The Moonlight Dreamers

by Siobhan Curham

  “Everything OK, darl?” Gracie called from her bar stool behind the counter before taking a pretend puff on her 1920s cigarette holder. Gracie had given up real smoking decades ago, on the day Prince Charles married Princess Diana. Apparently, pretend-puffing on a cigaretteless holder was the only thing that kept her from starting again.

  “Yes, fine, thanks,” Amber called back, rebalancing the rail.

  Gracie pouted her bright pink lips and blew some pretend smoke rings. “What time’s your pal meeting you for lunch?”

  “One o’clock.” Amber flicked open her pocket watch. It was one minute to one. Her heart started to pound. This was crazy. When Sky had emailed suggesting they meet up, Amber had been really happy. And when she’d told Gracie about it earlier, she’d felt really proud. I have a friend, just like a normal teenage girl, she’d wanted to shout. But now… What if she hates you, like all the other girls at school? What if you can’t think of anything interesting to say? What if she decides she doesn’t want to be a Moonlight Dreamer after all? What if…

  The bell above the door jangled. Amber carried on sorting the coats, trying to play it cool.

  “Hello!”

  Amber looked over her shoulder. Sky was standing by the door, grinning. She was wearing a tie-dyed dress over brightly patterned leggings, a leather jacket and Doc Martens. Her pale blonde curls were fluffed out around her shoulders like clouds of candy floss.

  “Hi.” Amber said brusquely. Too brusquely. She needed to be more friendly.

  “You must be Amber’s friend,” Gracie called. “Lovely to meet you, sweetheart.”

  “Shall we go?” Amber said, marching over to the counter to grab her coat and bag.

  “Sure. Where do you want to go?”

  Amber inwardly groaned. The last thing she needed was Sky adding to her avalanche of questions.

  “Take her down the Beigel Bake, darl,” Gracie said, leaning back in her chair and taking an extra-large pretend inhale on her cigarette holder. “That shop’s proper Brick Lane,” she added to Sky. “Best salt beef in all of London. Been there since I was a nipper – not like all those new-fangled, arty-farty shops.”

  “OK, let’s go,” Amber said, heading for the door. The last thing she needed was for Gracie to go off on one of her this-place-ain’t-what-it-used-to-be rants.

  Outside, Brick Lane was bustling with its usual Saturday mix of tourists and hipsters.

  “Do you want to get a bagel?” Amber asked, unsure what else to suggest.

  “Sure. Got to have the proper Brick Lane experience.” Sky grinned. “Was your boss pretending to smoke that thing in her mouth?”

  “Yep. She’s a little eccentric.”

  “Looks like lots of fun, though.”

  Amber nodded. Life certainly wasn’t boring when Gracie was around.

  When they got to the Beigel Bake they joined the end of the queue snaking out the door.

  “Wow,” Sky said as the queue shifted, gazing at the crates of freshly baked bagels stacked beside the counter and the silver trays in the chiller cabinets piled high with slices of salt beef and smoked salmon.

  “Where would you like to go now?” Amber asked as soon as they’d ordered.

  Sky shrugged. “I don’t mind. Somewhere we can people-watch.”

  Amber relaxed a fraction. People-watching was one of her favourite pastimes, and she knew the perfect place to do it.

  Amber led Sky into the courtyard at the heart of the Old Truman Brewery. Brightly painted food trucks offered everything from Venezuelan kebabs to Polish sausages. They sat down at one of the trestle tables.

  “So – you want to perform in a poetry slam?” Amber cringed. She sounded like she was interviewing Sky rather than having a casual lunchtime chat.

  But Sky didn’t seem to notice. “Yes. I just need to pluck up the courage to do it. I’ve only performed once in public before.”

  “Really? Where?”

  “At the Poetry Café. In Covent Garden.”

  “Wow. Well, surely if you can do it there you can do it anywhere.” Amber’s skin crawled with embarrassment. Now she sounded like that old Frank Sinatra song, “New York, New York”! Why couldn’t she just relax?

  Sky frowned. “There were only about five people there, though. And I wasn’t competing against anyone else.” She opened her can of Coke and took a sip. “So, how long have you been debating?”

