Love Always (44 page)

That family
. He talks about them as if they’re nothing to do with him, or me, as if they’re not my family any more.

‘Anyway . . . it was always very casual. We’d meet at parties, or we’d go out for some pasta when I was in town, catch up, and then she’d come back to my shambolic bachelor pad in Bloomsbury . . .’ He drops his hands into his lap. ‘She was rather wonderful about it.’ He smiles. ‘Then I’d go back to the States, or she’d find some other boyfriend . . . it was never official with us. Only ever a few times a year. There were always others buzzing around, you know?’

‘I know,’ I say, feeling disloyal, but unable to deny it. ‘So you didn’t think it was weird, when you knew she was pregnant?’

‘That’s just it,’ Guy says emphatically. ‘I never knew she was. I’ve thought it all through, these last few weeks. You see, I came back in ‘77. I was reporting on the Queen’s Jubilee for an American newspaper. Your mother and I saw each other a couple of times that summer. Once or twice, if that, nothing much. We met . . .’ He trails off. ‘Yes. We met at the French House. In Soho. The anniversary of Cecily’s death, 6th August. I remember it really well. I was going to Ulster the next day, to report on the Queen’s visit. It was going to be rather hairy, security everywhere. I was supposed to have an early night, but . . . we stayed up drinking, and talking . . . Eventually we went back to her place . . . I remember . . .’

He glances at me and falls silent. ‘What?’ I say. ‘Never mind,’ he says gently, and I realise there are some things I don’t want or need to know, and it occurs to me that perhaps I was conceived that night, the anniversary of Cecily’s death.

‘Anyway, it wasn’t anything out of the ordinary, us meeting up like that. We weren’t in touch otherwise. And then I didn’t see her . . . didn’t see any of them, for another two years.’

‘Really?’

‘Yes,’ he says. ‘No idea. I think Louisa mentioned that Miranda had had a baby, but by then I was married, we were having children . . .’

‘What happened to the girl in the States?’

‘I saw sense,’ he says. ‘I married her. That was Hannah.’

‘Your wife?’

He smiles sadly. He has a melancholy smile, my father. ‘Yes. And I’m an idiot. We both were. It just took us a while to realise it. But all those wasted years, that’s what makes me angry.’ He nods seriously, as if remembering something. ‘But we realised in the end. We were married in 1980, and our first daughter was born a year later, and our second in ‘86.’ He says slowly, ‘Hannah died five years ago. Five years ago in April.’

I squeeze his hand gently. ‘I’m so sorry,’ I say softly. ‘Thank you.’ Guy clears his throat. ‘What are your daughters called?’ I ask, trying to catch his eye.

‘My daughters.’ His voice is warm. ‘My other daughters, you mean? Hah. Roseanna and Cecily.’

‘Cecily?’

He smiles. ‘You just met her.’

I think of the lovely young woman at the door. ‘That’s my half-sister.’

Guy leans forward. ‘Yes, it is.’

‘She looks like Hannah.’ I have very vague memories of Hannah, who had beautiful long red hair before she lost it all, and who was American and funny and very kind. Guy nods.

‘She does.’ He looks pleased. ‘I’m sure you’ve seen them before but you’ll have to meet them, properly. They know about you. Cecily might not have known that was you at the door but she probably did. They know you exist. I told them last week. They’re very excited.’

‘Really?’ I can’t imagine it, having been an only child my whole life. Siblings are a completely strange entity to me, I have no idea what it’s like, having sisters. Being part of a family. ‘They’re excited? Do they want to meet me?’

‘All in good time,’ Guy says, non-committally, and I know he’s being diplomatic.

He stands up again. I look at my watch. It’s ten o’clock. The house is very still, there’s no noise from the street either.

‘Do you want some toast or something?’ Guy says from the sink. ‘I’ve been a shockingly neglectful host.’

I shake my head, overwhelmed all of a sudden. I don’t know what to say and I am very tired. ‘I’m fine.’

Guy turns and looks at me. He walks over again, and crouches down, slowly – he’s not a young man. He puts his finger under my chin.

‘Did you know, I held you when you were about a year old?’ he says. ‘I rocked you to sleep.’

