I was searching in the attic when I found it.

Who would have thought that a little brown folder could make such a difference?

Actually, at the time I was looking for some schoolwork Mom had thought was Mitchell's and put up there. I knew it was in a folder, but I couldn't remember what colour it was.

"I think it was grey," Mom had said in an offhand voice. "Have a look up there."

So I reached out and took the folder off the shelf, but it was kind of obvious as soon as I saw the title that it wasn't my schoolwork. My name- Fred- with a year next to it, which was faded but still just about legible as 1994. Although it wasn't my math stuff- I knew the teacher would have a fit if I didn't bring it in- I was curious.

I stuffed it under my jumper. I knew Mom would say I was prying into her private stuff, and clearly it had been put up here, separate from the rest of the folders Mom and Dad stored stuff like bank details and that in, for a reason. They didn't want me seeing. Me or Mitchell, from the look of it. It was sealed with duct tape, and that meant it was serious. So I was curious- I mean, it had my name, my year of birth, all that kind of stuff. And it wasn't with everything else.

I know that parents try and keep stuff from you for a reason sometimes. Just like kids keep secrets from their parents. Sometimes even for the same reason- there'd be trouble. But your own past? That's something you need to know about.

That's why I took it and carried on looking for my math stuff.

I found it eventually, half-hidden underneath a box of Mitchell's stuff. He left most of his kid clothes and that behind, and Mom and Dad hadn't got round to getting rid of them yet. Some of them they were saving for my little baby nephew, Tom (Mitchell's son), who was fast outgrowing baby stuff aged two. Other stuff they were planning to chuck. For now it was making the rafters groan up here in the attic.

"You got your math folder?" Mom asked as I went through the kitchen on the way to my room.

"Yeah, it was in with Mitch's things."

"Sorry, Freddy. Try putting your name on it next time."

"Sure."

I escaped Mom and headed to my room.

Once safely inside and with the door locked, I started trying to take the duct tape off the folder. Man, was it strong! Dad had put seven, eight layers on, which heightened my curiosity. This was something they didn't want me to see.

Guilt sliced through me for a second, but I ignored it and scrabbled in a drawer for my scissors. It was probably nothing they hadn't already told me.

My heart told me that wasn't true.

I kept snipping and eventually the duct tape fell away. The folder lay opened on my duvet, and I stared at it for a few seconds, fiddling with a hole in my duvet cover. The scissors lay innocently next to a small pile of shreds of duct tape.

Surely it wouldn't hurt just to see what was inside?

I opened the cover- and it came off in my fingers, exposing everything inside.

Oops.

Maybe I could just swap it with another identical folder. Hopefully they'd never know.

I pulled the uppermost thing out and started reading it.

It was a newspaper article, something about a miracle conception. A woman and a man stood on the front step of their house, beaming. It took me a second to recognise it as the house next door, but our neighbour on that side was a grouchy old lady who yelled at anybody who came within five feet of her house (I got yelled at a lot).

This was clearly a clipping from several years ago; it was faded and Mrs Thomason hadn't arrived yet. Lucky people, not having to put up with her constant screeching.

The people in the article were named as Felix and Rose Lane, a couple who had recently moved to Ohio. The article said that they hadn't been able to conceive a baby naturally, so they had resorted to a specialist clinic to try and have a baby. The clinic had told them that put together, they wouldn't be able to have a child without specialist help, so they had been referred to a gene clinic in Ohio for treatment and, against all odds, had conceived a baby with the help of this clinic. Probably IVF treatment, I guess. For some reason, there was a photo of my parents there as well, standing next to Felix and Rose, smiling.

There was a birth announcement held with a paper clip to the bottom of the clipping, another clipping from the same newspaper and about as old. It announced the birth of their baby boy, whom they had named Frederick. Like me.

Maybe I was reading about somebody else, a boy born to our old neighbours and who had moved away or something. A boy who happened to have the same name as me and- looking closer- the same date of birth. 19th October, 1994. I couldn't help doubting that was coincidence. Everything seemed to be muddled, and so far the clues (I was treating this like a small private mystery in my mind) didn't fit in or add up in any way. Was I this kid? But his name was Fred Lane. Mine was Jones. But then there was the way the folder was all bound up, as though the sealer really wanted to keep it private at all costs. And the way it had been hidden in the attic.

