Coming Home (21 page)

Despite the fact that there were two other young men working, I saw Tom at once. Standing behind the counter, he was taller and broader than I’d imagined from the photos—at least six feet tall—and, although he had curly brown hair, he looked far less like Graham in real life than he’d done in the pictures. Would I really have recognised him in the street? I flicked a look around the café: two young guys were waiting tables. One was blond and the other Asian. Yes, assuming Tom was working today, this had to be him.

He was flirting with an old lady he was serving, laughing and joking with her as he pressed the coffee into the espresso maker and steamed the milk.

‘Is that him?’ Luca whispered. I nodded. He squeezed my hand and I leaned into him, as if his strength could transfer to me through his jacket sleeve. Together, hands clasped, we walked over to the counter, over to Tom. We waited our turn.

Finally, the lady tore herself away and Luca and I faced Tom directly.

‘Morning,’ said Tom. He looked from Luca to me and back. I stared. He looked more like Graham when he smiled. It was like seeing a ghost. ‘What can I get you?’

‘Two Americanos to take away,’ Luca said. I barely heard: I was focusing on Tom’s name badge. Despite everything, it didn’t say ‘Tom’, it said ‘Sebastian’. It couldn’t be. I was
so sure this man was my brother. I looked around the shop again, strained to see into the kitchens as the door flipped open. While Tom’s back was turned, I nudged Luca and jabbed my finger at my chest.

‘Badge!’ I hissed.

Tom turned back and placed the two coffees on the counter between us. ‘Milk, sugar, blah-di-blahs all over there.’ He pointed to another counter. ‘Four ninety.’ His voice brought an image of Dad to my mind.

‘Let me get this,’ said Luca to me, not that I’d moved to get my purse. He rummaged in his pocket and pulled out a handful of pound coins.

‘Sebastian,’ he said thoughtfully, running the word through his lips. ‘Got a kid brother called that. So, are you a Bastian or a Seb?’

Tom twisted his badge up so he could see it. ‘Oh God, no. He’s done it again, the idiot. No. This is my mate’s badge. He likes to swap them. Thinks it’s hilarious to confuse the old ladies. No, no. I’m Tom.’

‘Oh well.’ Luca shrugged. ‘Neither a Bastian nor a Seb. Nice to meet you, anyways, Tom.’ Luca picked up the coffees. ‘Come on, Evie. Places to see, things to do.’

At the door, I turned and looked back. Tom was still looking at us. He raised a hand in a static wave.

I floated out of the café, light and free, like I had a thousand helium balloons tied to my shoulders. I’d done it. I’d seen my half-brother and the world hadn’t stopped turning.
Luca and I sat with our coffees in the park. It was cold but sunny and we perched side by side on a wall like a pair of oversized crows. I couldn’t stop smiling. I also couldn’t stop gabbling. It was all I could do to sit still. My entire body jiggled with energy.

‘He seems so nice! He was so much taller than I thought! I can see Dad in him. Did you see my dad in him? Do you think Graham would have looked like that when he was older? Do you think he knows about me?’ It was a monologue: replies not required. When I finally ground to a halt, I looked over at Luca. He was drinking his coffee, a study of patience. I leaned into him and kissed his cold cheek.

‘Sorry,’ I said. ‘I’m just excited. Thanks so much for doing that. And for the “Sebastian” thing.’

‘You’re welcome.’ Luca turned to look at me. ‘But you knew, didn’t you? You knew it was him? He has your smile.’

‘Oh I don’t know. I thought I knew, but then I wasn’t sure. The name thing really threw me. But looking back, it was obvious it was him.’

‘Er … yes! So. Glad you did it?’

‘Glad you made me do it, you mean?’

‘Glad I made you do it?’

‘Yes. Thank you. I really appreciate it.’ I shivered and he put his arm around me, giving my back a brisk rub.

‘You’re welcome, Evie. Now can you sleep well tonight?’

‘I hope so.’

‘Forgotten about Zoe?’

The funny thing was I had. Now I’d seen Tom with my
own eyes, meeting her seemed less important. I was on fire with the idea of having a secret half-brother. It was like having a bit of Graham back, as well as a bit of Dad.

‘Yep.’ I swirled my coffee in the cup. I’d still only had one sip. ‘I still can’t believe he made me this. My brother—who I didn’t know existed till two days ago—made me a coffee.’ I shook my head. ‘God! It’s so bizarre.’

‘He makes a mean coffee,’ said Luca.