‘No, really?’ I look down at him, on the floor. ‘Yes,’ he says. He pats my cheek. ‘It was Arvind’s sixtieth birthday. A lunch, in a big old Italian restaurant near Redcliffe Square, where they still had their flat, do you remember the flat?’

‘Very vaguely.’

‘Well, they invited me. Very kind. I admire your grand-father’s work, I always have. So I went, I think I thought it was time to put all of the past with the Kapoors behind me. I was newly married, I was very happy. I went with Frank and Louisa, and yes – there was Miranda, with this little girl. It was the summer of ’79, I think. You were very small – I wasn’t sure how old you were.’

‘I’d have been about fifteen months,’ I say. ‘What did you do?’

‘Well, your mother gave you to me to hold,’ he says. ‘You were falling asleep, so she chucked you onto my lap and said, “There, sit with Uncle Guy for a while.” And you gave me this big gummy smile and then you closed your eyes and fell asleep.’ There are tears in his eyes. ‘You had very fine black hair, sticking up everywhere. You were quite enchanting.’

And he bows his head, and his shoulders heave, and he says very quietly, ‘I am so sorry, Natasha. So very sorry.’

‘What are you sorry for?’ I ask quietly. ‘For not realising . . . for being so blind. And for everything else . . . for Cecily, you know . . . There’s not a day that goes by when I don’t miss her, wish we could have had one more day together. You know, reading that diary – remembering it all again, these things I’d forgotten, how wonderful she was. And now you – you’re here, standing here—’ His voice breaks.

I pull him up so we are both standing, and he puts his arms round me and hugs me, and I hug him back, as tightly as I can. Not because now I’ve found my father, and everything’s all right. More because I don’t know if we can have a close relationship, if there’s too much history already, and that is so sad, but also because he is a sweet, kind man, and I wish he were happier. He is not, and I wish there was something I could do about it.

‘And what about you?’ he says, releasing me from his embrace and stepping back. He takes a huge white handkerchief out of his pocket and blows his nose.

‘What about me?’ I say. ‘Your friends – your life, your jewellery. I don’t really know anything about it, though I’ve found out as much as I can. And,’ he says, drawing himself up with some pride, ‘I dropped by your studio the other day, I remembered you saying it was just at the bottom of Brick Lane. They told me where I could buy some of your pieces, they were ever so helpful.’

‘Really?’ I say, intrigued. ‘Who was it?’

‘A very sweet girl,’ Guy says. ‘Terribly pretty, blonde hair.’

‘Oh,’ I say grimly. ‘Jamie.’

‘Yes,’ he says. ‘She was with a chap, hanging round at the desk. A photographer. He said he knew you too. They all seemed very nice.’

‘That’s Ben,’ I say. ‘He’s a . . . yeah, he’s a friend of mine.’ I am really touched at Guy’s making the effort. Then I think, How I wish I could talk to Ben about it all, and then I realise that’s my fault. I need to stop being stupid about him, and knock this strange coolness between us on the head. We were friends long before we kissed, and we can be friends again. It was weeks ago. Three weeks ago exactly, in fact. He’s been away a lot, with two big projects on, but I can’t help feeling he’s avoiding me too. I will call him tonight, see if he wants to come for a drink with me and Jay.

‘Anyway, they directed me to a shop on Columbia Road,’ says Guy. ‘I bought two necklaces there for the girls.’ He points at Cecily’s ring, as ever on its chain round my neck. ‘They reminded me of this.’ He smiles. ‘Lovely.’

‘I’m glad you like them,’ I say, a glow of pleasure washing over me.

‘They’re beautiful, but it’s more than that,’ Guy says earnestly. ‘It feels a little like it’s come in a circle, in some way.’ He shakes his head. ‘I don’t want to sound mystical, I’m not really into any of that caper. But – Cecily had that ring the day she died. I remember it, I remember when Frances started wearing it, after she’d gone. And your mother’s right, they all are. You do look like her.’ He smiles. ‘She was beautiful, but you are even more so.’

‘Oh, really, come off it,’ I say, embarrassed. ‘And the way you’ve grown up, so creative, so wonderful – making things with your hands, those necklaces inspired by Cecily, and now your own half-sisters are wearing them. And they love them.’ He squeezes his hands, he looks so pleased and I can’t help smiling. ‘Your grandmother was very proud of you.’