I pulled a birth certificate out, the one for Fred Lane. It had all my information on it, but the parents, predictably, were Felix and Rose Lane.

Why would they have this guy's birth certificate? Now my instincts were telling me firmly that something was amiss. Something was wrong here.

I reached in further and found a second newspaper clipping, this time reporting on a traffic accident on the north road out of Ohio. I went up there sometimes, occasionally with the gang, more often with my parents, visiting my grandma. I read through, and then it got to a list of casualties.

Right at the top, Felix and Rose Lane, pronounced dead at the scene.

Underneath it said that their son had been rushed to hospital in a critical condition. He wasn't expected to survive- so maybe Mom and Dad had taken all this stuff in after this guy had died and kept it because Felix and Rose couldn't? But that still didn't really make sense. Rose had a sister; it said they'd been travelling to see her when the crash had happened. So all the stuff would've gone to her.

There was another article behind this, simply saying that despite being given a twenty percent chance of living, Fred Lane had survived and was being adopted by "close family friends" when he was out of hospital.

Then I just turned the folder over and let everything fall onto my bed, wanting to know the story behind this. Something was creeping up on me, a realisation, and I badly wanted to know more.

There was a sheaf of papers that looked very official, with proper stamps and everything, in a plastic wallet. On the top was "ADOPTION PAPERS".

And that's when it smacked into my face.

Fred Lane was still here. He was me.

I probably gasped out loud or something, because there was a knock at my locked door and I scrambled to hide all the stuff under my bed, shoving it down and brushing a spider off my hand before hurriedly opening the door to see Dad looking at me with a strange look on his face.

"You OK, son? I heard you say something."

"Yeah, yeah, sure. I'm fine."

His eyes narrowed, but- to my intense relief- he let it go.

As soon as I'd closed and re-locked the door, slowly so as not to arouse suspicion, I went back and pulled the adoption papers out from under my bed. Just one look inside and I knew what had happened.

The first sheet said that the name of the child had been changed, from Fred Lane to Fred Jones, and that he'd been given a middle name, Herman (thanks for that, Mom!). The kid's registered address had been changed from next door to my place, and his registered parents had been changed to mine.

I was adopted.

A shiver ran down my spine as I looked at the papers.

Never before today had I suspected that I might be adopted. People always say that I look like my uncle, or my dad, or just someone in my family. I look like Mitchell, and the first thing my dad said when he saw Tom was, "Oh, Freddy, he looks just like you when you were a baby!"

I wasn't even related to them by blood.

I wasn't conscious of standing up, or walking over to my computer, and I didn't even register turning it on or opening the search engine; the first thing I was aware of doing was typing "Felix and Rose Lane" into the search engine and pressing the enter button.

The first thing that came up was a memorial site, one that held records since 1990. It had memorials for both, and a joint memorial.

I went into the joint memorial and scrolled down. Everyone was saying "They were such a lovely couple, they went through so much to have a baby and then they only knew him for a year and ten months. They deserved to have stayed longer", or things like that.

Right at the bottom was one signed "Penny Jones".

"I am so sorry that you left, both of you. I promise that I will take good care of your son, if he survives."

Well. Looks like he did.

The next day was terrible. I forgot the math folder- after all that had happened just because I was looking for it- and got a major tongue lashing in math. And another one because I wasn't paying attention.

"Come on, kid! First the folder, and now this. How hard is it to keep your attention span on the lesson? Last time I looked you weren't number-blind, so stop daydreaming of the sneaked kiss behind the bike shed or whatever and concentrate!"

The "sneaked kiss" part was the worst. I could feel my face reddening as everyone else sniggered. The others noticed too, and for the rest of the lesson I barely looked up, knowing that I would see the smirks on the other kids' faces and not really wanting to.

Shaggy caught my arm at break and just asked, "Like, what's happened?"

