The Minute I Saw You

by Paige Toon

  Jackie is quick and funny and reminds me of Sonny in small ways. She has the same quirky half-smile and blue eyes. Harriet is more reserved, her smile a tad pinched, her eyes warier. I don’t know what I was expecting when Sonny spoke of her, but for some reason I’d pictured her to be a bit matronly, perhaps because of their age gap. In actuality, she’s slim and glamorous, with false eyelashes and a feathery blond hairstyle that swishes when she moves.

  When we leave, she gives me a hard squeeze, her eyes betraying her misery as she withdraws.

  ‘Take good care of him,’ she says in my ear, gripping my forearm with a cool slender hand.

  I pull her back in for another quick embrace and whisper, ‘I will. I promise you that I will.’

  I have a feeling we’ll get to know each other better with time.

  Chapter 43

  Charles arrives home on the day of Sonny’s exhibition, unfortunate timing that no one had any control over thanks to a storm in the Atlantic Ocean on the cruise ship’s approach to New York. He was supposed to be home yesterday.

  I had promised to collect him from the airport and I stick to that plan, but I’m inwardly stressing about not being able to help Sonny set up at the gallery. He claimed to have it all under control and sounded as cool as a cucumber. The only thing he says he’s nervous about is meeting Charles.

  ‘Look at you!’ I cry as my uncle comes out of the sliding doors at Arrivals. His shock of grey-white hair is wild and unruly – there were hairdressers on the boat, but he clearly didn’t bother using them – and his skin is more deeply tanned than I’ve ever seen it. He’s tall and slim and looks fit and healthy, every bit the intrepid traveller of the seven seas.

  For the first time, like, ever, he reminds me of his sister.

  ‘Hannah, my darling girl!’ he cries, rocking me this way and that before holding me at arm’s length as I beam from ear to ear. ‘It is so good to see you again!’

  ‘It’s so good to see you too,’ I reply, clasping his dear old face in my hands.

  He pulls me in for another hug.

  We talk the whole way home and, for once, we match each other word for word. When I first went to live with my aunt and uncle, it took a lot of coaxing to get me to open up, while Charles could’ve talked the hind legs off a donkey. June was quieter, more willing to embrace the silence. I feel a pang, missing her – she was very comfortable to be around, a soothing, calming soul who always made me feel safe. But it was Charles who challenged me, who encouraged me out of my shell and who helped me to rediscover my voice and the confidence I’d had when my sister was beside me.

  I might’ve sometimes found him to be exhausting, but I’ll forever be thankful for his eternal resilience. He never came close to giving up on me.

  I reach across and squeeze his hand.

  Bertie is damn well beside herself at the sight of her beloved master. She jumps right up, her paws on his chest and her tail crashing against the hallway wall as she madly licks Charles’s face. She drops down, yelping and barking until my equally delirious uncle chases her through to the living room. I find them sprawled out on the floor, hugging like a couple of humans.

  ‘I think we can safely say that she missed you.’ I’m laughing at the sight of them.

  ‘I missed her too,’ he replies affectionately, rolling her onto her back so he can pat her tummy.

  I leave them to their love-in and go and get ready.

  *

  The exhibition is being held at a church, which has a large café attached, in the centre of Cambridge. Sonny is talking to the manager when we walk through the door, an hour before official opening time.

  My breath catches at the sight of him. He’s wearing a slim-fitting dark-blue suit over a white shirt, unbuttoned at the top to reveal a patch of bronzed skin. His sun-lightened hair has been swept back from his face in its usual retro style. I ache to run my hands through it.

  He looks our way and smiles, excusing himself from the manager and coming over, his hand extended to Charles.

  ‘It’s really good to meet you,’ Sonny says as Charles clasps his hand with both of his, giving him a warm double-handed shake.

  ‘It’s very good to meet you too,’ Charles replies sincerely.

  Sonny gives me a quick peck on the lips as Charles turns to look around.

  ‘Gosh,’ Charles says. ‘This is really something.’

  I hold Sonny’s hand as we walk from picture to picture, getting our own personal preview before the public arrives.