‘I want to see him again,’ I said. The words fell out of my mouth before I really thought about them. But as soon as they were out I knew it was what I wanted.

‘What?’

‘I want to go back.’ Having got over my fear of seeing Tom, having walked into the café without the world falling apart, I was like a child who discovers a new skill: I wanted to do it over and over again. I could see myself sitting there with the papers, watching Tom surreptitiously.

‘Well,’ said Luca slowly. ‘Now’s probably not a great time. I’d give it a while. So it doesn’t look odd. Or are you going to admit who you are?’

‘No. I can’t do that. Not while he’s at work. That wouldn’t be fair.’

We were quiet for a minute, alone with our thoughts. I could hear the roar of distant traffic, but the air in the park itself was still. We were the only people there.

‘So, how’s your mum?’ Luca asked.

‘Oh, I dunno. Up and down and round about. I suppose it’s par for the course.’

Luca nodded. ‘It’ll take time. Did you ever get in touch
with that uncle, by the way? You know, the mad one in the tower?’ He was referring to conversations we used to have at school when we tried to guess what Uncle David must have done to make Mum so angry.

I laughed. ‘He’s not mad. Well, maybe he is. I’ve still no idea why he and Mum don’t speak, but yes. Yes, I wrote to him. A proper letter! I thought it was only fair to tell him about Dad. He lives in Oxford, by the way. Not in a tower.’ I laughed.

‘Interesting. I wonder if he’ll get back to you. It’d be cool to find out what they fought about. I bet it’s something really mundane. Like she got more pocket money than him. Or he beheaded her Barbie doll or something.’

‘It happened as adults, you muppet.’ I shoved my elbow into Luca’s side. ‘Kids living in the same house can’t be estranged from each other.’

‘You should have lived in my house,’ said Luca. He stood up and held out his arm for me. ‘Shall we? I’m freezing my brass monkeys off here.’

We strolled slowly back into town, stopping only to look in the windows of estate agents.

‘Wow,’ I breathed, ‘look at that one!’

‘Bagsie this one,’ Luca said, pointing out an even more extravagant mansion in the Kent countryside. ‘Seriously, can you imagine living in a place like that? Swimming pool, gym, tennis courts, basement cinema, media room, stables, riding arena … all it needs is a private airstrip.’

‘Perfect for you and your girlfriend,’ I said.

‘Oh yes, the lovely Miss Non-Existent,’ said Luca. ‘Evie,
meet my invisible girlfriend.’ He bowed at the empty pavement. ‘I love her to bits.’

‘Because she never says anything?’ I asked, deadpan. ‘So that’s how a girl gets to keep you.’

Luca went to poke me in the ribs, but I scampered away. ‘I think you’ll find it was you who dumped me. Actually. If we’re telling the truth here.’

‘Terribly sorry about that,’ I said, offering my arm to him. ‘You should have tried harder.’ I gave him a cheeky wink and he dodged after me and grabbed my arm, linking his through it.

‘Come on,’ he said. ‘Let’s walk.’

‘So tell me, Mister Rossi,’ I said, after we’d strolled a little down the street, stopping here and there to peer into more shop windows. ‘Did I leave you so damaged you’ve never dated anyone since?’

Luca patted my arm patronisingly. ‘In your dreams, short stuff.’

‘No … seriously?’

He sighed. ‘There was someone …’

‘Just the one?’ I teased.

‘Actually, yes. Just the one.’

‘Really?’

‘Yes, really. Is that so strange? I met her at university. We were together for nine years.’

‘I’m sorry. What happened?’ They must have split up within the last year or so.

‘Oh … y’know. We grew apart.’ Luca fell silent. I looked at him, waiting for more. His mouth moved as he searched
for the right words. ‘I guess she fell in love with someone who was going to be a lawyer. But what she actually got, after all that time, wasn’t a high-rolling legal hotshot but a penniless photographer.’

‘Seriously?’ I didn’t want to say how shallow she sounded.

‘That’s probably the essence in a nutshell. Though it took an awful lot of fighting to work that out.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘Don’t be.’

‘And there’s been no one since?’

‘Let’s just say nothing I’m proud of. If you know what I mean.’ Luca grimaced. I nodded. We walked on. Coffee segued into lunch.

I
was thinking about Luca as I unlocked the front door later that afternoon. I’d enjoyed spending time with him; he’d always been good company and I felt that he understood me better than most of my Dubai friends. I loved that he took the mickey out of me and didn’t stand for any nonsense. I loved that he knew me so well.

