So we are left, my mother, my father, my two sisters, standing around my creaking old stal , as people mil around us, and it looks total y normal, except it is anything but normal.

The two girls look down at the ground, and Mum and Guy smile at each other awkwardly.

‘How’s the shop?’ Mum asks. ‘Good, good,’ Guy replies. ‘The trip to Morocco sounds wonderful, are you off anywhere else?’

‘Oh, Jean-Luc and I might be going to La Rochel e later in the summer,’ Mum says carelessly. ‘He has a house there.’ She waves her hand expressively to indicate something, whether Jean-Luc’s presence nearby or the existence of La Rochel e, I’m not sure. ‘How – how about you?’

She bites a nail then, and I see it. She’s nervous. She is nervous.

‘Hannah’s sister has a place on Martha’s Vineyard,’ Guy says. ‘We’ve always gone there for a week in the summer. It’s beautiful there.’

‘Of course,’ Mum says. ‘How lovely.’ She looks at the girls. ‘You’l go too, um – I’m sorry, I don’t know your names. How awful.’

‘I’m Roseanna,’ says Roseanna. ‘And this is Cecily.’

My mother is completely stil , a half-smile on her face, as if she’s been turned to stone. Then she nods, and shakes their hands. ‘Those are lovely names,’ she says. ‘My sister was cal ed Cecily.’

‘I know.’ Cecily speaks for the first time. ‘Daddy used to tel me you were the most exciting girls he’d ever met. He’s always talked about you two. We’ve got a photo of both of you in the sitting room.’

Mum looks completely at a loss. ‘Both of us?’ She sounds unsure.

‘Yes,’ Guy says. ‘Of course both of you. I took it, that summer.’

‘That’s – that’s lovely,’ she says. ‘Wel ,’ Guy says after a moment’s pause. ‘We should be off. Just popped by to say hel o real y, and to check you’re stil on for supper tonight, Natasha?’

‘Sure,’ I say. ‘Jay would like to come, if he’s stil welcome.’

‘Of course,’ Guy says. Roseanna blushes. I frown. Jay has a thing for my half-sister. I am not at al keen on this idea.

They make their goodbyes and leave. Guy says, as he kisses Mum again, ‘It was great to see you. I’l see you soon, I’m sure.’

He holds her hand briefly and then they are gone. Watching them go, I turn to my mother, and I see she is watching them too, and her eyes are shining with unshed tears.

‘Mum—?’ I begin, not sure what to say. ‘Yes?’ She drums her fingers on the stal . ‘What did he mean, see you soon?’

‘He doesn’t mean anything. That’s Guy al over. Very sweet, but constitutional y incapable of making up his mind about anything. Not the boy he was al those years ago, that’s for sure.’ Her eyes fol ow him as he leaves.

I know she’l leave in a moment, and be off again, and so I take my chance once more. ‘Were you in love with him?’ I ask. ‘Is that it?’

Mum puts her bag over her shoulder and faces me. ‘Yes,’ she says. She nods.

I hadn’t expected her to be so blunt. After al these years of half-truths and secrets. My permanently evasive, slippery mother. ‘Right,’ I say, shocked. ‘I didn’t know that.’

‘Of course you didn’t. Wel , I was. Not at first, but when we met again – yes. I spent most of the seventies in love with him, waiting for him to come back after another breakup with Hannah, desperately hoping he’d see how fantastic everyone else thought I was. I’d get friends to throw amazing parties in crumbling mansions just so I could show off and he’d pick me. Yes. And he always ran away again. I couldn’t keep him.’ She says it perfectly matter-of-factly. ‘I knew I was losing him, I knew he wasn’t real y interested, I mean he was dazzled, but he didn’t love me the way I think you have to love someone to be with them. I knew he’d go back to the States, patch it up with that bloody American girl again.’

Then she holds out her hand for the necklace and bracelet, and I put them on her palm, wrapped in their paper sachet. ‘Oh, it’s al ancient history now, darling.’ Her green eyes are snapping, phosphorescent in the light, and I know she’s lying. ‘But you have to believe this, this one thing.

When I found out I was pregnant with his baby, it was the happiest day of my life. That’s who you are, darling. Half of each of us.’

