by kendra Smith
Suzie frowns. ‘Why?’
‘I’m not giving up all my independence! I’m still going to work at the coffee shop here – and clean every now and again.’ I nod to the café. ‘But I might think about moving in.’
Suzie and Dawn both squeal in delight.
‘And Tyler?’ asks Dawn. ‘What about him?’
I tell them that Tyler got his place on his course, and it was pretty much thanks to Daniel, who’s still helping Tyler out from time to time. That Tyler is like a different boy; he’s motivated and loving every minute of it.
I look over to the lavender in the gym gardens and remember when Daniel explained how his parents had ignored his love of photography. Apparently, instead of photography, his father had strongly suggested he get a job ‘in the city’ and so to please his father he’d done a business degree, when what he’d really wanted to do was study photography. No wonder he found working in the city so hard, no wonder he started his own business to ‘give something back’ – and no wonder he’s been delighted that his own son is taking such a strong interest in photography.
‘Daniel’s taken Tyler completely under his wing, hasn’t he?’ Suzie breaks my daydream.
‘Literally.’ I smile. ‘He went to his college last week, talked to the tutors about his course work, he’s been advising Tyler on what projects he should do during his placement next year and he’s shown Tyler several tricks on his computer – how use Photoshop, how to edit all his shots. It’s amazing.’
‘And how’s Tyler been about it all?’ Suzie says.
‘It’s like they’ve known each other all their lives,’ I say. ‘Oh yes, both of you,’ I say fishing in my bag for the postcard and glancing at the time on it, ‘don’t forget to be there tomorrow – twelve sharp!’
‘We wouldn’t miss it for the world, would we, Suzie?’ says Dawn grinning.
*
It’s airless today in the Coffee Cup, which has agreed to host this morning’s ‘ceremony’ for the Young Photographer of Chesterbrook Award. There are about twenty entries, all pinned up on the walls at the back of the shop. The customers have had two months to study the photos and vote on which young person (under eighteen) should win. It had been Daniel’s idea for Tyler to try. Be good on his CV.
Tyler has taken to photographing landscapes and old buildings – and the competition shots had to feature the local area.
Dawn, Eric, Suzie (Rex is in London), and I are all huddled in a corner with coffees, trying to see if the voting has been finalised. Daniel and Tyler are at the back somewhere looking at the other entries.
‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ Mrs Anderson, the owner of the Coffee Cup, is tapping on a table with a spoon. She’s in her late fifties with ruddy cheeks and a big white apron; she’s clearly enjoying the buzz. ‘The competition results have been counted!’ A loud cheer goes up. ‘Quiet please.’ She holds up her hands and smiles.
First prize goes to a sixteen-year-old girl, who comes up to shake hands with the owner. She’s head to toe in black with a purple nose stud. Her auburn hair is tied up in a messy bun, with small tendrils hanging over her face. She’s gorgeous. We all clap. She’s taken some stunning pictures of the local church at sunrise. As she walks past Daniel, I swear I see him wink at her.
‘And the runner-up is Tyler Moore!’
I turn to Dawn and Suzie who are clapping. ‘Wow! He’s runner-up!’ Tyler saunters up, trying hard not to grin, and shakes the owner’s hand. He receives a £20 voucher for the Coffee Cup. It’s not an Oscar, I know, but it’s a start. Tyler comes up to me and I high-five him. ‘Well done!’
‘Madam, can you spare a moment? Is your family here?’
A messy-looking man with a camera slung around his neck, is peering at me and Tyler.
‘I’m from the Chesterbrook Herald. I’ve got a few photos of the winner, now I need the runner-up. He glances at his watch. ‘Can we be quick?’
I look at Tyler. ‘Sure. Let’s get you on the other side of the camera, for a change, shall we?’ I put my hand around his waist and pose.
‘Right, that’s lovely. Actually, hold on,’ says the photographer, scanning the room, ‘but I’m sure I saw this lad with his dad earlier.’
The word said out loud stops me in my tracks. Dad.
‘Right, son, go fetch your dad and let’s get a shot of you with mum and dad, shall we?’
Not tears, not now, not before a photo! Daniel comes up behind me and slips his hand around my waist and plants a kiss on my head.
