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“Where will you go?” Elda didn’t want to see her wandering the streets. “We’ll drop you somewhere. We’re heading to Charlie’s parents for the night.”
They both had much to say, but neither had the words today. Resentment bubbled in Elda’s chest. She wasn’t sure if she was still angry with her mum or herself.
“I’ll just get the next train back, love. I’ve seen you now.”
It wasn’t enough. Elda wanted more time to think about what was happening. She didn’t want her mum to leave with everything unsaid and unresolved. She wondered what Charlie would do.
“We’ll drop you in town on the way, and we can get a coffee or something.” Elda put her hand on her mum’s shoulder. “Just wait here while we finish getting ready.” Elda turned to face her, relaxing her jaw. “I’m glad you came over. Maybe next time you could stay for a bit.”
***
The dining chair cradled Elda’s body. She spread her fingers and counted her breathing, still reeling from this morning. Her mum’s visit had lifted the lid on emotions she’d buried for years.
She looked across to Charlie’s parents, cherishing the ease with which they moved. She recognised the battle of envy and hope inside her. She’d always dreamed of a family where each member was loved for who they were. But she’d been dealt one that smothered and lied just to keep everyone in their place.
“Elda, would you like some potatoes, sweetheart?” Mandy passed a ceramic pot with both hands.
“So, girls, what’s next? Any adventures?” Harry’s cheerful voice boomed around the room. He looked delighted to have Charlie beside him and basked in her happiness.
“We’re going to Denmark this summer,” Charlie said, setting down her fork.
“Good for you, Sherbert.” He turned to Elda. “You’re a marvellous influence on my daughter. She’s been overworked by those chambers for years.”
“We’ve booked a cabin on the coast. No one around. Just peace and quiet. And a bit of painting,” Elda said.
“Now, talking of which. I hope you don’t mind, but I’ve dragged out the old easel from the garage. You can take it down to the beach this evening and have a go at the sunset if you like.” Mandy gestured to the corner of the room. “I’ve saved your bits and bobs from the last time you were here too. So you’ve got everything you need.”
“That’s right. Your mother’s been fussing down there all morning, setting you up a nice little area with the deck chairs and what not.” Harry raised his flute in a toast. “What would we do without her?”
“Thank you so much. That sounds amazing.” Elda joined the toast. She took Charlie’s hand under the table and squeezed tight, trying to work out what was washing over her.
They met each other’s gaze, and she felt blessed. She was entirely loved by Charlie and part of a wonderful, connected family who loved her for who she was. There was just one thing missing in her life.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Elda balanced her weight on the rumbling underground train. She’d always hated the tunnels. Sweaty, suffocating passages that threatened to collapse, trapping her beneath the ground.
Today, she was filled with even more dread. She bore the weight of impossible expectation on her shoulders. She had waved Charlie off at the station with a brave smile, passing her trepidation off as excitement. Now, in the belly of London’s Undergound, fear threatened to subsume her entirely. She had no idea what would face her on the other end of the line, the other side of the door on which she intended to knock.
She alighted at Seven Sisters and blinked into the glare bouncing off the car windscreens as four lanes of traffic crawled along the road. She smiled at the familiarity. So common, yet so alien.
Just like her father. Such an ordinary thing, to go and see your dad.Not if it’s for the first time in twenty years.Panic rose in her chest, and she almost turned back for the ninth time that morning.Get a grip, Elda. What’s the worst that could happen?She’d already examined every possible outcome from this adventure. She’d imagined her dad as a recluse, unwilling to open the door to her, and as a psychopath, who might lock her in his basement for three years. She wondered for a long time whether he might be a drunk like her mother. That would be a bitter disappointment. It wasn’t all bleak. Her fantasies had taken her on glorious family holidays. Her dad might want to make up for lost years.
Her phone buzzed in her hand, telling her to take the next left. She paused at a striking building on the corner. A stunning art gallery had grown from the ashes of hunger and misery in this impoverished borough. She saluted the artists streaming through its doors and took it as a sign she was in a good place, even if she wasn’t about to receive the welcome she ached for.
She rounded the corner and came face-to-face with the street name which had been seared on the back of her eyes since her mum had passed her the folded piece of paper in Charlie’s kitchen. There was no turning back now. Number eighteen came too soon, and she checked herself. Before she had time to second-guess the next move, the door swung open just a few feet from where she stood.
“Can I help you?” the man asked, turning to lock the door behind him. “I don’t need any circulars if that’s what you’ve got. I’ve still got last week’s charity bag too.”
His voice was warm and pleasant. Elda hadn’t thought about how he might sound. Her breath caught in her throat, unable to respond.
“Are you okay?” He adjusted his glasses.
She coughed, begging the words to come out. “You don’t recognise me.”
He peered a little closer at her then his eyes widened. “Yes! Yes, I do. Elda. Of course I do.”
“I’m sorry to come out of the blue.”
