For the next few days, Mouse did exactly as he’d said he would. He took Rory to school each morning, then collected him afterwards. They were home a couple of hours earlier than me, having bought the food on the shopping list I wrote every morning. I would drive Orlando home from Tenterden, then I’d cook supper for the four of us, watching from the sidelines as Mouse did his best to atone for the missed years of his son’s life. After supper, he’d take him up for a bath and read him a story. Rory was still amazed by Mouse’s sudden new talent for signing.
‘He’s even better than you, Star. He’s a fast learner, isn’t he?’
‘He’s certainly determined, because he loves you,’ I said as I kissed him goodnight.
‘And I love him. Night, night, Star. Don’t let the bedbugs bite.’
I walked to the door to switch off the light. All these years, I thought, Mouse had known exactly how to sign, having learned in order to communicate better with Annie. And I hoped that one day Rory would begin to know about his mother, who had loved him so fiercely that she had given her life for him.
On Thursday, Mouse informed me that Marguerite had called while I was at the bookshop. ‘She’d like to stay in France until the beginning of December, returning for the opening of the bookshop. I told her that I’d look after Rory this weekend. You probably need to go back to London?’
‘I do, yes.’ I nodded in agreement. It was important Mouse and Rory spent as much time as possible together without anyone else around.
‘Right, then we’ll give you a lift to the station tomorrow night when you’ve finished at the bookshop.’
‘Thanks. Perhaps you and Rory can give Orlando a hand over the weekend? He wants to move into the flat above the shop on Sunday.’
‘We will. Goodnight then.’
‘Goodnight.’
The following evening, as I got off the London train and sat on the bus back to Battersea, I saw the streets already adorned with Christmas decorations. And wondered vaguely where I’d be spending my Christmas. I couldn’t think of anything worse than Christmas Day in the sterile, soulless apartment, after years of the glorious Christmases we had celebrated at Atlantis, or on moonlit beaches in far-flung parts of the world.
Christmas at High Weald would be perfect . . .
I ordered my newly disobedient psyche to shut up. And equally refused to let it acknowledge how I had glanced at Mouse sitting patiently with Rory on his knee, signing and reading a book to him, and felt . . . yes, felt, a small wave of emotion for him. But it was far, far too soon to open up my heart and let out what I was so fearful it contained.
When I arrived at the apartment, CeCe was enormously happy to see me, and we arranged to spend the weekend together.
‘I must get my hair cut this weekend too,’ she said. ‘It’s getting far too long.’
I looked at CeCe, and remembered how, as a child, she’d once had a mane of gorgeous dark chocolate curls that had hung well past her shoulders. Then, at sixteen, she’d arrived home having had the lot chopped off, saying it was too much bother.
‘Don’t get it cut, Cee,’ I said, thinking how pretty she looked tonight, with the soft waves framing her lovely dark brown eyes. ‘It suits you longer.’
‘Okay,’ she agreed, surprising me. ‘I also need to buy some warmer clothes, but you know how I hate shopping.’
‘I’ll come with you. It’ll be fun.’
So the next morning, we ventured up to Oxford Street to battle with the other Christmas shoppers. I splashed out and bought a dress to wear for Ally’s concert, and even persuaded CeCe into a pretty silk blouse to wear with a pair of tailored grey trousers and high-heeled ankle boots.
‘This really isn’t me,’ she grumbled as she surveyed herself in the changing-room mirror.
‘You look lovely, Cee,’ I said truthfully, admiring her trim figure. She must have lost weight in the last few weeks, but I hadn’t noticed before now because she usually dressed in oversized sweatshirts and baggy jeans. And besides, I’d been away so much.
On Sunday, I cooked a traditional roast lunch, took a deep breath and told her about meeting my mother.
‘Jesus Christ, Sia! Why on earth didn’t you tell me about any of this before?’
I could see the hurt in her eyes. ‘I don’t know. Perhaps I had to get used to the idea myself first before I told anyone.’
‘I’m hardly “anyone”,’ she countered. ‘We used to tell each other everything, especially “private” stuff.’
‘It was so strange at first, Cee,’ I tried to explain, ‘but she seems lovely. I might go and visit her in the States. As a matter of fact, I had an email from her this morning inviting me over for Christmas and New Year.’
‘You won’t go, will you?’ she said, looking horrified. ‘It’s bad enough with you away all week, let alone Christmas. We’ve never spent it apart. What would I do?’
‘Of course we’ll spend it together,’ I comforted her.
‘Good. Actually, I have something to tell you too. I’m thinking of leaving college.’
‘Cee! Why?’
‘Because I hate it. I don’t think I’m very good at being institutionalised, especially after all our years of being free spirits.’
‘What will you do?’
‘Try my hand as an artist, I s’pose.’ She shrugged. ‘Anyway, forget that. I’m so happy you’ve found your mum. And now I can tell you about—’
I checked my watch and saw it was past three o’clock. ‘I’m so sorry, Cee, I have a train to catch. But we’ll talk when I’m next back, yes?’
‘Sure.’
CeCe watched me desolately as I went upstairs. I packed in a rush and came back downstairs to find her painting in her studio.
‘Bye now,’ I said breezily to her as I headed for the front door. ‘I’ll let you know if I’m coming back next weekend. Have a good week.’
‘And you,’ came the muffled response.
Back in Kent, I was kept busy, preparing for what Orlando called his ‘grand opening’ in two weeks’ time. He stood outside the shop, dressed in his best velvet suit, as the local paper took photographs of him to go with the interview they were running, and I felt desperately proud of him.
Life at High Weald continued in a similar vein, and I saw that both Rory and Mouse were beginning to relax into their new routine. I did my best not to interfere if, on occasion, Mouse was short-tempered with his son, because that too was only natural. Even if Mouse had to learn what ‘natural’ was.
As the ‘grand opening’ was taking place on a Saturday, I took the coward’s way out and texted CeCe from Tenterden, explaining I wouldn’t be home that weekend. I got a brusque reply in response.
Fine. Call me! Woud like to talk.