Daddy's Little Girl

Daddy's Little Girl

Isabella grabbed the days shopping from the back seat of the Ford and collected her mail on the way into her little flat. She could not wait to go through the days bargains and work out what alluring outfit would be worn tonight. Jack had planned a surprise.

The stark white envelope with thick black letters made her heart skip. Already? Surely not. The large friendly lady who had taken the sample had assured her it would take a few weeks. Quick mental arithmetic confirmed two weeks had passed.

Shopping bags were dropped inside the door and the envelope singled out and examined. She stared at it, almost dared it to open itself. Her thoughts drifted to her father. How could he do this to her? The shock of the accident and his death had barely been digested when Mr Bromley, his solicitor, had called.

'Now Isabella I want you to remember people sometimes do strange things and it means nothing," he had started with warmth in his voice. Out of politeness she had nodded. 'I've known your father for a number or years and well…sometimes we did not see eye to eye, but of course I have to act on my client's instruction." He had shrugged his shoulders.

Isabella had started to get impatient. 'I don't understand." Perhaps he was trying to tell her there was no money, or she had been left out of the will. So be it she thought. She was only twenty-three but with a University degree, good job prospects, a loving boyfriend and no thoughts of getting rich quick.

'You see Isabella…," another hesitation and some fumbling with the document in front of him. 'Your father had some strange ideas of late, which I think did not reflect what he truly believed."

'Are you trying to tell me he has left me out of the will?" she interrupted, unable to contain herself any longer.

'Not exactly." Mr Bromley now removed his spectacles and swung them around their thin arms. 'You see your father wants you to undergo a DNA test and if you are his daughter, which surely you are, you will get half the estate."

Isabella had been taken by surprise. Part of her wanted to burst out laughing. He was kidding her? 'How much," she finally asked not sure what else to say.

Mr Bromley cleared his throat. 'About two and a half million dollars."

That had been three weeks ago. She had told no one. When Jack had asked she had evaded the question. Two days passed before she made the appointment to have the test done. And here were the results.

Open it, it would be a pleasure to discover you're not related to the bastard, part of her said. She kept the envelope in her hand and walked around her flat. She stopped in front of a picture on her mantle piece. A little girl was smiling on the back of the shoulders of a man. It was she and her father. She had adored her father. She still did. How could he do this to her? He was her father.

At her desk she pulled out a scrapbook. On the front of it was a picture drawn by someone no older than four or five. In adult hand writing it said -Daddy's girl'. She opened the book and walked down memory lane. He had showed no favour to her or her sister and kept the same book for both of them. She stared at the last pages. There were little bits and pieces on her studies and the very last page was a photo of her and her father at graduation. How proudly he smiled. She ripped the photo out, screwed it into a tiny ball and threw it against the wall. 'Bastard" she yelled before the tears came.

Eventually she stopped and looked at the dreaded white envelope again. Common sense thoughts like -I could really do with the money,' and -Jack and I could buy a house' and -I would not need to work full time,' filled her head. Who would forgo two and a half million dollars over pride? Maybe someone older, but not someone just on the other side of twenty-three. Her right index finger found the little edge to pull open. She had moved only about a millimetre before she stopped.

What a fool she was. There was every possibility the test would give a different result, and then what? Her world would be shattered and she would be no richer. Was it really worth it? Instinctively she pulled her finger back. Evil thoughts about her father invaded again. How dare him put her in this predicament. So far she had not had to make any major decision in her life and now this. Her father would know this. He even helped choose her university degree. There was no doubt this was one of the biggest decisions she had to make in her life.

She walked back into the kitchen and carefully placed the envelope on the spotless bench top. Then she picked up her parcels and shoved them into the bottom of the wardrobe. The joy she had received from the bargains early in the day had evaporated. She did not care to see them again. Her favourite jeans and t-shirt would be worn for the date.

Once she had tidied up she walked back into the kitchen. No doubt most people would have opened the envelope by now and would know the results. But then her father would have known she was not most people. Growing up, much to the amusement of her father, she had always placed other people's needs before her own. Every year at Christmas she made sure presents were purchased and donated to charity.

As she strolled along memory lane again she reached her decision. Swiftly she pulled out the gas lighter and picked up the envelope. She watched the ashes fall into the sink and momentarily farewelled a large amount of money, before resolving not to think of it again or raise it with anyone in the future.

About a week later there was knock on the door. She opened it.

'Dear Mia. What is the matter?" asked Isabella in alarm, for her sister was ashen white. They had not spoken since the funeral, some weeks ago.

'Why didn't you tell me?"
Isabella, surprised at the seriousness of her sister, took a step back. 'Tell you what?"

Her sister glared and nothing was said for a moment. Mia raised her left hand and Isabella caught it mid air. 'Don't you dare," she said even more surprised now.

'Do you really think me that shallow? Do you really think I would not share with you regardless of what his will said?"

Isabella smiled. So this is what it was about. So much for client and lawyer confidentiality. 'Dear Mia," was all she said. Then the sisters threw their arms around each other. They cried, they laughed and eventually they collapsed in a heap on the couch.

'Why didn't you tell me?" asked Mia sitting up and looking at her sister.

'Mia please, don't look at me with those serious eyes. What difference would it have made?" Isabella shrugged her shoulders. 'I thought about it and I was almost tempted to find out, but then I decided it was not worth it. What if it turned out he was not my father. Then what?" she shook her head. 'No I rather believe he was and stay poor." She patted Mia's arm. 'You however, my dear sister make sure you spend it wisely."

Mia stared at her for a while. Then she opened her hand bag and pulled out a white enveloped. 'There is no way you are not getting your share," she handed Isabella the envelope and raised her right hand to stop any protest. 'You will not be the only saint in this family."

They sat in silence and Isabella spoke first. 'I have an idea." She pulled her sister from the couch. 'There is one more thing we should do," she said and headed out the door.

At their father's grave Isabella pulled out pen and paper and started writing. When she was finished she turned to Mia. 'I once read a book set in Nepal. The hero wants to send a message to his dead father. He writes it down and then burns it on his father's grave."

'What did you write?"
Dear Dad
It came as a great a shock to us when you left so unexpectedly.
Mia and I want you to know we love you dearly and always will.

You know there is more to being a father than providing the sperm.
To us you will always be our father.
Love
Daddy's little girls

Isabella folded the letter and held it over the grave. 'You do the honour," she said with moisture in her eyes.

Arm in arm the sisters watched the smoke rise over their father's grave. Then held each other tightly and headed home.

By Tanya Thistleton.

Photo Credit: Hedgren, Essence Inner City Collection.