That Girl From Nowhere

by Dorothy Koomson

  I watched the people around me react: frowns of confusion and recognition, wondering if they were really hearing this tune filling the church. Seth, who stood at the front of Dad’s coffin, hitched an eyebrow at me. He couldn’t believe I’d managed it, that I’d got Mum to let me play Dad’s song.

  When Dad took me to see Dirty Dancing because I had no friends to go with, he said he wanted that song played at his funeral. ‘The words are so true. You and your mother, this is what life is about. Promise me, quine, you’ll play it at my funeral.’

  ‘Promise,’ I said without a second thought. Because I was nine, and that day was never going to come. I never thought I’d have to convince Mum to let me play ‘I’ve Had the Time of My Life’ by Bill Medley at Dad’s funeral because Dad was a big man with a huge laugh and he was never going to have a funeral, so I could promise him anything he wanted.

  Tyler leaves it at least ten minutes after my mother has gone before he comes near my table. ‘Now that I’ve met your mother,’ he says, ‘I think it’s fair to ask you what I’ve been wondering since you first walked into my café.’

  ‘What’s that then?’

  ‘I’ve been trying to work it out by very subtle means, and now I’m just going to ask you outright: are you seeing anyone?’

  As if on cue, as if he knows that something has made me think of him, Seth’s text tone sounds in my pocket. It’ll be one of those texts where he simply asks how my day has been, how I’m feeling, reminding me he loves me. And it’ll make me question the wisdom of what I’ve done, whether I should have stayed with someone who lied to me more than once. Not even a lie of omission, an outright lie. He’s backed off recently, no asking me to talk to him, just asking how I am. An easy way to get me to think about him even if I won’t return his calls or texts.

  ‘No,’ I say to Tyler. Because I am not. No matter what his texts say, no matter how much I want to be, I am not with Seth any longer. We are over. We have to be over. ‘I’m not. I’m flattered that you’re interested, though.’

  ‘I’m flattered that you’re flattered. Does that mean if I ask you out sometime you’re likely to say “yes”?’

  ‘It does.’

  ‘Good to know,’ he says. He wanders off to the counter with his checked tea towel slung over his shoulder and my mother’s empty teacup and saucer in his hand.

  Seconds later he returns without the tea towel, apron and sous-chef hat he wears. ‘ “Sometime” didn’t involve an apron, tea towel or hat,’ he says. Another grin. ‘Have you ever been roller-skating along the promenade?’ he asks.

  I shake my head. I always wanted roller skates. Lots of the girls in my school had them. Hillary Senton had pink ones with pink wheels and she brought them in one time and all of us wanted to touch them, to have a go. But she wouldn’t even let us stand too close to them. I wanted pink ones like hers, but even if they weren’t pink I would have loved to have a pair, to be like the other girls. But we couldn’t afford them, Mum and Dad said. We could hardly ever afford things that other children had. I don’t remember feeling resentful about it, more sad. I used to stare at the ceiling at night dreaming that when I grew up I’d have a lot of money and I’d be able to buy whatever I wanted. Funny how as an adult that never translated into buying roller skates, a pink bike or the latest, most up-to-date Girl’s World.

  ‘Would you like to come roller-skating with me along the promenade? I can make us a bite to eat here after the café has closed and then we can head out on the skates. See how far we get.’

  I am being asked out by the man I have a crush on. I am being remarkably calm about that. ‘Sounds good. When?’

  ‘This coming week I’ve got events here every night so the café’s going to be open later than usual. But next week, I’m all yours. Potentially.’ He scrunches up his face, closes his eyes in a grimace. One eye cracks open a fraction. ‘That sounded so wrong. Did you understand what I meant in the broader sense?’

  I nod.

  ‘So, next week?’

  Two buzzes and a bleep sound in my pocket, a reminder that my life isn’t uncomplicated. Not that I’d forgotten. About Seth. About my biological family. Nor about what my grandmother has asked me to do. Having something else to think about, to look forward to, feels like a chance to be an uncomplicated person for a few hours. I’ve forgotten what it’s actually like, to not have anything to worry about.

  ‘Next week, definitely.’

