Hope shrugged then snaked her arms around Maisie’s neck and leaned down to kiss her on the cheek. ‘Yup. Only because I know you want to, but it’s only fear that’s holding you back.’
They both stared at the box for a few seconds. The logo on the front said ‘Ancestry’.
They’d both received them on their twenty-first birthdays from Mum – her way of telling them that if they ever wanted to track down their biological families, she supported their decision. They both knew Dad would have too. His passing the year before had devastated them all.
Neither of them had done the test immediately. They’d lain in the drawer until the day, a couple of months ago, when Hope learned just how important it was that she find someone with a genetic link.
Doing the test was easy – just a case of spitting into a tube, then sending it off for analysis. Getting Maisie to do the test proved more difficult. Hope tried to persuade her to do it at the same time, but her sister resolutely refused, claiming that she had no desire to know more about her heritage. Realising she was fighting a losing battle, Hope went ahead and did it by herself. Last weekend that decision paid off.
On Sunday, she’d just got home after a twelve hour shift at the hospital and all she needed was her bed and to sleep. Trying to combine studies with work was exhausting, but she was determined not to live off her mum, especially now that her dad was gone. She was so tired, she was tempted to ignore the ping of an email dropping into the inbox on her phone. A quick glance had changed everything. The headline read:
Your Ancestry results are in!’
Suddenly awake, she’d grabbed her laptop and opened it on the kitchen table, fingers trembling as she logged on.
The first result she clicked on was her ‘Ethnicity Estimate’ and her eyebrows had immediately knitted together in confusion. She’d expected to see the Scottish heritage. It was where she’d been born and raised. But the shock? 44 per cent North American.
What?
She was almost half American?
As far as she knew, her only connection with the USA was a couple of trips to Disney World when she was a kid. The revelation took her breath away for a moment, as her chest had tightened with anxiety, while her brain had refused to send her hand the signal to click on the next category: DNA Matches. This was it. The people on the database with whom she shared a genetic link.
Breathe. Breathe. Click.
She’d read that it wasn’t uncommon to have up to half a million fifth to eighth cousins, so she was hoping for something a bit closer than that. A starting point. Maybe an aunt. Or a great-grandparent. Just some place to begin the search. She hadn’t dared to hope that there would be anything closer in there. After all, her adoption had been a closed one and there were no clues to go on, no background information, only the emphatic stipulation on her adoption file that the mother wished for no contact at any time in the future and requested that no information ever be released to Hope or her new family.
She’d grown up thinking she’d never have answers, had come to terms with that, but the advent of easily available DNA testing had changed everything.
Now it was a possibility. A chance.
Click.
One close match.
Her yelp had roused a sleeping Maisie from the couch in the lounge and she had charged through, hair wild, eyes blazing, ready to attack. ‘What? What is it?’
‘My DNA results,’ Hope had whispered.
Maisie had immediately sagged, adrenalin dissipating. ‘Holy shit, I thought you were getting mutilated in the kitchen by a masked intruder.’
‘Did you fall asleep watching Criminal Minds again?’
‘Yep.’
Just as the ridiculousness of the situation helped Hope’s heartbeat come down from the beat of a speeding train, Maisie had switched on to the gravity of the situation.
‘Oh my God, your results. What do they say?’
Hope had turned the laptop towards Maisie as she crossed the room. ‘Meet my biological link.’
‘Oh God. Oh God. Oh God.’ Every word was punctuated by a step towards the screen.
Hope’s hands were over her mouth as she’d watched Maisie read. There was just a name. Then the word FATHER.
‘Click on his profile!’ Maisie had gasped.
‘Argh, I didn’t even notice that bit. My brain shut down right about the same time as I screamed.’
With a shaky hand, Hope had clicked on the blank circle next to his name and was taken to another page, but there were no further details on there. No family tree. No other matches. Nothing. Except…
‘There’s a message button.’ Hope was staring at it as if it had the potential to self-detonate.
Maisie had slid onto the bench at the other side of the table. ‘How are you feeling?’
Hope had slowly shaken her head. ‘I’ve no idea. Gobsmacked. Happy. Excited. Fricking terrified. Anxious. Did I say gobsmacked?’
Maisie had nodded. ‘You did. Bugger, why did I have to give up smoking? I could so do with a cig right now. Sod it, Prosecco will have to do.’ In the few minutes it took for Maisie to retrieve a bottle of wine from the fridge, uncork it, pour generous measures into two glasses, and return to the table, Hope had simply stared at the screen in silence.
Maisie had grimaced a little as the large gulp of wine went down. ‘Right then, what are you going to do?’
‘I don’t know. I mean, I know I need to send him a message, but I just don’t know if I’m ready.’
‘You are!’
Hope had rolled her eyes, then settled into a rueful glare. ‘This comes from the woman who won’t even do the test.’
‘But I’m a born coward,’ Maisie had conceded. ‘You’re much, much braver than me. That’s why we send you in to get the spiders out of the bath. And, you know, to do medical stuff, like cut people up and fix broken folk. I’m here for entertainment and cocktails – nothing that requires balls of steel.’
‘Well, my balls of steel are having a think about this before doing anything rash,’ Hope had admitted, her voice uncertain.
‘Nope, do it now. If you put it off, you’ll psyche yourself out. And besides… not to pee on your parade, but you don’t really have a choice, do you?’
That had focused Hope’s mind. Nope. There was too much riding on this to let it go now. She had to see it through, had to try.
That’s what she was telling herself now, two weeks later, when she was getting ready to leave for Glasgow Airport, to meet the man whose name was on that DNA match.
Her fingers shook a little as she tied the laces on her white Samba trainers, then slung a denim jacket over her pale blue sundress. Layers helped add a bit of a shape to her frame.
Her stomach was rumbling, but she’d been too nervous to eat. His flight was due in just after 10 a.m., and it would take her around twenty minutes to drive to the airport from their Shawlands flat, on the south side of Glasgow, so she’d be there in plenty of time to pop into the Starbucks at the arrivals area for a coffee and something to eat, if she thought she could get anything past the huge lump in her throat.
She kissed Maisie, hugged her tight. ‘I love you, sis.’
‘I love you too. And I’ll be ready to rescue you.’
The front door clicked as Hope closed it behind her. She stopped, took a breath of warm summer air, let the sun soothe the frown lines between her eyebrows, then she started walking towards her Mini. She