I nod. ‘He’s lovely.’

She swal ows and shakes her head, as if she disagrees, but with a catch in her voice she says, ‘He is a lovely man. I’l love him. Always.

Anyway,’ she says. ‘Off I go to find Jean-Luc.’

‘Mum –!’ I say, light dawning. ‘But that’s sil y, can’t you . . . he’s very lonely. I know he’d love to find someone again. Why not you?’

Mum takes the necklace out of the bag and puts it round her neck, adjusting it a little so it sits right, on the cerise and blue silk of her dress, the gold chain settling on her smooth, caramel-coloured skin. ‘Darling, I used to think that, you know. But it’s too late for us. Far, far too late. Like I say, too much history. My whole life’s been about history. It’s nice to start again with someone else, that’s the sad truth. But I’l never stop loving him.’ She opens her eyes wide. ‘He’s your father, apart from anything else.’ And then she says, ‘That’s the only advice I’l ever give you. Don’t leave it too late.

Don’t wish you’d done something about it in ten years’ time. Do something about it now.’

‘Now?’

‘Now,’ she says firmly. ‘I real y am going. Goodbye. I’m very proud of you.’

Without a kiss, without any other farewel , she walks off. I stare, my mouth open, and sit back wearily on the stool, as if I’ve been awake for a week. I can see her leave, the bright colours of her dress like a peacock strutting through the sun.

‘She’s lovely, is that your mum?’ Sara says from the stal next to me, where she’s been watching everything, curiously. ‘You’ve got a big enough family, haven’t you?’ she laughs. I stare at her, and then I laugh too.

‘I suppose I have. How about you?’

‘Massive,’ Sara sighs. ‘But I don’t tel them where my stal is, that’s for sure. First time I had it? I had my two sisters come and tel me I was putting al the stuff in the wrong place. Nearly kil ed them, I did. That’s families for you, eh?’

I laugh shortly. ‘You’re tel ing me.’ I stand up. ‘Saz, can you do me a favour, can you mind the stal for five minutes?’

She nods. ‘OK, but you do me when you’re back.’

‘Of course.’ I wave to her, setting off at a run. ‘I have to go somewhere.’

I run out of the hal and downstairs past the stal holders, out into Brick Lane, bobbing and weaving my way through the crowds of people moving slowly down the road laden down with plants, bric-a-brac, drinks. It is hot, nearly midday. I dart around them, dodge down the back of people’s stal s, inhaling the smel of burritos, coffee, weed, spices and pol ution that is in the heart of the city, a world, a lifetime away from Cornwal . As I run past Princelet Street I glance to my right at my old home, and I nearly stumble across an old Bengali man.

I turn into Heneage Street, only two blocks along. I am out of breath with ducking and diving and I stop to col ect myself. There is the Pride of Spitalfields, tucked neatly away, with a knot of drinkers standing outside in the sun. One of them looks up at me, squinting.

‘Nat?’ It’s Jay. ‘Did you finish early?’

I shake my head. ‘Can you give me a minute?’ I say to him, stil panting.

His companion is standing with his back to me. It is Ben. He turns to look at me. ‘Give her a minute,’ he says. ‘She’s very unfit.’

‘No. You, Jay,’ I say in short bursts. ‘Give me a minute. I mean. Go away.’

I gesture for him to buzz off.

Jay looks at me like I’m mad. ‘I’l get us another pint,’ he says. ‘What do you want?’

‘She’l have a vodka, lime and soda,’ Ben says immediately. ‘And some water, by the looks of her.’

I nod grateful y at him, and Jay disappears into the dark pub.

‘Hey, Nat,’ Ben says, his voice friendly but a little guarded. ‘It’s nice to see you again. Where’s your mum gone?’

‘Lunch with boyfriend,’ I say. I stand up straight, final y having got my breath back. ‘She said something to me. I thought I should come and say it to you. Because—’ I breathe in, and then out. ‘Because it’s important.’

‘Right,’ Ben says. He moves a little way away from the drinkers, so we are standing in the shadow of the houses. ‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean – oh, wel . Here goes.’ I take a deep breath. ‘Look. I know you’re seeing Jamie. I saw you two together, one night.’

