Page 122 of So, I Met This Guy . . .

Because if he’s my real dad, who am I?

Making Waves

Flick stopped talking and looked at Maggie, who was standing opposite. She hadn’t said a word. Just listened while she spoke. She waited for her to say something.

‘I’m sorry he did that to you and your mum,’ she said finally.

‘I’m worried I’m going to be like him.’

‘You’re nothing like him.’

They were on a ferry from Ibiza, heading to Valencia. Flick was leaning against the railing, the wind blowing her hair away from her face; Maggie stood beside her, looking out across the churning waves as they made the five-hour journey.

After Flick had dropped her bombshell that morning, Flea had appeared from inside the tent, wondering if everything was OK, and so the subject had swiftly been changed. Instead, the next few hours were spent dealing with the practicalities of packing up, thanking their hosts for their hospitality, making arrangements to get to the port. All the while Maggie was reeling with shock at what she’d just been told and bursting with a million questions.

Only once they got on the ferry and they left dry land did Flick open up.

‘I’m not talking about looking like him, I’m talking about inside, my genes, my DNA . . . what if I’ve inherited his personality?’ she was saying now.

‘That’s ridiculous—’

‘I’m not being ridiculous! Have you any idea what it’s like to find out your father is a criminal?’

‘Sorry, I didn’t mean—’

Maggie quickly bit her tongue. She was trying to reassure her – Flick was nothing like the man who’d lied and stolen from her – but it had come out all wrong and dismissive.

‘I read about it; some studies say as much as 60 per cent of your personality is inherited. I mean, what if there’s a criminal gene?’

‘Seriously, you want me to answer this?’

‘Yes.’

‘Have you ever broken the law?’

‘No . . . well, maybe once when I forgot to scan an item in my basket and walked out of the supermarket without paying.’

‘What did you forget to scan?’

‘Frazzles.’

‘Frazzles?’

‘Yes. You know, they’re those bacon-flavoured crisps—’

‘I know what Frazzles are.’

‘A family-size bag too.’

‘OK, well, I think you’re safe. I don’t think you’re a criminal for stealing bacon-flavoured corn snacks. Now, maybe if it was a bottle of wine . . .’

Maggie was trying to joke, to lighten the leaden mood, but Flick had the weight of the world on her shoulders.

‘But what if it comes out . . . later in life, you know?’

‘Look, I’m not a geneticist, but all I know is you are who are you are. Doesn’t matter who your parents are, or if you’ve got the same colour eyes—’ Maggie broke off, arrested by the realization that Flick had the same distinctive green eyes as Him. ‘You’re you . . . and you’re a good person.’

‘I don’t feel like a good person. I’ve lied to everyone – to you, my editor, myself . . . I hurt my boyfriend . . . I slept with my girlfriend . . . I don’t know who I am or what I want . . . I’m a total mess.’