‘Shall we sit on the sofa?’ I ask tentatively.
‘Dunno,’ Joe answers.
‘Or maybe right here on the breakfast bar?’
‘Dunno.’
‘The dining-room table?’
We both pronounce, ‘Dunno.’
Joe’s mouth quirks up at that, and he gives me the eye. Straightening up, he decides, ‘In bed.’
Five minutes later, that’s exactly where we are, comfy and cosy, shoes kicked off, drinks in hand, sitting with our backs against the headboard. When I reach for my laptop to settle it in the space between us, Joe stops me.
‘I’ve got a bit of a confession.’ He’s wearing a sheepish expression. He grabs his phone from the bedside table and begins to tap away. He holds up his phone to show me another FoundFamily email. ‘I got a DNA test done too. My results arrived yesterday, and I’ve been waiting for yours to come so we can share and compare.’
My heart fills with love for this man because I know why he’s really done it. It’s to put me at ease. I entwine my fingers with his for a moment to acknowledge the gesture.
‘Hang on!’ I exclaim. ‘Before we look, I think we need one of these.’
A drum roll from my laptop fills the air, and we giggle.
Joe tells me, with a wink, ‘You do know that this will show that I’m the whitest guy in town. Snow doesn’t have a patch on me.’
Our heads together laughing, Joe opens his results. And he’s so on the money. His results are: European: 100%
77.6% British and Irish
10.2% Scottish
5% French
6% German
1.2% Ashkenazi Jewish
We both look at each other in wonder at the Jewish result.
Joe says, ‘Now that’s a turn up for the books. I thought the family were more or less British Isles branded through and through.’ He turns to me. ‘Your turn.’
My finger hovers over the email. Joe plays the drum roll. I’m not even sure I’m still breathing when I open the email, to finally soak up my ethnic make-up.
European: 50%
40% British and Irish
10% Finnish
African: 45%
25% Nigerian
20% Sierra Leonean
Other
5% Middle Eastern
I read it over and over. Me? I’m from all of those places. Africa, Europe, the Middle East. It’s hard to take in that I, Eva Harris, belong to so many places. I’m truly international. Exotic some would say. I hate that term. How many times have I been labelled exotic? It makes me feel like I am a dish to be served for dinner. And don’t get me started on calling the shade of my skin after a piece of food – honey, café au lait, walnut. I mean, do I look like a nut?
I register the warmth of my husband’s arm around my shoulders. ‘How are you feeling?’
I don’t answer straight away because I can’t adequately sum up the emotions and feelings building up inside of me. Joe knows very little about my early years in the care system, about what happened to me because I was the only black girl in the children’s home. Instinctively I smooth back my hair. Always straight, never curly.
‘Which part do you think is my birth mother?’ I share my brooding thoughts with Joe and don’t wait for him to answer. ‘She’s likely to be the European side. From what I understand I don’t think there were too many black women shacking up with white guys twenty-eight years ago.’
Joe hugs me close. We stay like that for a while as I process that at least I can tick off my ethnic grouping. But I’m sad too. It doesn’t bring me any closer to finding my mother. At least I know she was probably white. I pray and hope that when my original birth certificate arrives it will take me a little closer to finding her.
Joe suddenly declares, ‘I tell you what does bother me?’
‘What?’
‘That I might have married a shield maiden. A ferocious warrior from Finland.’
Raucous laughter bubbles out of me. ‘What an idiot you are. Vikings aren’t from Finland. Well, I don’t think they are.’
Joe raises his palms in mock terror. ‘I better sleep with one eye open.’
A ping sounds from my laptop. A new email.
DNA MATCH, the subject line reads.
My mind goes blank. DNA match? What? I glibly press. What I read tilts my world, a buzzing noise fills my ears. Joe catches the laptop as it slips from my hands. I know what he’s reading.
DNA MATCH
Estimated Relationship: Father I’m dazed. I don’t even know if I’m living on planet earth any more. I can’t believe that my birth father’s DNA is sitting there on my computer. If I want his details all I’ve got to do is tap a button on my keyboard and, voila, there it is. This is complete madness. Madness. Isn’t this what you wanted? my inner voice reasons. I’ve been so focused on finding my mother I haven’t given much thought to a father. Sugar has been such a towering force in my life there’s been zero space left for another.