Boy did I want to tell him. I wanted to blurt out everything. Absolutely everything. Every last detail. I wanted to let it off my shoulders, bring someone else into the equation (a very different one to the ones I had tried to concentrate on in the failed math lesson). I wanted someone else to know about it, help me with it. But I couldn't tell him. I opened my mouth and it refused to come.

So I just said, "I'll see you in home room," and left for the sanctuary of the gym.

I probably spent a little too long there, looking back.

When I got home (much later than usual) Mom was waiting for me.

"Where have you been?"

"Nowhere," I said defensively, shrugging my bag off my shoulders and chucking it down on the shoe rack, just the way she hates it.

"Pick that up this instant, Fred Jones! Where have you been for the last hour? Answer me properly! I want to know why you are this late home, who you have been with and that it will never happen again! I was this close to calling the police out to find you, young man, and you're very lucky I didn't. I want you to answer me!"

"Oh, Penny, leave it, boys will be boys," Dad called from the living room, watching a game on the couch. Mom's nostrils flared dangerously, but she let me pass, snatching my bag from me and putting it on the hook as I went.

"This had better be the last time, Fred. I mean it. Look at me!"

"It will be."

I crossed my fingers in my pocket as I said it.

"Good. I got a call from school, by the way."

"Who from?"

"Your math teacher. He said that you didn't bring the folder in and that you weren't paying any attention in class. Do we pay our taxes so that you can sit around daydreaming about kissing Daphne in class?"

"I don't daydream about kissing her! She's a friend, Mom, I've told you a million times."

"A likely story," Mom huffed, disappearing into the kitchen. Dad looked over his shoulder at me.

"Fire blanket needed for your face, son."

I sighed and headed upstairs. The folder waited.

I spent the next week holding the secret of my adoption close to my chest. I didn't give any sign that anything was wrong for the rest of the week, although Shaggy still asked what had been bugging me Monday.

I wanted to tell someone. Eventually. And I wanted to let Mom and Dad know that I knew. I wanted that so badly.

I didn't, though.

Mom told me on Thursday that Mitchell was coming over for Sunday lunch. It's a big thing in Mom's family, probably because her grandma was insanely religious and insisted that the whole family get together on Sunday.

"He'll be bringing Ella and Tom as well," she added. "We can finally clear out some of that junk in the attic and give it to him."

My heart thunked in my chest.

If they went into the attic and saw that the folder was missing, they'd know I knew and confront me. I wanted to be the one to tell them, rub it in that they hadn't told me. It was in a prominent place, and something of that importance- they would definitely spare it a glance.

So. It would have to be Sunday, then.

I guess it would be fitting. I would be telling Mitchell at the same time.

So everyone would know the little secret that Mom and Dad had been keeping for thirteen years.

Sunday rolled over and Mitchell's battered Toyota made its way onto the driveway and parked next to my van. Since I was fifteen, I had to have someone with me when I drove it, but technically I was a learner driver and therefore could drive it. It was a gift from Daphne's dad, he had no use for it but it was still driveable and Daphne said it would be a brilliant birthday present for me. I'd almost fainted when I came out of the house and saw the paint job Shaggy had given it- I was thinking red- but it grew on me.

"Not a proper driver yet?" he joked, grinning at me as I stood next to Dad. "You wait. I'll thrash you on a race track."

"In that?" I parried, pointing at his ancient Toyota. He laughed.

"That from a boy who drives a Flower Power van."

"At least mine won't break down halfway through the race," I grinned. He sighed.

"Alright, fine, so mine's a little less reliable… Bet it's better through the corners."

I ignored him and went back inside, back into my room. The folder was lying on my duvet, innocent and small and insignificant but about to make a big revelation in my "family". Did the person who stapled it together in the factory think about what it might contain one day? Plans for an atomic bomb, important US State files, or maybe even just the secret adoption papers for a teenage boy. He or she wouldn't have known, but maybe they did daydream about it as they passed it along.

"Freddy! C'mon, time for lunch! We're serving!"