  The photographs have been blown up to giant size. A central coloured iris is set on a square white background, and tiny words run around the rim of the iris in a circle, telling us about the subject: who they are and what they’d like people to know about them.

  Sometimes the subjects recount how they became homeless: Derek lost his job while caring for his sick mother, while Samantha, who suffered with depression, fell out with her family and sofa-surfed at friends’ houses until they gave up on her.

  Some people talk about their mental or physical health problems and how they had very little access to treatment or support. Others admit to having issues with drug or alcohol use. Many had traumatic experiences as children: they were the victims of sexual or physical abuse, or they suffered from lack of stability, being moved around between foster homes or divorced parents. These experiences often led to them becoming dependent on drugs or alcohol while still in their teens.

  Some try to convey how it feels to be living on the streets, like Mel who can’t sleep for more than thirty minutes at a time because she’s scared of being raped or mugged. As a woman, I can’t imagine how terrifying it must feel to be in her position. And in Mel’s case, her situation has been made even more horrifying because she hasn’t been able to see very well. She must have felt unbearably vulnerable.

  Most ask to be treated as people, to not be made to feel like they’re less than nothing, less than human. They just want to be seen.

  Some are being seen now – Sonny extended an open invitation and a few who took part in the photo shoots have come along.

  Right now I’m looking at Leonard, who’s standing proudly by his photo, talking to Archie and Matilda.

  ‘It made a change from the norm,’ I hear him say buoyantly.

  I’ve just gone to say hello to Nina and Aart, who flew over for the exhibition, when Abbey comes over and screeches into my ear: ‘They’re here!’

  I cut my eyes to the door and see Vince surveying the joint.

  Squeaking something incomprehensible to my friends, I hurry off to find Sonny. He’s deep in conversation with a silver-haired man sporting a fantastic handlebar moustache.

  ‘Excuse me, I’m so sorry,’ I say, apologising to the man. ‘Can I borrow Sonny for a moment?’

  ‘Sure, sure.’ He backs away.

  ‘What is it?’ Sonny asks me, perplexed.

  ‘Joseph and Alice Strike!’ I whisper.

  He stares at me, not comprehending.

  ‘The movie star and his wife!’

  ‘Yes, I know who they are. What about them?’

  ‘They’re here! They’ve come to the exhibition!’

  I wish I had a camera to snap the look on his face. He shoots his head towards the door as Vince re-enters, closely followed by Alice and her tall, dark-haired, instantly recognisable husband.

  A frisson of excitement ripples through the crowd.

  I take Sonny’s hand and lead him in a daze towards them, making eye contact with Alice as we approach. She lifts her hand in a small wave.

  ‘Hello!’ I say when we’re in their midst, Vince standing close by. ‘I’m so glad you could come! This is Sonny Denton, the photographer.’

  ‘And your boyfriend,’ Alice says with a smile. ‘Hello, I’m Alice.’ She shakes Sonny’s hand and Joseph steps forward, holding his hand out. ‘Joe.’

  He and Sonny shake hands and then Joseph turns to me. I try not to faint as his firm hand grips mine, his warm brown eyes crinkling at
the corners as he smiles.

  ‘Would you like to wander? Or perhaps Sonny could give you a bit of a tour?’ I ask.

  ‘A tour would be great, if you’ve got time?’ Joseph asks. ‘The project sounds interesting.’

  ‘Absolutely,’ Sonny replies. ‘Let’s start with Derek.’

  He gives me a wide-eyed look of bewilderment as soon as their attention is diverted. I thought I’d leave him to it, but he grasps my hand. ‘You’re sticking with me,’ he murmurs.

  I don’t need to be told twice. I’ll be telling this story to my grandchildren.

  Maybe even our grandchildren.

  Focus, Hannah, focus. And whatever you do, don’t look at Abbey.

  *

  The call comes the following morning when I’m at work.

  ‘If I swing by in fifteen minutes, will you have time to talk?’ Sonny asks me.

  ‘Sure! What’s up?’

  ‘Tell you when I see you.’

