‘It’s entirely suitable since this is my dress and my opening night and the colour of my favourite precious metal.’
‘Is that how you speak to me nowadays, Clemency Smittson?’ Mum says. She hasn’t changed. For some reason I thought after everything we’d all been through that there would be some miraculous transformation where she would be more tolerant, more understanding, less likely to drive me completely round the bend. Today has been like that drive from Otley last May. Every opportunity she has a chance to stick her oar in or tell me what to do, she seizes with both hands: there’s too much food, check; the start of the party is too late, check; there’s too little food, check; there won’t be enough room for everyone, check; are you sure you should be opening a shop in this current climate, check; this dress you’re wearing is not suitable, check, check, check, check, check.
‘Mum, I like this dress. I am going to wear this dress. If you have issues with this dress being on my body, then I’m sorry, but there’s nothing I can do about it because I am going to keep wearing this dress.’
Mum’s mouth becomes a tight circle of disapproval. ‘I know what your father would have said if he was here now,’ she says tartly.
‘What?’
‘Leave the wee bairn alone, quine. She knows what she’s doing.’ She sounds so much like him, with the same intonations and the same England-flattened Aberdeen burr, I have to catch my breath. ‘Oh, he said it all the time,’ Mum says to my shocked face.
‘You sounded just like him,’ I say. The tears sting my eyes, squeeze my throat.
‘Of course I did,’ she says dismissively. ‘You don’t spend nearly forty years hearing the same thing and not know how to repeat it, accent and all.’ She steps forwards and gathers me in her arms. ‘He would have been so proud of you,’ she says when I have nestled my chin on her shoulder. ‘He was always so proud of you.’ She pulls me closer and the smell of her – vanilla, lavender, citrus and talc – fills my senses. ‘I am so proud of you, too. I am so incredibly proud of you, I can’t find the words.’ She stands back, holds me at arm’s length and looks at me all over again, a big grin of pride on her face. ‘I think you’re right about the dress being perfect,’ she says. ‘It’s your hair that’s all wrong.’
Nancy and I pass in the corridor as I go towards the front door with my keys for Lottie. We acknowledge each other as we always do, a brief glance in the other’s direction and, if we’re feeling particularly friendly that day, we’ll offer the other a brief nod. Other than that, we both know there is nothing that could make us friends or even give us anything to speak about. She and Sienna are moving to a small house a bit further up in Hove soon. Sienna started school six weeks ago and, after the initial trauma of discovering Lily wasn’t at the same school, she has settled in and is enjoying herself. ‘Enjoy your night,’ Nancy says suddenly. I pause in putting on my shoes and rotate until I am facing in her direction.
‘Thanks,’ I say cautiously. ‘I’ll see you and Sienna later?’
She nods and offers me a small smile. I surprise myself by offering her a small smile in return.
The shop has filled up a lot in the past hour, which has eased my anxiety and made me believe properly, completely, that this will work. It looks exactly as I imagined it because with help from Seth and Melissa, I’ve managed to make the thoughts in my head a reality. Melissa is grinning good-naturedly at Mum even though Mum has ordered her to take another plate of food around and to make sure no one takes more than their fair share.
Through the square pane of glass in the door, I see a figure start to open the door then change their mind and step back. With a glance over my shoulder to where Seth is – over by the counter, chatting to Bernice Giles, one of my earliest customers – I move towards the front door and open it to step out.
‘Hi,’ I say to Tyler, who has stepped back to let me out.
‘Hi,’ he says simply.
The door tings rather loudly in the moment I tug it shut behind me. Seeing Tyler gives me a sudsy feeling as usual, and the spectrum of feelings I had for him foams up in my bloodstream, in the well of my stomach, and I’m suddenly breathing a bit too fast, my heart beating a little too erratically.
Tyler moves across the cobbled street to the other side of the road, where the pavement is a little wider and we have the glow of a streetlamp on us, while the light from the shop across the road acts as a grounding beacon of where we are, which significant person is standing inside.
‘I’ve been walking around for a while now, wondering if I should actually go in or not,’ he says.
