Unexpected Results

Alice’s father stared in confusion at the plastic-wrapped kit in his hand. “Past Keys? Alice, what’s this?”

“Your birthday present. Isn’t it exciting?” Alice hopped from one foot to another, scarcely able to contain herself. She’d been waiting weeks for this.

“Yes, but what is it?” He held up the baggie in front of his face, peering suspiciously at the cotton swabs and pre-addressed postage bag contained within.

“It’s a personal DNA testing kit. The gift of your past revealed.” Alice quoted the site’s advertising slogan, a slogan she knew by heart after painstakingly reading every single word of text and watching every video available for the much-advertised and very popular service. “You swab the inside of your cheek with the provided swabs, package them up in the provided pre-addressed bag and viola – within two months your ancestry is at your fingertips. And mine too, of course.” She shivered with thrilled anticipation.

“I already know my ancestry,” Tom Bosworth grumbled. “Father’s name John Bosworth, mother’s name Betty Bosworth. No siblings.” He carelessly dropped the kit down onto the table and looked at her hopefully. “I thought you were bringing chocolates, just like you always do.”

“This is a whole lot better than a box of chocolates,” she said briskly, reaching past him to pick up the discarded kit. “The information that this kit gathers goes waaayyy back. My friend Lily had hers done. Turns out she’s got West Indian ancestors. Whoever would have thought?” She fiddled with the sealed pack of swabs through the plastic wrap, anxious to get started.

“Lily? That little blonde thing? Of course she hasn’t got West Indian ancestors. She’s far too pale for that. Alice, you’ve wasted your money.” He hefted himself out of his threadbare armchair, the one he refused to trade in for a newer, comfier model, with a groan. “The shops are still open. If you drive me down, I’ll buy my own box of chocolates. I can’t have a birthday without a box of chocolates.”

“Aren’t you even a little bit curious?”

“Nope.” Tom pulled his coat down from the hook beside the door and shrugged it on. “I already know all I need to know. John Bosworth’s side of the family stretches back to his Roman forefathers and I dare say Betty’s is the same. The family has lived in the British Isles since Julius Caesar’s armies invaded the continent and spread their pillaging, rampaging seed. You’re from gladiator stock, my dear.” He said the last with more than a hint of pride. “Now, how about we go and get this chocolate?”

“I’ll only drive you if you promise to do the swab when we get back,” she said stubbornly.

“I’m interested, even if you aren’t.”

Tom shrugged indifferently. “Whatever you like.”

***

By the time Alice left Esme Tyrell’s Home for the Elderly & Infirm, Tom was back in his armchair and happily up to his gums in a king-size box of Cadbury’s Finest. Alice nodded to Barbara, the grim-faced woman at reception who lived only for the power of pedantic rules and strictly enforced tyranny, and stepped out into the welcome late evening sunshine. Tom, box of chocolates in hand, had finally acquiesced to the swab test and the pre-addressed package was now sitting in the Home’s postbag ready for its journey back to Past Keys.

Tom’s disinterest in the DNA test had been a little disappointing but Alice was determined not to allow his apathy to cast a pall over her excitement. Tom was adamant there would be no surprises but what if there was something in the deep past that he didn’t know? Lily’s genetic discovery had been thrilling and unexpected, adding a new point of interest to family dinners and imbibing her with an invigorated sense of self.

Alice climbed into the car, the interior still heated and fuggy-warm from the excursion to the shops, and turned her key in the ignition as she allowed her mind to drift to thoughts of Grandpa John and Grandma Betty. Grandpa in particular would’ve loved the magic of today’s technological advances, the processes that enabled the everyday person to obtain all the branches of their family tree via a quick swipe across a cheek full of spit.

Alice flipped the indicator on as she turned into her street, noting with a quiver of irritation that Jack Reynolds at Number 9 still hadn’t taken his bins in. His lawns needed mowing too, although he was never in any hurry to cut his grass or trim his edges. Such slovenliness was all down to upbringing, in her opinion. Tom had always prided himself on his well-kept lawns and gardens before his ill health forced his incarceration in the Home, as had his father before him. Besides, Grandma Betty would never have allowed the little white bungalow in Knowles Street to look anything but immaculate. Grandpa John might have been the captain of their marital ship but Grandma Betty was most certainly the rudder.