  “Since I started secondary school. I love it.” Amber took a bite of her bagel. The tang of mustard tingled on her tongue. When she was debating she never had any problem finding the right words. It was the same when she was writing – the words always flowed. It was only when she had to have a conversation that her words came out stilted and unnatural.

  “What do you debate about?”

  “All kinds of things. Women’s rights. The environment. Politics. Once we even had a debate about whether homework should be banned. I argued that it violated the Universal Declaration of Human Rights as an act of tyranny and oppression.”

  Sky laughed. But it wasn’t like the sneery laughs of the girls at school, it was genuine and warm. Amber felt the edges of her tension beginning to thaw. If they could just keep talking about debating for an hour she might be OK.

  “So, what do your dads do?”

  Amber bristled, but Sky was still looking friendly and relaxed as she took another bite of her bagel.

  “Well, Daniel used to be an event manager and Gerald’s an artist. Daniel gave up working when I was born to look after me and now he works part-time as Gerald’s assistant.”

  Sky nodded. “Cool. So what kind of art does Gerald do?”

  Amber couldn’t believe how laid-back Sky was being about her dads. It was so refreshing. She really didn’t want to get into talking about Gerald, though. He got more than enough attention. “Portraits, mainly. What about your dad? What does he do?”

  Sky took a sip of her Coke. “He’s a yoga teacher.”

  “That sounds interesting.”

  “Yes. It is. Or it was.” Sky’s face clouded over. “Until he started doing one-to-one training with celebrities.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, he used to do classes and retreats.” Sky’s expression lifted. “We travelled all over the world – it was awesome. But since I started doing my GCSEs he wanted me to be in one place, so now he does mainly one-to-one tuition with rich clients.”

  “Oh.” Amber wasn’t sure what to say. It was weird hearing Sky sound so bitter. “I don’t like what my dad does either.”

  Sky looked at her hopefully. “The artist one?”

  Amber nodded. “The success has really gone to his head. He’s so used to everyone adoring him. Sometimes I feel like he’s forgotten I even exist.”

  Sky sighed. “Yep. That sucks.”

  Amber looked across the courtyard. As conversations went, she was doing OK. It had veered a little onto the gloomy side but at least she was managing to keep Sky talking. A girl hurried past them, her head down against the cold wind. There was something familiar about the golden waves of hair spilling out from beneath her woolly hat. “Wait, isn’t that…?” Amber looked at Sky.

  Sky was gazing after the girl. “Rose,” she said flatly.

  “Shouldn’t we – shall I call her over?”

  “No!” Sky snapped.

  “Is everything OK?”

  “Yes. No. I don’t know.” Sky folded her empty bagel bag into tighter and tighter squares. “It’s a bit awkward at the moment, what with me and my dad moving into her mum’s house.” Sky looked at her hopefully, like she needed Amber’s support. “Anyway, I’m really enjoying just chatting to you.”

  Amber’s eyes widened. “Really?”

  Sky nodded. “Yes. So tell me more about your dream of going to Paris. And what made you like Oscar Wilde?”

  Amber leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table. “Well, it all started about four years ago…” she began, and all the right words, in exactly the right ord
er, lined themselves up in her mind.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  As Rose emerged from the brewery onto Brick Lane she felt a sudden jolt, like she’d just been woken from a dream. What was she doing here? This was crazy. But she felt as if she’d run out of options. Taking Maali up on her offer to visit her parents’ store was the only thing she vaguely wanted to do, which showed how sad her life had become.

  Rose carried on walking past a row of seedy-looking shops selling prayer mats and cheap overseas calling cards, past a small brick school which seemed so out of place in the grimy, urban surroundings, past a mosque with a huge minaret covered in mirrored tiles. Then, finally, she saw the store: Bluebird Burfi. The window was full of trays of burfi in pastel shades of every colour. Rose licked her lips and opened the door. Inside, the store was bustling with people. They were all Asian, and for the first time she could remember, Rose felt awkward and embarrassed.

