They masked the fact that her hair was a soft reddish brown, a colour she’d never quite liked because it was so different from her parents’ mousy hair. She didn’t know if it was the same as her birth parents’ hair. It must be – one of them, anyway. Did she get this strange reddish colour from her mother or her father? Too late now to do anything about her appearance. She was meeting her birth father for lunch and if she didn’t want to be late, she needed to get on her way. She’d chosen one of the gastropubs in the town centre, a place where she’d feel safe and where, she felt, no one would know her. She hadn’t told anyone what she was doing, not even Darren. Well, her husband had enough on his plate surviving in Afghanistan without her adding to his worries. He’d understand. He always did. She drove into town, narrowly missing running into another car at some traffic lights, which brought her sharply to her senses. Heart still thudding, concentrating on her driving now and keeping her unruly thoughts at bay, she found a parking place and edged the car into it gently.