‘Charlie, what’s the matter?’ Daniel leans close to me.
‘Nothing, nothing! We need to smile!’ I say wiping the mascara from under my eyes. I put one arm around Tyler and the other is clamped firmly around Daniel as the photographer snaps away.
The picture in the paper tomorrow will look like shit, but I don’t care. Images of all my foster parents and foster homes whiz through my consciousness, the years of needing to belong; the desperate desire to create a united family; all those silly soap operas I watch on TV to fill the void. ‘Mum, why do you get so emotional at these soaps – they’re just actors!’ Tyler used to tease me as I’d well up over yet another TV wedding.
I look around the café, at the small crowd gathered before us, smiling and clapping. I catch Suzie and Dawn’s eye and beam. I glance at the man on my left and the man-boy to my right and I squeeze their waists tight as the journalist snaps away. Today, I’m playing out a scene in real life that I’ve only ever dreamt of: I’ve found my family.
87
Suzie
Suzie looked round at the steel band playing in their garden, a trio of men in beanies, multi-coloured waistcoats and dreadlocks and a huge – slightly lopsided, if she was being honest – fudge brownie cake, baked by Dawn, on the table. Jacob was lying in his pram, sucking his thumb, in a ridiculously long christening robe, exhausted after the church service. She hadn’t been able to resist. It had cost a fortune. Rex didn’t know how much it was, but how often do you christen the baby you thought you’d never have? Everything was perfect. Especially her secret.
She had invited everyone from the village – some new mums she had met at the baby yoga classes, the vicar who had performed the ceremony at the local church, some of her old work colleagues. Annie was there, looking completely out of place in a designer suit and orange-rimmed glasses and with nobody to boss around.
Dawn and Eric were there, wandering hand and hand in the garden; she looked up and saw Eric suddenly grab Dawn’s hand and twirl her around, as if they were at one of their dance lessons. Charlie and Daniel were both laughing and he was filling up her glass with Pimm’s, whispering to the vicar who seemed very animated. Rex was sweeping around everyone looking even more gorgeous than usual in a dark lavender linen suit, tanned and relaxed with his sunglasses perched on his head. He was waving an iced champagne bottle about and filling up people’s glasses along with Ramone. Tyler seemed to be popping up everywhere from behind bushes and the back of the marquee taking photographs.
It was a glorious autumn day. The sun was shining, with a cool breeze, heralding the fact that nature knew very well that winter was on its way, but was giving everyone one last blast of late summer. Blue tits were whizzing along the garden hedgerow and a few were perched on the bird feeder, pecking at it. The garden was looking magnificent: the buddleia was still putting on a good show of purple fluttery wands across the borders along with some agapanthus, delphinium and some asters.
Across the other side of the border her mum and dad were chatting. Still showing a united front. They’d been brilliant with Jacob, taking him to the park when she was exhausted. Her mum had told her so many stories about when she was a baby, stories she’d been saving up, she said, because she felt she couldn’t tell her when she didn’t have any children. They had been driving up from Chichester every second weekend to visit.
Rex had gone down there a few weeks ago, on a Saturday; Richard had taken him out on the boat – after he’d had the all-clear
from his gall bladder scan, the doctors had told him that he would be monitored, but said he could lead an active life again.
‘Hey, more champagne, sweetheart?’ Rex came up behind her, put one hand around her waist and started to fill up her glass with the other.
‘Whoa!’ She grinned putting her hand over the top of it. ‘You’ve got a speech to do! I don’t want to be giggling through it!’
Just then Dawn came up to her, arm in arm with Ramone.
‘Hey, Señorita, zis is wonderful!’ he said beaming at the waiter who was behind the bar. ‘I think he likes me, no?’ he said nodding towards the gorgeous barman in a purple waistcoat and winking at him.
‘Ramone, behave yourself!’ She laughed and kissed him on both cheeks.
‘Sí, sí. I behave!’
‘No “marjoram” brownies today!’ And they both burst out laughing.
‘And remember,’ added Dawn, ‘you have a new responsibility now.’ She looked up at Ramone. ‘Godfathers don’t make those kinds of brownies!’
