Emma sat down at the kitchen table, shoving the old sewing machine away. ‘I thought I knew what I was doing, but the machine kept jamming. Isla got a needle in her finger, then when we did manage to create something that looked vaguely like a skirt, the scarf material was so thin it just tore apart. Isla lost interest after about half an hour.’
Dele sat next to her, smelling of mud and sweat. She leaned her head on his shoulder. ‘I’m no Tatjana bloody Belafonte, that’s for sure,’ she said.
‘Thank God for that,’ Dele said. ‘Shawn was telling me she thinks a bit too much of herself, that one.’
‘Yeah, well, you would if you had over a hundred thousand Instagram followers.’
‘Really?’
Emma nodded, digging her phone out and finding Tatjana’s Instagram account. ‘Look.’
‘All looks a bit fake to me,’ Dele said as he scrolled through her feed. ‘I prefer yours with its wistful videos of squirrels falling from trees and selfies of you dressed as an elf from Christmas.’
Emma shoved her shoulder into his. Why did he always have to take the mick?
‘She’s really getting to you, isn’t she?’ he asked seriously.
‘Not really.’
Dele gave her a cynical look. ‘Oh yeah?’
‘Fine, I admit it, I’m jealous. My daughter thinks the sun shines out of the arse of some gorgeous perfect woman.’
He laughed. ‘Don’t take it personally, babe.’
‘Really? You heard the way Isla was gushing about her earlier.’
‘Yeah, but you have to see it from Isla’s point of view. What does she see when she looks in the mirror? She sees something different from the other girls here in Forest Grove.’
Emma moved her head away from his shoulder and examined his face. ‘You mean from me, too? What if she was blonde, we’d still be different!’
Dele smiled, sweeping a strand of Emma’s hair from her eyes. ‘You know it goes deeper than that. Look at this place,’ he said, gesturing to the forest in the distance. ‘How many black women lived here before Tatjana came along?’
Emma tensed her jaw. ‘It shouldn’t be about colour.’
‘But it is,’ Dele said softly. ‘It’s just the way it is.’
‘So what? Tatjana comes along and is like a piece of the missing jigsaw puzzle?’
Dele sighed. ‘Not quite like that.’
Emma sighed. Maybe he was right. And from Tatjana’s point of view, it was probably refreshing to see people like Dele and Isla in the village. Maybe she was worried for her boys, that there would be no other kids with the same skin colour as them? So to see Isla looking happy probably gave her comfort.
Emma thought of the broken window again. Had someone who felt the opposite of comfort at the sight of Isla and Dele done that?
Dele put his hand over hers. ‘When you think about it, it’s no coincidence that you thought Tatjana looked like Jade when you first met her. You’re just transferring your insecurities to this woman. She’s a manifestation of what you wish you were: Isla’s birth mother.’
Emma felt tears fill her eyes. How did he always hit the nail on the head? ‘Maybe you’re right.’
‘I am. But you have to remember, our girl loves her mum, her real mum, more than anything. Nothing will break that bond.’
As he said that, they heard Isla’s footsteps in the hallway. When she appeared at the doorway, she was already in her pyjamas, a soft white set with polar bears on them that always seemed to make her look like a toddler again.
‘Mum, can we snuggle on the sofa before I go to bed?’ she asked.
Emma smiled, putting her hand out to her daughter. ‘Come here, snuggle buggle.’
Dele was right. He was completely right. Nothing could break their bond.
The next morning was the usual stressful affair. They’d stayed up a little longer the night before because Emma just couldn’t stop herself snuggling up with Isla. But that had consequences the next day with Isla struggling to wake and being even more fussy than usual. Hair not right. Porridge too hot. Tights too bumpy. A regular little Goldilocks. By the time they finally got out of the house, Isla was in a sulk because Emma had refused to let her wear her new black trainers to school instead of her school shoes.
Miraculously, though, despite leaving later than usual, Emma managed to find a parking space on the street in front of the school and for a moment, she thought the day might go okay after all. But as they walked through the school car park, she realised Isla was the only one wearing her school uniform. All the other kids seemed to be wearing blue jeans or skirts.
