That Girl From Nowhere (53 page)

‘I …’

‘You wouldn’t, Smitty. Not for her. You might do it for me, for your mum, but not for someone you don’t love more than life itself. You couldn’t. Julius could because she was his mother, Heather could do it because she would do anything to protect you. You didn’t have that connection with your grandmother and you couldn’t have done it. In this instance, what they did was the best thing for you.’

Seth is right. I couldn’t have done it. It’s not in me. Whether it was something she wanted or not, it is not in me to do something so personal, so intimate, for someone I barely knew – I didn’t even realise how little I knew her despite the time we spent together until I was questioned by the police.

I look over my wall, how he has featured in it for so long. ‘Seth.’

‘Yes?’

‘Nothing. I was just reminding myself how the word felt in my mouth. I haven’t done that in a while.’

Seth’s smile spreads right across his face – he’s grinning at the memory, at the photo, at this moment where we’re sharing something as special and unique, simple and ordinary, as a talk. Talking is what we were all about. ‘Ahh, vintage Smitty, I haven’t had that in a while.’

‘Stick around, matey, there’s plenty more vintage Smitty where that came from.’

You’re invited to the opening night launch of

on Friday 27 October, 2015

At my new Brighton shop, there’s jewellery to suit every taste, plus commissions and redesign work undertaken.

RSVP to 07760104876 for details

See you there!

‘I’m still not sure about this dress you’re wearing,’ Mum says. She stands in my bedroom doorway, sizing me up as though if she decides what I’m wearing isn’t suitable, I’ll be changing it.

‘Well, it’s a good thing you’re not wearing it then, isn’t it?’ I say.

My silver dress that I wore to my engagement party has been brought out of Purgatory, where I stored it after the debacle that unfolded that night, and I am reloving it. It’s entirely appropriate for tonight and Mum has no say in that.

‘Kibibi and I were saying that you’d be suited to something more blue, like sapphire. Or even a ruby red dress.’ Mum and my other mother are besties now. They’re how I imagine Lily and Sienna will be in sixty years or so – hanging out, giggling, pinky-promising each other things. (I can’t say with certainty that Mum and my other mother haven’t done the pinky-promise thing at some point, either.) My other mother has bought herself a trike and the pair of them go for days out in the countryside. I think, sometimes, from the way they talk, that Mum even told her about her first child, and that has been an additional bond. It’s odd, seeing how the two of them are together, but I know it’s been good for them both. Especially Mum, who has discovered through all this that ‘other’ isn’t scary, and she does have lots in common with people who don’t look like her. ‘This dress is not suitable.’

‘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 rings 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.