‘I take my new role very seriously, Señora, how you say – I will make Jacob into a man!’
‘This really is amazing,’ Dawn added, sweeping her arms around the view. Girls in smart white shirts were offering around sandwiches on a tray as the band belted out Bob Marley’s ‘No Woman No Cry’.
I don’t want some stuffy violinist, Suzie had told Rex, who’d laughed. ‘Have what you want!’ He’d been in such a good mood lately. His promotion was going well and there was talk of a takeover that he would lead. As for the Libor scandal, there had been one colleague from his department who was still under investigation, but as far as Rex was concerned, he was in the clear. Suzie had seen a new man coming home from work. The lines had gone from his forehead, and he had a spring back in his step.
Two days ago, he’d come in from work, asked if Ramone was around, and when he knew that he wasn’t and that Jacob was asleep upstairs, he’d taken her hand, led her to the kitchen table silently, lifted her up on top of it, slid his hand up her skirt, pulled off her knickers, and they’d had quick, rough, wonderful sex on the kitchen table.
And he wasn’t snapping at Pixie any more, nor was he so cranky when Jacob woke them up. Last night she’d crept into the hall to find the two of them wandering around, Rex quietly singing ‘Rockabye Baby’ to Jacob who was nestled in his arms. It was the first time she could remember that she hadn’t woken first when Jacob started crying. She must be more tired than she realised.
88
Charlie
It’s one of those afternoons in the early autumn when summer has come back for a day. It must be about twenty degrees and is a glorious showcase of what the English countryside does best – the odd bee darting in and out of flowers, preparing for winter, the warm hazy sunshine casting huge, lengthy shadows across the stripy lawn; laughter and chatter fill the marquee. The meal has been amazing – even though I spilt my champagne across the table – the salmon, the dill – and the chocolate christening cake have all been delicious. Daniel is sitting next to me, his leg pressed against mine. He’s also holding my hand under the table, like he can’t get enough of me.
Rex has just given a short speech saying thank you to everyone and how pleased he is to be a dad. Everyone cheered and he’d smiled and raised a glass. But now Suzie is standing up and tapping her glass. Rex looks up at her and narrows his eyes. I don’t remember Suzie saying she’d do a speech?
She’s tapping her glass again and laughing. The crowd hushes.
‘Well, if we are making announcements then I have something to say.’ She glances sideways at Rex and touches his arm.
‘Well, everyone, thank you for coming and I have a bit of news: I. Am…’
Goodness, she’s gone bright red.
‘Pregnant!’
Rex looks like he’s seen a ghost; all the colour has drained from his face and there’s a crash. Oh crap, he’s just fallen off his chair. Daniel rushes up to him to help him up. Once he gets to his feet, he wraps his arms around Suzie and from the way his shoulders are shaking, I’d say he was sobbing. I’m reminded of something Suzie once told me. My husband never cries.
Rex then lets Suzie go, stands up straight and raises his glass in the air to an enormous cheer from the crowd, many of whom stand up. I’m so, so pleased for them! This must be a ‘miracle baby’. I look over at Suzie’s mum who is wiping her eyes with a tissue and her dad is next to her, beaming.
Suddenly, I realise Daniel hasn’t sat down. He’s still standing up next to me with a warm hand on the back of my neck.
‘What’s up?’ I glance up at him, as Tyler frowns quizzically at me from across the table.
‘Everyone! I have another announcement to make!’ Daniel shouts to his audience and squeezes my shoulder.
Someone from the crowd bellows, ‘Is it twins?!’ and the room erupts into laughter.
‘No!’ Daniel smiles, as the room quietens. ‘This is about us.’ He nods down at me and gently makes circles with his thumb on the back of my neck, as all the eyes in the marquee turn to us. My heart is racing. What is he doing?
‘I just wanted you all to hold on to your hats – because I’m hoping very much that you’ll need them for a wedding soon…’ And with this, he pulls a beautiful pearl and diamond ring out of his jacket pocket, and, grinning, holds it out to me. My legs feel like rubber, but there’s absolutely no hesitation as I jump up, hug him and grin madly as he slides the ring over my finger to thunderous applause. Then, he squeezes me tight and picks me up, swinging me round like a newlywed bride, as I hear the band outside strike up Bob Marley’s ‘Is This Love’.
