{"id":115,"date":"2015-07-15T10:39:27","date_gmt":"2015-07-15T10:39:27","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/marksaywriter.com\/?page_id=115"},"modified":"2021-02-03T17:54:13","modified_gmt":"2021-02-03T17:54:13","slug":"meeting-tara","status":"publish","type":"page","link":"https:\/\/marksaywriter.com\/index.php\/meeting-tara\/","title":{"rendered":"Meeting Tara"},"content":{"rendered":"

It began the day after my 50th<\/sup> birthday. I was nursing a mild hangover when a young woman phoned, told me her name was Tara and that she was my daughter.<\/p>\n

\u201cI had your name from a friend of my mother,\u201d she said. \u201cI Googled and found your business website and phone number on the internet. Going by the photo you must be the right age.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSorry,\u201d I replied. \u201cI\u2019m struggling to follow.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMy mum\u2019s name was Sarah. She was on holiday in Corfu in September 1988.\u201d<\/p>\n

A memory lit up. Sarah had been years older than me and eager for a bit of holiday nookie. Suddenly I was taking this young woman seriously.<\/p>\n

\u201cHow is she?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cShe died eighteen months ago. Cancer.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m sorry. But what did she tell you about me?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt was Jackie told me.\u201d<\/p>\n

I remembered Jackie, the friend who had put up with my mate Terry while Sarah and I had our fun.<\/p>\n

\u201cMum wanted a baby, didn\u2019t have a man in her life, and thought the holiday was the right place to try. She always planned to raise me alone.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSo I\u2019m your dad?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI believe so.\u201d<\/p>\n

She wanted to meet me. I agreed. She was able to come to London the weekend after next and stay with a friend, so we made a plan for lunch.<\/p>\n

The enormity of it sank in. I had two broken marriages, no children from either, and the idea of a family had faded away years before. I didn\u2019t have many friends \u2013 there had been three, along with one of my sisters and her husband, at my birthday dinner \u2013 and was resolved to life in my one bedroom flat until I went to a care home or a coffin. Now I had a grown up daughter. It made me feel more \u2026 significant.<\/p>\n

We met by Green Park station and said hullo with a squeeze of hands and awkward smiles. Tara looked like her mother \u2013 a prominent, straight nose, dark eyebrows and curly hair \u2013 not conventionally pretty but striking. I suggested a nearby Pizza Express and ten minutes later we were at a table sharing each other\u2019s lives. She had grown up in Exeter, happy with a single parent and satisfied with the explanation that her unnamed father had responsibilities to another family. She had gone to Bristol as a student and stayed after graduating, found a decent job and a nice flat in a nice street. She had plenty of friends, went home to her mum once a month while she was alive, and never felt inclined to ask the question that Sarah didn\u2019t want to answer. It was only after her mother died that she wanted to know about her father. A conversation with Jackie led to the revelation that a 38 year-old Sarah had gone to Corfu looking for a young man to make her pregnant. Jackie also remembered my Christian and surnames, both rare enough to make it pretty easy to find me on the internet. For the first time in my life I was glad to have those names.<\/p>\n

I told her about myself: parents who had passed away, two sisters, the divorces, the period when I drank too much, the business that survived without exactly thriving, living in a part of the city that was safe but dull. I liked her, and was already resolved to making her like me by being honest about myself. After the meal we took a long walk through Green Park then into Hyde Park, talking about what we did and things we liked. I was impressed that she was into classical music and spoke very good Spanish. She seemed impressed that I can play the guitar and like French movies. We bought coffees in paper cups at a stand near the Serpentine and sat on a bench, talking more and comfortable with each other.<\/p>\n

It was late afternoon when we had finished the drinks and she told me she was due to meet a friend. I would have liked to stay with her for longer, but knew this had been a very good start.<\/p>\n

\u201cHere,\u201d she said. \u201cI\u2019ll put these in that bin.\u201d<\/p>\n

She took my empty cup. I watched a couple of ducks amble along the path then glanced aside to see Tara by the bin, closing her handbag. She smiled at me, returned to the bench and said: \u201cIt\u2019s true, we can\u2019t leave our handbags alone.\u201d We walked back to the station together, agreed to speak on the phone soon, and parted with a kiss and a big hug.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m glad you found me,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n

\u201cSo am I.\u201d<\/p>\n

I spent the next few days containing my elation. I began to imagine our next meeting, reckoning I should offer to go to Bristol, or that I could introduce her to her aunts. Then I realised that we hadn\u2019t actually spoken about meeting family, and that maybe I should raise it with her before telling anyone. I decided it was a subject for the next phone call. It came on the following Friday evening.<\/p>\n

\u201cI have to apologise,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat for?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019re not my dad.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSorry, this was a bit sneaky, but I took your paper cup for a DNA test. It doesn\u2019t match mine.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBut, what about the time with your mum in Corfu?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cJackie told me that you went home at the end of their first week. Then another guy came along. I had his name as well, and our DNA does match.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019re having me on.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m not. Sorry, you\u2019re a nice man, and I enjoyed last Saturday, but now I know for sure it\u2019s not fair to string you along.\u201d<\/p>\n

I managed a goodbye then stood by the phone for half an hour, staring at the wall. I was back to being a lone divorcee with no kids. Except now it hurt.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

It began the day after my 50th birthday. I was nursing a mild hangover when a young woman phoned, told me her name was Tara and that she was my daughter. \u201cI had your name from a friend of my mother,\u201d she said. \u201cI Googled and found your business website and phone number on the … Read more<\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"parent":0,"menu_order":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","template":"","meta":{"footnotes":""},"class_list":["post-115","page","type-page","status-publish"],"yoast_head":"\nMeeting Tara - MARK SAY<\/title>\n<meta name=\"description\" content=\"Short story about a middle aged man contacted by a young woman who claims to be his daughter\" \/>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" href=\"https:\/\/marksaywriter.com\/index.php\/meeting-tara\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"en_GB\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:title\" content=\"Meeting Tara - 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