What was interesting me most, though, as I pushed open the door, was the lingering kiss I’d given him in the car just now. It had taken him completely by surprise, though perhaps not by as much as it had me. As we’d pulled up in the driveway and I’d remembered my cold, lonely arrival from Dubai the other week, I’d suddenly felt overwhelmed with gratitude to Luca for taking me to Maidstone, for being with me when I saw Tom for the first time and for being my friend when I so badly needed one. Before I’d even had time to think about it, I’d leaned across and touched my mouth to his. There’d been a fraction of a second when his eyes had caught mine in surprise, and a delicious pause while it had seemed the most natural thing in the world to be sitting in a car kissing Luca Rossi, but then I’d broken the moment, scrambling from the car
before he’d had a chance to say anything. I put my fingers to my lips now as I unlocked the door, remembering the familiar taste of him.

Perhaps if I hadn’t been thinking about that, I’d have noticed the pile of stuffed bin bags stacked just inside the front door. Instead, I fell over them, landing awkwardly on my knees. The floor near the door was almost entirely taken up with bin bags, their tops neatly tied into rabbit ears. Rubbing my knees, I realised Mum must have tackled her wardrobe—she’d been saying forever that she wanted to throw out some of her older and more dated clothes. I hadn’t realised how much she had that she didn’t wear.

‘Yoo-hoo! Is that you, darling? I’m upstairs!’ came Mum’s voice.

‘Yes! Just me!’ Who else had a key? I threw my coat over the bannister and padded up the stairs into Mum’s room, expecting to see her trying on some ludicrous golfing outfit, but I stopped dead when I saw the chaos within. The carpet was an ocean of bin bags. Drawers were open, the wardrobe doors were open, piles of trousers, jumpers, shirts and ties were laid out on the bed. Stuffed suit carriers dangled from the picture rail. But none of it was Mum’s: every single item was Dad’s. Mum was throwing away his things. I stopped short in the doorway, my hand over my mouth. Mum straightened up.

‘Goodness!’ she said. ‘Your father had a lot of stuff he never used! Who knew he had so many jumpers? He only ever wore the same ratty one! Remember?’ She held up Dad’s familiar old grey jumper for me to see—the one with
the leather patches on the elbows—then shoved it into the nearest bin bag. ‘Won’t be sad to see the last of that!’

Maybe she saw, then, the look on my face because she continued, her voice artificially bright, trilling, ‘I decided to go through all his stuff, darling. It’s not as if Graham’s around to take it, is it? And there’s no point in me moving it all to the new house. There’s so little storage space there anyway, and what would I do with all this? Far better the charity shops make use of it.’

‘But, Mum,’ I started. But Mum what? I didn’t know what to say. She was right. She had no use for this stuff, but I didn’t like the way she was throwing it all out without consulting me. Did she need to consult me? Probably not. But I’d have liked to have been involved, liked to have looked through Dad’s things with her, chosen a keepsake or two. It could have been something we’d done together, mother and daughter, remembering as we went through Dad’s things for the last time. I reached into one of the open bin bags, pulling out a small box: cufflinks. The silver ones I’d bought for Father’s Day when I was sixteen. I’d saved my Saturday job wages to get those. A sob caught in my throat. ‘Mum! How could you? You know I bought these! What else have you thrown out?’

‘Put them back, Evie. We’re not going to keep them. Everything’s going. I’ve decided that’s how I want it. Now put them back!’

I should have recognised the brittleness in her voice, but I was too upset to notice. I pulled Dad’s wallet out of the bag. ‘You’re throwing this away? How could you?’ He’d
had the wallet as long as I could remember. It was tatty, but it was the essence of Dad, part of his identity. I touched the leather, imagined it in Dad’s hands.

‘I’m warning you, Evie.’

I put the wallet on the bed and reached back into the bag. Wham! Mum’s hand connected with my cheek in a slap that echoed around the room. Then silence. The world seemed to stop as we stared at each other—me in shock; her in unconcealed fury. Mum hadn’t hit me since I was a child. I raised my hand to my cheek, already feeling the blood rushing to the skin’s surface, my cheek starting to throb.

‘I warned you, Evie,’ she said. ‘I told you not to.’ There was no apology in her voice, no sign of regret at what she’d done. She walked over to the window, wrestled the catch open and slid up the sash as far as it would go. Purposefully, she walked back to the bag I’d been looking at, tied the top, heaved it to the window, balanced it on the ledge, then shoved it out onto the gravel below. I ran to the window.

‘Mum, no!’

But she was on a mission. I struggled to close the window, but she shoved me aside.