  “You came!” Maali rushed out from behind the counter and grabbed Rose in a hug. Rose stood there stiffly. Maali let go with a giggle. Rose’s heart sank. Maali might have only been one year younger than her, but right now it seemed more like ten.

  “Hello!” a woman called out from behind the counter. Rose could tell at once it was Maali’s mom. They had the same sparkling brown eyes and dimples.

  “Hey,” Rose said, trying to look cool, as if coming to a stranger’s shop to have a nose around was something she did every Saturday.

  “This is Rose, Mum.”

  “I’m Nisha,” Maali’s mother said. “Welcome.”

  Rose nodded. “Thanks.”

  “Come with me, Rose. I’ll show you the kitchen,” Maali said, tugging her arm. She reminded Rose of an overeager puppy.

  “I hear you’re interested in being a patissier,” Nisha said, putting some boxes of sweets in a carrier bag.

  “I guess.” Rose bit her bottom lip. All of this super-friendliness was making her want to clam up.

  “Well, go and have a look around and feel free to ask me any questions,” Nisha said. “I might not know much about making cakes, but I can tell you loads about the business side of things.”

  “Thanks.”

  Nisha’s smile grew even wider. “And thank you so much for helping Maali with her maths homework. It’s a great idea of the school to have mentors.”

  Rose frowned. “What?”

  “Come on.” Maali pulled on her arm, a lot harder this time.

  Rose followed her through to the back of the store and into a long, narrow kitchen. Steam was spiralling from a huge metal pot on the stove. The mixture of warm cream, vanilla and coconut smelled delicious.

  “I had to tell her you were my mentor at school,” Maali whispered, “so she wouldn’t get suspicious.”

  “Suspicious of what?”

  Maali stared at Rose like she couldn’t believe what she just said. “You’re very different to my normal friends,” she finally replied. “And you’re obviously older. It was the only reason I could think of that you’d be hanging around with me.”

  Indeed, Rose thought drily. Coming here had been a huge mistake. She knew that now. She’d stay for half an hour, pretend to be interested in the shop and then get the tube to Camden. She thought of sitting in the patisserie with a pastry and a steaming mug of hot chocolate, and her stomach rumbled.

  “So, did you mean it?” Maali said as she started stirring whatever was in the pan.

  “Did I mean what?”

  “That you’d help me with my dream?”

  “With your … oh, what, teach you how to talk to boys? Sure. Maybe some other time, though. I can’t stay very long.”

  Maali’s face fell. “How long can you stay?”

  “About twenty—”

  “So, Rose – it is Rose, isn’t it?” Nisha said, breezing into the room.

  Rose nodded.

  “Would you like a cup of tea?”

  “Oh, OK. Yes, please.” Rose decided that she’d have some tea and leave as soon as she’d finished.

  “Sweet chai or normal tea?” Maali said, turning the kettle on.

  “Sweet chai, please.” Rose had no idea what sweet chai was, but it sounded exotic.

  Nisha gestured at her to sit down at a worn pine table at the end of the kitchen. Rose unwound her scarf, but decided against taking off her coat; she didn’t want Maali to think she was staying.

  “So, tell me, why is it that you want to make cakes for a living?” Nisha said, still smiling at Rose.

  Rose suddenly felt vulnerable. For the past few days she’d been clinging to her dream like a life raft. Picturing a day when she was a patissier had been her only escape from the nightmare at home. What if Maali’s mom told her it was a dumb idea? What if she told her it would never work? Then what would she do? What would she have to cling to?

  “I love cake,” Rose said lamely.

  “Yes?” Nisha said, but it was more like a question, as if she wanted her to go on.

  “I love the way it makes people feel.” Rose frowned. Where had that come from?

  “I know exactly what you mean,” Nisha said.

  Rose stared at her. “You do?”

  “Yes. I feel the same about my confectionery and that is why I created this place – to make people feel good. To see their smiling faces when they choose their sweets.”

  Rose relaxed a little. “I also love the idea of creating new flavours, and new combinations of flavours.”

  “You’re just like Maali,” Nisha said. “She’s always on at me to try new flavours with my burfi, aren’t you, pet?”

  Maali came over to the table, carrying a glass teapot filled with a honey-coloured liquid. “It gets boring making the same old flavours all the time,” she said with a grin.