‘I’m not sure I want her to be proud of me,’ I say. ‘I don’t really know who she was, any more. I don’t know how she could have done all that.’

Guy says, ‘No. That’s not fair, Natasha. I can see why, you’re right. But she suffered every day for it. She gave up the one thing that made her happy, her painting. That was her penance, her punishment.’ He puts his hands in his pockets. ‘She was like Icarus, you know. She thought she could get away with what she was doing, and she flew too close to the sun. She didn’t kill Cecily, you know.’

‘No, but she was happy enough to let everyone think Mum did, in some way,’ I say coldly. ‘She didn’t care about her other daughter, about screwing her life up, about carrying on screwing it up. Not at all.’

‘You’re right,’ he says, bowing his head. ‘You’re right. But still – I don’t think she was evil.’ He stops. ‘Just – she was a great artist. That’s what they’re like, I suppose. And she saw in you something special. I think, if it’s any consolation, you gave her real pleasure, something to live for. And I think she knew I was your father.’

‘Really?’ I say.

He nods. ‘Oh, I think it now. Didn’t before. But the way she organised this whole foundation, the fact that you, your mother and I were on the committee – I’m sure she was trying to make amends, as soon as she died. So that when she’d gone we’d be thrown together, start afresh, as it were.’ Guy nods. ‘Start afresh, yes. All three of us, in fact.’ He puts his hand on my shoulder. ‘She was proud of you. And I am too. And so is your mother.’

‘Hah,’ I say. ‘Well.’

‘She is,’ Guy persists. ‘She’s just never been able to say it. Give her time.’

There’s another pause. ‘Look, Guy,’ I say. ‘I am going to go now – just want to be on my own for a bit. Think this all through.’ I squeeze his hand. ‘Are you around this weekend? Maybe we could have a coffee?’

‘Sure, either’s good for me,’ he says. He holds my hand. ‘I’d love to meet Oli too, if that’s OK?’ He reads my face and says, ‘Oh. Oh, no, Natasha. I’m sorry. Have I put my foot in it?’

‘No, not at all.’ I am impressed by his intuition, and then I think, Well, he is my father, I’ve got half his genes, and my mind is blown again by how strange this is, and yet how totally, almost unremarkably right it feels. I swing his hand in mine. ‘It’s over with me and Oli, it really is this time.’ His face falls. ‘But honestly, it’s for the best. I think I was looking for something, a family of my own, and it was a mistake.’

‘You don’t need to look any more,’ Guy says. ‘You’ve got me.’ He puts his arm on my shoulder. ‘I’m your family, Natasha. And soon Roseanna and Cecily will be too. We can take it slowly, you don’t have to see me at all if you want. But from this moment on, for the rest of your life, that’s a fact. I’m your family. OK?’

‘OK,’ I say. He nods firmly. ‘Shake on it? Will you trust me?’

I give him my hand again and we shake hands, smiling at each other in the sunny kitchen.

Epilogue

‘Hey, someone’s looking for you,’ Sara, the girl at the next stall, says to me when I come back from a coffee run. ‘Said he’d come back.’

I am vaguely apprehensive today, and I don’t know why. Something at the back of my mind is worrying me, which normally means I’ve been spending too much time on my own and I need to go down the corridor of the studio and find Lily or even Les, the leader of the writers’ collective, if I’m feeling really desperate. Ben has been away in Turkey for ages for work, doing an upscale holiday brochure, so I can’t even call on him. I keep going to knock on his door, or thinking of something funny to tell him, and he’s never there. I text him, but he hardly ever replies. I miss him, I realise that now. He’s always been there, and I thought it was great to have someone, anyone, next door. Now I know it was the fact that it was
him
next door that was great. I wish he’d come today. I’m selling some new pieces on the stall, and I’ve emailed a whole bunch of people, friends, contacts, asking them to drop by. It’s my new range. Perhaps that’s why I’m nervous.

I sit back on my stool by the stall, stroking the dull pink velvet cushions I have put the new bracelets I’ve made on.