  A quarter of an hour later, I look up to see him standing on the pavement outside the bay window opposite my desk. He’s wearing his sunglasses and a half-smile as he talks on the phone, scuffing the pavement with his shoes.

  My heart flips over and, at the same time, I experience an odd feeling of déjà vu. It’s surreal. So much has happened since he first appeared outside my window all those months ago.

  Sonny peers in through the window and pauses, making eye contact with me. His smile widens. Then he ends the call and I stand up, meeting him in the doorway.

  ‘Back in a bit,’ I tell Abbey.

  ‘Okay,’ she calls after us.

  ‘What’s all this about?’ I ask with a smile as Sonny leads me around the side of the building.

  ‘Joseph Strike called me twenty minutes ago,’ he says in a low excited voice. ‘Joe – not his PA, him.’

  I bounce on the spot giddily.

  ‘He’s bought the whole collection!’

  I clap my hand over my mouth. ‘What?’ I ask through my fingers, wide-eyed with astonishment.

  ‘Paid way, way over the odds,’ he says. ‘He’s donating the collection to homeless shelters, but he wants it to tour the country first to help raise awareness for Vision Care for Homeless People.’

  ‘Oh Sonny, that’s incredible!’ I squeal.

  ‘Shh! I don’t want to jinx it by telling anyone else. I didn’t even dare tell my mum just then.’

  I presume that’s who he was on the phone with. She and his dad have been calling him daily since he confided in them about Glen, but they’ve been handling it in a more bearable way than Harriet did. His parents’ phone calls are brief, but caring. They’re letting him know that they love him and are there for him, without breaking down in tears and requiring him to comfort them. They’ve made their own appointments to see a therapist.

  I’m awestruck. ‘He won’t back down on it, especially not if he called you personally. Oh my God!’

  ‘Shh,’ he says again, laughing and pulling me into a hug. ‘Jeez, Hannah,’ he whispers into my hair. ‘I can’t believe it.’

  ‘I can,’ I say confidently. ‘I’m so proud of you I could cry.’

  Chapter 44

  The next few days fly by. Joseph Strike’s people put out a press release about the exhibition and the news makes the national papers, a photograph of Alice, Joe and Sonny flanking Mel, wearing her brand-new glasses, taking centre stage.

  Sonny convinced Mel to come in for an eye test before the exhibition and Umeko kindly covered all costs. My boss has agreed to commit to voluntary work too.

  Obviously the first priority is to help homeless people get off the streets, but Mel’s increased confidence, now that she’s able to see properly, is proof that vision care matters. Ultimately, benefits need to be more accessible, but until the government make some changes, every charity for the homeless needs all the help it can get.

  Sonny has been upbeat, but on the day he drives me to the airport for my flight to Australia, he’s subdued, lost in his own thoughts.

  ‘I can’t imagine how shit I’d be feeling if I didn’t know you were coming back,’ he comments with a humourless laugh as he waits with me at the check-in queue.

  ‘Two weeks,’ I remind him reassuringly, resting my head against his shoulder.

  ‘I’ll come and collect you,’ he promises. ‘It’s mad that Matilda and Archie are getting married that same week.’

  ‘I know!’

  They got the whole thing organised so quickly in the end. I went with Matilda to London to go wedding-dress shopping. That was a fun day. There’s a lot to be said for buying a dress off a rack at a twentieth of the cost of a couture gown.

  ‘Hey, I hope you have a good time,’ he says softly.

  ‘Thank you.’ I swivel in his arms and press a kiss to his lips. ‘I wish you could come with me.’

  ‘Next time?’ he asks with a raised eyebrow.

  ‘Definitely.’

  The man behind us clears his throat. Sonny picks up my battered old backpack and moves forward in the queue.

  ‘No one could accuse you of not knowing how to pack lightly.’

  ‘That’s about all I own,’ I reply. ‘Surely you’ve seen me wear the same seven skirts enough now to know that.’

  ‘I love your seven skirts,’ he says with a lopsided smile.

  ‘I love you.’

  *

  A little over twenty-four hours later, I’m on a bus heading along a long straight dusty road somewhere in South Australia. The landscape on either side of the bus is as flat as Cambridgeshire, but it’s a palette of oranges, reds and creamy yellows instead of the vibrant greens of England.

