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would always remain unanswered; but recently her longing to know more about him had started to gnaw at her. It wasn’t just that she needed to
know who her father was; she needed to know who
she
was.
    Just before Christmas, she’d finally plucked up the courage to look up her father online. It had been weird to read so much about this man to whom she was biologically connected and yet
didn’t know at all. She’d stared at his photo for ages, searching his face for her own features. He was dark-haired like her – turning a bit salt-and-pepper actually – but
apart from that, she hadn’t recognized anything of herself in him. He might as well have been a perfect stranger. Which, after all, was what he was.
    ‘He used to blow smoke rings,’ Mum mused now, more to herself than to her. ‘He could make them go through each other. I used to call him Gandalf. God, he was sexy. There was
just something about him. When he was in a room, you couldn’t see anyone else.’ She smiled wistfully. ‘You know the first thing he said to me? “As soon as I saw you, I knew
we’d be friends or lovers. And now you’ve smiled, I know it’ll be both.” You probably think that’s terribly cheesy, but I’d never met anyone like him. He
literally swept me off my feet.’
    Nell held her breath. Her mother had never opened up like this. ‘Did you know he was married?’ she asked hesitantly. ‘I mean, right at the beginning?’
    ‘Oh yes. He never tried to hide it. But I couldn’t stay away from him. I didn’t
want
to. He was like a drug. I couldn’t get enough of him.’
    Mum shivered, as if a ghost had walked over her grave. ‘I suppose I’d better go and get dressed, then,’ she said, stubbing her cigarette out on the brick window sill.
‘Seeing as how I have to tone down “that hippie thing” before I go out.’
    Nell stared into space for a long time after her mother had left. She adored Richard; he was the one who’d taught her to ride a bicycle, helped her with her maths homework, sneaked her
onto the roller coaster at Thorpe Park after Mum had forbidden it and didn’t rat her out when it had made her sick. She was sad she’d never get to meet her birth dad, of course, but in
some ways it made things easier; it would have felt disloyal seeking him out when Richard was, to all intents and purposes, her father.
    But that didn’t mean she couldn’t get to know who Patrick had been.
    Suddenly decisive, she flipped open her laptop and pulled up her Facebook page. She scrolled through her messages until she found the one she was looking for. Normally she replied to emails
instantly, but this one had been sitting unanswered in her inbox for weeks. The one from Ryan James. Her brother.
    She was ready to talk to him now.

    Subject: Florence Lockwood
    Date: 19/07/2000 3:21:36 P.M.
    From: [email protected]
    To: [email protected]
    Dannah,
    Wondered if you’d had a chance to follow up on Florence Lockwood, per my referral last month. Curious one. The mother came to me clearly very anxious about her
     lack of rapport with her daughter, but in my view there’s absolutely nothing wrong with the child re her language skills and social development. However, she seems oddly reluctant to
     talk in front of her mother. Be interested to know what you make of it.
    Ben

    Subject: re: Florence Lockwood
    Date: 19/07/2000 5:41:02 P.M.
    From: [email protected]
    To: [email protected]
    Ben,
    Good timing. Harriet Lockwood brought her daughter in today for assessment. I’ll be writing up a full report later this week, but I’m with you: the child
     met all developmental milestones during our time alone, but when Mum is present, she does indeed shut down. However, she doesn’t appear afraid of her mother, and there are no other
     signs that there is a problem at home. Florence is lively, animated and affectionate towards Harriet, who is clearly a caring and concerned parent. The