‘I will.’
‘Here, I’ve collected some documents for you.’ He handed me a large brown envelope. ‘In there is your birth certificate – I got it from the public records office in Broome when I visited the ex-nurse. If you’re serious about coming to live here for good—’
‘Of course I am!’
‘Then I suggest that you apply for your Australian passport as soon as possible. The form is in there too, as well as your mum’s birth certificate.’
‘Right,’ I said as I tucked the envelope into the front of my rucksack, trying not to crumple it up. ‘Say hello to Chrissie for me, won’t you? I hope you like her.’
‘I’m sure I will.’
‘Thanks for everything,’ I added, as the boarding call was announced over the tannoy. ‘I hate planes.’
‘Perhaps you’ll hate them less when one is bringing you back home to me. Goodbye, Celaeno.’
‘Bye, Francis.’ With a wave, I walked towards security, bracing myself for the long journey to London.
34
When I stepped out of the doors at Heathrow, the freezing cold air of London hit me like a block of ice. Everyone around me was bundled up to their ears in thick coats and scarves, and the cold air stung my eyes and nose. I pulled my hoody over my head and hailed a taxi, hoping I had enough English cash in my wallet to get me to Battersea.
When the taxi driver pulled up in front of my apartment building, I handed him a crumpled note and some coins, then stepped out. The Christmas lights I’d left had been replaced by a late January gloom and I felt like I had been taken from a Technicolor film and plunged into monochrome.
The lift took me up the three floors to the door of my apartment. I unlocked it and was startled to see that all the lights were on inside. What a dunce I was that I hadn’t even switched those off before I left, I thought as I slammed the door behind me, realising the apartment felt far warmer than I had set the thermostat to. The air smelt sweet, like a yummy cake, not fusty as I’d expected. In fact, it smelt like Star.
I’d texted her from my stopover in Sydney to let her know I was flying home and would be landing today, and asking if she had time to meet up in the next week. I needed to tell her I was selling the apartment, because even though it was me who’d owned it, it had been her home too.
I grimaced at the Guy Fawkes scarecrow still in my studio, sitting on top of the oil drum as if it was a throne, then walked towards the kitchen and saw with horror that the light in the oven was on. I was just about to turn it off when I heard the front door open.
‘Cee! You’re here already! Oh damn! I thought it would take you ages to get through immigration and London in the traffic . . .’
I turned to see Star, her face and the top half of her torso hidden behind an enormous bunch of bell-headed lilies, which she held out to me.
‘I just went out to get these to welcome you home,’ she said breathlessly. ‘They were meant to be in a vase on the table, but never mind. Oh Cee, it’s so lovely to see you.’
During the ensuing embrace, some of the lilies got squished between us, but neither of us cared.
‘Wow!’ she said as she stepped back and laid the lilies down on the coffee table. ‘You look incredible. Your hair’s got lighter as well as longer.’
‘Yeah, it’s all that sunshine in Oz. You look great too. You’ve had your fringe cut!’ I knew the long fringe had been there for her to hide behind. Now that it was chopped shorter, her beautiful blue eyes shone out of her face like sapphires.
‘Yes, it was time for a change. Listen, why don’t you go upstairs and take a shower? I’ll get on and prepare supper.’
‘I will, but first, do I smell cake?’
‘Yes, it’s lemon drizzle. Want a slice?’
‘Do I? I’ve been dreaming about a slice of your cake since I left.’
She handed me a thick, perfect wedge, and I bit into it. I finished the whole slice off in a few seconds and with another slice in my hand, I took my rucksack upstairs, where I saw that the bedroom was as neat as a pin, the sheets freshly changed. I walked into the bathroom, stepped under the power shower and decided it was good to be home.
When I returned downstairs, Star was waiting for me with a beer.
‘Cheers,’ I said, and clinked my bottle against her glass of Chardonnay.
‘Welcome home,’ she said. ‘I’ve made your favourite. It should be ready in about twenty minutes.’
‘Steak and kidney pudding!’ I confirmed as I saw the pastry rising under the spotlight in the oven.
‘Yes. So, go on, I want to hear everything that’s happened to you in the past couple of months.’
‘Wow, that’s a big ask. How long have you got?’
‘All night.’
‘You’re staying over?’ I asked in surprise.
‘If that’s okay, yes.’
‘Course it is, Sia! This is – was – your home too, remember?’
‘I know, but . . .’ She sighed and went to put some broccoli florets on to steam.
‘Look, before you say anything, I just want to apologise,’ I blurted out. ‘I was a real pain in the backside last autumn – in fact, I’ve probably been a pain for most of my life.’
‘No, you weren’t, silly. It’s me who needs to say sorry. I should have been there for you when you were going through that rough patch at college.’ Star bit her bottom lip. ‘I was really selfish and I feel terrible about it.’
‘Yeah, I was pretty hurt at the time, but it gave me the push that I needed. I see now that you had to do it, Sia. The way we were – the way I was – well, it wasn’t healthy. You had to go out and get a life for yourself. If you hadn’t, I wouldn’t have found mine.’
‘You’ve met someone?’ She turned to me. ‘It’s Ace, isn’t it? You two looked so cosy together on Phra Nang Beach.’
‘Er, no, it’s not Ace, but . . .’ I felt completely unprepared for this conversation, so I changed the subject. ‘How’s Mouse?’
‘He’s good,’ she said as she pulled the steak and kidney pudding out of the oven and began to plate up our supper. ‘Let’s talk as we eat, shall we?’
For a change Star did most of the talking, while I gobbled down as much food as my tummy could manage to hold. I heard all about High Weald – ‘the Mouse House’, as I’d mentally nicknamed it – and how it was under renovation, so she, Mouse and his son, Rory, were staying in the farmhouse opposite.
‘It’ll take years to restore, of course. The property is Grade I listed, and Mouse is an architect, so everything has to be perfect.’ Star rolled her eyes and I was glad to see the tiniest flicker of Mouse’s imperfection in them. It made him more human, somehow.
‘You’re happy with him, though?’
‘Oh yes, although he can be incredibly anal, especially over chimney stacks and architraves. Rory and I just take ourselves off for a walk and leave him to it. And when Rory’s in bed and Mouse is still studying different varieties of chimney pot, I write.’