‘I wasn’t sure you’d come or how you’d take me sending you an invite.’
‘I took it in the spirit I assume it was sent – as an olive branch extended in friendship?’
‘And also as an apology for not getting in touch.’
He nods while keeping his gaze lowered and his dark eyelashes flutter against the skin under his eyes. ‘And a thank you for giving you one of the best nights of your life?’ he says, grinning cheekily.
‘Well, of course,’ I say. He doesn’t hate me, the relief of that is like leaping into a cool pool of water after a long hot, sticky walk.
‘Where are you getting your coffee nowadays?’ he asks, able to face me again now his joke has broken the atmosphere between us.
‘Erm, nowhere,’ I say. I place my hand over my stomach by way of an explanation. ‘I’ve given it up since the pregnancy.’
His whole body reverberates in shock and his eyes, wild and scared, find mine. ‘What?’ he asks. ‘You’re … Is it …?’
‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry,’ I say with a laugh. ‘I’m not pregnant. Just messing with you.’
He puffs air out of his cheeks a few times, presses his hand over his heart, visibly tries to calm himself down. ‘Don’t do that to me.’
‘Ah, I had to – it’ll teach you not to make jokes about the best night of my life. The look on your face was priceless.’
‘That’s extreme.’ He puffs more air out of his mouth. ‘Remind me never to fall out with you – you’d bring a nuclear weapon to a fist-fight.’
‘I haven’t been getting my coffee anywhere except the homemade stuff, by the way. I wanted to come into your café, but thought it best to give us both some space.’
‘ “Space” you say?’ he replies. ‘Your “space” has made a huge dent in my profits. I don’t think that’s fair, do you?’
‘I’m sorry, I’ll recommence buying coffee from you forthwith.’ I smile at him. ‘I did want to see you, I just wasn’t sure how you’d feel about seeing me.’
‘Conflicted, probably. But that’s no reason to run away from stuff, is it?’
‘No, it’s not.’ I’ve learnt that over the last few months.
‘Are we done?’ he asks.
This autumn night seems completely appropriate to be having this discussion. It’s cool but muggy; the babble of people down on the shingle and promenade mingles with the soothing soundtrack of the sea in the distance. This is what the words to ‘Summer Lovin’’ used to conjure up in my mind. I’d never had a summer romance, but that song always made me feel like I had loved and lost over a few short weeks. Now, I sort of had been through it – the weather was colder and that’s where it ended.
I nod. ‘I suppose we are.’
‘Not that we ever really got started.’
‘No, I suppose not.’
‘Are you trying again with your … with Seth?’
‘I don’t really know,’ I admit. ‘We still sleep top to toe and nothing beyond a few hugs has happened between us. But we do spend a lot of time together and neither of us has started or even mentioned divorce proceedings. So, who knows?’
‘Ah, Smitty, as clear about what she wants as always.’
‘Watch it, you, remember the nuclear weapon?’
‘Oh, yeah, yeah. I almost forgot.’
Across the road a well-dressed couple, the woman taller than the man, who I think I made wedding r
ings for, walk up to the shop, clutching the silver invite for the opening.
‘I’d better get back. Are you coming in?’
‘Yes. I have to celebrate with you, don’t I?’ We cross the road and the shop comes into proper view, glowing like an amber gem against the dark background of this street. I push open the door and the bell announces our arrival. ‘Let me introduce you to Melissa. She was one of my first customers down here. She helped me to sort the shop out and she’s a great person.’
With a neutral expression on his face, Seth watches us cross the room, heading for Melissa, who has escaped being Mum’s skivvy and is standing in front of the wall of photos. Both Melissa and Tyler, framed in the white box of a Polaroid photo, with words scribbled underneath, are up there. Melissa’s locket-cum-watch is up there, too. ‘Melissa,’ I say, ‘I’d like to introduce you to Tyler. He is the owner of Beached Heads on the seafront, where we first met. Tyler, this is Melissa. As I’m sure you’ll notice, you’re both up on the wall of fame, even though I haven’t finished making Tyler the cufflinks he didn’t ask for and will probably never use.’
