The Traveller’s Daughter

“Enough, Yas! He’s already seen my picture on Facebook, duh.” Nothing she was saying wasn’t anything Kitty herself hadn’t wondered about over the years. “It’s far more likely she fell out with her parents over this man in the photo and being a teenage rebel she took off to France with him. End of story.”

“Oh but it’s not the end of the story, is it? Rosa’s story hasn’t even begun, Kitty, and I mean it if you don’t go, then I will. You’ve got a chance to put some of the pieces of your family history together, something I’ll never have, so don’t you dare let this opportunity pass you by because you’re scared. Not knowing and wondering is a lot scarier, my friend.”

Kitty knew Yas’s past rankled, but until that moment she hadn’t realized just how much. Her mother, Gina had always been so blasé about her daughter’s background telling her an abbreviated version of events roughly along the lines of her having met Yas’s dad at the local markets. He’d been selling shoes, nice sparkly ones, she said and as he handed her her change he’d asked her out. They’d gone out a couple of times to the local pub, and he was a bit of a sweet-talker, so one thing led to another. To cut a long story short, she’d gotten pregnant, announced this to him, and his response had been to pack his bags and hotfoot it back to his pregnant wife in Lebanon. It was unfortunate, but men can be assholes, was how she’d usually finish her story with a shrug of her careworn shoulders. Gina had thought the name Yasmin was a nod to her eldest child’s Middle Eastern birthright. Plus, she had been a huge fan of Duran Duran in her younger days and that Simon Le Bon, who she’d always thought was a bit of alright, was married to a Yasmin. Yas had once confided in Kitty that Gina thought she was cultural when she ordered a kebab at the local takeaway.

Gina wasn’t put off by one bad experience, though. She went on to move in with a salt of the earth truck driver called Barry with whom she had the rest of her brood in quick succession. Sadly, Barry found the chaos of having four children under six years old too much to come home to when he parked his truck up after his weeks of driving up and down the country. So, deciding he wanted a more peaceful life, he had headed off on his run one day and never bothered to come back. All further correspondence between Yas’s mum and Barry had been through the Benefits Office. Both her father and Barry’s treatment of her mother had left Yasmin with an understandable mistrust of the male species, and so she tended to be a bit of a three date wonder. Kitty despaired at times because a couple of those dates had been worth going on a fourth. Then again, with her poor judgment of the male character, she was in no position to go on at her friend.

A mental picture of Damien popped up unbidden, and she gave him a good shove telling herself to concentrate her energies on problem present, not problem past. Strangely enough, though, she realized that thinking of Damien had just made her mind up for her. He had hedged his bets and kept a secret from her. A big, hurtful secret that had ended their four-year-long romance and left her feeling like a dog that had been kicked. He was the reason she’d packed in her job and packed her bags to scurry off to London with her tail between her legs. It was a time when she should have been with her mother, but she had needed to put physical miles between herself and the hurt.

Okay, so Rosa hadn’t lied to her the way Damien had but still she had kept a secret. No matter that she’d done her best to be a mother who was present and loving, her past had always been the thing lying unsaid between them.

Kitty liked that term the Americans used, a milk and cookies mom, it summed Rosa up. She had been there after school with afternoon tea waiting ready to listen to her daughter talk about her day. She had helped with homework and watched all Kitty’s ballet practices despite it being obvious fairly early on in the piece that with her two left feet she would not be the next Anna Pavlova. She’d taught her how to bake and by doing so instilled a passion in her daughter but still she had not shared her past with her.

Rosa could never show her the courtesy of confiding in her as to where she came from. She didn’t trust her to be able to handle whatever it was she was refusing to speak of, not even when she was dying. Maybe, Kitty thought, if she had, she might not have been left on her own. Well, she was sick of it. This time she resolved as she sat in the pokey reception area, she wouldn’t wait to find out the hard way. Not the way she had with Damien by ignoring the encroaching darkness until it could no longer be ignored. This time she would learn the truth her way. She would go.

“You win, Yas. I am not having you masquerading as my mother’s half Lebanese love child. I’ll go.”

Chapter 5 (#u9e0a06d1-1075-5c39-8a91-0074a5ecd53a)

It’s easy to halve the potato where there is love – Irish Proverb

It had all been surprisingly easy once Kitty had made her mind up. Sitting in Baintree & Co.’s that afternoon she’d disconnected her call to Yasmin and rang the number Christian Beauvau had provided before she got cold feet. A woman called Simone Cazal had answered. Introducing herself as his P.A., she’d told Kitty that Monsieur Beauvau would be very pleased to hear she was coming. If she left matters in her hands, she would organize everything. She’d ended the call by telling her she would phone back within the hour to give Kitty her flight details and to discuss payment.

Payment? She hadn’t even thought about that. As Kitty hung up, she caught Texting Queen’s, who had finally put her phone down, curious gaze and the butterflies set in. Was she doing the right thing? What if she was opening a can of worms she had no business opening?

