the sand. The Life and Loves of a She Devil fell open against her palms, revealing her bookmark. Every time she looked at the saccharine pink, glitter-coated rabbit, her breath stuttered in her throat.
Kate ran the pad of her index finger over the scrawled text inside the card: ‘happpy birday mummy’. Her heart swelled with pride and sadness in equal measure. How she had loved being called Mummy. How she missed it. Lydia’s signature was surrounded by an oval of kisses, an unbroken chain, created when everything in her daughter’s world had been perfect. A time when her little girl lived unaware of the wolf baying at the door, before Kate had broken everything.
The words of their telephone call floated to the front of her mind, always there for perfect recall. ‘Sometimes, Mum, I pretend that you are both dead, and that makes it easier somehow. I pretend that you were both killed in an accident and then I don’t have to think about you doing something so horrible to Dad or about the horrible things that Dad did to you. I don’t like to think about it, Mummy.’
She looked towards the horizon and studied the sun diamonds glinting on the water, framed by the rocky cliffs on either side of the bay. It was as good as any beach anywhere. Maybe not as stunning as her St Lucian horseshoe paradise, but better in some ways because it was her beach, her special place. Somewhere for her to think. And no one was going to sell it from under her feet.
* * *
Bristol was buzzing and busy – or maybe Kate was simply transferring her own excitement and energy onto the city in which she found herself. Life in Penmarin was calm and quiet, just as she liked it. Bristol was entirely different. She enjoyed observing the university students clustered together in the entrances to buildings, in the way that only the young and carefree are happy to do. She laughed at how they had left school and abandoned their uniforms only to all dress the same now. And soon they would evolve again, perhaps joining the tribe of glamorous women who paraded the pavements clutching stiff paper bags stuffed with the day’s booty.
The three friends had agreed to meet at Browns restaurant, a prominent landmark on the Bristol skyline. They sat outside at a table at the top of the steps. Apron-clad waiters bought them a cold jug of Pimm’s and salmon fishcakes with stick-thin golden chips. Nothing, however, could distract Kate from what lay ahead. On at least two occasions her heart skipped a beat at the sight of a dark-haired young woman on the opposite side of the street – for a split second they looked like Lydia and she had to quell the temptation to cry out. She was impatient to finish lunch and get to the gallery, wanting both to linger over her daughter’s work and to get the whole thing over with.
‘How are you feeling, mate?’ As usual, Janeece was more than in tune with her friend’s anxiety.
Kate hesitated. How was she feeling?
‘I’m nervous, excited, scared and then nervous again.’
Natasha placed a hand on her friend’s arm. ‘You’ll be fine, we’re right here with you.’
Kate nodded, but Natasha’s reassurance did little to ease her angst.
‘She could be close by right now. I might be a few steps away from her…’ This Kate whispered, more to herself than anyone else.
Janeece strode on ahead to check that the coast was clear, leaving Kate and Natasha to hover further down the street, waiting for the sign that they could proceed. It felt like an eternity, but it was in fact only minutes before she reappeared.
‘Right, had a word with a Mrs Ladi-dadi-da-pants in reception, who informs me that the artiste will be attending on Wednesday evening for the formal opening and then on Thursday only. So as today is Tuesday, I reckon we’re good to go!’
Kate beamed. ‘Right. Let’s do this.’
‘You sure you are okay, honey?’
Natasha knew only too well how revealing art could be and was worried that it might not be the positive experience her friend was hoping for.
‘Yep, I’m more than okay.’ Kate walked ahead alone.
The building was beautiful: grand and full of marble, with Corinthian columns and a wide, sweeping staircase. Kate marvelled at the vast, ornate oils that lined the walls. Her little girl was in fine company. Imagine her daughter holding an exhibition in a place like this. Pride swelled in