They trudge up the stairs to their bedroom and shut the door.
I listen to the floorboards creak as they pace up and down, minutes stretching into seeming-hours. Their voices are hushed, a duet of whispers, the occasional word rising and breaking free.
My heart still clings to a hope that Dad will magic up an explanation, make this all go away. They are not like those other parents. Such deceit is beyond them.
But still … But still… says my brain. Look at the evidence.
One thing you can be sure of: DNA never lies.
At one point I hear a noise, more animal than human. It stops abruptly.
I think it’s Mum.
My mother prides herself on her fitness, but when they eventually come down, ten years have claimed her. Instinctively, I reach out my hand. But it hangs there. Unwanted.
She collapses onto the sofa, nursing a clutch of tissues. Red veins impregnate her eyes. Dad sits next to her, and I have a sudden memory of those ‘little chats’ we sometimes had when I was younger.
Except this time it’s not me who has done something wrong.
She glances at Dad. ‘You were just five months old when I got the summons. For my tubal ligation. Before the Destine implant, they used to sterilise women as soon as they’d given birth. But I’d had complications… ’
I clench my fingers in my lap. I can hear them already: the sirens. That roaring wall of water. Just before our tsunami hits.
‘After your dad dropped me off, they did a test. They told me it was just a precaution. You see, I’d struggled with the breastfeeding. I tried so hard, but I … I just wasn’t any good.’ Her lip trembles. Dad reaches for her hand. ‘We’d mixed in bottles. The doctor said that might have been why… ’
I want to press my palm over her mouth, stop her confession. But she presses on.
‘That was when she told me, I was three months’ pregnant.’
‘Your mum had no idea.’ Dad jumps in. ‘Neither of us did. Your world turns upside down with a new baby. Sleep was all over the place.’
I try to focus on their words, but there’s a sea inside my head: wave crashing after wave. My parents broke the law. I have a sister, like Ciara.
What am I going to do?
‘The doctor wanted me to do it straight away. The abortion. She said it would be better to “just get it over with…”’ Mum falters. ‘So, she took me into this room … This cold, cold room. Pictures of daffodils and roses. And I remember thinking, how can they have flowers in a room like this?
‘She unlocked a cabinet and pulled out a packet. Dropped a white tablet into my hand… ’ Mum stares at her palm. ‘It looked so small, so … insignificant. I just stared at that pill as the doctor’s words filled the room … How I might feel a little sick, there might be some spotting. As if it was just an inconvenience, as if it was … nothing. And all I could think was, I do not want this. But they will make me do it. I cannot keep this child.’
Her eyes lift to mine, and my throat thickens.
Maybe one day you’ll be on the other side of this door.
Then you’ll feel something…
‘But I could sense that life already, growing inside me. The child it would become… ’
Mum turns to Dad. His jaw is rigid.
‘And I knew, I just knew, I couldn’t do it… ’
A tear slides down Mum’s cheek and I have to look away.
‘It’s different when you’ve carried a child. Such an unimaginable gift … A miracle, really. There’s a reason the Ministry recruits you so young… ’
Mum’s never liked what I do. She’s never said it, but I’ve always known. The casual suggestions, the links she’d send to other jobs, despite me landing such a prestigious role.
Now, I understand why.
‘So I pleaded with her not to make me. Said I’d do anything: even give up our house. I told her it would finish me, and I honestly believe that was true. I became hysterical … And that’s when the doctor mentioned there might be another way.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘An option to … reallocate the child.’
Reallocate?
‘But … reallocations were only allowed for first pregnancies. Second pregnancies have always been illegal.’
‘That’s what I’d thought too,’ says Mum. ‘She said, assuming the baby was healthy, she could try and make a case, on psychological grounds. But the pregnancy would have to be kept secret. There were strict procedures, and the moment I started showing, I’d have to move into a confinement home, until the child was born.’
I breathe in for three. Out for three. But numbers can’t tame the galloping in my chest. We were never told about second-child reallocations.
I’ve never even heard of confinement homes.
‘There were four of us in that place. We weren’t allowed to go out.’
‘The way they treated them,’ says Dad. ‘As if they were criminals. Children weren’t even allowed to see their mothers.’
‘So your father took care of you. With help from his mother.’
The other grandma … So she did meet me, after all.
‘We told everyone that your mum was recuperating from dengue fever, in a wellness centre down south. No one questioned it.’
I stare at them. The parents I love. The parents I thought I knew.
Mum sighs. ‘That doctor didn’t have to help me, I don’t know why she did … Perhaps there was more pity back then… ’
Pity? Pity won’t help them with the Ministry, that much I do know. They have committed a birth crime. There is only one way this can end.
‘I had just six weeks with my baby before she came: the woman from the Ministry… ’ Mum swallows. ‘The grief never leaves you. It just … spreads out, over time… ’
Dad’s face crumples. I dig my nails into my thighs.
‘I know what you’re thinking, Kai,’ she says. ‘How horrified you must be. But you see, this way, both children had a chance at life… ’
Dad exhales. ‘Why has this all blown up now? It happened decades ago, for God’s sake.’
I have exactly the same question. ‘I … I don’t know… ’
Mum leans closer. ‘Has someone seen her, Kai? Is that it? Do you know where she is?’
I shake my head. ‘I know nothing about her.’ My words are brittle, like the rest of me.
I resort to process; the only thing right now I can be sure of.
‘I don’t understand, how did they…?’ I swallow. ‘How could your baby just disappear? With first-born reallocations, biological lineage is always displayed. You can’t change someone’s genetic ID.’
‘They never discussed any of that with us,’ says Mum. ‘I wasn’t allowed to know.’
‘What about your health records?’
She shrugs. ‘It all, just … vanished. It was as if she’d never been born.’
I can’t believe what I’m hearing. What kind of doctor would be complicit in that?
‘I still think about her, you know,’ Mum whispers. ‘I’ll be sitting on a tram and see a young woman get on, and I’ll wonder … Could that be her?’
My panic spirals. Doesn’t she realise how much trouble we’re in? What this means, for all of us?
I have witnessed a confession. One course of action is open to me. Unless…
‘Which clinic was it?’
Mum hesitates. ‘It was before we moved. Middleton, Milton Keynes.’
‘Can you remember the doctor’s name?’
Mum frowns.
‘It was a long time ago, Kai,’ says Dad.
‘Yes, I know.’ It comes out more sharply than I intended. ‘Where did you give birth?’
‘Oxford. The Marston.’
At last: a glimmer of light. The same wellness centre where the profile was originally traced.
‘Did she…? Did you give her a name?’
Mum nods and looks down. It’s Dad who finally answers.
‘Zoe. It means “life”. We don’t know if it was passed on… ’
Mum grips my hand. ‘We did everything we were asked, Kai. We gave up our child. Can’t you, just…? Make this go away?’
‘Oh, Mum… ’ My eyes squeeze shut. ‘It’s not as simple as that.’
The profile is on the system. That alone is grounds for arrest.
‘What happens next?’ asks Dad. ‘Are you obliged to … report us?’
No anger. No barbed recriminations. It would be easier if there were.
‘I have a small amount of time to investigate on my own, before the profile goes public. To try and figure things out.’
‘How small?’
I sigh. ‘Two weeks.’