"Or do I get your portion?" Mitchell called teasingly up the stairs. I didn't reply and his voice found its way up again.

"Come on, ascot boy. Are you coming or not?"

"Remember when you wore bottle green jodhpurs for three weeks as a kid and Dad took a picture of you out in the yard?"

Mitchell laughs.

"Better than wearing an orange ascot for seven years."

"Sentimental value."

"It still sucks as a fashion icon."

"And?"

"C'mon, the food's getting cold."

I slid the folder under my bed and folded the adoption papers as small as they would go, then slipped them into my pocket.

Their time would come.

I toyed with my fork at the table, thinking of the papers in my jeans and feeling them through the pocket lining, wishing I could get them out. But right now Ella was feeding Tom and all attention (except mine) was on them.

I quietly slid them out, unable to bear it any longer. My heart thudded in my mouth. I could hear my pulse in my ears.

The day of truth, Freddy.

I sighed at myself quietly and waited until everyone else had turned back to the table.

"Mom?"

"Mm-hm?"

In for the kill, Freddy.

I held the papers up and slowly watched her expression and Dad's, which became identical within the second, change from normal to fear to oh-no-my-huge-secret's-just-been-uncovered-by-my-son.

"What are these?"

She reached out to try and grab them, but I held them just out of reach.

"Answer me, Mom."

Normally she'd tell me off for cheek at that. Now she just stood up and grabbed at the papers.

"They're nothing, Freddy, nothing important. Have you read them?"

"Of course I have."

"Give them here, those are important, Freddy! Where did you find them?"

"In my adoption folder."

That made her stop. That made them all stop.

"What?" Mitchell hissed, looking at the papers, then at me with a look of incredulity on his face. Ella stopped feeding Tom and looked up abruptly, shock coating her face and her eyes darting between me and Mitchell and my parents.

"You never said he was adopted!"

"Let me explain-" Dad began, but I cut in immediately.

"No, Dad. I will."

And I threw the papers to Mitchell, who opened them and read them, his eyes getting wider and wider with each line he read.

"No way," he whispered when he reached the end.

"Yes way. See? That's solid proof that I'm adopted. You can't deny it."

"Freddy-" Dad began again, but I ignored him.

"Well. Now that that's over with, I'll just be going somewhere."

I stood up abruptly, and walked towards the stairs, all eyes still on me. I grabbed my schoolbag from the peg and emptied it onto the floor. Nobody said a word.

I walked up into my room and grabbed my wallet, my cell phone, the keys to the van (I don't know why), a couple of jumpers and my jacket. I shoved the jumpers into the bag with the wallet, cell phone and keys and pulled the jacket on, then put the bag on my shoulders and walked back down, to the front door.

I opened it- and Dad's hand shot out to grab my arm.

"I can't let you run away, son. We can sort this out if you just stay here."

Perhaps, in my normal mind, I would have stayed. But I was out of control. My head pounded with everything I had uncovered that week. I didn't trust him any more. I couldn't trust him to tell me everything.

"Bye, Mom. Bye, Dad. Bye, Mitchell, Ella, Tom."

And I yanked my arm out of Dad's grasp and slammed the door behind me, ignoring the screeching of Mrs Thomason next door and walking away from the house, down the road.

And then I started running.

Running to get into the centre of Ohio, the centre of town. I found my way in and dodged between shoppers, slipping through the shopping centre, trying to get as far away from the home of lies and deceit I'd left as I could.

When I was inconspicuous, hiding in a shop on the outskirts of the shopping centre, I pulled my cell phone out and turned it on. The shop assistant glared at me and pointed to a "no cell phones" sign above the door, so I quietly left and walked along the high street as I pressed the button to call Daphne.

The phone rang once, twice, three times, and then finally she picked up.

"Freddy? What's going on? Your parents just called mine and said you'd run away… Seriously. Tell me what's happened."

So I did.

She was silent for a minute or so while I told her everything, and when I'd finished all she said was, "Do you want to meet me?"

"It'll just be you, right?"

"Of course. Nobody else, just us."

I accepted quietly, then cut the call- but the phone started ringing as soon as I cut. It was Mitchell's cell phone number.