My mouth babbles at them, but they’re not interested in me. They’re both virtually starry-eyed at each other, matching grins on their faces – fireworks going off all over the place for them. I’m more bothered by that than I should be – not enough to begrudge either of them the chance to be together but it niggles at me. ‘I think you’ll get on like a house on fire.’ They will, as well. They’re both such great people. I predict a summer wedding. Platinum matching rings made by yours truly.
Superfluous to them now, I retreat and find myself next to Seth. He has a bottle of Prosecco in his hand and a white cotton tea towel folded over his forearm. He’s been circulating the room, filling glasses, chatting to people, starting conversations with anyone who is on their own. And watching me go outside to talk to a man I had a one-night stand with. We’re not together, we’re not apart – we’re nowhere right now. Tyler is right that it is ridiculous. I want to change that, I want us to give us another chance. Even if it doesn’t work out, even if too much has happened for us to find each other again, I want to be somewhere certain with Seth. I open my mouth to say I’d like to talk to him about it later, but Seth speaks first. He lowers his head until his lips are by my ear so he can murmur: ‘So, is tonight the night I finally get to have you in this luscious silver dress of yours … then take it off you and have you all over again?’
‘Depends how lucky you’re feeling,’ I say.
‘I am feeling very, very lucky indeed.’
I’m just saying goodbye to a couple of people when I see Abi and Lily, who seem to come dancing up the road. Lily executes elaborate ballet steps, Abi moves in the wobbly dance gait of a heavily pregnant woman trying to keep up with her daughter.
‘Auntie Smitty, Auntie Smitty!’ Lily calls as she arrives in front of me. She is wearing a pink dress with folds and folds of netting and lace. She has a pink bow topping her mass of sleek, shiny black plaits. If I hadn’t known better, I’d have thought she and Sienna had been on the phone co-ordinating what they would wear tonight since she is wearing exactly the same thing.
‘Hello, you,’ I say. I stoop to hug her. ‘And hello, you,’ I say to my sister. Her stomach is full, ripe and in ten weeks she’ll be giving birth – she has asked me to be her birthing partner.
‘Declan is just parking the car. Insists on driving into town because taking the bus or a taxi is slumming it, apparently, but doesn’t have a clue about parking. We drove around six times before I got him to drop us at the end of the road so he can go find a space. Well, good luck with that, eh, matey?’ On the fourth finger of her left hand glints her engagement ring. I conspired with Declan to make the twisted platinum band studded with diamond chips. He proposed, she said yes. ‘I have to give him a chance now that he’s proposed properly instead of just talking about it,’ Abi said when she told me about it.
‘Lily, Sienna is in there somewhere. Do you want to see if you can find her? I think Uncle Smitty has some cake pops with your name on, too.’
She squeals, and I hold open the door for her to dart inside.
‘How are you?’ Abi asks.
‘I’m fine.’ I know what she’s really asking me. I don’t want to talk about it any more. I’ve talked and talked and talked about it with her, with Seth, with my other mother, and nothing has changed. I can’t change anything that has gone before, I can only change the future. I’ve even made enough peace with myself to be seeing Mrs Lehtinen on a regular basis, working on her wonderful jewellery box.
‘Sure?’ Abi asks. I think sometimes she forgets that I’m the older sister and I’m the one who should be checking she’s OK.
‘Yes, I’m sure.’ I open the door again. ‘There are cake pops with your name on too, plus your picture is on the wall. All in all, I think you’ve pretty much hit the big time.’
‘Enough with the pregnancy jokes, matey,’ she replies before she steps in through the door.
I’m about to return to the shop when a Brighton green and white registered taxi pulls up outside. The door opens and out steps my other mother. She doesn’t pay the driver, but does shut the door behind her. She smiles at me, grins like she is pleased to see me, Clemency the adult, not Talei the baby. She grins at me and opens her arms to me. Turns out that she’s the parent who hugs. Every time I see her I am swamped by them, as I was with Dad. She also spends a lot of time drawing Abi, Lily-Rose and me for her part-time art foundation course.
