I met him in Istanbul

So, he exists. This man I had never heard of, never imagined, exists. And he’s in Istanbul, which means that I am half Turkish. I don’t have a problem with any of this, except for the lies and deceit of course, the hiding away from me of someone important, someone of my blood. So a few minor issues. On the other hand, my step-father, who I have always thought of as father, is devastated, and when we say goodbye at the airport he weeps. It wasn’t the first time I’d seen him cry: he cried when I left home to go to university, he cried at my graduation, he wept copiously at my wedding. He’s a crier, my stepdad, he’s a crier.

My mother, not so much.

But then, the fact that she’d kept this secret for twenty-seven years and would happily have kept it for twenty-seven more, not the sign of a crier. But then he contacted me and the secret was no more. 

Mum stood at the departure gate, unflinchingly stone-faced. I knew what she’d been trying to tell me with her eyes, what she was trying to make me feel: that I had betrayed her. That going to meet him was a rejection of her. To be honest, it was. To hide my origin story, not only from me but from the man I will forever call Dad, is unforgivable.

Nearly there now, just a two hour stopover in Abu Dhabi, wandering the grand and highly decorated corridors of a semi-comatose airport. Half the gifts shops are closed but what would I buy anyway, a coloured glass lamp, a ceramic camel, some very beautiful, very expensive silk clothing? I can’t see anything that my husband would wear, or that would amuse him. The Grand Bazaar is waiting for me anyway.

I find a restaurant, spacious and empty, and have some breakfast or supper or whatever it is. I recognise the three or four other customers from the plane. I try an omelette, sweet pastries and good though unwisely strong coffee, but nerves block my throat. Why am I so nervous, he was the one who’d sought me out, he’d asked me to come, he’d tried to pay for my ticket. My parents were having none of that and had transferred money into my account for the purpose. I hadn’t used it.

I send Daniel a message to let him know that I am safe, I am well, I am nearly there. He was getting ready to go to work, but took the time to immediately send back a picture of himself in his suit and tie, and of Wispy, wearing only a sad expression. Wispy is my cat, our cat, and she does an excellent impression of sadness.

Another five hours flying time. He said that he would meet me. If he doesn’t, I have no idea what I will do; I don’t know him or where he lives.

My flight is called, I find the gate, and we are off again. Still no sleep, not a wink. What was I going to look like after more than the twenty-five hours since I left home, if I had no sleep. This leg passes so quickly, too quickly, two movies quickly. When the notification comes that we are landing in thirty minutes, I rush to the bathroom, smooth my hair, and clean my teeth with a tiny aeroplane brush. I look in the mirror, trying to see what it is that he will see, before taking my seat again. Far below a sparkling sea, the Marmara it must be. The sun is just rising and the water glows silver-pink. The city seems to stretch to the horizon. Oh help!

We are a little late, will he still be waiting? The foreigner line is long and slow, even though I have my e-visa to enter Türkiye. The man at the desk, dark-eyed and indifferent, glances quickly from my passport to my face and waves me through, then there is the wait for my bag at the carousel. As always, mine is the last one to emerge and I grab it quickly and drag it across to be x-rayed. I can see a door to the outside. It is opening and closing as people go through. Every time it opens I try to seek him out but I don’t see anyone that matches the image in my mind.

He had asked me to send him a recent photo, but then he hadn’t responded with one of his own. I looked for him on social media but couldn’t find him anywhere. When I asked, he said that it wasn’t his thing. He’s a doctor, a physician, and he doesn’t want anyone to intrude on his privacy. My little sister said that was suss and Mum agreed. How do you know that he is who he says he is, she asked. I just knew. It was too wild a story not to be true.

The wait for the final stamp seems endless, and I am deliriously tired as I make my way to the automatic door, my heart thumping wildly. As I emerge I see, myself. I see myself. He grins widely and holds out his arms. I walk into them. He is exactly the same height as me. He has exactly the same eyes as me. He pulls back, kisses both cheeks and grasping my shoulders smiles again.

‘Hello, little brother,’ he says, in accented English.

‘Little brother?’ I say. ‘Hey, I don’t think twenty-seven minutes counts.’

‘Oh, it counts, it counts,’ he laughs. ‘Come, we will find a taxi.’ 

He takes my bag in one hand, my arm in the other and pulls me across to a taxi rank. When we are settled in the vehicle and he has given directions to the driver, we are silent, awkwardly so. He seems suddenly nervous.

‘I can’t believe how alike we are,’ I say.

‘Well, we are twins,’ he said.

‘I know, but I didn’t know that we would be identical, and you didn’t say. Besides, I’m still getting used to the idea. How long have you known?’

‘Not long, just since my mother died, a few months, a year.’ He gave me a glance.

‘Your mother? Did you think your adoptive mother was…?’

‘My blood, yes. Then I saw the letter from your mother, it was with the will. That’s when I knew. It was a shock.’

‘I bet it was,’ I said. ‘Is our father still alive? You’ve never mentioned him.’

‘Our father?’ He looked puzzled. ‘I’ve never met him. Didn’t you grow up with him?’

I feel very confused. What is he talking about? ‘I grew up with a step-father,’ I say.

‘No, no,’ he said. ‘That’s our father. Geoffrey. I never had a father. I can’t believe she hasn’t told you. I do not like this mother, I think.’

‘Please tell me,’ I ask, feeling sick.

‘Our mother and Geoffrey met here, in Istanbul. He was travelling and she was teaching English. She lived with a woman, Filiz, they were good friends I believe. Filiz’ husband was dead. Geoffrey goes back to Australia and we were born. Our mother could not live here, she must go back too, but not with two babies. So she left me here.’

‘Just like that,’ I say, hearing the bitterness in my voice.

‘Just like that,’ he said. ‘But not. She is very sad but also very young. Filiz has no baby so I stay with her.’

‘You make it sound so uncomplicated.’

‘No, it was very complicated, for identity of course and for explaining why Filiz suddenly has a child. But Filiz has a friend, Ercan, who is a man who likes men.’

‘Like me,’ I say.

‘Yes, of course. So Ercan is lawyer, and he fixes everything and also he is my father. For pretend, I always knew, but he was very good to me.’

‘I am so sorry,’ I say, feeling it in my bones.

‘Why sorry, you had no choice in this, and life is good as you will see.’ The taxi stops and he looks out the window. ‘We are here. Come, you will meet my wife and baby.’