  39

  Smitty

  ‘What are your plans for today?’ my cousin Nancy asks me when I come into the kitchen. She and Sienna have been up for an hour or so, I heard them and I’d been itching to go in and join them, but I couldn’t face this part of that scenario – speaking to Nancy. They’ve been here six days and I have managed to avoid speaking to her as much as possible. Unless she asks me a direct question in front of Sienna or Mum, I don’t reply, I don’t acknowledge her. I’ve spent a lot of time at work to avoid speaking to her. If I told Mum what Nancy had done it would upset her (not the Seth part, Mum would blame that on Seth, anyway) but it would devastate me if Mum did what she always did and tried to find a way to excuse Nancy for this latest treachery.

  ‘I’m working,’ I say. I only reply because Sienna is sitting beside her mother, trying to stack cornflakes on top of each other as they float in her cereal bowl of milk.

  ‘Oh. You work too hard, you know that?’ Nancy says. ‘You’re too young to be this stressed about work. You need to take care of yourself.’ I wish she would come right out and say whatever it is that she wants because I find the faux-friendliness unpalatable.

  She has her hair piled up on top of her head, tendrils of it tumbling around her face. She wears shorts and vest-top to sleep in. It’s been unfortunate for her that she didn’t manage to convince Mum to convince me to let her have the big room. She tried, but I’d avoided being around long enough for Mum to ask. And I locked my room during the day so Nancy wasn’t tempted to move in while I was out. I don’t move from my current place near the kitchen door because Nancy is going to say something else. I was supposed to reply to what she said but as it wasn’t a direct question, I didn’t bother.

  ‘Would you mind taking Sienna today?’ she asks. ‘You’d like a day with your auntie Clem, wouldn’t you?’

  ‘Yeah!’ Sienna says.

  ‘I just need a little “me” time to catch up on some work, return a few calls, you know?’ Nancy asks. ‘You don’t mind, do you?’ The way she says that, the intonation of the question, makes it sound like I am Sienna’s other parent and I’ve been slacking off in my duties.

  More than anything I wish that Nancy would admit that she struggles with being a lone parent, that it’s hard work and she resents Dylan for not being involved. (Seth is always on Dylan’s case about not being part of Sienna’s life. Dylan’s stock reply is: ‘Being involved with her means being involved with Nancy, and that is not an option.’ And Seth always says, ‘Yeah, tell that to your daughter when she grows up realising you’re the feckless fool that you are.’) I wish Nancy would be honest with herself, with the world in general. There are so many people who would be comforted to know that even she, Super Feminine Woman, finds it hard to be everything all the time to her daughter. That would be far too honest, though. Far too risky. She might be seen as normal, she might not be seen as perfect. Instead, she puts posts up on the internet giving tips on being feminine and a mother while she can barely get dressed at weekends, she pretends she has important work to do to guilt-trip people into babysitting for her, and she shows up with a two-year-old Sienna at mine and Seth’s flat and leaves Sienna to get something from the shop and doesn’t return for three months, claiming that she needed time to find herself.

  I would respect Nancy a whole lot more if she had just come out and asked me to look after Sienna today. It’s not as if I would say no. I never do when it comes to Sienna.

  ‘You fancy a day with me?’ I ask Sienna.

  ‘Uh-huh,’ she replies.
‘Mum said we’d go to the pier today but I don’t think she wants to any more. Do you want to go to the pier with me?’

  ‘I think we can do much better than that,’ I tell her. ‘Why don’t we go and look for some more shells and unusual pebbles so I can make more jewellery?’

  ‘Yeah!’ She wriggles off her seat until she is under the table and scoots across the floor on her hands and knees. She dashes out of the door, ready to wake Mum up so she can help her get dressed.

  ‘Thanks, Clem. This is really helpful. I need to get on top of work. There’s so much piling up and—’

  I have to leave the room while Nancy is still talking. I can’t engage with her, I just can’t.

  Sienna rarely walks anywhere if she can dance instead. She twirls and skips and stops to do complicated sideways steps. The promenade is perfect for her, she has the freedom and space to do all these things and we are in no particular hurry. The sun climbs higher in the sky as we move towards Brighton and more and more people pour on to the seafront. We left Nancy to catch up on work, which actually consisted of her and Mum sitting at the kitchen table, poring over Nancy’s phone, plotting out the way to Bluewater so they can spend the day shopping together.