There had been no more time to dwell on it though because with a blast of cold air Mr Baintree himself opened the door. He stood in front of her in his greatcoat that, in Kitty’s opinion, was a bit over the top given they were in April. She tried not to focus on his hair and concentrated instead on what he was saying, but her eyes had kept straying upwards. It was like a grey bird’s nest she concluded. It even had a little hollow in the middle for the eggs. She managed to drag her eyes away from his hair as he informed her in his plummy tones that the finances would soon be on hand and that her solicitors would take care of his company’s commission. Clapping his hands together, he added that all that was left for her to do to complete the sale was to give him the house keys.

She thanked him for a job well done and handed over the keys without ceremony, not feeling much of anything because she couldn’t say that she was sad to see the house go. The thought of her impending trip to France was filling her mind, and there wasn’t room for practical thoughts like the fact that she was now in a position financially to make her café a reality. She’d shelve all thoughts of running her own business until she was able to give them her full attention. She quashed the little voice that taunted, excuses, excuses at her. Shaking the hand Mr Baintree was proffering, she said goodbye to him and the Texting Queen, who was now industriously shifting papers around on her desk.

Kitty shivered as she left the warmth of the office, the temperature had dropped another degree in the time she had been sitting in the toasty reception area. She made her way the short distance to Wigan’s town square, her wheelie case banging over the cobbles behind her. At least it had stopped drizzling, she thought, gazing at the late afternoon sky with its patches of blue trying to break through the omnipresent grey.

She’d told that Simone woman that she’d fly from Manchester in the morning, so she needed to find a place to stay for the night. She’d try her luck down past the train station at the bottom of the hill. It made sense to find somewhere near the station because she would be in for an early start to get to the airport in the morning.

The road she set off down was filling up with bag-laden Saturday shoppers rushing to catch their train home. She picked up her pace so as not to feel left out, keeping a tight hold of her case, and that was when she saw him, well actually she felt him before she saw him. She just knew with a sudden sick lurch of her stomach that he was there and looking up she saw she was right. He was walking against the crowd in her direction a bit like Moses parting the red sea. “Shit, shit, shit,” she muttered under her breath, oblivious to the pursed-lipped look a woman herding her teenage daughter who was toting a Dorothy Perkins bag shot her as they strode past. She thought about ducking into the Post Office but knew it was too late; he’d seen her. A split-second later he was standing in front of her with that smile of his that always made her knees go to jelly.

“I don’t believe it. Kitty, wow! Is it you?”

“Hello, Damien.” She paused knowing she should keep walking, but a lifetime of having good manners instilled in her prevented her from doing so. The throngs of people either side of them seemed to vanish as Damien lunged forward, his lips grazing her cheek and leaving her feeling like she’d just been branded.

“Whoa I can’t believe this, it’s so good to see you. What are you doing here? I’ve just had lunch with Sam and thought I’d race up to the WH Smith before they close. The latest Lee Child is out.”

She’d forgotten his younger brother lived in Wigan, but she remembered how much of a Lee Child fan he was. Unbidden, a memory of them both on a wet Saturday afternoon curled up at opposite ends of the couch lost in their books sprang to mind. What had she been reading? She couldn’t remember now and what did it matter? Gosh, he looked good she thought, wishing he had acquired a beer belly, gone bald and been afflicted by a case of adult acne in the last six months. If anything though he looked better than ever. He was dressed for the weekend, and she’d always liked him best when he was casually rumpled. His brown hair was shorter these days, and it suited him. She unconsciously raised a hand to her hair hoping the damp air hadn’t caused the irreparable fringe curl.

“Hey,” he said reaching out and touching her arm. “I was sorry to hear about Rosa. I mean I knew she was sick and everything, but it was very quick in the end wasn’t it?”

She nodded, not meeting his eye and not trusting herself to reply. So he did know then, she had checked the post for a sympathy card from him every day after the hospice had rung to say her mother was gone, but one never came. In the end, she had given him the benefit of the doubt thinking that perhaps he hadn’t heard the news or didn’t know where to find her.

“I heard through one of the old gang, and I was going to send a card but, well to be honest, I wasn’t sure you’d want to receive one from me.” He shrugged. “You look well, I mean despite what’s happened, er you know losing your mum and everything, you still look wonderful. I have to say London obviously suits you.”

Speak Kitty, speak, she willed herself. “Uh yes, it does thank you. I’ve settled in.”

“I heard you had a stall at one of the big markets down there selling your cupcakes. I guess it’s a step in the right direction towards owning your café. Good for you.”

Kitty frowned, he seemed to have heard a lot. “Yes it is thanks, and well, now I’ve got some money behind me thanks to mum there’s no reason I can’t make it a reality.” Too much information, Kitty my girl, don’t tell the bastard anything. She mentally kicked herself before deciding to turn the tables. “How’s everything with you and er–” She realized she didn’t know the name of the girl he had spent three months bonking behind her back. No doubt it had come up in the explosive row they’d had when she had caught him out. It was thanks to a stonker of a headache and the strangest feeling that something was amiss that she had left work early one afternoon. She’d come home and stumbled on them post-coital lying in their bed and had turned and walked straight back out of the flat. Wandering around the Manchester streets, she’d been in complete shock at the collapse of her world as she knew it. It was growing dark when the numbness gave way to anger, and common sense told her it wasn’t a good idea to be walking around unfamiliar streets on her own, so she’d gone home. Damien had been sitting at the dining room table waiting for her, and all hell had let loose. It was hard to believe they were now standing opposite one another on the Wigan pavement exchanging banal pleasantries. She doubted since they were being nice to one another that he’d appreciate her asking how ‘The Bitch’ was as she’d come to think of her either.