‘Hold on.’ Ben holds up his hand. ‘We’re not together.’

‘Yes, you are.’

‘No, we’re not. I snogged her, a couple of months ago, we were both a bit drunk. You saw us?’ He blinks.

I feel like a stalker. ‘Yes,’ I say. ‘I came back to the studio and you two were there. In the dark . . .’

‘Les had that reading in the basement, do you remember? You couldn’t go. Jamie and I went, it was . . .’ He shudders. ‘It was pretty hard work.

Al about a boy growing up with no fingers in Chatham and joining a gang. Jamie let me drink out of her hipflask.’

Damn Jamie with her cool hipflask-toting ways, I think. ‘There were drinks afterwards . . .’ He is staring at me. ‘We’re not together, Nat. You of al people should know that.’

‘But you were there today! Together!’

‘No, we bloody weren’t!’ His voice is rising in exasperation. ‘Is this why you were so weird, before I went away, the last few weeks? Man!’ He looks furious. ‘Listen. I arrive, I look round, she’s arrived! It’s not out of the realms of comprehension we’d al bump into each other at midday at an event to which you specifical y asked us to arrive at midday, is it?’

‘Fine, fine, I get it.’ I clear my throat. ‘Oh. OK. So – you’re not with her?’

‘Believe me, it’s at times like these that I wish I was,’ Ben says slowly. ‘But no, I’m not.’

‘Oh,’ I say again. ‘What did you want to ask me?’

‘It doesn’t matter.’ I wipe my hand along my forehead. ‘Look – I’d better go back to the stal . . .’

He catches my hand in his. He’s smiling. ‘Nat, I’m joking. I don’t want to be with Jamie. I mean, she’s real y sweet, but we’re not at al right for each other. She doesn’t like Morecambe and Wise, for starters. Now, again please. What did you want to ask me?’

I take a deep breath. I’m feeling completely light-headed, with the running, the sunshine, the events of the last hour.

‘Wel ,’ I say. ‘Mum said I should go for it. So I real y wil now. Ben – I was wondering. Do you want to go out for a drink some time?’

His expression freezes. I watch him, my heart thumping. ‘Are you serious?’ he says. ‘Are you real y, real y asking me out?’

‘Yes,’ I say. ‘Why, don’t you—’

He turns his back on me, and my heart sinks, but he’s putting his pint on the ground. ‘Come here,’ he says, drawing me into his arms. He kisses my hair, and then he bends his head and I raise mine to his, and we kiss.

‘Yes,’ he says, after a moment. ‘I’d love to go out for a drink some time. When? Tonight?’

I stroke his cheek, his lovely lips, trace around the edge of his gorgeous, kind eyes. ‘I’ve got to have dinner with my new dad and half-sisters and watch while Jay tries to crack on to them,’ I say. ‘It’s complicated.’

‘No,’ Ben says, kissing me again. ‘It’s very simple. So I’l see you tomorrow.’

‘Great,’ I say, a sil y smile on my face. I can’t stop smiling. ‘And the day after that?’

‘And then maybe the day after that.’ Ben steps away and looks serious for a moment, then he smiles again. ‘I don’t believe this, you know. I’ve been mad about you for such a long time. But I didn’t know how to help you. I thought you’d never sort it out, get out of the life you were in.’

I can feel his muscles under his shirt as he moves towards me and hugs me again. I think of Cecily’s diary, where it is now, lying at the bottom of the sea, or perhaps washed up on another shore. ‘Cecily helped me,’ I say. ‘It’s al because of her.’

The door to the pub swings open again and Jay emerges, carrying a tray of drinks. He looks at us without any surprise, holding on to each other as if we’ve just found one another, and then gives us a smal , pleased grin.

Ben and I kiss again, and I look up at the sky, opening out, blue and endless, above the narrow old streets, where Mum is having her smart lunch, where Guy and his daughters are making their way back to the tal white house in the Angel, where we are al , al of us, just trying to be part of one big happy family, whatever on earth that is, trying and often failing, and sometimes succeeding. ‘Thank you,’ I whisper, my face warmed by the sunshine. ‘Thank you.’

Acknowledgements