Nicola Barker - Darkmans

He blamed Match of the Day . An advert had randomly caught his attention (on one of the hoardings at the edge of the pitch–

Man Utd v West Ham ).

— which said simply: DADCHECK.COM.

Dad-check?

Dad Check ?

There were few things Isidore was absolutely certain of (‘There’s nothing certain in this world, my son,’ his father always used to say — before his final stroke, the really bad one, after which he formally dispensed with casual conversation), but Elen’s faithfulness was never in question. Her honour was unimpeachable. This was one of the few subjects on which Dory was absolutely unequivocal.

DADCHECK

But also he knew (with a feeling just as powerful, just as strong) that the boy was a stranger. The boy did not belong .

There was something…

And it wasn’t that he didn’t love him–

Oh God, no

He did. He loved him dearly–

There was just…

Put it this way: if the boy was a sum (a lovely little fraction; or a piece of calculus, say), then everything about him, superficially speaking, seemed exactly as it should be. He was all neatly spaced out, everything in the right place–

S o to speak…

But the bottom line (and there was always a bottom line — in life, in arithmetic) was that he just didn’t add up . The answer was wrong. Where there should’ve been a tick, there was a cross.

And it didn’t matter how much he tried to ignore it–

That huge cross, in red ink—

That stupid, awful, ugly cross…

— it was still there. It was undeniable. It shouted — yelled, screamed

— out at him.

Of course he didn’t dare utter a word–

Not a word

— to Elen about it (a betrayal? At that level? How could she ever forgive him?), but when the advert caught his eye (on tv — during a football match — everything so perfectly innocent , so incredibly calm and…and ordinary… ) he quietly committed it to memory.

DADCHECK.COM

Dad/check…

He repeated the words to himself — over days, weeks, months — until they were finally stripped of all their mystery. He rendered them uncontentious–

Like cup,

Hat,

Cat,

Egg

He de-sensitised them…

Dad-check

Dad-check—

Heartbeat? Steady.

Breathing? Regular.

Sweat? Nope. None.

DADCHECK.

Dad-check.

Dad–

Yawn

— Check…

Then–

Bang!

— he accessed the site. He completed a small money order. He received a neat package–

At work, of course…

The Release Form

The two swabs

— cornered the boy, one fine, winter morning, and made the whole procedure into a nice, little game for him–

Fleet! Watch Daddy do this!

In my mouth…

See?

Shall I do it to you, too?

Shall we have a quick go? Just for fun?

Open up!

One…

Two…

He posted it off.

Several weeks later he received a letter. There’d been ‘a problem’ with the swabs, an ‘irregularity’. It was ‘perfectly normal’. Would he mind awfully repeating the procedure? For free?

The boy was less cooperative the second time (‘But why don’t we show Mummy? Or Lester? Urgh! No , Daddy! That tastes really funny!’), but it was quickly done.

More waiting.

Then someone from the laboratory rang his mobile. ‘My name’s Patricia Robbins,’ she said, ‘I’m an independent consultant and I’m ringing about your Paternity Test…’

‘Do you have the results?’ he’d asked, his heart speeding up. ‘Yes,’ she paused. ‘Well, no . I mean, it’s not quite as simple as that…’

‘Not simple?’ Isidore scowled. ‘Am I the boy’s father, or not?’

Patricia Robbins drew a deep breath. ‘Is there any chance you might come in,’ she asked, ‘so we can talk this thing through, face to face?’

‘No.’

Isidore was resolute.

‘Okay. Well, the genetic blueprint…’ she explained carefully, ‘I mean I presume that you read all of the information enclosed with the…?’

‘Of course,’ Isidore snapped.

‘Then you’ll be familiar with the idea that we draw our information from a series of coloured rings …’

‘Yes. I remember.’

‘Well the boy’s genetic data…’ she cleared her throat, anxiously, ‘I’m afraid it isn’t actually in colour.’

Silence

‘I don’t understand,’ Isidore murmured, ‘I mean…I just need to know…’

‘Nor do I. I’ve never seen anything like it. The first swab was confused. In faded pastels. Unclear . We initially thought it was just a glitch, a problem with the procedure. But by the second swab…well, things had really degenerated. And it came out… uh …’

She paused.

‘What?’

‘It came out all…’ She swallowed, nervously. ‘It came out all…all dark .’

Isidore pulled the phone away from his ear. He closed his eyes. He called on The Witness. The Witness responded. It counselled him to keep his nerve, to bite his tongue, to proceed on, calmly, with the conversation.

He returned the phone to his ear again.

‘Is the boy my son?’ he asked, stolidly.

‘Yes. I mean he…he was …’ she stuttered. ‘I mean I think he was — so far as I could tell…but not …’ she cleared her throat, nervously, ‘but he isn’t…he isn’t now .’

‘What do you mean?’ Dory’s voice rose by an octave.

‘I don’t know,’ she said, ‘I don’t know what I mean. It’s just a blip. You’re just a blip. Science — if you think about it— progress , even, is defined by the very things it can’t possibly take account of.’

Silence

‘Perhaps it might be best to just take another test…’ she suggested.

‘Is this a set-up?’ Isidore’s voice was hoarse and raw. ‘Or some kind of horrible joke ? Did Elen find out? Is that it?’

‘We have counsellors,’ she said, ‘wonderful counsellors, who’ve been specially trained to deal with…’

‘Am I the boy’s father ?’ Dory yelled, tears running down his cheeks.

‘No.’

Patricia was unequivocal.

Isidore’s jaw dropped.

‘But on a slightly more positive note,’ she conceded, ‘there’s just a faint possibility that he might actually be yours. I mean from ten — maybe eleven or so — generations back.’

She paused. He heard some papers being shuffled.

‘Although… uh …just to be on the safe side,’ she averred cautiously,

‘perhaps I might quickly retabulate that.’

‘Oh yeah ,’ Kelly sneered, ‘he can be the nicest bloke in the whole, damn world to start off with. Until you fall out with him, that is. Or until he falls out with you , more like. He’ll be funny an’ cuddly an’ sweet— nothin’s a hassle, nothin’s too much trouble. And then, just when you’re getting used to it, just when you’re gettin’ all snug an’ cosy… Snap! ’

She snapped her skinny fingers, to illustrate. ‘He switches it all off. Quick as that. Turns cold as ice. Treats you worse than somethin’ dirty he dragged in on his shoe. Wouldn’t throw you a rope if you was drownin ’, I swear to God…’