  I’m not sure if it’s Abi or Lily who sees us first, but it’s Lily who runs towards me, waving and smiling. ‘Hello!’ she calls to me. ‘Hello!’

  ‘Hello, hello!’ I reply.

  ‘Who are you?’ Sienna asks. Her excitement at seeing someone her height is unbridled.

  ‘I’m Lily. What’s your name?’

  ‘Sienna. I’m five. How old are you?’

  ‘I’m five, too!’

  ‘Hi,’ I say to Abi.

  ‘Hello,’ she says frostily. I don’t blame her. I’m not sure I would be able to bring myself to speak to me if I were her.

  ‘My aunt makes jewellery from shells,’ Sienna says. ‘She made me this.’ She reaches inside her top, removes her necklace with its quick-release catch at the back so it will not strangle her if it gets caught. The necklace is made from a shell I found on the promenade. Three nights ago there had been high winds that had whipped up the sea enough to scatter pebbles and shells up on the promenade. On my way to work the next morning I’d found the small, smooth conch-shaped shell, with a patch of brown like a tan across its back, and a sprinkle of freckles along its smooth underside. Its freckles reminded me of the ones that came up on Sienna’s nose when she spent too long in the sun, and the patch of brown reminded me of the colour of Lily’s eyes when she had been doing impressions of me. I’d picked it up, deciding to make something for both of them. I made two moulds from the shell, filled them with silver clay, allowed them to dry, then fired them. I polished them both, then strung them on to soft leather strings with quick-release catches. The original shell, I returned to the beach after taking a photo. ‘We’re going to look for some stuff to make jewellery,’ Sienna says.

  Lily reaches out, and with the gentleness of someone older, touches the necklace. The clay had captured every line and ridge, every smooth curve.

  ‘I’ve got the picture of the shell she made it from on my nana’s wall. I have to share a room with my nana,’ Sienna explains. ‘Do you want to come and get some shells and she can make you a necklace, too?’

  ‘Do you think your aunt will make me one?’

  Sienna tips her head right back, the curls of her blonde hair cascading down her back as she does so. Her eyes are the colour of wet earth, the exact same colour as Dylan’s. ‘Will you, Auntie Smitty?’ she asks.

  ‘Of course,’ I reply.

  ‘Is that your aunt?’ Lily asks Sienna.

  ‘Yes,’ Sienna says proudly.

  ‘But that’s my auntie Clemmy,’ Lily replies. She tips her head back to stare at her mother. Her mass of long, glossy black plaits tumbles down her back as she does so. ‘That’s what you said, isn’t it, Mummy? This is Auntie Clemmy.’

  ‘Yes,’ says her mother, my sister. ‘This is your aunt.’

  ‘My Auntie Smitty’s name is Clemency. Are you my aunt and Lily’s aunt?’ Sienna asks me.

  ‘Yes, I am,’ I reply.

  ‘How come?’

  ‘Because Lily’s mum is my sister and your mum is my cousin.’

  ‘Does that mean we’re sisters or cousins?’ Lily asks.

  ‘Sisters!’ Sienna says excitedly.

  ‘Not really,’ Abi intercedes quickly.

  ‘Cousins!’ Lily exclaims.

  ‘Erm …’ Abi begins. She is about to shatter their illusions. She wants to be accurate, to state that Sienna is really my second cousin, that these two aren’t really connected at all. Those many, many times Nancy gleefully reminded me I wasn’t real somersault through my mind.

  ‘Do you want to be cousins?’ I say before Abi can speak.

  ‘Yes!’ they both reply without hesitation, the very thought of it seems to be the best thing to have happened to them both since Christmas ended.

  ‘They can be cousins if they want to be, can’t they?’ I ask Abi.

  ‘If they must,’ she mumbles, clearly not happy. It’s understandable, this need for accuracy is what you’d expect from someone who has always had siblings, who has never had to justify their connection to another person.

  ‘Yay!’ they both cry and spontaneously hug each other, two friends who have only just met, now bonded together for life as family.