They are silver bangles each with a single charm, a fat enamelled star with an initial, and the pre-orders are already fantastic. I’ve taken Maya on part-time, I’m paying her a wage, and I’m actually going in to meet someone from Liberty next week. I can hardly believe it.

Down here on Brick Lane, my stall inside at the Sunday Upmarket is busier than ever these days, since I sorted myself out, since spring came, and since I got Cecily’s ring to inspire me. It turns out that Granny left me and Jay money in her will, £20,000 each, to be exact, and I need to spend it wisely. I can pay Oli everything back that I owed him, and clear my debts. I’ve bought some more stock, and I’ve spent some money tarting up the stall, having some business cards printed.

It’s over two months since I turned up on Guy’s doorstep. Three months since I kissed Ben. Nearly four months since Granny died and Oli moved out. It is starting to feel as if at some point these things might one day be part of the past, an archaeological layer of my life I can look back on. But of course the roots are deeper than that. I was with Oli for five years, and though he and Chloe aren’t top of my dinner party list at the moment, I can see a time when we will meet, at Jason’s birthday drinks, for example, and it’ll be fine. More than fine. I like him. I always did. We just shouldn’t have been married. It’s not an escape from the real problems in your life. It doesn’t wipe the slate clean.

I sip my coffee, looking round the sunny room, swinging my legs.

‘Hey,’ a voice says. ‘You’re here.’

I look up. ‘Ben,’ I say. I leap up and smile at him. ‘You’re back!’

It seems like ages since I saw him. It’s nearly a month, but it seems longer. His hair has grown back a little, not back to where it was when he was shaggy and comfortable-looking, like an old jumper, but it’s not quite as skull-grazing as it was.

He is tanned and lean, and there are red apples on his cheeks. His teeth are very white – I’ve always liked that about him.

Ah, it’s good to see him, after so long. We’ve been funny with each other these past few months, and I wish we hadn’t. And now he’s here, and it’s lovely. He’s smiling widely and holding out his arms. I walk towards him and he hugs me.

‘It’s great to see you, Nat,’ he says. I look up and smile, and realise I am staring right at Jamie, who has been standing behind him. I step back.

‘Hey, Jamie,’ I say. ‘It’s great to see you too. Two of you, too. Both of you! Hah!’ I finish lamely, sounding insane. ‘Come on over! Check out my . . . stuff.’ I trail off, and they look at me politely.

Over at the next stall, Sara shakes her head at me, and then her attention is diverted. ‘Natasha?’ I hear her say. ‘She’s right here.’

‘Hello, darling,’ says a low voice in my ear. ‘Isn’t this
wonderful
?’

‘Mum?’ I turn in surprise. ‘Hi – I didn’t know you were coming.’

‘You invited me, didn’t you?’ She leans forward and kisses me, and I smell her familiar scent, sandalwood and something spicy. My mother is channelling her favourite era today, in a beautiful cerise and turquoise silk maxi-dress and cardigan, and gold sandals. She looks younger than I do. I run my hands through my hair, awkwardly.

‘Mum, you know Ben and –’ I begin, but she interrupts. ‘Ben! Hello,
darling
!’ she says, throwing her arms round him, and I cannot help but roll my eyes at Jamie, who is standing off to the side, slightly self-conscious. I beckon her forward, and she shakes her head, smiling.

‘How
are
you?’ my mother is asking Ben. ‘I’m well, how are you? You look amazing, Miranda.’

At this point my mother actually nudges him. I expect her to say, ‘Oh, get away!’ and lightly tap his hand. ‘I can’t stay long,’ she says, smiling broadly. ‘Jean-Luc’s taking me to lunch! At Galvin!’

‘Jean-Luc?’

‘Oh, you remember, darling, he’s a special friend of mine. Poor chap’s had a terrible time, but he’s left his wife for good now, and it’s going marvellously.’

I look at her and she does seem to be glowing, but perhaps that’s just the bronzer and the new diamond earrings she appears to be sporting. Whatever it is, the coat of armour is firmly back on my mother, for better or worse. ‘Where is he?’ I ask.

‘Oh,’ she says, with devastating candour. ‘He hates this kind of thing. He’s in a cheese shop somewhere.’