Of its own accord, my finger hovered over the "accept call" button, hoping I would press it.

But instead I pressed the "deny call" button, turned the phone off and slid it into my pocket, walking towards the meeting spot Daphne had said- our old tree house in the wood near my place, accessible by bus and not in sight or reach of the house.

"Freddy? That you?"

"Yeah. Can you let the ladder down?"

Daphne unhinged it and it fell, one rung hitting me in the eye. I winced and rubbed the spot it hit.

"Sorry…" Daphne called softly, and I started up the ladder with my eye still smarting.

We sat in silence for a minute before Daphne spoke.

"You dad said that if you called me, I should let him know."

"Did you?"

"No, course not."

"Thanks."

A little more silence fell over us, and then Daphne twisted her body and put her hand on top of mine. I smiled at her.

"Freddy, they're out looking for you, trying to track you. They might see us."

"Let them. I don't care."

"Aren't you running away from them?"

"Have you seen my parents running? They wouldn't be able to overtake an OAP on a Zimmer frame. And Mitchell and Ella aren't in the sporty department any more. Besides, Ella stayed at home with Tom."

"Maybe you should listen to what they've got to say."

"They'll only spin me more lies. More and more. They won't give me the truth straight, they'll go round the bits they don't want me to know and they'll only tell me part of the truth. I can't trust them anymore."

"You lived with them for fifteen years," Daphne said quietly. I shook my head.

"Thirteen, Daph. Thirteen years they've lived with me."

"They're still your parents. Do you really trust them that little, Freddy?"

I bit my lip.

"They would've known you when you were little anyway, if your real parents were their next door neighbours."

"But they weren't my parents then. And they never told me."

"Well, how will you forgive them if you won't listen to them? You can't just run away and postpone the truth indefinitely. Do you have food, drink? Clothes? No. All you've got is a rucksack with a couple of jumpers in it and what you're standing in. Look at the logic, Freddy."

"I guess you won't help, then." I turned away from her and pulled my hand out from under hers, looking out over the trees in the little wood. I couldn't see my street from here, and I was glad of it.

"Freddy, please. Can't you even hear me out?"

I turned back to her, sighing as I did so but ready to listen to her.

"Maybe there's a side of this you don't know, but they do. It doesn't sound to me like they'd just keep your adoption from you like that unless there was another twist to it all. I think you should go back and hear them out like you're hearing me out now. Just listen to what they've got to say. If you need time, you could come and stay with me or something. But just hear their side of the story, Freddy."

I was confused now. Daphne's words had opened a new door, a new way to sort this out. But I didn't just want to surrender. That would make this seem almost insignificant, and it wasn't. It was my life, my past, my parentage.

"I don't want to do that. That's why I left, Daph. So that I didn't have to hear them out yet. Maybe I will, one day. But not yet. I'm still trying to understand all this, take it in. I don't want to complicate it even further."

"Well, maybe you'd be making it simpler."

"I don't think so."

"You don't know until you've tried."

The role reversal hit me in the face as she said it. Just for now, she was the logical one, thinking things through, and I was the impulsive one, running away from home, not thinking the situation through in the slightest. I smiled at the thought. It seemed to have struck Daphne too, because she let a grin slip onto her face and giggled for a second.

"Seriously. I think there's a second side to this."

"Maybe there is. Maybe you could find it out."

"You'd be better suited to the job."

"Not if you told them it was for me."

"They'd demand to know where you were," Daphne said quietly, putting her hand back on top of mine. She picked it up and started rubbing it between her hands, thinking hard.

"Maybe I could, I guess. But I'd need you to come with me."

"Why?"

"Oh, come on, Freddy. Do you think I'd walk into the lion's den alone? I'd need you there, especially as it's you I'm doing this favour for."

I smiled.

"OK. I'll be there."

The next day and I was quietly waiting for Daphne to emerge from her house, having spent an uncomfortable and cold night outside in the tree house. Daphne had brought out a duvet and some food, but they hadn't helped much.

