Stephen Lee:According to my parents, I was donor conceived due to fertility issues. I did a test recently because I’m studying medicine and I want to know more about my medical history on my biological father’s side. Anyway, I have a few matches with the last name Langford. This name rang a bell for me. At first I couldn’t work out where I knew it from, then I realised it was the name of our next-door neighbours when I was a little kid. My parents bought the house just after they were married. So I reached out to one of the people I matched with and they confirmed they have a cousin who lived in Castle Hill in the early 2000s. I have my own theory about what might have happened, but I’m interested in what others make of this?
Top comments
Karen Finn:I think your mum might have borrowed more than a cup of sugar from your next-door neighbour.
Sara Power:It’s highly inappropriate to joke about something like this IMO
Patricia Pine:It’s possible the name is a coincidence.I advise against jumping to conclusions. Have you spoken to your mother about any of this?
Karen Finn:A coincidence??? The match he spoke to said his cousin lived the same suburb at the same time!!!
Stephen Lee:Not yetPatricia. My mother is a very conservative person. I’m really struggling to believe she did what I think she did.
Mary Louise:Don’t be fooled by thatStephen. My mother volunteered at the church for forty-five years and also had a long-term affair with my father’s best friend.
Wendy Turner:I know the thought of talking to your mum about it is daunting. Just go into the conversation with an open mind.
Chapter 31
Meg spent the dark night trying not to think about the unlocked door, the open window, but every time she started drifting off, she woke with a jolt. In the darkness, the room felt sinister, with strange shadows dancing on the ceiling. She tossed and turned on the clammy mattress, the air thick and hot with the window closed, but she wasn’t game to open it.
She woke up craving home. Her own bed. Her bathtub. Her cosy sofa and her fluffy, red mohair blanket.
She got every red light on her way back into Sydney. The roads were full of people doing last-minute shopping or leaving town for Christmas in SUVs laden with surfboards and bikes.
When Meg arrived at Rosedale, Jenny was in bed.
‘They’ve taken our video, Meg!’ she said, sitting up, deep creases between her eyes. ‘They’ve stolen it!’
‘What video?’ Meg asked, but she knew Jenny was thinking of their old rental copy ofThe Princess Bride, which they’d never returned to Blockbuster before leaving whatever town that was. They must have watched it a hundred times, lying together in Jenny’s double bed.
‘It’s that young one with the dark hair,’ Jenny said. ‘She’s always coming in here and fussing with my things.’
‘Mum, the video’s at my house.’
Jenny frowned, eyeing Meg suspiciously. ‘It is?’
Meg nodded. ‘I’ll bring it in next time, so you can see it.’
Jenny slumped back against the pillows and closed her eyes.
By the time Meg reached her building it was late afternoon. The apartment was dark. Her eyes struggled to adjust as she stepped inside and banged her foot on something sitting in the middle of the hallway. ‘Bloody hell!’ she yelled, clutching her foot as a spasm of pain shot up through her big toe.
Once it subsided, she fumbled for the light switch and flicked it on. A case of Carlton Draught had been thoughtfully placed in the middle of the hall. She pushed it aside and looked around. The peace lily on the hall table drooped sadly. Beside it was a stack of mail. She picked it up and flipped through it. Mostly junk.
A pungent smell intensified as she walked up the hall: a mixture of pot and cigarette smoke. She stood at the entrance to the lounge room, staring at the state of it in disbelief. The coffee table was covered in empty bottles. A pizza box and an enormous black bong sat among the bottles next to a decorative bowl Meg had taken from her mum’s house when they’d packed up her flat. It was full of cigarette butts.
‘Are you kidding me?’ she whispered, rage building in her chest. ‘Hello?’
Silence. Gav’s bedroom door was ajar, his immaculate room empty. Jay’s door was closed. She knocked and waited. Nothing. She pushed it open and looked in disgust at the mess that filled the tiny space. The carpet was hidden beneath clothes, shoes and bath towels. The bedsheets hung off the side of the bed, the bare mattress exposed, and the bedside table was piled up with dirty plates and empty beer bottles.
Hot rage bubbled up inside her. He could afford an endless supply of pot and beer, but he hadn’t paid her a cent for almost two months! She stormed down the hallway to the kitchen, ripped a page from a notebook and scribbled a note: CLEAN UP AND PAY ME YOUR RENT OR GET THE HELL OUT!! Her hands were shaking as she stuck it on his door.
She took a long, slow breath and rang Pete’s number.
‘Hunter!’ he said. ‘I was just thinking about you. I’ve got intel.’
‘Are you at home?’
