by Jessica Ryn
‘And I might know just the person,’ says Grace before popping back in to request the details.
Chapter 42
Dawn
IT’S BEEN ALMOST TWO weeks since Dawn posted her form back to the adoption agency. She still hasn’t had a reply yet and has been spending most mornings biting her nails until the post comes. What if Rosie had changed her mind in the months it had taken to track her down? Perhaps Dawn will hear something this week, or the next. If this summer has taught her anything, it’s that she should never give up hope.
At least this morning she would be too busy to spend too much time waiting around for the post. Today is a big day: moving day.
‘I just don’t get how you managed to fit all of this into number six,’ Jack chuckles as Dawn hands him yet another box to load into the van.
‘Where there’s a will, there’s a way,’ Dawn grins. ‘Most of this can go to the charity shop. I don’t need it all anymore.’
‘Might want to take the labels off some of it, then,’ mutters Jack as he heaves past her.
Dawn slips inside the room and looks around at the empty chest of drawers, the stripped mattress. One of Cara’s glue-on nails is still stuck to the carpet.
‘Well, that’s it, then,’ she says. Her words echo back at her in the empty room.
Three sharp taps on the door and Grace leans her head around it. ‘Could you pop downstairs for a moment? There’s something in the lounge I need your help with.’
Grace is quiet as she walks down the stairs beside Dawn. Perhaps she’s imagining how lonely she will be in the office without Dawn’s interesting stories and words of wisdom.
‘No, not there, put it on the table where she’ll see it,’ Cara’s voice travels along the corridor from the residents’ lounge.
‘Well, if she sees it, it won’t be much of a feckin’ surprise, will it?’ Maisie’s dulcet tones.
‘Look, lady. I spent hours making it and arranging this party. And Dawn is my friend. Don’t think you can just waltz in here after living here five minutes and tell me how to…’
‘Oi. Stop, stop, stop.’ Teardrop Terry’s voice. ‘Dawn will be here any minute. Don’t wreck the surprise with your stupid scrawling.’
A sob falls out of Dawn as she reaches the doorway.
‘Shit, you’re here,’ Cara says.
A gaggle of residents let off an uncoordinated display of party poppers that won’t pop and Maisie blows weakly on a whistle.
‘Surprise!’ Teardrop grins.
‘I thought you were going to hide first? Honestly, you lot are useless.’ Peter tuts as he enters the room. Dawn opens her mouth to speak and then she sees it. Right in the middle of the coffee table is a large cake. The topping is made from the photo they’d used for the fundraising. Dawn’s face is smack-bang in the middle and surrounded by piped icing spelling the words, ‘Always look on the Brightside’.
‘We just wanted to say thanks. For all you did to help us.’
‘And to give you a good send-off from St Jude’s.’
‘Thank you,’ Dawn chokes. She clears her throat and stands on a stool. She’s always wanted to give a speech to a crowded room but never quite had the occasion to. ‘Firstly, I’d like to thank Grace and Peter for inviting me to stay here and for helping me feel like a real person. To Cara, Jack and Terry for showing me what friendship is. And to all of you for coming and making me this beautiful cake. I’ll miss St Jude’s, but I’ll still be around. I’ll be working in the café all week.’
‘But it’s not the same as you living here,’ says Cara. ‘Who will I have my midnight meltdowns with now?’
Someone puts music on, and half the residents start whooping and dancing on the furniture when Mr Brightside fills the room.
Dawn dances until her feet feel bruised and Grace reminds her they need to drive over to her new place and start unpacking.
An hour later, Dawn watches Jack and Grace as they argue about where to put the wardrobe they had collected from the charity shop in St Jude’s minibus. They look like a couple in love. Looks like Grace has taken Dawn’s advice. They will probably be discussing the St Jude’s cafe as a reception venue for their wedding before long.