Eventually, and fifteen minutes later than planned, she walked out and over to me, yawning slightly and shielding her eyes from the sun.

"You're up early," she commented, looking at me.

"Not really. A tree house isn't the comfiest place ever to sleep."

She smiled and reached out, holding my hand for a second before letting it drop to my side. I smiled back, trying to look at ease when my insides were pumping. Her hand on mine didn't help to ease my nervousness.

The walk seemed to take barely a second, even though it was at least ten minutes, and before I had had a chance to gather my wits Daphne was ringing the doorbell at my place, smiling at me surreptitiously as I hid in a dustbin recess, keeping a low profile. Dad opened the door and beckoned Daphne to come in, looking up and down the street as he did so, as if he was hoping to see me. Some chance.

I heard his voice.

"Has Freddy sent you here?"

"No."

Thank you, Daphne.

"What do you want to know? Have you seen from him? Heard from him?"

"I heard from him."

"Where is he?"

"Why do you want to know so bad?"

"Why?" Dad sounded almost incredulous, and I imagined him running his hand through his hair, the way he always does when he talks like that. "Daphne, I need to know he's safe. He's my son, for crying out loud."

"Not genetically."

Dad lowered his voice suddenly, and I inched forwards, trying to make out what he was saying, with the feeling that it might be important…

He suddenly yelled, pointing at my shadow.

I turned and ran.

The front door burst open behind me, and Dad came running out, followed by Mom. I knew they wouldn't catch me in a million years. I was several times faster than they were- but panic made me run like the wind, blindly and hastily.

I ran out into the road. I had no idea why at the time, but I did.

And I didn't see the bus until it was too late.

It tried to swerve, I heard the squeal of anguished, tortured brakes inches away from me, and then heard and felt simultaneously the thump of the front of the bus on my side, pinning my arm to it and throwing me to the floor. And all I could see was the dark tarmac in front of my face and slowly red, spreading from me, from my body, and I shut my eyes hard, refusing to believe it, and the world went darker than any tarmac as Daphne screamed my name and the sounds faded until it was only her, right next to me, her hand on mine, calling for me to rise, to wake.

But instead my body fell, into blackness, into dreams of being thrown back onto the tarmac again and this time into the hellish centre of the earth, hearing my name screamed by Daphne as I fell into a blood-red abyss from which I could never get out.

The first thing I heard when I woke up was a beep. Not like a cell phone, like a hospital monitor. Electronic, metallic, like the ones you hear on medical dramas on TV.

So I was in hospital.

You ran out in front of a bus. Go figure, Freddy.

Someone was with me, I could hear them talking. A girl, not much older or younger than me. I guess it might be Daphne, and then I heard her voice properly.

"I'll tell him when he wakes up."

I could tell it was Daph. She sounded slightly happy, but mainly tearful. I didn't get why.

Do I have to repeat myself again? You are slow. You're in hospital.

I knew the answers to the questions I was asking inside, but the fog in my brain made them hard to access properly. I struggled to wake up on the outside, giving up on the inside, and heard Daphne say something, it sounded like it was being said to me.

"Freddy? Come on, Freddy, wake up…"

Yes, she was telling me to do what I was trying to do. I clenched one fist under the blanket on top of me. Why wouldn't the other one do the same?

Then my eyes just about opened and Daphne's face swam into focus, smiling at me, her eyes shining, partially happy, partially tearful.

"Freddy. Welcome back."

"Huh?"

"You've been asleep for three days."

"Three days?"

"Yeah. They were beginning to think you'd passed into a coma."

She reached down and brushed a stray hair out of my eye.

"You know what happened?"

"I ran out in front of a bus, right? After you went to my parents' house and you were trying to find out the full story about my adoption, and then I got too close and Dad saw me so I ran."

"Spot on. I guess the bus didn't hit your head that hard. You gave the bus driver a bit of a shock, I can tell you. He had to go to hospital himself, and be treated for shock."

"Oh. I guess that's my fault."

"No, it turned out he was speeding. If he'd been travelling at the speed limit, he'd have been able to stop a few inches away from you. They did an investigation after you were brought here. He's going to lose his job and there'll probably be a prosecution as well, courtesy of your parents."

