Free The Secret Daughter by Kelly Rimmer Page B

which they were so desperately trying to hide.
    In any case . . . there was a particular bitterness to the irony that I had struggled to keep my pregnancy a secret for even two days, only to have it bring all of their lies out into the open.
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    I knew I would have to go back to work some time. As I lay in bed the next morning, I toyed with the idea of a third day at home, but the endless emptiness of unfilled time seemed a curse. So I dressed, and I returned to my classroom, and I threw myself into my lessons with over the top enthusiasm. We played music games and I took one class out to the oval and had them form an orchestra of shouting. I revelled in the children’s laughter and the sunshine on our faces, and in the perfect distraction of the scent of freshly cut grass in the air.
    When lunchtime came and I checked my phone, I was rewarded by a voicemail from our doctor. My blood tests had all been clear, my hormone levels were absolutely perfect. It was somewhat less surprising now, but still a relief.
    It was a good day, in the end, and as I packed up to leave I was so glad I’d convinced myself to get out of bed that morning. It was only as I walked home that my mind wandered back to the mess of my family life. I dawdled – I’m no speed walker at the best of times, but that day, my thoughts drifted so far away that I was barely strolling. I pushed earbuds into my ears and turned on my manic jazz playlist on my phone, inviting the perfectly ordered chaos of Miles Davis and John Coltrane to keep me company.
    For a while, I let myself daydream. I thought about how one single piece of information had changed the way I viewed my past and my future. I had been so proud of the life I’d built and my personal series of humble achievements; I had a wonderful marriage, we had paid off our house, we were going to build a family. I’d travelled the world, and although it was by the skin of my teeth, I’d finished a university degree.
    But now, now that I knew , I wondered: who else could I have been? Would that other Sabina have been raised with siblings, and if so, would that have changed her attitude when it came to friendship? I’d lunged from one extreme to another even as an adult. At uni and in my cruise years, life was one endless party. For a while, I’d even shared a berth on the cruise ship – there were months where I had no private space at all, and it didn’t bother me one bit. I made friends easily and I could have them live in my back pocket, back then.
    Until, I suppose, I reached saturation point with that lifestyle and I moved back to dry land. As I’d put down roots, I’d naturally retreated into myself. In recent years, my social activities revolved around music. Most nights, I wanted to be at home, in my little nest with Ted. He really was enough for me, I never tired of his company at all.
    There were times, at least in recent years, when we’d get around to organising that dinner party we always talked about, and 9 p.m. would come, and I’d run out of energy for entertaining. Ted could tell hilarious anecdotes for hours and our guests would settle in for a late one, but I’d gradually fall quiet and then fade to silence. I’d learned to quietly exit, to apologise as politely as I could, and to take myself off to bed, recognising that I had nothing more to contribute to the conversation, and no more energy to maintain my part in it.
    I knew this was rude. I knew that it was confusing for our guests, and it was probably lazy and selfish too. Ted hated it when I did it. Would that other Sabina have been more consistent with other people? Would she have been kinder, or gentler, less self-centred?
    Would she even have liked music?
    Would she still have struggled to keep her curves under control? Had my biological family figured out the magic way to regulate their calorie intake and keep these food-loving genes in check?
    Would she still have worn her hair long, or would she have dared to cut it