text: It had to be here somewhere. Time was ticking by and the document had to be submitted by 11am on Monday morning. She had looked in all the usual places; under the bed, the box above the fridge, in her parents’ bedroom and to no avail. Where the hell was it? She bit her fingernails and then started to chew on the loose skin at the base of her thumb. Fuck, now it was bleeding. When was she going to break this habit? She sat down hard on the floral bedspread of her parents’ bed and tried to think of other possible places it could be. The garage? No, they wouldn’t store things in there. Everyone knew that it smelt like mould and would often flood in the Autumn. Loft? Unlikely, but worth a try. Standing up, she went over to the wardrobe and felt for the hooked stick hidden behind it that they used to open the loft door. The hook scraped on the metal ring as she tried to get it looped through. One, two, three attempts and finally there it was. The screech of hinges in need of oil as the loft door opened was enough to wake the dead. Dust motes escaped their dark prison as light eked into the loft for the first time in God knows how long. She was just about to step on the bottom rung of the ladder when she heard a key turn in the door. Finally , she thought to herself. Surely enough, her Mum entered the house, two heavy shopping bags from the supermarket in each hand and her handbag slung awkwardly on her back. Her hair was dishevelled, the bun working its way out of the pins and loose strands falling down the nape of her neck. There was a sheen of sweat on her red face and she struggled to get through the door. She glanced up the stairs and after a moment of surprise at seeing her daughter there, she called to her. “Give us a hand, Cara, these bags are bloody heavy.” Cara was already halfway down the stairs as her Mum dropped them unceremoniously in the hall. “What have you even got in there?” “The usual.” “The usual?” Cara gave her Mum a sceptical look as she spotted two frozen turkeys for eight in one of the bags. “Mum, we’re a family of three and we only have Jean from next door at Christmas. I know it's November, but still. When are you going to need to feed sixteen people?” “Yes, well,” she could see her Mum’s cheeks flushing crimson, “some of the offers were just too good to pass up. You know how it is, love.” “Uh huh,” Cara gave her a knowing smirk. “If you say so.” Her Mum gave her a gentle prod. “Just help me squash them into the freezer. And then you can tell me to what I owe the pleasure of your company.” Cara beamed. Since leaving home for university three months before, she hadn’t seen much of her parents. Oh, true, she was loving uni life: living in halls, all the socials and the lectures weren’t that bad either, but a part of her certainly missed her family. Unlike some of her peers, she had always got on with her parents and hadn’t seen tertiary education as an opportunity to escape. The fact that she had moved to a university six hours from home was because of the course, not her parents. She put the food in the freezer as her Mum filled the fridge and then turned to put on the kettle. After doing battle with the other Saturday shoppers, there was no question that her Mum needed a reviving brew. “Thanks, love,” her Mum said as she took a sip of the murky beverage. “Just what I needed.” She exhaled deeply, closing her eyes as she communed with the Gods of tea. “So, to be clear, I am not complaining, but how come you’re here on a Saturday morning? You must have travelled through the night to get here.” “Yeah, I came with Finn. He was visiting his parents this weekend so he said he would give me a lift if I wanted to see you guys as well. But yeah, we didn’t leave until about 2am after his gig had finished. Don’t worry, Mum,” she started as she clocked her mother’s raised eyebrows, “he hadn’t been drinking, he’s a teetotaller. I think he’s the only sober guitarist the world has ever seen.” Her Mum laughed. “Well, it’s lovely to see you, however you got here. Are you going back tomorrow?” Cara nodded. “Finn is picking me up after breakfast so we can hopefully be back in time for dinner at halls.” “Then we will have to make this evening count. Any requests?” “Well, I’m really in the mood for a roast turkey for eight, to be honest. Do you have one?” “Stop teasing me!” she laughed. “Lasagne?” “Yes, please. You know that’s my favourite.” “Right, well, as soon as I finish this cup of tea, I’ll get on with that and you can tell me all your news while I cook. Your father won’t be back until half two as he’s on earlies all this week. Oh, how come you were going up in the loft by the way?” Cara took a sip of her own drink. “Well, to be honest, it was lucky Finn was coming home this weekend as I need to find a document for uni. They need my birth certificate.” The cup in her Mum's hand stopped its journey to her mouth and her knuckles began to turn white as she gripped her mug more tightly. She was making an immense effort to appear casual. “Oh? What do they need that for?” “Just for their records.” Cara tried to match her nonchalant tone while internally questioning what was going on. “Apparently I should have submitted it when I applied, but it got missed out. Nothing major, I don’t think. More just a way of checking they spell my name correctly if I ever graduate.” She attempted a laugh. “Of course you’ll graduate, don’t be ridiculous.” “Hopefully.” The conversation petered out and an awkward atmosphere hung between the two women. “Well, I better get on with that lasagne.” Her Mum stood up with a tight smile on her face and headed to the sink to wash her mug. Cara remained seated at the table, trying to understand the yawning gap between them that she had never encountered before. She spent the rest of the morning fruitlessly looking in boxes in the loft. She had found boxes of framed photographs of long dead relatives - her Grandma, an Aunt she vaguely recognised holding a baby, the dog they had had when she was a child - along with boxes of baby clothes and old school books but nothing that resembled a birth certificate. Why couldn’t she find this bloody document? And