So, listen to thisI lost my wallet at the shopping centre the other day. I didnt even notice until Id got all the way home. I tore apart my handbag, checked my coat pockets, the car, everywhere. Nothing. My cards, my drivers licence, the cashgone. I reported it to the police, cancelled my cards, felt like such an idiot, and honestly I was shaking, absolutely gutted with myself.
Two days later, my intercom buzzed. Miss Emily Taylor? asked a mans voice. I believe Ive got something that belongs to you. I found your wallet. May I come up?
With my heart in my mouth, I went down the stairs. There stood this older gentlemanmustve been about seventy, tidy silver hair, dark navy overcoat. He was holding my wallet out to me.
It was lying on a bench just outside the shopping centre entrance, he told me. Looks like someone left it there on purpose.
I thanked him and asked if hed fancy a cup of tea, but he declined. Just as he was about to turn away, he looked at me very carefully and asked, Whats your name? Truly Emily?
A bit confused, I nodded.
He gave me a sad little smile. I thought so. Youve got your mother, Helens, eyes.
I just froze. My mums name was Helen.
Excuse me, I asked, did you know my mum?
He took a step back. I shouldnt I didnt think youd look so much like her. Sorry. He turned to go, but I quickly said, Please wait. Ive seen your face since I was a child. In an old photo in my mums drawer. She always said it was someone from long ago. But shed never say who.
He hesitated, sighed.
I was once very close to your mother, he said quietly. Very close.
I invited him in.
We sat in the kitchen. He didnt touch his tea.
Your mum was my fiancée, a long time ago. 1972. We were due to get married. But something happened.
I couldnt say a word.
My father wouldnt accept her. The family put pressure on. And I was a coward. I moved to Germany, left her behind. When I came back, shed met someone else. She wanted nothing to do with me. And then I heard shed fallen pregnant. But no one ever told me if the child was mine.
He looked at me in silence.
What did you do? I asked him gently.
I went round to her house once. I saw you from afar. You must have been about three. You looked just like her. But I ran away again. I couldnt face it. Over the years, I kept an eye from a distance. Once, I saw you at the cemetery. I know, it sounds obsessive, but I never wanted to disrupt your life.
I didnt know what to say.
So you think you might be my father?
He nodded. I dont want anything from you. I just wanted to know if youre happy.
We sat and talked for ages. About life, choices, about how cowardice can ruin everything. When he eventually left, he gave me his phone number and an envelope. Inside was an old photo of him and my mumyoung, in love, arms around each other. On the back, in faded ink: Forever B. 1971.
A few weeks went by. I took a DNA test. It confirmed he really is my father.
I only told my husband. My dad, the one who raised me, passed away years ago. And Mum she took her secret with her. But now I know more. I know that lovespoken or notleaves marks. Sometimes tucked away in a drawer. Sometimes in the eyes of a stranger who returns your walletand suddenly, your past.