  Her mom was smiling too. Rose tried very hard not to like them, but it was impossible. Being smiled at in stereo was wearing her down.

  “I know!” Nisha cried. “Why don’t you two create a new flavour for me this afternoon?”

  “Seriously?” Rose said.

  “Yes.” Nisha turned to Maali. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe we need something new.”

  Maali looked at Rose. “But don’t you have to go soon?”

  Rose took off her coat. “It’s OK. I can stay awhile.”

  “This has been really lovely,” Sky said as she and Amber made their way back up Brick Lane to Retro-a-go-go.

  “It has?” Amber stared at her, her pale green eyes wide.

  “Yes. Thanks so much for the voice projection techniques. They’re going to be really useful.”

  Amber smiled shyly. “You’re welcome. Glad to help. And thank you for the advice about Paris. Asking my dads to take me for my birthday is a genius idea.”

  Sky smiled. “I hope they say yes.”

  Amber sighed. “Me too. Oh well, here we are. Better get back and let Gracie go to lunch.”

  “Sure. Well, see you at the next meeting, then.”

  “Yes. I’ll let you know the venue by tomorrow at the latest.”

  “Cool.” Sky wondered whether she should give Amber a hug but decided against it. Amber didn’t really seem like a huggy kind of person. “See you then.”

  Sky continued walking along Brick Lane, thinking about their lunch. She thought it had gone well, considering it was only the third time they’d met. Amber was a bit guarded, but there was something about her that Sky really liked. She seemed genuine. Then Sky’s thoughts turned to Rose. What had she been doing up here? Where had she been going? Sky had barely seen Rose since the Moonlight Dreamers meeting. She’d heard her, though, slamming doors and clattering plates and the thud, thud of basslines pounding from her bedroom.

  Sky reached the turning for the train station and stopped. She thought of going back to the house in Hampstead, with its blank white walls and characterless furniture. And she thought of Savannah and Liam all wrapped up in each other and Savannah’s recent drama. She turned away from the station and started heading in the opposite direction. Sh
e would go back to the boat and light some incense and make some green tea, and then she would curl up in her bunk and work on her new poem. And for one afternoon at least, she would pretend that the Savannah and Rose nightmare hadn’t happened.

  “Taste this. It’s O.M.Genius!” Rose took a spoonful of mixture from the pot and held it out to Maali.

  Maali dunked her finger in it and put it in her mouth. “This is amazing,” she gasped.

  After assembling every ingredient in Bluebird Burfi on every available work surface, they’d decided upon a combination of orange and cardamom. The kitchen looked like a mad scientist’s laboratory, with bags of sugar and jars of spices spilling out all over.

  “Do you think it could use a little cinnamon?” Rose asked, tasting the mixture again.

  Maali searched for the cinnamon and handed it to Rose. Rose sprinkled some into the pot and gave it a stir. She looked so different from when she’d first arrived. Her cheeks were flushed and her hair was flecked with sugar, and she looked really, really happy.

  “OK, chef, whaddaya reckon?” Rose said, holding out the spoon again.

  Maali took another taste. Now it was just right. The cinnamon went perfectly with the cardamom. “You have a real gift for this, you know.”

  “Seriously?”

  Maali nodded. “Yes. You seem to know what’s going to work before you even try it. It’s like your tastebuds are psychic.”

  Rose threw her head back and laughed. Maali flinched. She’d been trying so hard not to appear immature and silly. She hoped she hadn’t blown it.

  “Psychic tastebuds!” Rose said. “I love it!”

  Maali breathed a sigh of relief. This was going better than she ever could have imagined.

  “So, how are you guys doing?” Nisha said, coming into the kitchen. “Oh wow! You have been busy.”

  “We’ve made orange, cinnamon and cardamom. What do you think?” Rose offered her the spoon.

  As Nisha tasted it her face broke into a smile. “This is delicious. Truly. Well done, girls. I think I’m going to have to add it to the menu.”

  “Seriously?” Rose glowed with happiness.

  Thank you, Lakshmi, Maali silently whispered, grinning from ear to ear.