Dawn isn’t one for being pushy, but she has drawn up a menu, a table plan and written a maid-of-honour speech just in case she’s asked. Which she’s bound to be – nearer the time, of course. She’s looking forward to telling the wedding guests about how Grace had pulled her from darkness and into the light, and then how she’d returned the favour. There won’t be a dry eye in the café when they hear about how she pushed Grace towards Jack, right before saving the very place in which they’re all sitting. Grace will thank her through glistening tears and Jack will publicly promise to name their first child Dawn.
‘If she puts the wardrobe there, it will block the radiator,’ Grace points out.
‘Yes, but if she puts it here then the bedroom door won’t open properly.’
Perhaps Dawn could turn the tall cleaning cupboard in the kitchen into a walk-in wardrobe. She could display the clothes on the rails by colour. Grace would love that, and she’d think about what a great influence she’d been on her organisational skills. Then when Rosie visits, she’d be super impressed. I can’t believe you’ve got a walk-in wardrobe, Mum. Just like a TV star.
‘Dawn.’ Grace and Jack chime together. They look like they’ve been speaking to her for a while.
‘Where do you think then?’ asks Jack.
Dawn looks at his face for clues.
‘The wardrobe!’ says Grace.
Dawn look around at the bedroom – her bedroom. It has a bay window at the front that is pulling in all the sunlight and dousing every inch of the room with a golden glow. The bed is covered by a yellow duvet with daisies dancing across it. A bedside table stands next to the bed and she’s placed her orange notebook on it – the one with the columns that hold details of the shops she’s visited and charts what she owes each for her ‘bargains’. She is paying them back gradually and anonymously with her earnings from the café.
‘Just put the wardrobe anywhere,’ says Dawn. Her jaw aches from smiling and her head is pulsing with excitement. ‘I just can’t believe I have such a beautiful flat to live in.’
‘Well, it’s clean at least,’ Grace says, looking at the walls and the eighties curtains that had been left at the windows. ‘And it’s definitely the best one we looked at in your price range. Now you’ve got a job at the café, you could always start saving. Then you could look for something on a… nicer road perhaps.’
Dawn links her hand through Grace’s and leads her closer to the window. ‘Look at that view,’ she says, pride leaking from her voice.
‘Umm… the skip full of rubbish from across the road or the graffiti on the wall behind it that says “Dave is a twat” next to a pair of badly drawn testicles?’
‘Not there. Look up – above all that. Look at the blue sky and those fluffy clouds. That one looks like a baby elephant. I can see the top of the castle from here. And yes, those houses are hiding the sea – but I still know it’s right there behind them.’
Dawn had put the tenancy agreement in a frame and placed it on the wall in her new living room before she’d even opened a box to unpack. Grace and Jack had laughed, but it made sense to her. This time, she’s moving in without planning her escape. Without feeling like she doesn’t belong. ‘And look.’ She spins Grace around again to face the room. ‘Look at the space. My things. I know it’s small and you said it needs painting but to me it feels like a palace. It’s mine, Grace, and I’m sleeping here tonight in my own bed all because of you and St Jude’s.’
‘There is something else I need to give you.’ Grace hands an envelope to Dawn.
‘Is this another surprise?’ Dawn wouldn’t be surprised – always has a trick up her sleeve, that Grace.
‘Umm. Yes. It probably will be.’ Grace’s expression is hard to read and Dawn’s stomach clenches.
‘T
his came in the post today. I recognised the address printed on the back of the envelope. It’s from the adoption agency.’
Dawn presses her fingers around her chest of drawers as clouds seem to fill the room in front of her eyes. Someone has turned the music up in the flat downstairs and Dawn can feel the bass vibrating under her feet from below. ‘Can you open it please?’ she whispers. ‘Just tell me… is it from her?’
There’s a stain on the wall beside her. It’s the shape of Italy. Dawn’s always wanted to go to Italy. She traces around the line of it with her eyes as her heart thuds hard and fast.
‘It is from her.’
Dawn stares at the sheet of A4 that Grace is holding in front of her. She gets as far as ‘Dear Dawn,’ before her eyes mist over. Three long blinks and a long breath. She can do this. She has to. She wants to. She’s never wanted anything more.
