I never lose things. Ever. But this day was different. We’d just escaped a tense Christmas dinner with Carol’s dad. He’s getting older and every time we see him we notice he’s becoming more and more forgetful. It’s difficult for Carol to watch, difficult for us both really.

Thankfully James remained oblivious. He was looking up at me, asking ‘Can we get ice-cream dad? Can we?’

‘Ask your mum’ I said, reaching for my credit card and not finding it anywhere.

Carol nodded. ‘Don’t worry. I’ve got this,’ she said.

And so I shrugged and Carol paid and we walked back to our car with ice-cream dribbling down our chins. I congratulated myself for getting started on my New Year’s Resolutions a few weeks early — be more zen, spend more time with the family. Relax. Forget the card.

It turned up in the washing basket the next day.

***

Three weeks later, the statement arrived.

The card had only been out of my hands for 12 hours at most. And yet, there were unfamiliar charges dating back to December 25th. I had my suspicions about what had happened …

It took me a while to find the words to approach Carol. I climbed the stairs, dreading the conversation that was about to take place. Half-afraid, I knocked on the door of her studio. I never interrupt her painting, but I had to find out what was going on. She turned to look at me with a quizzical expression. ‘Is something wrong hun?’

I pulled my card from my wallet as I entered and tapped it on the statement which I spread open on the trestle table beside her.

‘Did you borrow my card without telling me?’ I asked.

She was always losing things and taking mine — a trait she and James shared.

I waited for a response, but Carol just stood there, her eyebrows furrowed slightly.

‘Listen.’

I fumbled with the keychain in my pocket.

‘I know you want to find out more about your mother. But genetic testing …’ I pointed to the line in the statement — $200 charged by Genomics Inc. ‘I didn’t realise it’d gone this far.’

Again, no response.

‘Look’, I sighed. ‘You could try talking to your dad again, you know. He can’t remember everything but there’s still time. There has to be a better way.’

Carol was biting her lower lip as she looked up at me from her canvas. Her eyes glistened and she put down the paintbrush.

‘I don’t know what you’re on about. Tests? What tests?’ She spat the word ‘tests’ like it was distasteful.

Had she really no idea what I was talking about? I couldn’t be sure. She seemed anxious.

I thought it was best to leave things there — let the dust settle. It had been a difficult few weeks.

‘It must just be a mistake.’ I said. ‘Probably some internet scam.’ I kissed her cheek, swept her escaping curls back behind her ear. ‘Don’t worry about it. We’ll sort it out.’

Poking my head into James’ room, I expected to find him tinkering with his Meccano kit or pulling apart his trains, just like normal. He always wants to know how things work — takes after his mum. He turns rings around me in maths, my little man.

In the darkened room, James sat cross-legged on the floor. His desk lamp was pointed directly at an A4 notebook tucked between his feet. Scattered in front of him were the coloured gel ink pens Carol had given him last Christmas, and which had lain unopened for just over a year.

I couldn’t believe my eyes. This was the first time he’d ever shown an interest in art — it’s such a key part of who I am, who Carol and I both are. I called out across the hall. ‘You have to see this, Caz! James is drawing pictures — he’s opened those pens you gave him!’

I heard the studio door open and Carol’s cautious footsteps pad across the hall.

As I peered down at the notebook, James’ work looked like abstract art. I saw something that reminded me of science shows I’d seen as a kid — like a double helix — two swirling S-shapes intertwined. Next to it was a kind of mandala: an assortment of coloured blocks arranged in a circle and connected by sweeping coloured arcs.

Denial is helpful at times — it protects you right up to the moment of reckoning.

‘It doesn’t fit,’ said James. ‘Look, Sam’ — He articulated my name ‘Sam’ very carefully. It had an unfamiliar ring to it. ‘It’s a gee-nome. It lives inside the nucleus. This is my one.’ He pointed. ‘And this is your one. You draw them in a circle, like this. There’s supposed to be tiny dots here … and numbers. But I can’t fit them in. See, Sam?’

‘What, too grown up to call me dad now?’ I retorted, rolling back on my heels slightly and looking over my shoulder knowingly at Carol.

When I turned back to face him, I felt a broad smile bursting forth from within me. I was so proud of my clever little man. He looked me straight in the eyes with cold indifference. He didn’t even skip a beat.

‘You’re not my dad,’ he said.