for a while. It was common knowledge.”
“This is the first I’m hearing about it.”
“I don’t think it was particularly serious. They got a bit hot and heavy for a while, but it didn’t last long. In the second year, you got together with Tam, and Jake had several different girlfriends.”
“Why didn’t anyone tell me?”
“I’ve got no idea. Perhaps they just didn’t think it was important.”
“Were they sleeping together?”
“What do you think? They were first-year students at university. Everybody was sleeping with everybody.”
I can’t believe it. Jake had been shagging my wife the year before we met and they didn’t tell me. Nobody told me.
“I’d better go, Lee. I’m tired and I’ve got to get up early tomorrow.”
“Sure. One more question before you go. Did Tam seem okay to you when you saw her last Sunday?”
“Yes. Absolutely fine.”
“Thanks, Nil. Sorry to bother you so late.”
“No problem.”
“Goodnight.”
Bollocks!
Tamsin was at home with me all of last Sunday. Nilofer just lied to me. She thinks she’s covering for Tamsin. I wonder how many times in the past Tamsin has claimed to be with Nilofer when in fact she’s been with somebody else.
◆◆◆
As expected, I get very little sleep. The police interview, and worries about my wife and our progeny, compete for my attention all night long. I give up trying to sleep and get out of bed when I hear the kids in the kitchen. I throw on some casual clothes and go downstairs.
“Morning, guys. Anyone heard anything from Mum?”
“Not me,” Charlie says. “She’s probably got no signal. They’re staying in the middle of nowhere.”
“I guess so,” I say.
“Shouldn’t you be getting ready for work, Dad?” John asks.
“No. I’m taking a sickie today.”
“You okay?”
“Yeah. Just feeling a bit under the weather.”
“Me too,” he says. “Can I stay off school today?”
“Nice try, mate, but no chance.”
“You’re mean. That’s child abuse.” He picks up his book bag. “See you later, then. I won’t be home till eightish. We’ve got an away match after school.”
“See you, John. Good luck in the match.”
“I’ll be home late too, Dad,” Charlie says, wolfing down a piece of toast. “Me and Jenny are going to study together for our biology test tomorrow.”
I’ve never heard of Jenny, but this isn’t the time to get into it.
Charlie and John head out of the front door together. As soon as they leave, I resume my search of the house. The process takes much longer in Charlie and John’s rooms because they’ve got so much clutter, but none of it relates to Tamsin and Jake. I feel guilty about invading their privacy, but it has to be done. I make a mental note that I must have a conversation with John about pornography and I need to ground Charlie until she’s twenty-five.
◆◆◆
I’ve found nothing.
There’s only one place left to search, and it’s the place I’ve been dreading the most: the loft.
Our loft is dusty, cold, damp and inhabited by fearless spiders the size of my fist. Nobody ever goes up there except me. They’ve all got more sense. However, it’s the only place I haven’t searched, and I’m determined to leave no stone unturned. Once I’ve eliminated the loft, I can start to relax. If I can’t find any evidence linking Tamsin and Jake in an inappropriate way, then maybe it’s all in my mind and I can finally dismiss my paranoid suspicions.
◆◆◆
I fetch a chair and stand on it to open the loft hatch, then get the ladder out of the airing cupboard and ascend into the darkness. On switching on the light, I swear I can hear at least thirty huge spiders scuttling out of sight. I look around. There’s some wooden flooring surrounding the loft hatch, but it doesn’t extend very far. Beyond it, there are just joists and insulation. That part of the roof space is pretty inaccessible unless you’re particularly careful about where you place your feet.
A general dumping ground for rarely required clutter, our loft contains
quite a few overflowing boxes: Christmas decorations, photographs, old school books, financial paperwork, toys that haven’t been played with for years, camping equipment, Tamsin’s wedding dress, unused electrical items and cables. There are also several empty suitcases and some sports equipment.
I search through it all. In the gloom of the single lightbulb, I examine the contents of each and every box. It’s quite nostalgic. The photos, in particular, bring back many happy memories of the kids’ childhood and our carefree family holidays together.
◆◆◆
My phone rings loudly in the silence, making me jump. I take it out of my pocket and glance at the number, expecting it to be Tamsin. It isn’t, but I’ve seen this number before and I recognise it straight away. DS Khan is calling me. I don’t answer, and after a couple of minutes, it stops ringing.
◆◆◆
I’ve examined all the boxes I can see, but it’s possible there are more beyond the area illuminated by the ineffectual lightbulb. Switching on the torch on my phone, I shine it around the loft, into the darkest corners. There’s nothing of interest to see, only a thin layer of fibreglass insulation, installed by the builders when the house was constructed.
Only one part of the roof space can’t be seen from my current location. It’s the gable above Charlie’s room. In order to get a view of that part of the loft, I’ll need to clamber carefully over the joists until I can shine my torch directly into it. I’m pretty sure this is where the biggest, hairiest spiders hang out. There’s hardly any point even looking there. It’s the least accessible part of our property. On the other hand, it’s the least accessible part of our property and thus the best place to hide something. Who am I kidding? Tamsin hates spiders even more than I do.