‘Shit,’ she hissed under her breath.
‘Mum, you swore!’ Isla said.
‘Sorry, I’ll wash my mouth out with soap. Is there a chance it could be non-uniform day today?’
Isla frowned. ‘There is one this week, I think. You have to wear blue for a charity that helps sick kids . . .’ Her voice trailed off as she looked around her, her cheeks reddening when she realised she was the only one wearing a uniform.
‘Mum!’ she shouted. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’
‘I didn’t know!’ Emma said.
Lucy passed by with her daughter Poppy.
‘Oh my gosh,’ Poppy said as she looked Isla up and down. ‘Isla’s in her uniform!’ She started giggling and Isla looked like she was about to burst into tears.
‘Is it non-uniform day?’ Emma asked Lucy. ‘I didn’t get a message?’
‘Yes,’ Lucy replied, ‘there was a letter in the kids’ bags on Tuesday about it. Bit short notice, but isn’t it always? One has to be on the ball around here!’
Emma ignored that dig and explored her memory. She was sure there hadn’t been a letter. She’d got a letter about a school trip to Warwick Castle that Isla was excited about, but definitely nothing about a dress-down day. Having said that, she didn’t check Isla’s bag as regularly as she should. She wasn’t sure she’d even looked in it since Tuesday.
Bugger. She checked the time. There was only a minute or so until the school bell. Maybe she could go home, grab something and bring it in? But then she’d be late for work . . . and damn it, she had a meeting at nine-thirty; it would be too tight. She peered at Isla who was blinking back tears, clutching her book bag to her chest.
‘I’m so sorry, darling,’ she said. ‘Look, why don’t you take your cardigan off and we can tie up your blouse, like from Grease?’
She started unbuttoning Isla’s shirt but Isla shoved her away. ‘No, I’ll look stupid, and anyway, what’s Grease and what’s it got to do with the colour blue?’
‘It’s a really cool film, trust me,’ Emma said, continuing to try to unbutton Isla’s shirt.
‘I said no!’ Isla shouted, shoving her away again as Lucy raised a disapproving eyebrow.
‘Isla! There is no need to be so rude,’ Emma said.
‘Why can’t you just remember things, Mum?’
‘Because there was nothing to remember,’ Emma said quietly, aware of other parents’ eyes on her. ‘I didn’t get a letter about this.’
‘You must have done, everyone else did,’ Isla said, gesturing to the sea of blue heading into the playground.
Emma blinked. ‘They must have missed yours out, darling.’
‘They didn’t, admit it! You just forgot!’
‘I swear, I didn’t.’ Or at least she thought she hadn’t. Life was so busy lately and she did sometimes let things slip.
Didn’t all parents?
‘It’s because you’re too busy,’ Isla said with a sigh.
‘Everything okay here?’ Emma turned to see Tatjana striding over, clutching Zeke’s hand. Of course he was dressed in blue – even Tatjana was, a long blue tunic over mustard tights.
‘Mum forgot it was dress-down day,’ Isla grumbled.
‘Oh, easily done!’ Tatjana said, giving Emma a sympathetic smile. ‘You’re in luck. I was just about to drop these off with Myra to post,’ she said, giving Myra who was standing
nearby a little wave. ‘Just some samples for a new children’s range venture I’m considering, and lucky you, there happens to be a very cool blue T-shirt among them all.’
‘Honestly, don’t worry,’ Emma said. ‘I can rush home and get something.’
Screw the meeting. She’d just have to rearrange it. This was more important. She went to get her phone out to call her client.
‘It’s no bother, really,’ Tatjana said. She dug around in the cloth bag that was slung over her shoulder and pulled out a parcel, ripping it open to reveal a blue T-shirt with reversible sequins on the front spelling out ‘I’m totes blue’. She held it up to show Isla, smoothing her hand over the sequins so they changed into a pink heart saying ‘I’m totes happy’.
It was Isla’s dream top. Reversible sequins and a sassy logo.
‘See,’ Tatjana said, ‘you can change it depending what mood you’re in.’
‘It’s perfect!’ Isla gushed.
