Читать книгу One Day In Summer - Shari Low - Страница 16

Hi,

I’m not really sure how to start this email or what to say. I guess, first of all, I need to apologise if this comes as a shock to you. I’m unaware of the circumstances of my birth, so if you weren’t aware of my existence, I’m sorry to break the news this way.

My name is Hope McTeer, and according to the results of my DNA test, I’m your daughter (I didn’t want to be presumptuous or freak you out by referring to you as ‘Dad’ at the start of this email).

I’m twenty-two and I assume I was born in Scotland, as this is where my adoption was formalised. I have had no access to my adoption records, so I know no more than that. As you can imagine, it was quite a surprise to discover my biological father is American, but I am, quite honestly, intrigued to learn more.

I also want you to know that I’m very grateful to have been adopted by two wonderful parents who have loved and supported me every day since I became their daughter. I’m now studying medicine at university and live with my adoptive sister in Glasgow.

It goes without saying that I would very much like to meet you. I understand if this takes time to process, so please be assured that I will not pester or badger you with more emails. I’ll wait in the hope that you will feel the same way and that I will hear from you soon.

Yours,

Hope

The digital clock at the top of the arrivals board said 10.05 a.m.. Hope scanned the lists of incoming flights, searching for one from Heathrow. He’d arrived there from LA at 7 a.m., so hopefully he made his 8.45 a.m. connection to Glasgow and would right now be touching down on a runway on the other side of this building.

She wondered if everyone around her could see that she was actually trembling with nerves and about as light-headed as it was possible to be without keeling over. She couldn’t faint now. Not here. He could come right out of there and step over her, not realising that she was the welcoming committee.

Heathrow. There it was. Delayed. Now arriving at 11 a.m.. Crap. She should have checked for delays before she left the house, but between her anxiety and her outraged sister, it had completely slipped her mind. Now she had to try not to faint for at least another hour. She couldn’t guarantee that it was possible.

For years, she’d watched family reunion shows with obsessive interest, and wondered how she would feel when and if the moment came. Now she knew. She’d be absolutely terrified, yet incredibly excited too. This was the point at the start of the roller coaster that was equal parts fear, adrenalin and desperation to get going.

There was no point standing here for an hour. Behind her, Starbucks was busy, but there were a few single seats at the high bar counter from where she would have a view of the arrivals board and the doors.

10.15 a.m.. She bought a latte that she probably wouldn’t be able to drink, and a lemon muffin that she probably wouldn’t be able to eat, and climbed up on the bar stool, eyes trained on the sliding doors that were constantly opening and closing, each movement bringing through people pulling suitcases, businessmen clutching briefcases, cabin crew with relaxed expressions, happy to be off duty. Every now and then, someone would break from the crowd and run towards a new arrival, making everyone around them smile. And making Hope’s heart hammer so loudly in her chest she was sure it could crack a rib at any moment.

10.35 a.m.. Coffee still not touched. Muffin still not eaten. Hope picked up her phone and called her mum as promised. She answered on the first ring with, ‘Are you okay?’ It was unusual to hear anxiety in her mum’s voice. Dora was the calmest woman that Hope had ever known, even in times of adversity and heartache. It was a strength that had been tested many times over the years.

‘I’m fine, Mum. I’m at the airport. His flight is delayed until 11 o’clock, so he should be here just after that.’

‘How are you feeling, my love?’ Dora’s voice was calmer now, more like herself.

‘Nervous. Terrified. What if he’s horrible? What if he doesn’t like me?’

‘He’ll like you. And you’re far too lovely to have horrible genes.’ Joking now, and Hope was so grateful. Her mum always knew exactly what to say to make her feel better.

‘Thanks, Mum. I’d better go and phone Maisie before she puts out a bulletin on Radio Clyde saying I’m missing, possibly abducted.’

‘Good idea. Just keep us posted, love. We’ll both be by our phones all day and can be with you in no time if you need us.’

‘I know. I love you.’

‘I love you too, darling. Big hugs.’

10.45 a.m.. Hope took a sip of the latte and tried not to grimace. The muffin was still a step too far.

She decided she couldn’t face speaking to Maisie, so she opted for a text.

His flight is delayed. Coming in at 11 a.m.. Just waiting in Starbucks.

Have you eaten?

Yes.

You’re lying.

That made Hope smile.

I am. But I’ve got a muffin.

Trying really hard not to make inappropriate jokes right now.

You’re so immature.

I know. Sorry. Text me as soon as you can to let me know what he’s like. And if there’s a problem, use the pepper spray.

I don’t have pepper spray. Pretty sure it’s illegal.

Bought one on the internet. I slipped it in your bag.