Dear Dawn,
It’s so hard to start this letter. Everything sounds like a cliché, and I really hate them. Even my first few words sound too much like this is the hardest letter I’ve ever had to write. I used to write letters to you when I was little – mostly whenever I was in trouble with my adoptive parents (often).
I suppose I should start by telling you they were good to me. They never hid the truth from me that I wasn’t biologically theirs and always made sure I knew that I was in every other way. Before I came along, they tried to have a baby for seventeen years and always talked about you as the person who had given them the best gift. When I got older, I used to pretend to throw up at how cheesy they were.
I wondered about you often. What your smile looks like. If you laugh much, if you like painting like I do. Lots of times I thought about asking to find you, but I was terrified about what it would do to Mum and Dad (I’m sorry if it hurts when I call them that; it’s just impossible not to).
Then Mum got sick – really sick. She’s better now but it made me think about a lot of stuff. What if something happened to you or to me and we never got the chance to meet each other. Mum had been thinking the same and I finally told her what I’d wished for every year when I blew out my candles. All I could hear in my head afterwards was ‘Don’t ever say what you wished for or it won’t come true.’ That plagued me for days (I know I’m twenty-two now, but I’m pretty superstitious.)
Your contact details arrived from the agency three days ago. Since then, I’ve mostly been writing versions of this letter and clicking on your Facebook page. I think it’s amazing all you are doing for the hostel you live in. And I think we may have the same eyes. In your letter, you said you would like to meet. I’m planning to come to Dover this Friday (29th July). I thought we could meet in the café where you work at half past three? Please let the agency know if this isn’t a good time for you, otherwise I will see you there. I have a lot of questions and I know the answers might not be nice or easy ones so I will try not to ask them all at once.
I am so happy you said yes.
Your Daughter.
Dawn stares at the page for a long time after she’s finished reading. She holds it close to her chest and looks back at Grace who hasn’t taken her eyes away from her. ‘The twenty-ninth is tomorrow,’ says Dawn.
She is pulled into Grace’s arms. Grace’s hair smells like dusty furniture and salt and vinegar crisps.
‘And tomorrow, I get to see my Rosie.’
Chapter 43
Dawn
THERE ARE FEW THINGS more beautiful than watching the sun rise above a choppy sea. It’s finally morning. The twenty-ninth of July. The day Dawn will see her baby girl. Not even a second of sleep was had last night, and an early morning walk had felt like the best way to blow away the cobwebs. She walks along the promenade humming ‘The Best Things in Life are Free’ inside her head. Mostly. The look she gets from a dog walker tells her some of the words may have slipped out. Dawn had spent her first night at the flat both awake and dreaming. Her limbs are heavy from lack of sleep and her heart hurts from changing shape to fit all the different feelings that keep wriggling in.
She reaches the sea shelter and pokes her head around to peer at the benches inside. Bill is already awake, sitting up on the seat, still in his sleeping bag. There’s another body on the next bench, still asleep. A shock of purple hair pokes out from the top of a blanket.
‘Shhh.’ Bill puts a tobacco-stained finger over his mouth before whispering to Dawn. ‘This one only got to sleep an hour ago. First night out,’ he adds.
Dawn nods, remembering hers. London had felt like as good a place as any to start again that day she first left Manchester. So many people, so many places to hide. It hadn’t been as simple to get a room for the night as she’d hoped. Even getting a doorway on some streets was more competitive than she had expected. No matter how bone-tired she was, the cold hard pavements, the noises and the crippling fear made it impossible to drop off to sleep the first few nights.
‘Budge up then,’ Dawn whispers before sitting down next to Bill on the bench. She flops her rucksack down in front of her and reaches inside it for her flask and two travel cups. She gives one to Bill and balances the other between her knees. ‘Can’t beat the smell of coffee in the morning.’
‘Don’t s’pose you got something stronger in that bag of yours,’ grins Bill.
Dawn leans back against the cold plastic criss-cross of the bench and warms her hands on her steaming mug. She closes her eyes as she sips her coffee and listens to the crash of the waves, the song of the seagulls. The fresh sea air fills her lungs as she inhales, and she holds it in there for a few moments before slowly letting it all out.