Grandma Betty was one of those types of grandmothers that children’s book illustrators were so fond of drawing. She was small and plump, with soft curling white hair, round spectacles, and kissable red cheeks. She always had a homemade chocolate cake in the tin, a fresh brew in the teapot, and she gave out book vouchers tucked inside cards with puppies on for birthdays and Christmas. She was house proud, homely, and lovable, and she probably wouldn’t care too much about where her ancestors hailed from. Grandma Betty’s favourite sayings were ‘Live in the moment’ and ‘Take each day as it comes’, and Alice missed her terribly. With a sigh of regret for days long since passed, Alice parked the car and went inside to start dinner.

***

“What’s up with you?” Tom eyed Alice over the rim of his teacup as she wriggled around in her chair, unable to keep still.

“I got the email today. From Past Keys. The results are in.” She reached into her satchel for her laptop, brought along just for the express purpose of viewing the information on a comfortably sized screen rather than squinting at her mobile phone.

“Past Keys?”

“The DNA testers,” she said impatiently. “I came round straight away so I could open it with you.”

“Oh.” He sat back in his armchair and eyed her affectionately. “Out with it then. Tell me all about our Roman ancestors.”

She ignored him and flipped open her laptop, refusing to be drawn into his gentle teasing. She clicked open the email, her lips moving as she quickly scanned the text. “They say they’ve matched your test but there’s some kind of issue.” She fought back her disappointment. “I must’ve done something wrong when I took the cheek swab. They’ve given me a number to call.”

“I told you it was a rip off,” Tom muttered, his brief burst of interest now faded. “You didn’t happen to bring any of those chocolate biscuits along, did you?”

“You know you shouldn’t be eating so much chocolate. It’s not good for you.” Alice punched in the number with ill-humoured fingers. “I can’t believe we waited two months to be told there was an issue. They could’ve contacted us sooner. Hello?”

After finally connecting to the right person, she listened with rapidly increasing astonishment as the man, in a voice so intense and low he could’ve been a spy in a crime film, explained what Tom’s test had revealed. She couldn’t even find the words to question him – it was too outlandish to contemplate. However, she did manage to give the man her contact details and permission to follow it up further before dropping the phone into her lap and staring at her father with ashen-faced disbelief.

***

Barbara-in-reception was not impressed with the TV cameras and she seemed to think the whole rigmarole was all Alice’s fault. Alice had given up trying to tell her that the news was as outrageous and unexpected to her and Tom as it was to everyone else. The TV cameras and the constant clamour of reporters and journalists was intimidating for her too, but it wasn’t as if she could escape them. They followed her everywhere, even when she put her bins out, despite her repeated assurances that she knew nothing more than she’d already told them.

At least Tom was sheltered in some way, being inside the Home as he was. It would take a very brave man or woman to dare to cross Barbara’s threshold without her personal permission and she wasn’t about to give that to the paparazzi anytime soon. For once Alice was glad of Barbara’s unwavering fixation with rules and regulations and her ironclad refusal to let anyone inside the door without suitable ID.

Alice’s friends, once they’d dealt with their own stupefaction over the news, had gone out of their way to be supportive and for that she was also glad. She certainly wouldn’t have been able to cope with her newly upside down world if her friends alienated her. After all, it was not as if she’d changed. She was the same person she always was, albeit with a very unusual genetic line. Naturally she’d refused the medical world’s demand for ongoing tests, as had Tom. They’d both agreed that the DNA home test kit, with its simple cotton swabs and pre-addressed package, was the very last test they’d ever take.

Still, more than a small part of her was thrilled with the results. The findings of Tom’s test certainly put Lily’s West Indian ancestry to shame. He’d been right about John’s genetic Roman and English heritage, no surprises there. It was the maternal line, Grandma Betty’s line, which had set everyone aflutter. Past Keys had finally given Alice the original printout, although it had taken some pushing on her part. She thought she might even get it framed, once all the fuss had died down and Grandma Betty was yesterday’s news.

Betty Bosworth: 98% Extra-Terrestrial, 2% English would look good in a polished wood frame above the mantle, although Alice was still more than a little put out that Grandma Betty had never told them herself.

The End