  Mum and Dad don’t have a car, but they’ve given me directions on where to meet them. I only hope they come good on the plan, because I imagine it’ll be a fair old hassle to track them down via river radio or whatever they call it.

  I’ve come off two crazy long flights, got to a bus station in Adelaide, caught a bus to Murray Bridge and swapped to another to take me to my final destination, and I am dead on my feet.

  Wearily slinging my backpack over my shoulder, I traipse through the tiny town of Mannum, dragging my stinging eyes past shop window displays and inhaling the fried-food smells of delis, too tired to really take in anything. It’s been over two years since I last came to Australia, but it’s exactly as I remember it, bar the blue skies and skin-scorching sunshine of my last trip. Today it’s cool and overcast, spring to England’s autumn.

  I find the Community Club and take the road alongside it that allegedly leads to the water. Sure enough, there it is: the wide brown Murray River, approximately fifty times fatter than the Cam.

  Crossing the parking lot behind the Community Club, I look past the playground on my right to see a green stretch of parkland butting right up to the riverbank. That’s where Mum and Dad said they’d moor up.

  There’s zero sign of them.

  A spark of irritation ignites inside me.

  My footsteps grow heavier as I walk into the park, taking a seat at a bench table underneath several soaring gum trees. Tree bark is peeling from the trunks in ghostly shreds, and the air is damp and heavy with the scent of eucalyptus and impending rain.

  All of a sudden, in a great cacophony of noisy squawking, a flock of snow-white parrots with yellow crests flies over my head and lands on the branches of the gum trees. I look up at them, smiling, despite myself, before returning my eyes to the river.

  And then I see the ramshackle two-storey houseboat with its top deck that holds more plants than standing space, and the small figures of my parents squeezed amongst the foliage and waving wildly. My relief snuffs out my annoyance and I get to my feet, walking down to the grassy bank.

  Who’s captaining the boat? I wonder, and then Dad stops waving and the boat very slowly begins to turn towards me. I remember now that there’s a second wheel on the top deck so he can sit out in the open air and steer.

  ‘We were moored across the river!’ Mum shouts to me
as they approach at smooth snail-speed. ‘We forgot you’re not allowed to pull up here for long!’

  The boat makes a horrendous noise as it comes into the bank, spluttering and groaning and chugging up water at the back as Dad tries to slow it down before it hits land.

  Mum is now down at ground level, pushing out a ramp for me to board.

  ‘Can you jump?’ she asks, breathless and giddy, her long wispy hair streaming freely down her back.

  I carefully swing my backpack on ahead and take a leap of faith. My mum grabs my arms and gathers me in a crushing hug. She’s my height, but thinner – and, paradoxically, stronger – there’s steel in her bones and I feel it in her embrace.

  My eyes are stinging, but now it’s more from emotion than lack of sleep.

  The boat is making the same chugging noise as Dad reverses away from the bank.

  ‘Let’s go upstairs,’ Mum urges, her greeny-gold eyes shining. ‘He’s dying to see you.’

  I help her pull the drawbridge back in and then she slings my backpack over her shoulder, reminding me of the hippie traveller I’ve seen in photos. She leads the way around the deck to the outdoor stairs, hurling my bag through an open doorway to the living room as we pass.

  No worries, Mum, no valuables inside.

  She grins over her shoulder at me, looking ten years younger than her late sixties in her tiny shorts and minuscule vest top. I laugh and experience an unexpected swell of affection.

  ‘Take over, Ellen!’ Dad bellows, letting go of the wheel well before she reaches it and winding his way through the jungle of the top deck until he’s got me in his arms and is lifting me from my feet.

  ‘You’re here!’ he cries, his soft beard brushing against my cheek as he kisses me.

  I didn’t realise how much I’d missed my parents. It’s clear from their welcome that they’ve missed me too.

  Dad’s hair is a lighter shade of brown than Mum’s and comes almost to his shoulders. He’s ten years younger, but roughly the same amount of grey streaks their hair.