Acknowledgements
Warning: this is a long acknowledgement. If you need to go to the bathroom, go now.
So. This book nearly didn’t happen. Yes, lots of authors say things like that, because they’ve tried, failed, tried again and then they got the break/agent/flashbulb moment etcetera and their book happened. My book nearly didn’t happen because I nearly didn’t come back from a short trip taking my son to the hairdresser one Saturday afternoon. Instead, a red Alpha Romeo drove straight into me on my side of the road and from there my life took a massive de-tour.
Let’s be clear, I’ve also had the agent, no agent, no publisher, eat-a-million-Doritos-in-desperation period as well, only I also embarked upon a series of fun adventures after my trip in the ambulance. These included: collapsed lung, broken sternum, broken ribs, a hilarious little number called a Lisfranc fracture where my left foot was squashed back the wrong way (yes, ouch), a natty epidural, a lung drain and a few superb black and blue bruises, a gash on my head and lip, a ‘frozen shoulder’, not to mention suddenly having the knees of a ninety year old as they’d both met the dashboard at 60mph. There was talk of air ambulances to St George’s in London to wire my ribs into place, if they did not behave and punctured my lung again. (My first thought: we can’t go there, I have a school run do to). Thankfully, they behaved. (My son had a broken collarbone, broken wrist, and broken toe. It was about 3am when I looked up through a hazy mist on the ward – or that could have been the morphine - and my husband appeared, to tell me they were releasing him. Sheer relief).
I’m obviously making light of this and, for the record, it was in no way a funny event. Life-threatening car crashes rarely are. I have spent the last year recovering, in and out of hospital and physiotherapy to get my body together, and in and out of counselling to get my head together – that’s been less straightforward!
When I came home from hospital and could not walk, I watched some TV. I was not a big daytime TV-watcher, but I had limited options. Let’s just say organising a cup of coffee genuinely took me about 50 minutes. That’s if my children had remembered to leave the milk, coffee and cup by the kettle. If not, it was hop-along-the-kitchen on my Zimmer frame for a good half a day to reach various items.
The winter Olympics were on, and as I wobbled from my Zimmer frame to the sofa, this entertainment of watching men and wome
n Freestyle Skiing, Short Track Speed Racing (and the one I watched from behind a cushion: The Skeleton), provided some relief from my situation (that and Codeine).
Then the Olympics finished. The next day when I pressed ‘play’, on came a Morning TV show. It had been snowing. The presenter said, ‘We’re going round the UK to show you the photos our viewers have sent in of cats in the snow!’
Cats.
In.
The.
Snow.
So that was it. I could not sit there on my saggy sofa and watch frozen felines frolic. Instead, I clambered unsteadily to a make-shift desk, one where I could have my foot elevated, lean awkwardly at an angle and start to type. My manuscript needed editing, it needed polishing, hell, it needed a lot of work. But I did it. About one to two hours a day, so that I could submit it to various digital publishers, seeing as popping into London for any agent or literary meetings dragging my manuscript and Zimmer frame was out of the question.
The day I got a phone call from my lovely editor, Hannah Smith, was a day that I knew it had all been worth it. Hannah has been kind, encouraging, professional and very understanding about shifting a few deadlines as medical issues have got the better of me. I would like to thank her - and Caroline Ridding, who spotted my submission at an early stage. And a huge thank you to the whole Aria/Head of Zeus team: to Vicky for answering annoying emails from me; the design team for a lovely cover; to Helena for her edits; and Sue and all her proofreading team. (Helena, I am working on that/which.)
Thanks also to: Bill and Annette for believing in me and my work in the early stages.
Thanks to the NWS by the RNA for encouraging words of my then part-manuscript.
Thanks to: Wendy McCready for an early read of the first draft and picking up a major plot hole for me!
Thanks, in spades, to Claire Dyer for her incredibly generous time on my manuscript when I needed encouragement the most. Thank you to Melanie Whipman and the Farnham Writers Group for a great term and moral support and to many of them who Beta-read a few chapters for me.
