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my feet for a moment, wondering whether there was a difference. I realised that there was and looked back to Jack. ‘I feel stupid chasing a dream like this.’
    Jack grinned. ‘Isn’t that what life’s all about?’
    I returned his grin then followed it up with a sigh. ‘You know what I’ll have to do if I decide to do this thing, don’t you?’
    Jack’s eyebrows slid up his forehead. ‘Yup,’ he said, and his whole expression said he wouldn’t want to be in my shoes.
    Should I pursue this thing? Did I want it enough to risk hurting my parents? I pondered these questions for just a moment before realising that everything had led to this point for a reason. What that reason was, I hadn’t a clue. Confronting my parents would be uncomfortable, and definitely tricky, but it had to be done. Leif had sounded so urgent. The fact that he was a dream meant nothing. There might not be a purpose to all dreams, but Hilary was right, there was more to this. ‘I’ll ask Mum this afternoon,’ I said, cringing as the words left my mouth.
    My friends exchanged glances.
    ‘I could come with you if you like,’ Hilary offered. ‘You know, for moral support.’
    ‘Geez, my mother’s not that bad,’ I said, frowning at my friends.
    Hilary didn’t look so sure and Jack raised his eyebrows again. ‘Just make sure you’re prepared,’ he said.
    We discussed the best way to approach my mother for a while. Gently, we all agreed, then returned to the rest of our group, joining them in a discussion about the forthcoming school dance. It was the first of the year, always a big themed event and starting to feel a bit juvenile. I wasn’t so keen on going, nor was Hilary, but Jack wouldn’t hear it. He was on the student council and was required to help out. As far as he was concerned if he had to go, then we were going with him.

    Mum was in the kitchen preparing dinner when I came in from school. I wondered how I could broach the subject gently. The last thing I wanted was to hurt her feelings, or make her feel like she and Dad weren’t all I wanted. After a few minutes I decided being direct was best. I sat down at the dining table where I had a good view into the kitchen and began.
    ‘Mum?’
    ‘Mmm,’ she said, not looking up from chopping vegetables for a stir fry.
    ‘I need to ask you something.’
    ‘Go on then,’ she said, eyes still glued to her task.
    ‘Well, I don’t want you to be upset.’
    Now I had her attention. She put the knife down and looked directly at me.
    ‘Out with it,’ she ordered.
    ‘I think I want to try and find my birth parents.’ I spat the words out quickly before I could change my mind. There was a long moment of silence. I couldn’t say she looked surprised—she actually looked like she’d been expecting it—but there was a wistfulness about her. She’d been waiting for it, I realised, but not looking forward to it. ‘I mean it’s not about you and Dad,’ I continued, ‘and it’s definitely not about them . . . It’s about me, Mum.’
    We watched each other a moment longer, then she disappeared down the hall, leaving me anxious and wondering. She returned a couple of minutes later and handed me a piece of paper.
    ‘I’ve been saving that for you, Amy. I was told to pass it on when you started asking questions.’
    I looked at the paper. On it was written the name of awoman—Lena Molloy and several phone numbers, all but one crossed out. ‘Who’s this?’
    ‘That’s the woman we dealt with when we adopted you.’
    I inhaled rapidly, the air rushing into my lungs and making my head spin. In my hands I might just be holding the key to my identity. I started to tremble and hyperventilate all at the same time. But then I remembered my mother and pulled myself together. I looked from the name on the note back to her.
    ‘You’re okay about this, right? Because . . . you know you’ll always be my mum . . . don’t you?’
    ‘I’m all right.’ Her voice was