"They're not here, are they?"

I wasn't in the mood for seeing them.

"Actually, they are. All of them, including Tom."

"Great…"

"They aren't allowed in unless you say so," Daphne said quietly. "They let me come in because I told them the full story and your parents backed me up. I've been here since Sunday."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

"Gosh. I didn't think I was that entertaining when I was asleep."

"You're cuter with your eyes closed," Daphne joked, and I smiled.

"Thanks a lot."

"I'm only kidding. Did you want to see Mitchell and Ella? They'd have to leave Tom with your parents, but that's not a problem. Oh yeah, they're insisting that you're out of hospital for Tom's birthday in two weeks' time. I was talking with Ella when you woke up."

"Oh, I heard you say something like that."

I tried to move my arm to get more comfortable, but there was something holding it in place, something hard. I looked down at it and saw a plaster cast on it.

"Oh yeah. You broke that, or rather, the bus broke it for you."

"What else did it break?"

"A couple of ribs and your leg. It hit you on the right hand side, so your injuries are mainly there and you've got a lot of bruising on that side as well. It could've been worse, they're nice clean breaks."

Great. I wouldn't be hanging out at the gym for a while.

"You could've been paralysed, Freddy. The doctor said you should consider yourself lucky. Come on, a broken arm and leg beats not being able to walk permanently."

"Just barely."

She smiled.

"I haven't heard that catchphrase for a while."

I returned the smile, but it vanished as I saw a face in the glass behind her. I turned and looked over at the door.

Mom and Dad stood there, awkward, unsure, looking at me with tremulous smiles on their faces. Daphne turned and grasped my hand, trying to ease the sudden tension in the room and failing.

"Freddy?"

Mom walked a little closer, seeming almost nervous. I bit my lip, hating the situation. What was I meant to do? I couldn't just turn them away, but that was what I wanted to do the most. Dad walked a pace or so behind her, looking more at the floor than at me. I was glad. Mom's stare was worse than her presence, and I could tell she was taking in the plaster on my leg and arm, the traction, everything. I dropped my own eyes, looking down at the bandage on my stomach, probably there because of my broken rib. Daphne's hand squeezed mine. I looked up at her briefly, and she smiled at me, then whispered, "Talk with them. Get this over with."

She was right. That's what they'd come for.

I looked up and met Mom's eyes, then Dad's.

"Hi."

Mom let a tear slide down her cheek, but met my gaze.

"Freddy… I can't even begin to say how sorry we are."

Mom sat down next to Daphne, who murmured that she should leave. I shook my head, hoping she would stay, but Mom and Dad let her leave.

I was alone with them, the people who had lied to me for thirteen years, and yet had brought me up for those thirteen years as well. They had lived with me, talked with me, helped me, done everything any parent should. But they had still spun a web of lies and deceit around my parentage, and that stung like an open wound with salt rubbed into it.

"The first thing I want you to know is that you don't yet know the full story, Freddy," Mom said, looking straight into my eyes. "So we want to tell you it. OK? I need you to listen, and we are not going to lie to you this time. You think you're fed up with lies, well, so are we. So we're going to tell you straight."

Finally.

Mom took a deep breath and started speaking.

"You know about Felix and Rose- they moved into that house a year before you were born. They were desperate for a baby, but they couldn't conceive naturally, so they turned to a specialist clinic for help. They found out that they couldn't have IVF; between them they couldn't do that. It wasn't an option. Rose really wanted to carry the baby herself, so that she could say she gave birth to her child, and it was destroying her, Freddy. Felix knew it, and so he did more research, he looked everywhere and finally he found a clinic that would do this specialist IVF. They would take the cells needed from a different woman and man, so that the child wouldn't be genetically Rose's baby, but she would carry the baby and give birth to it. They thought that was fine. Who said the baby had to be theirs genetically? So they went ahead, they found donors, they conceived a baby. You. Then Rose gave birth to you, and you grew up with them as your parents until that crash. And the police turned to us and said, "Would you take him in? Would you adopt him?" And it wasn't only because we were so close to Felix and Rose, Freddy. Can you guess why they came to us first? Why they asked us before they asked anyone else?"

