‘You’re great with her,’ Ava says, draping a row of lights over the hedge’s top row.
Jean stares at her. ‘I shook a small child’s hand. Again. Like she’s a forty-year-old woman working in HR. Which you laughed at both times, I might add.’
‘Evidently she liked it – I think there might be a repeat whenever she sees you.’ Ava dusts off her hands. ‘Not that I expect it’ll happen often. Anyway, how are you doing? If any of this gets too much, we can go. Just say the word.’
She’d do it, too. Walk away from her own party. Colleagues, friends, family… ‘Don’t worry about me. Your family have all been wonderful.’
‘Cool.’ Ava peers round the garden, but they’re alone save for the myriad of lights; the rich perfume of roses; sparrows chirping in the branches above. She presses a chaste kiss to the corner of Jean’s mouth, raising it into a smile. ‘I’m glad you hit it off.’
Jean’s on the cusp of returning that kiss with interest when footsteps approach. Together they turn to face the newcomer: a man in owlish glasses and a white shirt patterned with blue palm fronds. Alasdair Harris stands comfortably at six feet, even with the academic slouch hunching his shoulders. And he beams at the sight of his daughter.
Ava embraces her father, and he kisses the top of her curly head – and Jean realises that it was from him Ava inherited not only her height, but that easy affectionate manner. When he releases Ava, those keen blue eyes light on Jean, curious now. ‘Hello there,’ Alasdair says, still with a broad Glaswegian accent even after all his years teaching at LSE. ‘Who’s this you’ve brought along?’
Ava runs a hand through her curls, looking between them, and Jean stands a little straighter. ‘Dad, this is Jean Howard. She’s a friend of mine. A good friend. And a lawyer too – she’s been a lifesaver getting CJC off the ground. And this is my dad, Alasdair.’
‘Pleased to meet you, sir.’ Jean holds out a hand, which she lets fall before he can take it. ‘OhGod. I’m sorry! Your wife mentioned your politics, and here I am calling you sir. Alasdair. And before we go any further, I think you should know that it’s corporate law that I work in. Just to get that speedbump out of the way.’
Jesus. Ava’s staring at her as if she’s sprouted another head. And no fucking wonder. Not since her gauche and stumbling days as an intern, overawed by every person – every actual lawyer that she met – has Jean crashed and burned this badly. But then entire decades have passed since Jean’s been the one scrabbling to impress.
Alasdair’s beard twitches, and Jean gets the distinct impression he’s trying not to laugh. ‘Yes, well, nobody’s perfect. Lucky for you, the firing squad took a day off in honour of our celebration.’ He takes Jean’s limp hand, gives it a brief and gentle squeeze. ‘You’re very welcome here, Jean – it’s not every day that my daughter introduces me to a female companion.’
‘Oh! No. That’s not what’s happening here.’ Ava colours a magnificent shade of scarlet under her father’s scrutiny. ‘I mean, I did introduce you to Jean. And she is female. Obviously, she’s a woman in that dress. But I’m not,we’renot—’
‘My mistake,’ Alasdair says, though his eyes sparkle with mischief. ‘Either way, I’d better fire up the barbecue. I’ll see you later, Ava. Comrade Howard.’
Alasdair retreats across the garden, hands behind his back, whistling – unless Jean is very much mistaken – the former USSR’s national anthem.
‘Sorry about that,’ Ava says, still not looking at her. ‘Dad enjoys teasing people, but I think he liked you.’
‘No, I’m the one who should be sorry.’ Jean itches as the conversation replays itself in her mind. ‘I’m a complete and utter fucking mess right now. Why the bloody hell did I have to go and call him sir? That’s going to haunt me.’
‘No, the best bit was when you outed yourself as a fully paid-up member of the bourgeoisie.’ Ava cackles at the pained look on her face. ‘On the bright side, Simon’s never managed to make him crack a smile in twelve years. You did it in under two minutes.’
And Jean can’t help but laugh at the absurdity of it. Ava slumps against her, helpless with the giggles. Of course, Alasdair looks up from tipping coals into the barbecue then, drawn by the sound of their laughter. He raises his fist in a classic communist salute.
‘He didn’t seem to mind,’ Jean says, when she gets her breath back.
‘What, that you’re helping millionaires turn into billionaires?’
‘No. Well yes, there’s that. But your father didn’t seem opposed to it. The idea that you and I might be…’
‘I told you, he’s the least judgemental person you’ll ever meet.’ Ava shrugs. ‘It’s not a big deal.’
‘I can’t speak for my parents, but there’s no way that my sister would be so relaxed about it.’
Ava must read something of those memories on her face. She steps closer to Jean, brow creased with concern. But Aaliyah steps out onto the patio, smoothing invisible creases from the peach dress that is – Jean realises – a perfect match for her twin’s suit.
‘Come on – the guests are starting to arrive.’ She looks between Jean and Ava. ‘And I’m not greeting them on my own. Bring Jean if you must.’
‘She’s nervous,’ Ava whispers, her hand coming to rest in the small of Jean’s back.
We have that in common, is what Jean wants to say. But Ava will worry about her – enough to keep her from smiling and hugging and shaking hands – and Aaliyah will resent her for it. So, Jean rallies. Together they join Aaliyah on the terrace.
She meets Grandpa James, helped by cousins Ella and Faith. Stands by as Ava’s former manager, a majestic dark-skinned woman named Zora, wraps her in a long hug. And catches her eyes overspilling when two former clients introduce Ava to their newborn son.
Then more cousins arrive, and Jean accepts that she’s never going to remember every name; just smiles every time Ava says, ‘And this is Jean,’ offering no further explanation.
And when guests begin to pour in earnest through the doors, Jean stands out less than she might have expected. The Harris-Emmanuel family, their colleagues and friends, are London at its most multi-cultural – though Jean has claimed the city as her home for close to thirty years, the higher she has ascended in the world of corporate law, the less her day-to-day life has reflected this plurality.