Emma was about to protest again but Isla was already pulling the top on over her blouse. And anyway, how bad would it look if yet again she refused Isla something in front of Tatjana?
‘It looks fabulous on you,’ Tatjana said.
‘It does,’ Emma grudgingly admitted. ‘Perfect size and everything.’
Isla looked down at herself proudly. ‘I was like this,’ she said, changing the sequins so they returned to the original ‘I’m totes blue’, ‘but now I’m this, thanks to you,’ she said to Tatjana, changing them to ‘I’m totes happy’ as Zeke giggled.
‘How wonderful to see you smile,’ Tatjana said as she stroked Isla’s cheek.
Emma bristled. She didn’t like how tactile Tatjana was being with Isla. ‘That’s very kind of you,’ she forced out. ‘I’ll get it cleaned and returned to you asap. Right, better get you into school.’ She took Isla’s hand and started walking towards the playground.
‘Oh no, she can keep it,’ Tatjana said as she jogged to keep up with Emma. ‘I wanted to catch up with you actually, and say Isla is such a talent. Just one session and I can see how creative she is, and funny too. What a sense of humour!’
That’ll be ten pounds fifty for your membership of the Isla fan club, Emma felt like saying.
But instead, she smiled. ‘I know, she has me and Dele in stitches all the time.’
‘I bumped into your husband this morning at the shop,’ Tatjana continued. ‘He was telling me about the fashion disaster you guys had last night.’
Emma felt her cheeks flush. Dele told Tatjana about that?
Isla rolled her eyes. ‘The sewing machine Mum used was ancient,’ she said.
‘Yep,’ Emma said, ‘we just need a better sewing machine.’
‘I’ll make the topic at next Thursday’s Design Divas about how to make skirts the proper way,’ Tatjana said with a laugh.
She held Emma’s gaze, and Emma knew she wasn’t imagining it: there was a challenge in Tatjana’s eyes.
‘Ah, but where’s the fun in that?’ Emma said, crossing her arms. ‘We both had such a giggle about it, didn’t we, Isla? I think it makes it more fun, don’t you? Perfection can be boring, that’s what I always tell Isla. It’s good to make mistakes. It helps us grow.’ She looked Tatjana in the eye, surprising herself with her own confidence.
Tatjana clenched her jaw, then nodded. ‘Absolutely. Right, must go! Have to give this package to Myra!’
Then she strolled off, hauling her son behind her.
Emma watched her through narrowed eyes.
She hadn’t imagined it, had she? That little dig? There had been too many from this Tatjana woman for her liking. What was her problem?
‘Mum, the bell’s going.’
Emma dragged her eyes away from Tatjana, then smiled down at her daughter. ‘Love you, darling, have a good day.’
‘Love you too!’ Isla said, rushing off.
Emma walked to her car and got in, sitting in it as she watched Tatjana in the distance, chatting to Myra and some other mums.
She pulled her phone from her bag. She needed to talk to her sister. Harriet always helped when she was feeling a bit out of sorts.
‘Hey, to what do I owe this pleasure?’ Harriet asked in her sing-song voice as she answered.
‘Just wanted to say hi.’
‘I call bullshit. You sound rattled. Spill.’
Emma sighed. Her sister really did know her so well. She used to do the same when they lived in their poky little flat together in Battersea. Any little hint of anxiety in Emma – work related, Dele related – Harriet would home in on it and always make things better.
Yet again, it reminded Emma that it really should have been the other way around considering Emma was born first. But Harriet had always acted more like the older sister. While Emma would need to be constantly attached to their mother as a baby, Harriet was a content baby, able to sleep alone. Their father in particular liked to remind Emma of that on a regular basis.
‘Be more independent like your sister Harriet,’ she remembered him saying whenever she was upset or shy. ‘Your little sister was sleeping in her own nursery from two months!’
As they grew older, the comparisons grew more intense from their father.
‘Be more like Harriet, for God’s sake, Emma,’ he’d say as they walked away from yet another parents’ evening where the teachers told them Emma just needed to come out of her shell a bit more.
‘Look at Harriet talking to those kids,’ was what she’d hear during their regular summer camping holidays in the south of France. ‘She doesn’t let language differences bother her.’