‘Charming,’ I hear Ben murmur, and I want to laugh, and I realise laughing is the only way to deal with it, because it really is kind of funny.

My mother leans forward. ‘These are pretty,’ she says, her gaze sliding over my pieces. She strokes one of the necklaces with two fingers. ‘Cecily’s ring, darling, it looks beautiful.’ She looks up. ‘These must be selling well, hm?’

‘I’ve sold a hundred and fifty so far.’

‘Gosh.’ She nods. ‘And these are nice,’ she says, picking up the bangles. I forget how good she was at her job, with her eye for beautiful things and a sense of business that came from God knows where, and I think again about all the things she could have been if she hadn’t been screwed up – or screwed herself up. She slips a bangle onto her slim wrist. The blue enamel glints in the sunny hall. ‘I love it,’ she says. ‘I’ll take one.’ She pauses. ‘And the necklace too.’

As I reach for some tissue paper to wrap them, Jamie taps me on the arm. ‘I just wanted to say hi,’ she says. Her blonde hair glows in the bright sun.

‘Hi,’ I say, slightly confused, and I look around for Ben. ‘I’m going, I mean, sorry. It all looks gorgeous, Natasha, I really love your stuff. I’m going to come by the studio tomorrow if that’s OK and buy some things for my sisters.’

‘Sure—’ I am pleased but a little bewildered. ‘Ben, I’ll see you tomorrow then too?’

Ben and Jamie look at each other. ‘Bye then,’ Jamie says, and she scurries off, her head bowed.

Ben stares at me. ‘Nat, what—’

Someone taps my arm. ‘Oh. Look who’s here.’

The actual reality of sending out an email to all my friends and family becomes apparent as I stop hunting for tissue paper and look up to see Guy, Roseanna and Cecily, walking slowly towards the stall. They look apprehensive, as well they might.

My mother’s face gives nothing away. I clutch Ben’s hand, not meaning to, and then release it instantly.

‘Hello, Miranda,’ Guy says, and he kisses her on the cheek and sinks his hands into the pockets of his baggy cords. She kisses him back.

‘Hi,’ she says.

I put the necklaces down and step forward. ‘Hi, there,’ I say. We’ve met quite a few times, but Roseanna and Cecily are still quite awkward with me, and I with them. We raise our hands to each other. They are both holding paper cups of coffee, and I feel a pang of tenderness towards them, with their skinny jeans and flats, long hair with jewelled clips, their stripy tops like a summer uniform. I don’t know yet if they’re anything like me. I find them fascinating.

My mother stares at them and points a finger at Cecily. ‘I recognise that necklace,’ and she smiles. ‘I’m just buying one too. So you’re Guy’s daughters,’ she says.

‘Yes,’ Roseanna, the elder, replies. She gives a shy half-grin.

Then Mum turns to me. ‘You’re Guy’s daughter too, I suppose,’ she says, and she smiles, as though it’s a little social joke, and we all smile, and Guy and I look at each other.

Ben steps forward. ‘I’ll leave you to it.’

‘Oh don’t –’ I begin. ‘Hey, I should leave you guys alone. I’m meeting Jay for a drink at the Pride of Spitalfields,’ he says. ‘We’re – yeah, I’ll see you later, Nat.’ He pats my back and he is gone before I can say anything.

So we are left, my mother, my father, my two sisters, standing around my creaking old stall, as people mill around us, and it looks totally 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 Rochelle 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 Rochelle, 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’ll 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 still, 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 called Cecily.’

‘I know.’ Cecily speaks for the first time. ‘Daddy used to tell 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. ‘Well,’ Guy says after a moment’s pause. ‘We should be off. Just popped by to say hello really, and to check you’re still on for supper tonight, Natasha?’

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

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

They make their goodbyes and leave. Guy says, as he kisses Mum again, ‘It was great to see you. I’ll 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 stall. ‘What did he mean, see you soon?’

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

I know she’ll 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 all 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. Well, 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 really 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 all 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 swallows and shakes her head, as if she disagrees, but with a catch in her voice she says, ‘He is a lovely man. I’ll love him. Always. Anyway,’ she says. ‘Off I go to find Jean-Luc.’

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