Read Online Boys Don't Cry by Malorie Blackman - Free Book Online
Authors: Malorie Blackman
Ads: Link
smiled at him. And I’d never heard Adam say he loved anyone. But just like that, he loved the baby. How did that work? And why did it make me feel so . . . so empty?
13
Dante
Adam didn’t want to give Emma back which, to be honest, was fine with me. I had things to do – like desperately trying to find a way out of my predicament.
I went on the Internet and looked up adoption, fostering, Melanie Dyson and paternity tests. It seemed that Dad was right about adoption – it would be bloody difficult, if not impossible, without Melanie’s agreement. Finding information about fostering was even harder. From the info I did manage to find, fostering seemed more likely than adoption, but even that was involved and convoluted. There was website after website about becoming a foster carer, but precious little about putting a child into foster care. All sorts of health workers and social workers had to get involved apparently. More people to witness the mess I’d made. And it seemed that the vast majority of kids were taken into foster care
because
of their parents, not put into foster care
by
their parents.
Every page I scanned about fostering made me feel more and more sub-human. This was supposed to be my child, my daughter, and here I was searching for ways to get rid of it. But I wasn’t just thinking of myself, I swear Iwasn’t. I mean, what did I have to offer a baby? In spite of what Dad said, it’d be far better off without me.
But first things first. I wouldn’t have a legal leg to stand on until I established once and for all whether or not the baby was really mine. That meant a DNA test. But how did I get one of those done without going on one of those shows where people told the whole nation their private business only to be lectured and harangued by the host before the DNA results were produced. Didn’t fancy that – at all. I Googled DNA tests, not expecting much. To my surprise there were loads of online organizations who carried out DNA tests to establish paternity. I scrutinized the details. It looked straightforward enough. If I coughed up most of my hard-earned money, they’d send me a DNA paternity kit. I had to swab the inside of my mouth for cheek cells – what they called a buccal swab – with what looked like a cotton bud. And I had to do the same with the baby, then send off the swabs. Five days after that, they’d send me the results and I’d know once and for all whether or not I was the baby’s dad. It’s not that I didn’t believe Melanie exactly, but she might’ve made a mistake. She must’ve made a mistake, in spite of what she said. It was possible. I had to know for sure. Nothing else could happen until I knew one way or another. I phoned the number provided by one site which seemed more slick and professional than all the others. Lowering my voice so I’d sound more . . . mature, I gave the woman at the other end of the line my details and the number of my one and only debit card. The fee was more than half of all the money I had in the world but I figured that if the outcomewas the one I wanted, it would be a small price to pay.
When I’d finished on my computer, I headed back downstairs. Adam was exactly where I’d left him. As I entered the room, he grinned at me, whispering, ‘She’s still asleep.’
Dad already had an action plan which he was following up and Adam was so accepting. They were both swimming. I was the only one drowning. I flopped down in the chair opposite Adam and watched how he held the baby so naturally, like it was no big deal, like he’d been doing it for years. Like it was the easiest thing in the world.
‘She’s lovely,’ Adam said softly. ‘You’re so lucky.’
‘Lucky?’ Was he kidding?
‘Yeah. You get to be loved unconditionally – at least until Emma realizes what a crap-head you are, which will probably happen when she’s a teenager. That’s when most kids realize their parents are crap-heads.’
‘Oh yeah?’ I said
13
Dante
Adam didn’t want to give Emma back which, to be honest, was fine with me. I had things to do – like desperately trying to find a way out of my predicament.
I went on the Internet and looked up adoption, fostering, Melanie Dyson and paternity tests. It seemed that Dad was right about adoption – it would be bloody difficult, if not impossible, without Melanie’s agreement. Finding information about fostering was even harder. From the info I did manage to find, fostering seemed more likely than adoption, but even that was involved and convoluted. There was website after website about becoming a foster carer, but precious little about putting a child into foster care. All sorts of health workers and social workers had to get involved apparently. More people to witness the mess I’d made. And it seemed that the vast majority of kids were taken into foster care
because
of their parents, not put into foster care
by
their parents.
Every page I scanned about fostering made me feel more and more sub-human. This was supposed to be my child, my daughter, and here I was searching for ways to get rid of it. But I wasn’t just thinking of myself, I swear Iwasn’t. I mean, what did I have to offer a baby? In spite of what Dad said, it’d be far better off without me.
But first things first. I wouldn’t have a legal leg to stand on until I established once and for all whether or not the baby was really mine. That meant a DNA test. But how did I get one of those done without going on one of those shows where people told the whole nation their private business only to be lectured and harangued by the host before the DNA results were produced. Didn’t fancy that – at all. I Googled DNA tests, not expecting much. To my surprise there were loads of online organizations who carried out DNA tests to establish paternity. I scrutinized the details. It looked straightforward enough. If I coughed up most of my hard-earned money, they’d send me a DNA paternity kit. I had to swab the inside of my mouth for cheek cells – what they called a buccal swab – with what looked like a cotton bud. And I had to do the same with the baby, then send off the swabs. Five days after that, they’d send me the results and I’d know once and for all whether or not I was the baby’s dad. It’s not that I didn’t believe Melanie exactly, but she might’ve made a mistake. She must’ve made a mistake, in spite of what she said. It was possible. I had to know for sure. Nothing else could happen until I knew one way or another. I phoned the number provided by one site which seemed more slick and professional than all the others. Lowering my voice so I’d sound more . . . mature, I gave the woman at the other end of the line my details and the number of my one and only debit card. The fee was more than half of all the money I had in the world but I figured that if the outcomewas the one I wanted, it would be a small price to pay.
When I’d finished on my computer, I headed back downstairs. Adam was exactly where I’d left him. As I entered the room, he grinned at me, whispering, ‘She’s still asleep.’
Dad already had an action plan which he was following up and Adam was so accepting. They were both swimming. I was the only one drowning. I flopped down in the chair opposite Adam and watched how he held the baby so naturally, like it was no big deal, like he’d been doing it for years. Like it was the easiest thing in the world.
‘She’s lovely,’ Adam said softly. ‘You’re so lucky.’
‘Lucky?’ Was he kidding?
‘Yeah. You get to be loved unconditionally – at least until Emma realizes what a crap-head you are, which will probably happen when she’s a teenager. That’s when most kids realize their parents are crap-heads.’
‘Oh yeah?’ I said
Similar Books