“Leanne, her name was Leanne.”

She watched him run his fingers through his hair.

“She was a mistake, Kitty. There’s not a day gone by since you left that I haven’t regretted what I did to you, to us. It just sounds so trite to say I am sorry, but truly I don’t know what else to say because I am.”

He rested his hand on her arm once more, as though frightened she would walk away. Fat chance of that though; her legs were rooted to the spot.

“We broke up a few weeks after you left. I wanted to call you so badly, but after the way I’d treated you I didn’t think you would want to hear from me ever again.”

He looked at her as though expecting her to contradict him. When she didn’t, she could tell by the little boy lost look on his face that he was as thrown by her presence as she was by his.

“I went round to see your friend Gemma once not long after you left. I asked her not to say anything to you, but I needed to know how you were doing.”

Kitty didn’t know, but then she hadn’t heard from Gemma for a few months. Mind you, it was a two-way thing; there was nothing stopping her from having contacted her old pal. How did he think she was doing? You didn’t have to be Einstein to figure out that when your fiancé does the dirty on you it stands to reason you’ll be left feeling like shite.

“She wasn’t exactly pleased to see me and she didn’t want to tell me whereabouts you had moved to. I can’t say I blame her.”

What was she supposed to say to that? She stared up into his familiar blue eyes. For a while after she had arrived in London she had kept seeing him everywhere she went, only for him to vanish when she reached out to touch him. She’d have given anything for him to turn up on her doorstep and tell her that he had made a mistake. She’d missed him so much that any shred of pride or self-respect she’d had left when she’d walked out of the apartment they had shared together for three years would have disintegrated. She didn’t know if she could have forgiven him for what he’d done to her, but she did know she was a long way from being over him. Gemma might have thought she was being a good friend and protecting her, but she should have told her Damien had called round. She should have let her make her mind up as to whether she wanted to see him or not.

“Have you got time for a quick drink?” He raised an eyebrow, and his expression was hopeful.

Kitty became aware of the people rushing past them then. For a moment, there had been no one else on that busy street leading to the train station other than him and her. She knew a ‘quick drink’ was a bad idea, just as she knew it would be anything but. For some reason, even though the word ‘no’ had formed itself on the tip of her tongue, as she opened her traitorous mouth the words, “Okay, a quick one then,” tumbled out unbidden instead and she followed his gaze to the pub across the road. A moment later, he steered her through a break in the traffic and as he opened the tavern’s door a warm glow and the smell of ale greeted them. She followed him inside, barely registering the split-level layout and the low beams that lent the buzzing room an air of cosiness.

“A glass of Sauvignon?” He raised a questioning eyebrow remembering her tipple as he pushed his way through to the crowded bar.

“Hmm, yes please.”

“How about I order while you grab a table?”

Kitty nodded and went to turn away, but he stopped her. She could feel the heat of his hand on her shoulder as with twinkling eyes he asked, “Are you still a prawn cocktail girl?”

Her mouth curled into a small smile at his reference to her favourite crisps. It had been one of those silly couple jokes between them, her love of the prawn cocktail crisp and the fact she’d never share her packet with him. “Of course,” she replied, knowing that her churning stomach wouldn’t let her touch them even if he were to buy a bag.

Leaving him waving a tenner trying to attract the barman, she weaved her way through the tables. There was a soccer match blaring from the television bracketed to the wall at the far end of the room. The pub was heaving, but she managed to spot a table near the loos, empty for obvious reasons. She didn’t care, though; she needed to sit down because she was frightened that if she didn’t her legs might give way.

Leaning her case against the wall, she pulled the chair out and sank gratefully down on the seat before resting her elbows on the table. Lowering her head she massaged her temples, in an attempt to still the throbbing. What are you doing, Kitty? She knew if Yasmin were to walk into the pub right now she’d drag her out by her hair. At the very least she’d tell her she was a bloody fool. She’d be right too. Raising her head, she tucked her hair behind her ears and inhaled slowly. She needed to get out of here before she did something she knew she’d regret and getting to her feet, she slung her handbag back over her shoulder. She had just grabbed the handle of her case intent on leaving when Damien materialized through the group of lads standing in a huddle staring up at the telly.

He stopped in front of her, a drink in each hand. “They sold out of prawn cocktail, but that’s no reason to leave.” He didn’t smile despite his attempt at humour. “Please don’t go, Kitty.” His eyes pleaded. Eyes that were so familiar to her with their flecks of dark blue around the irises, and as she hesitated, she knew she was lost even as she tried to be strong.

“Damien, this isn’t a good idea.”

“I’m so sorry for everything.” He put the drinks down on the table and pulled her chair back out for her. “Please just give me five minutes to talk to you. I miss you. I miss us.”