Hot irritation prickled and stung. “That’s got nothing to do with it. You don’t have the right to ask me to let it go and I’m not going to do that. You’ve lied to me all my life about who I am and it stops now. I deserve to know who my father is. If you won’t tell me, I’ll get a DNA test and search for him myself!”

Karen’s hand rose to her mouth.

“Mom, Alice deserves to know,” Libby said.

Peter wrung his hands. “It’s not easy for your mother.”

“Then you tell me,” Alice demanded, fast running out of patience. “I might have half brothers and sisters out there.”

Peter looked to Karen for guidance.

“Oh, Alice, I never wanted you to know.”

“Just. Tell. Me!”

Karen made a sound not dissimilar to an animal in distress.

Peter sighed. “We’re sorry, Ally. Lisa was a very troubled young woman. From what we’ve managed to piece together, she’d been living rough for months. Doing whatever was necessary to … survive. She left a note.”

Alice leaned forward, eager to hear. “And?”

Peter nervously licked his lips. “Lisa—” He cleared his throat. “She didn’t know who your father was.”

Doing whatever was necessary to survive. Alice gagged and spots swirled in front of her eyes. Her mother was a heroin addict. Her father was a man who’d paid her mother for sex so she could buy her next hit. Or worse still, her dealer, using her. Either way, he was scum.

Libby’s arms wrapped around her, but Alice could barely feel them. Her mind was consumed with the horror of her conception and the revulsion for the DNA she’d inherited.

“No!” she spluttered. “No, no.”

“Alice, hold on. This doesn’t change who you are. Libby’s rapid words bounced around her. “You’re still funny, quirky, loving, caring, amazing Alice.”

But Alice had an overwhelming urge to take a loofah to her skin and scrub hard.

Chapter Twenty-One

October

Jess sat on a park bench waiting for the usual Thursday transfer. It was a new month and a warm and sunny day after the unseasonal cold snap that made everyone regret packing away the winter woollies. The people in the park—the stragglers from the earlier library story time, five elderly Italian men playing a spirited game of bocce and a couple of runners—were all wearing shorts and T-shirts. Not Jess. She was in yoga pants and a hoodie, struggling to keep warm.