A feeling of cold dread worked its way up from Hope’s gut. Surely not… She picked up her backpack and unzipped the main compartment. Yep, there it was. A small silver can nestled between her iPad and the latest Dorothy Koomson novel. She was suddenly very aware of the two armed policemen just metres away, patrolling the terminal. There she was, in an airport, with a weapon she was fairly sure was illegal. Christ Almighty.

You’re a fkn maniac!

You won’t be saying that if you need it.

Hope closed her eyes and inhaled, trying not to panic. As if today wasn’t stressful enough. Now she could add possible arrest to the list of things that could go wrong. Great. Smashing. But then, she knew that Maisie was only behaving like this because she loved her.

She felt the anger dissipate and picked up her phone again.

Need to go. Will buzz you later. Love you.

Love you too. Stay safe.

Xx

She put the phone back down on the counter in front of her and exhaled, trying to channel her mum’s energy as opposed to her sister’s. She had this. She could do it. She’d faced worse and survived.

10.55 a.m.. Another sip of latte. One bite of muffin that felt like it took five minutes to chew and swallow. This was excruciating. She was a planner by nature, always had been. She liked to know the facts, to think things through, analyse from every angle, prepare for every outcome. This one was out of her control though. It was all down to him and she had no idea what to expect.

Picking up her phone again, she flicked on to her Ancestry account and clicked on the inbox. His reply had come in the day after she’d contacted him.

Dear Hope,

Like you, I don’t know what to say. I had no idea that I had fathered a child during that time and I’m stunned. Stunned, but so grateful that you’ve found me. There’s so much to say, but I want to do it in person. I’m in LA but will come to you if you want to meet? I can get there Saturday. Please say yes?

Of course, she’d agreed. She’d crammed her studies all week so that she could take the weekend off, and she’d managed to juggle her hospital shifts around so she didn’t need to be back in work until Monday night. A whole weekend to get to know the father who was a complete stranger to her. That’s if he even planned on staying that long.

He’d sent his flight arrival details an hour or so after she agreed to meet him and that had been the last contact other than exchanging mobile numbers.

11.04 a.m.. Flight Landed. Coffee and muffin discarded. Hope left Starbucks and went to the front of the crowd that was waiting a few metres back from the doors. There were several men in suits there, holding up cards with names on them, and Hope suddenly realised that she had no way of recognising him. Why hadn’t she thought of that before? Dammit.

She texted his mobile.

I’m in arrivals. White dress. Blue jacket.

Send.

She stared at the screen. Three moving dots. He was replying.

On way. I’ll find you.

Oh God. Her heart was racing again as the doors opened. Closed. Opened. Closed.

Don’t faint. Do not faint. The cops will find the pepper spray and his first act as father will be to bail you out. Do. Not. Faint.

Doors opened.

Was that him? A grey haired, forty something hipster type in a suit seemed to be searching for someone. Hope was about to step forward when he spotted one of the signs and gestured to the driver holding it. Nope. Not him.

Another guy. Mid forties. Dad chinos. Brogues. Corporate haircut. He paused, scanned the crowd, then turned to the left and seemed to continue his search as he walked out of the area. Was that him? It could be. He’d be completely unfamiliar with this airport so he may think the arrivals area stretched along the corridor.

She was still staring at the man disappearing from view when someone much closer spoke. ‘Hope?’

Her head spun back and there he was, right in front of her. She knew. Just knew.

Eyes wide, she managed to nod and stammer out a reply. ‘Y… y… yes. Hi.’

It was the strangest sensation she’d ever experienced. When she was a little girl, she would wonder if she looked like anyone. Sometimes she’d search the faces of people in the street, in the library, in airports, to see if there was anything there that she recognised, any sign of who she belonged to. There never was. Until now.

Same colouring. Same shade of hair, although his was flecked with salt and pepper strands. But the most striking thing of all was the eyes. Grey. A shade of steel that she’d never seen before except when she looked in a mirror.

‘I’m not sure what I should do,’ he said, his smile revealing the kind of white teeth that were natural and not the result of an expensive set of veneers. ‘Is it okay to give you a hug?’

Slowly, wordlessly, Hope nodded and was immediately enfolded in the broad, muscular arms of a man who was at least six inches taller than her, definitely over six feet tall.

The most surprising thing was that he was handsome. That wasn’t something she’d even considered before now, assuming he’d just be like most other dads of that age. Maybe he was – if the dads in question had a square jawline and an outdoor tan that creased into attractive lines at the side of his eyes when he smiled. His clothes helped too. A black T-shirt and black jeans, with leather boots that stopped on just the right fashion side of cowboy.

After seconds that felt like minutes, he pulled back. ‘Your eyes, they’re…’

He paused, and she finished for him. ‘They’re yours.’

It was the moment that all doubt was blown away. This man was her dad. And now she just needed to find out so many things. Who was her mum? How did he not know she existed? And the biggest question of all… did they have something much more important in common than the colour of their eyes?