  ‘Come on, let’s find some shells.’ Sienna grabs Lily’s hand and the pair of them dash off towards the stone steps that lead down to the beach. They both wear shorts and T-shirts, and have matching lime green Crocs.

  ‘We’re supposed to be going swimming at the King Alfred!’ Abi calls, but they ignore her.

  The steep drop from the pebble-filled upper beach doesn’t daunt them – they both run towards it, giggling as they hold hands, laughing while the ridge gives way under their weight, pushes them down further towards the lower part of the beach. When the pebbles and shells and fragments of shells stop moving beneath them, they leap forwards and run towards the sea, their loud, vocal happiness rising up like a trail we’re meant to follow.

  ‘Lily, stay out of the sea!’ Abi calls, and speeds up. I speed up too, and we go through the same routine, waiting for the shifting ground to stop moving beneath our feet before we head towards them.

  They’re crouched by the water’s edge, shallow, seaweed-streaked pools of not quite escaped sea sitting in the soaked sand around their feet as they search for the perfect shell. Their voices tumble and spill over each other in their excitement, and yet, in the commotion of speech and discovery they understand each other, they hear what the other is saying.

  ‘When I was about five, my mother took a load of photos of me and Sienna’s mother on Blackpool beach and we looked exactly like those two,’ I say to Abi.

  Nancy hadn’t understood then that I wasn’t real, that I wasn’t her proper cousin. We were friends and we liked each other, a lot. We were pinky-promise best friends forever then. There were other pictures, ones taken on later trips to Blackpool, and they all looked the same, but they never felt the same. I hope Lily and Sienna are friends forever. That they refuse to believe anyone who tries to tell them that they’re not real cousins, that they hang on to this feeling of having someone who they’ve fallen for in the way children do for other children.

  ‘Are you seriously going to pretend that this is all normal and you’ve been in touch with me?’ Abi says, affronted.

  ‘Sorry, I’m sorry. I should have been in touch.’

  ‘Yeah, you should. Why weren’t you? I mean, I thought it was all right that meeting. We were all a little overwhelmed but it’s not fair for you to duck out and send me bullshit “How are you?” texts.’

  ‘I freaked out,’ I say honestly. Aside from trying to convince my grandmother to change her mind about me helping her to die, I had freaked out because a lot of realisations were dawning on me like the rise of the Sun on a winter morning – slow to appear but powerful every time it i
s glimpsed. ‘It was all too much for me. Everyone was crying and I wasn’t. And I’m only now coming to terms with the fact that my parents got married. I wasn’t put up for adoption because my mum was very young and on her own or had been slung out by her family – she had this family and a big house and they still didn’t want me. She was in love with my father, he was in love with her, they went on to get married and have more children. So the bottom line is, they didn’t want me. I’m sorry I cut you out. But I think about you and Lily all the time.’ I reach into my bag, remove the small pink velvet bag that holds Lily’s necklace. I press it into Abi’s hand. ‘I made this for her, it’s the same as Sienna’s.’

  Abi frowns down at the trinket bag. ‘You’ve been walking around with this in your bag?’

  ‘I made it three days ago. I kept it in my bag because I constantly told myself that I would drive over and drop it off at your work or through your front door or something.’ I inhale deeply. ‘I’m a coward. It’s really that simple.’

  Abi says nothing as she continues to examine the bag in her hand, but she’s chewing the inside of her mouth, her eyes are in another place, she’s very obviously thinking over what I said.

  ‘My parents didn’t take that many photos,’ she says. ‘There were a few, but … It’s weird, saying that, actually, because I seem to remember there being lots of cameras and lots of negatives around, but we hardly ever had any pictures out. But me? I’ve got about six thousand photos on my phone of Lily.’

  ‘Six thousand?’ I am a prolific photo taker but not even I have that many photos of one subject.

  ‘You’d think there was no other thing to take a photo of in the whole world, wouldn’t you? I can’t help it. When she was first born I had this idea to take a photo of her every day so I could see how she changed over time. Who knew I’d end up with a baby that I could barely put down – even when she was asleep. Some days I wouldn’t be able to go for anything like a proper wee until eight o’clock at night. I lived in my dressing gown those first few weeks.’