why hadn’t her Mum just told her where it was when she had mentioned it? By the time her Dad arrived home from his shift, she was covered in dust and cobwebs and in a bad mood. “Well, this is a lovely surprise!” he shouted up to the loft. Cara peered down through the door in the floor of the loft to see her Dad’s smiling face and grey eyes shining up at her and she began to make her way back down the ladder. “I’m a sweaty surprise, I’m warning you.” “Ah, that doesn't matter,” he hugged her warmly despite the thick dust on her t-shirt. “Always lovely to have my daughter home.” “It’s nice to be home. Though it would be nicer if I could just find this birth certificate.” “Ah, yes. Your Mum mentioned that you’re looking for that. Have you looked in the box above the fridge?” “Yes, twice, and in your bedroom.” “Hmmm. Under the bed?” “Not there either. Only place left is the garage and I can’t imagine it’s there.” “Oh no. Nothing important would go in there. It floods every Autumn.” “Exactly.” “Sorry, I can’t help you, love.” Cara sighed deeply. “I guess I’ll just have to tell the uni I can’t find it and hope they’ll accept my passport.” Her Dad nodded. “Sorry I can’t be more of a help, love.” “It’s okay. Maybe I can order a copy online. You can these days.” “Maybe. Love, I’m going to let you get yourself cleaned up and then we can have a chat together in the kitchen. Catch up.” “Sounds great. I’ll be down in ten minutes or so.” Cara scraped the layers of dirt from her body and watched clean skin emerge from under the grey filth as she stood under the shower, the hot water cascading down her legs washing her frustration away. She felt like a new person as she put on her freshly laundered green top and a clean pair of jeans. Then she dashed down the stairs and opened the kitchen door to see her mother’s tear-stained face and hear her father’s voice, raised, for the first time in her life. “...gone on too long, Karen.” Cara stood on the threshold awkwardly as she took in the scene in front of her. For a moment she didn’t know what to say. “Is everything okay?” Her Dad turned to get and slowly shook his head. “No, sweetheart. No, it’s not.” Taking her by the hand, he led her to a seat at the wooden dining table. “We need to talk.” Cara sat herself down on the cushioned dining chair and glanced over to her Mum, who stayed in the kitchen and wouldn’t meet her eye. “What’s going on, Dad?” “Cara. Darling Cara. There’s something you need to know.” He pushed an A4 envelope towards her. The envelope was yellowing and curled at the corners. Looking up at her Dad to see a curt nod of encouragement, she opened the unsealed envelope to pull out a single sheet of paper. CERTIFICATE OF COPY OF AN ENTRY. BIRTH. She looked up and saw her Dad steadfastly looking at his calloused hands and massaging his thumbs. CHILD. DATE AND PLACE OF BIRTH: Eighteenth of September 2006. County Hospital. Cara felt her mouth go dry and swallowed hard. That was her birthday. NAME AND SURNAME: Anna Cara Windsor. FATHER. Cara looked up. It was blank. MOTHER. NAME AND SURNAME: Elaine Mary Windsor. Confusion rose up in her like a wave. “Whose is this and why do you have it?” she asked. “Sweetheart,” her Dad said kindly, “it’s yours.” Nothing made sense. “But it’s not my name. I’m Cara Elaine Sefton.” “Try to understand, love.” “Understand what?” she stood up, angrily. “What are you trying to say?” “We did what we thought was best!” “Who am I?” Cara felt hot tears flowing down her face and she hadn’t even realised she was crying. “You’re my daughter!” her Mum shouted suddenly from the kitchen. Cara had almost forgotten she was there, she had been so quiet throughout. “Then what is this?” she gestured to the birth certificate. Her Dad stood up. He was trying to stay calm but she could see he was trembling. “There is no easy way to say this. Not after all this time.” He took a deep breath and steeled himself to continue. “You are our daughter. Our precious, beautiful daughter. We have raised you since you were a baby. But biologically, no. You blessed someone else first.” “Who? Who is this Elaine Windsor?” “You know who she is. Who she was. She was your Mum’s sister.” Cara felt her jaw drop open as a bleak silence engulfed the room. Pieces of the puzzle fell into place. Auntie Elaine who had lived in the North. Auntie Elaine who had been a doctor. Auntie Elaine who had liked to listen to old jazz records in the bath. Auntie Elaine who had been killed in a car accident when Cara had been only two months old. “Auntie Elaine?” Now it was her mother’s turn to speak. “We promised her we would take you. When she was in the hospital...when she knew she wouldn’t make it. She knew we wanted a child and we couldn't, I couldn’t... We would have done it anyway. God, how we loved you before you were even ours... We made a promise.” “But the surname... it isn’t the same as Mum’s maiden name.” “She had been married and then got divorced before she had you. Never got around to changing it back,” her Dad replied. And now her Dad was handing her other documents. A certificate of name change, an adoption certificate confirming Karen and Geoffrey Sefton as the new parents. Each document she held had the weight of a feather but the value of gold. “There’s this too.” Meekly, her Dad passed over a photograph. It was the same woman and child she had seen in the boxes in the loft earlier that day. “I think you’re about one month old here.” Cara looked into the eyes of the woman who was her biological mother, trying to find similarities to her own features. Her insides felt numb. “Where were they?” she gestured to the documents and photograph now on the table, looking up at her, revealing their inky secrets. Dad gave a half-smile. “In the garage. Top shelf though. The garage floods every Autumn, you know.” Cara read and re-read the documents in silence trying to take it all in, to digest impossible news and reconcile her previous truth with these new discoveries. There were questions and there would be even more in the coming weeks and months. But today was about her and the first, unsteady step on the journey to discovering who she really was.