‘Happy birthday to you too, sis.’ Ava closes the door behind her. And Jean stands rooted to the spot, feeling like an intruder as she spectates yet with nowhere else to go while Leah blocks the corridor. ‘Look, I would have been here last night if I could. But yesterday was all kinds of messed up.’
‘Mmhmm.’
Ava steps close to her sister, taking the gargantuan crystal vase. And though her voice is low, intended only for Aaliyah’s ears, Jean hears every word: ‘She needed me.’
Leah’s lip curls. ‘I’ll bet she did.’
‘Al, please. I’m not fucking around. Be nice today.’
A long look passes between the twins, a conversation conducted entirely without words, and Aaliyah’s the first to turn away. ‘Jean, if you want to help with the sides and the salads, we could use another pair of hands in the kitchen. Ava, you’re on marquee duty.’
She even manages a tight smile, which Jean returns. ‘Happy to assist.’
‘Good,’ Aaliyah says. ‘Mum will make a big fuss about how guests don’t help in her house, but if you ever want to be more than that you’ll need to roll up your sleeves.’
Jean takes in the leopard print lampshades, the bold Rothko prints, looking anywhere except at either Harris sister. ‘I’ve never been afraid of hard work.’
Ava leads the way through the dining room, elbowing her sister as she passes to set the vase down in the middle of the table runner. They follow a catchy beat all the way to the kitchen, where three women are preparing food.
A pretty, plump dark-skinned woman Jean recognises from many of Ava’s photos stirs a pot – her mother. Another woman with the same pert nose slathers chicken in rich dark sauce, gold bangles jingling as she works – though Jean doesn’t recognise any individual herbs, the scent of it floods her mouth. At the opposite end of the kitchen, seated alone at the table, a striking South Asian woman chops carrots into sticks. Thick black hair threaded heavily with grey tumbles down to her waist. All three of them beam as they catch sight of Ava.
‘If it isn’t our other birthday girl!’
‘Ava!’ Her mother abandons the stove, flinging an arm around her second born and reaching out for her first. ‘It’s good to have my babies together.’
Aaliyah embraces her without hesitation, a smile softening the edge of her words. ‘You know we’re thirty-seven now, Mum. I’m not sure you can still call us babies with middle age breathing down our necks.’
Jean lingers in the doorway as Mrs Harris gives her girls a final squeeze before pulling away, waving a dismissive hand. ‘When Theodore and Evelyn are grown with little ones of their own, those two will still be your babies. You’ll see.’
‘I can’t wait to find out. They’re driving me mad. Dad’s been sneaking them sweets since we got here.’ Aaliyah adds fresh stock to the pot of jollof rice, stirring gently.
‘You say that now, but you’ll change your mind when they go off to university. And so what if your father dotes on the little ones?’ Mrs Harris waves a wooden spoon at her eldest. ‘No point in having grandchildren if you can’t spoil them.’
Aaliyah raises a single sleek brow. ‘Is this the same woman who wouldn’t let us eat dessert unless we finished every single vegetable? Including broccoli?’
‘Let it go, Al. Mum would have the local Conservatives round for tea before she sides against Dad. You know what they’re like.’ Mrs Harris opens her mouth as if to argue, but Ava clears her throat then, ushering Jean into the kitchen. And though Jean struggles not to fidget under the weight of those curious stares, it’s a relief that even amidst all this love Ava has not forgotten about her. ‘I’d like you all to meet a friend of mine, Jean Howard. She’s a lawyer too; we started hanging out at a conference. You’ll like her, Mum; Jean’s exactly the type of lawyer you wish I was.’
‘I’m very pleased to meet you, Mrs Harris.’ Jean holds out a hand for Ava’s mother to shake, wondering whether she stressed the professional side of their relationship for Jean’s sake or her own. Then again, no matter how supportive a mother might be, no parent likes to think of their children picking up stray conquests in bars. ‘I see a lot of you in your daughter; both of them, in fact.’
But she ignores Jean’s hand, manoeuvring round the island to pull her in for a hug. And though it’s unexpected, Jean finds herself relaxing into the straightforward warmth of this embrace. ‘So, you are a woman of business! Please call me Chibundo. We don’t stand on ceremony here – my husband’s a passionate communist, so I’d suggest calling him Alasdair too.’
‘Chibundo, then.’ Jean’s smile comes easily. ‘Though I don’t think your husband will be so approving about my line of work.’
‘Oh, you’ll be fine – just quote the classics at him.’ Ava takes her arm, guiding Jean towards the others, introducing her to both aunts; Chibundo’s sister, Patience, and Laila Singh, whose name Jean recognises as a trustee from CJC paperwork. Laila’s wariness falls away as they work together preparing food, chatting about the project. And Jean’s panic is minimal when Ava is called away to assist her father with the marquee.
Ava’s fingertips brush the bare curve of Jean’s shoulder as she passes, raising a trail of tiny hairs in their wake. And though Jean schools her face, Laila sees it, gaze flitting between Jean and Ava’s retreating back. But she passes no comment, simply shows Jean where the pesto and pinenuts are, as if there is nothing at all out of the ordinary.
It’s a comfort to throw herself into the simple rhythms of chopping and stirring. Here in this kitchen, in the company of women who have never met Marianne or heard of DDH, Jean’s professional worries are a world away.
Chibundo and Patience take great delight in having a fresh audience for stories about Ava’s youth. And through these women’s reminiscences, she gleans valuable insights into Ava’s life, her history, and the people who made her. It’s no hardship listening to their tales.
Chapter Twenty-Four
With food to lay out, and banners and streamers to hang, there’s no time for Jean to stop and question what she’s doing there. Beneath the shade of the marquee, she feeds Ava a string of fairy lights to weave through the metal frame. Leah’s husband, Simon, returns with the two children, both of whom race across the lawn to greet their aunt. She swings them into the air one by one, plastering each face with kisses. Theo is more interested in turning cartwheels across the grass than meeting Jean, which she doesn’t take personally. But Evie sticks out a hand, expression serious. ‘Good to see you, Jean.’
Ava turns to hide her smile as Jean takes those tiny fingers in her own. ‘You too, Evelyn. I’m glad you’re here, because we could use some help putting these lights in the bushes.’ Jean releases Evie’s grip to hold up a string of bulbs. ‘We especially need someone who knows how to make it look pretty. Think you’re up to the job?’
Evie nods, taking great delight in festooning hedges and bushes with the glimmering LEDs. And when Aaliyah calls her offspring inside to change into party clothes, a task wisely left until the last minute, she and Ava redistribute the lights more evenly.