Their mother would rarely say anything, instead casting occasional sympathetic glances towards Emma. But when they were alone, she’d hold Emma close and tell her she loved her just as she was. She just couldn’t bring herself to say that in front of her domineering husband.
At least she’d found her own voice now they were divorced and she was with her new husband, the quiet, kind Ray.
‘So . . . ?’ Harriet asked now. ‘What’s up?’
‘There’s this woman that has moved into the village and when I first met her, I thought she was Isla’s birth mother. Of course, it isn’t her,’ Emma quickly added. ‘How can a drug-addicted girl from an impoverished background become a well-off sophisticated fashion guru in the space of eight years?’
‘People can turn things around. It happens all the time,’ Harriet said.
She would know. The reason she’d moved to London was to work in politics, specifically for a think tank used by the Labour Party. She had a strong belief that people could pull themselves up from difficult circumstances if only they had the help.
Emma peered towards the crane poking out from the middle of the forest. ‘Maybe. Anyway, it’s not her, obviously. It’s just that Isla thinks the sun shines out of her perfect butt.’
‘So you’re jealous of her?’ Harriet said with a laugh.
‘Oh, shut up,’ Emma said. ‘You totally know I am!’
‘Oh sis, you are such an insecure little petal. How many times do I need to tell you: you are an awesome mother. Isla is so, so lucky to have you.’
‘I know,’ Emma whispered.
‘But that’s the problem, Em, you don’t know that. All these years later, you still think you haven’t got the chops to be an awesome mum but you are living it, hon, Isla is proof of that.’
Emma picked at a loose bit of nail. She really needed to stop biting them. ‘I guess I’m just always scared one day someone’s going to turn up and say, “Hey, you, the one who thinks she can parent? We caught you out, we know you’re a fraud. Now give that child back to us!”’
‘For a start, they can’t do that. Isla is yours now. Unless you do something terrible, social services have no reason to check up on you.’
‘But I did do something terrible,’ Emma said in a low whisper.
‘I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that,’ Harriet snapped. ‘Remember what Dad said. Never mention it out loud, never even think about
it. Anyway, it was way before you met Isla.’
Emma looked out at the forest, blinking away tears.
‘Now repeat after me,’ Harriet said. ‘I am a fabulous mother, Isla is lucky to have me and no sassy little newcomer is going to take her away from me.’
‘I am a fabulous mother,’ Emma said as she looked at herself in the wing mirror, ‘and she is lucky to have me.’
But as she said it, she couldn’t help wondering if she really was.
Chapter Ten
Saturday 19th September
11.15 a.m.
Emma sat in the bakery opposite Isla, watching her as she sipped at her hot chocolate. Dele was at football, so Emma had encouraged Isla to get her wellies on and head out into the forest. Isla had never been the outdoorsy type, preferring to stay in making stuff or curled up watching a film. It was the one thing that could calm her when she first arrived at Emma and Dele’s house, a good film on TV and the sofa. Emma had felt guilty at first. In her naivety, she thought she could get away with restricting Isla’s TV watching. But after a day trying to comfort a sad child who was missing her birth mother and the foster parents who’d been looking after her, Emma realised anything was better than having to endure Isla crying.
After a few months, Isla settled in and of course, they enjoyed walks in the park near their house in London and visits to local attractions. But still Isla would prefer to sit in and ‘snuggle’, as she referred to it. It was hard getting her out, especially when it was cold.
They’d had a nice time walking through the forest that day, though. They’d even visited the hedgehog park, a little hidden gem they’d discovered when they’d first moved to Forest Grove. Emma liked it as it wasn’t always busy like the large wooden playground near the forest centre . . . and it didn’t have Kitty Fletcher’s stamp all over it. Kitty had helped design the larger park, the idea being that it had enough natural sensory stimulation to keep children entertained and away from electronic screens. Problem was, it was just too busy at the weekend, meaning the main sensory stimulation came in the form of screaming, excitable children or parents from the ‘Kitty Cult’, as Dele had taken to calling the mums and dads who attended Kitty’s weekly parenting sessions at the centre.
Circle of Doubt Page 6
