THE SHORTEST DAY

‘Oh. I thought I might be,’ said Kerry.

‘That you might be adopted? But, how?’ Cassie’s face went moon-shaped.

‘Well I don’t look much like you, do I? And I’m not clever enough to be Dad’s.’ She twisted a lip piercing. There was silence, save for the sparrows cheeping outside.

‘It doesn’t make any difference. We still love you,’ said Cassie.

‘We love you just the same, Kerry,’ said David.

‘Yeah, you keep saying.’ Kerry stood and wandered over to the cat basket, but the cat evaded her grasp and trotted away.

‘Come here,’ Cassie said, her arms spread out. ‘Look, you’ll always be our little girl.’

Kerry stumbled to the sofa like a spent athlete. ‘So for fifteen years you’ve been lying to me,’ she mumbled, her chin dug into Cassie’s shoulder.

‘No, no, we are still your Mum and Dad. It’s just –’

‘It’s just biology,’ said David. ‘Just a detail.’

‘I knew I didn’t fit in here.’

‘Of course you do Kerry, you belong with us,’ Cassie replied, her eyes fixed on the serene, blue-robed Madonna and child above the mantelpiece.

‘Don’t lie. And stop looking at that bloody picture. That’s another story, same as the story you’ve just told me. Everything is a story.’

‘No Kerry, what we told you is true. And that picture is true, too.’

‘We understand that this is a lot for you to take in,’ intervened David.

‘It’s OK, Dad. I get it, it’s cool.’

‘We have two things to give you, Kerry,’ said David, reaching for a shoebox in a plastic bag. ‘Things from your birth mother.’

‘Okay,’ said Kerry, unable to muster