‘You’re quiet today,’ remarks Bill. ‘Usually, you won’t shut up jibber-jabbering. I don’t like to say anything on account of you bringing me my paper and coffee every morning, but you don’t ‘alf make a right racket sometimes. I’m surprised you don’t scare the seagulls off.’
‘I just want to save up all the moments from today,’ whispers Dawn. ‘It’s a day I’ve been waiting for for a long time.’
The body on the other bench wriggles and Dawn checks her bag for an extra cup. ‘I’ll leave a cup with you for her if she’s still asleep when I go,’ she says to Bill. ‘And if you’re coming up to the café later, please bring her with you. We can pop her on the waiting list. She shouldn’t be out here.’ Dawn’s voice cracks. Now she can see the face above the duvet, she can see how young the woman looks – no older than Rosie. She tries to picture her daughter as she usually does in a boardroom or her studio in Milan or Paris, but nothing will come.
‘Aye,’ Bill nods. ‘Long as you don’t try talkin’ me into putting my name down. My place is out here, amongst the stars. Been too many years now – walls are like prisons to me.’
Dawn pulls a rolled-up newspaper from the inside pocket of her coat and holds it out to Bill. ‘It’s today’s. I can stay another ten minutes if there’s any words you need help with, but then I’ve got to go to work.’ A smile sits on her cheeks. She still loves the way that sentence tastes and the knowledge that if she doesn’t go in, the scones won’t be ready in time for the lunchtime rush and the signs won’t be placed outside. It matters that she gets there.
‘You should keep it.’ Bills eyes hold a sparkle in them. ‘You said it was a special day – read every news story and put it somewhere safe. That way you’ll remember what was happening in the world around you on the date you want to hold close.’
‘Thank you.’ Dawn swallows and stares at the front cover. ‘Have you ever wished for something so hard and got scared when it was on its way to you? I mean, if you’ve lost something once, you could just as easily lose it again.’
A German Shephard pants past the shelter, tongue hanging out as he pulls his owner along behind him. A door slams from the houses behind them and a car engine splutters to life.
‘Not me. I don’t make wishes. Dreams are for other people,’ says Bill. ‘But you’re special. If something finds you, I have a feeling it will want to hang around.’
&nb
sp; An image breaks into Dawn’s mind. A young woman walking through the café door. She can’t see her face yet but that doesn’t matter. Her arms are outstretched as she walks towards Dawn and then her hands are inside Dawn’s own; right where they belong.
‘Make sure you come to the café before three-thirty,’ she says. ‘We’re closing early. There’s someone I have to meet.’
‘Righto,’ Bill says before draining the end of his coffee.
Dawn packs the flask back into her bag and zips up her puffer jacket. ‘Oh, and Bill?’ she calls back into the wind after she’s walked a few paces. ‘You’re wrong about the wishes. Dreams are for everyone.’
‘That’s the third plate you’ve broken today.’ Cara appears in the dining area brandishing a dustpan. ‘Good thing you’re only going to be my boss for a week, or we’d be falling out.’
Dawn brushes up the broken crockery and watches Cara as she whizzes between tables, taking orders and dishing out smiles. She’s going to love working at Francine’s and Dawn can’t wait to see her in action at her first-ever paid job. She’ll miss working with her in the café every day. New St Jude’s residents will be there to take her place and it will be Dawn’s job to train them to be every bit as efficient as Cara.
‘Sorry. I’m a bit shaky this afternoon.’ Dawn tips the dustpan into the bin. The café is full, and the collective conversations are bouncing off the walls and into her ears, filling her head with noise.
‘Of course you are.’ Cara sets her tray down on the worktop and grabs hold of Dawn’s wrists. ‘I know a bit about seeing your kid after a long time away. Not gonna lie; it’s weird. It’s weird and it’s bloody hard seeing how they’ve grown without you.’
Someone has spilled ketchup on the floor in front of her. She’ll need to get a cloth before someone slips on it. A chair scrapes against the tiles, making her jump. Why can’t everything just slow down and be quieter?
