Page 13 of The Sunrise Sisterhood

Skye mentally chided herself. She’d only been back in the UK for two weeks and already the old feelings of inferiority were creeping back.

‘Let’s walk down to the far end by the water’s edge,’ she said, focusing on the present. ‘Something smells delicious, and I want to know what it is.’

‘Sure,’ said Mike, glancing quickly at his phone before falling into step with her.

Exeter was gorgeous in the summer. She’d forgotten how much she loved being close to the sea, where blue dominated the colour palette. Dusk was Skye’s favourite time of day, the harsh heat from the sun had mellowed into a pleasant warmth and the sky was painted an ombré of violet, pink and palest blue. A soft breeze ruffled the bunting strung across many of the stalls, and tiny swifts, their bodies black silhouettes against the sky, wheeled and squealed overhead.

Skye had never noticed this before, but here in Devon the night crept in gently, like a lullaby, easing you from day to night. So different to Uganda, where night fell swiftly, like a curtain plunging the world into darkness. She felt a sharp pang of longing for her old life, for the children she’d left behind at the little ramshackle school, and for the many friends she’d made over the years.

She brushed the thought away. She was home now, for the foreseeable future at least. And while Nilla, her stepmother, was away and Dad was on his own, she was going to make herself useful. He wasn’t as young as he used to be and, deep down, although he’d never admit it, she knew he’d appreciate having someone around to organise him. The house had been a tip when she arrived; he’d blamed it on work, saying that he spent all his time in the office down the bottom of the garden. He needed her, she thought, and she felt a bit guilty about this, but it was a bonus that Nilla wasn’t there. It made a pleasant change to have him all to herself.

Well, almost to herself; there was his assistant – a smart twenty-something high-flier called Harriet who worked very long hours and popped into the house now and again.

If Skye was going to be staying for a while, she needed to work too. No one was going to say that she lived off Daddy’s money. She shuddered at the thought. Hence tonight’s excursion to the street-food market.

As luck would have it, one of the food companies here tonight was advertising a temporary position. Applicants were supposed to send in a letter and CV. But if she could have an informal chat with the manager while she was here, she might be able to bypass the interview process altogether. This was where her dad might come in useful. Skye wasn’t the most outgoing of people, but Mike was great at breaking the ice.

And so far, so good.

A guy stepped forward offering them samples of turmeric-coloured dhal. Mike declined but Skye accepted a small pot. She ate some and closed her eyes with pleasure.

‘Mmm. That is so good. I love how vibrant this place is, I mean look at the colour of this.’

‘You fit right in then,’ Mike grinned, flicking his eyes to her batik print dress.

Skye laughed nervously, unsure whether this was a good thing or not. Perhaps she stood out too much? ‘Standing out’ was usually something she avoided.

She’d had several dresses made while she was in Uganda. All you had to do was walk into a fabric shop, where there were always one or two women labouring away on sewing machines. You picked out your chosen print, pointed to one of the mannequins displaying wrap skirts, or halterneck dresses, or kaftans and, as quick as a flash, one of the ladies would whip out a tape measure, jot down your measurements and tell you to come back in a day or so for your new garment.

‘Sunshine colours, Dad,’ she said, deciding to take it as a compliment. ‘I like to dress myself happy.’

‘I still remember your black phase.’ He shook his head fondly. ‘I’m pleased you’re over that.’

Skye remembered that phase too. She’d thought it made her look serious. But looking back at old pictures of herself, she saw that black washed her out and made her features almost invisible. Ironically, that was how she’d felt for much of her childhood.

She finished the last morsel of dhal and dropped the empty pot in the nearest bin.

‘Wow, look at that!’ She pointed to the biggest paella pan she’d ever seen. Through the steam, they watched as the vendor scooped the vendor portions of saffron-coloured rice, plump prawns and green beans for eager customers.

‘There’s a vegan stall there,’ said Mike, pointing to the next pop-up marquee. ‘Let’s try it. I’m reducing my meat consumption these days – good for my digestion.’

‘Good plan,’ Skye replied diplomatically.

She remembered one of her birthday meals out when Mike had ordered a steak to be served blue. Clare had come along too and rolled her eyes at the prices, before telling everyone that for her last birthday she’d had three friends for a sleepover and they’d made pizza, and that all this excess was gross. Skye had felt sick looking at Mike’s plate swimming in blood and had thought that Clare’s evening had sounded far nicer.

‘Well, that can’t be vegan,’ Mike said, peering into a sizzling dish.

‘It’s pulled jackfruit.’ A man wearing an apron with the slogan ‘Vegan for Life’ on the front put some into a pot for him. ‘One hundred per cent vegan, I assure you. Try it.’

Mike tasted it and Skye and Vegan Man waited for the verdict.

Mike shook his head in wonder ‘If you hadn’t have told me, I’d have thought that was chicken. That’s really tasty.’

‘Yes, another convert!’ Vegan Man hi-fived her.

‘Good, isn’t it?’ said Skye, pleased, as they walked on. ‘Jackfruits everywhere in Uganda. You should see them growing on the tree. Huge! Bigger than watermelons. The fruit out there is incredible. Mangoes, pineapples, bananas – they all grow wild and you can just pick them straight off the tree. So delicious.’

‘Sounds it.’