‘Hello,’ I say. I’m still working on what to call her. In my head she is still ‘my mother’ and ‘my other mother’. In reality, in the words that come out of my mouth, I avoid calling her anything to her face. ‘You look so lovely.’
‘Hello, Clemency,’ she says, clinging on to me for just that bit longer, then she squeezes just that bit tighter. She’s doing that to make up for my father. To make up for Ivor. They’re not coming. Ivor blames everything on me and wants nothing more to do with me. My father … He is complicated. He does not want to see or speak to me. Despite giving me those photographs and confessing to seeing me after I was born, he doesn’t want to be around me. I am a painful reminder of what he did back in 1978 and what he did more recently. I wasn’t even invited to the funeral because neither he nor Ivor wanted to see me. My other mother reckons once he and Mum have been on trial and they know whether the future holds prison or not, he will change his mind.
I try to hide my disappointment at not seeing my father or brother but it is plain on my face. I really thought that this opening would give them the chance to be in touch without doing much. They could have just stood in the corner, talking to the parts of their family they did like.
‘Give them time,’ my mother says. She takes my hands, holds them out and looks at me. Pulls me in for another hug. Holds me close and the smell that is my other mother – vanilla, citrus, cinnamon and talc – takes over me.
The taxi pulls away to reveal a tall man in a dark grey suit and beige overcoat. He could be Ivor but he is taller and younger. He steps on to the pavement and waits politely for my mother to let me go. When we are unlatched, he offers me his hand, which is big with long, rectangular fingers. Much like mine.
‘I’m Jonas, your brother,’ he says. ‘Abi has told me a lot about you, mainly via email, then by phone, but that’s been enough for now. I’m incredibly pleased to meet you.’
‘You too,’ I say. He left because of my grandmother, because my father and mother wouldn’t stand up to her. He stayed away because he couldn’t stand to pretend when she had been awful to all of them for so many years. But he’s here. He has flown all the way over from Montenegro to be here. He didn’t even come back for the funeral.
‘I was so desperate to get in touch with Abi when she told me about you but I knew the second I did, it would mean getting sucked back into all …’ He shakes his head. ‘I can’t believe you’re real,’ he says. Unexpectedly, he’s hugging me. Holding me
close in his big arms, like he thinks I might disappear. ‘My sister. My big sister. I can’t wait to get to know you.’
‘Me, too,’ I say laughing. ‘Me, too.’
With me, later, here
This is somewhere.
This is where I am from at last. I used to be from nowhere, but now I am from here. Thiswhere. This somewhere. Inside my shop there is a big, disjointed, mishmash of people I am linked to by blood and by circumstance; some are called relatives, others are called friends, but they’re all here for me. Even without them I would be somewhere, I realise that now.
I have a shop and it is filled with people who are unique, precious, flawed, and all mine. They’re my jewels. They’re my family.
With Mrs Stoner, March 1978, Brighton
‘Goodbye, little Talei. Precious one, your first mother said it meant. I wish so much we could keep you, but we can’t. You’re going to your new parents now. They’ll look after you and I can tell by the way they look at you that they’ll love you.
‘I’ll miss your little box, too. All those pretty butterflies. I hope you keep it all your life. It’ll be a reminder of how much your other mother loved you. I know your new parents will love you, but I’m sure Kibibi, your first mother, loves you, too. I see it in her eyes every time she looks at you. And so does your first father, Julius.’
She gathered up the box with the baby. She had grown so much she wouldn’t be able to sleep in the box for much longer. Kate Stoner had tried to get her to sleep elsewhere but she didn’t seem to want to. She cried in the Moses basket, in the cot, on the big bed. Nowhere settled her like the butterfly box. The foster mother composed herself, she was almost blind with tears.
The baby didn’t look like the new parents, but she could tell they would care for her. She had been fostering for many, many years and you got a sense about people. The sense she had about the Smittsons was that they wanted nothing more than someone to love and bring up as their own. And the sense she got about Julius and Kibibi, the first parents, was that they wanted nothing but the best for their baby – even if it meant doing this.