I had no idea. I shook my head, my brain working overtime to try and figure it out. But Mom got there first.

"They came to us because we were the donors, Freddy. So, genetically, you are our son."

My breath caught in my throat; my head reeled as though someone had thrown a bucket of cold water into my face. Mom put her hand on my arm, and I was too shocked to pull it away. I let her hold on, still trying to take in what she had said. After all this- after everything I'd thought, everything I'd been through- I was theirs after all? No. Surely this was another lie.

But something deep inside me told me that it wasn't.

"You see?" Dad said, sighing. "If we'd just had the guts to tell you the truth in the first place, none of this would have happened. But we didn't. We knew you were ours genetically, so I guess we thought that who had given birth to you wasn't as important as that. I kept meaning to tell you, and so did your mom, but we never found the right moment, and as time got on and you got older we knew it would be a bigger and bigger deal, so our courage faded… Trust me, Freddy, we were idiots, and never make the same mistake as us."

Something about the way he said "trust me" was genuine. Maybe I had been too quick to run away, acting on impulse too soon.

"We accept all the responsibility for this," Mom said, and she let go of my arm and put her hand up to stop her bag from falling off her shoulder. "I just hope you can forgive us."

I didn't say anything. I just nodded.

Mom stood up with a smile on her face, and beckoned for Dad to do the same.

"We'll be back soon, Freddy. But we need to get home."

I nodded, and sat in silence as they left.

Daphne walked back in, hesitant at first, but as she saw the look on my face, she knew that something good had happened.

I guess after that, it was OK again.

"Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you…"

Ella was holding onto a thoroughly over-excited three-year-old as Mom brought in a huge cake, two tiers (her speciality), with Tom's name in blue icing on the top and three small candles, lit gently. Daphne sat with her arm round me, and gave a little whistle when Mom produced the cake. I just laughed.

"Happy birthday, dear To-om, happy birthday to you!"

Tom squealed as Ella put him down next to the cake and told him, "Blow out the candles and make a wish!"

Tom shut his eyes hard, blew harder on the cake, and as the last one went out yelled, "I wish I could have a go on Uncle Freddy's wheelchair!"

I burst out laughing, along with everybody else in the room. He'd been bugging me ever since I got out of hospital to have a go on the chair, and although it had been explained to him that I only had it because my leg and arm were broken, he had still insisted that he wanted a go.

I guess everybody makes pretty simple wishes at three.

"Freddy?" Mitchell asked, picking Tom up. I smiled at him.

"OK. Just as long as he doesn't kick me or anything." My ribs were still pretty sore.

Mitchell held Tom right up to his face and shook him a little. Tom squealed again, but listened to his dad.

"You kick Freddy, and you're straight out of the chair, yeah?"

"I'll be good, I'll be good…" Tom repeated, and I held out my arm and balanced him on top of the cast on my leg. Tom looked thrilled at this new viewpoint, and grabbed my sling to stay upright. Daphne made to untangle his hand from it, but I stopped her.

"Let him, he'll slide off otherwise."

"Is it hurting you?" Daphne asked, concern in her eyes as she gently shifted Tom's legs to one either side of the cast. I shook my head.

"Nah. It's not like I can feel it."

Daphne sighed and rolled her eyes at me.

Tom looked up at me, his eyes shining.

"Can you move?"

I pushed myself away from the couch a little way, and he whooped and yelled, still holding firmly onto the sling but getting a feel for it now. I couldn't help enjoying it- the little guy's laughter and the huge smile were infectious.

Daphne stood up and pushed on one of the handles, and although I turned, a little annoyed, Tom was loving it.

"Again! Again! Please, Uncle Freddy? Please?"

Daphne smiled at me, and I grinned back.

"Go on. It's his birthday."

She bared her teeth in a cackle.

"OK, Freddy- but don't say I didn't warn you!"

It was then that I actually started to worry…

THE END