‘Who is?’ Radia wanted to know.
Joy tried to sound as neutral as possible. ‘Your grandmother. And grandad too.’
Radia scraped her chair back awkwardly on the cobbles and wandered through the passageway, Joy following behind, her arms crossed.
There, on the slope, was her mum, looking little and aged in a way Joy didn’t remember. She was burdened with overnight bags and groceries, and behind her, like a 1980s nightclub bouncer in a black summer jacket and shades, was her father, placid and wordless as usual.
‘This must be it, Mike,’ she was saying, ever so loudly, making the evening tourists turn to look at her as they made their way down to the Siren or up from the beach.
More like Patti than Joy, but bottle blonde with big specs and pink lippy, Pam Foley was no shrinking violet, and now she was here, curiously suburban in her spotlessly white Skechers, unselfconsciously causing a scene already.
‘Ring her, Mike! Ask where this bleedin’ place is!’
‘Grandma!’
Radia’s cry had her spinning round, dropping all her bags, spreading her arms and welcoming the little girl as if she saw her every day of the week.
Joy felt a pinch of resentment in her chest. She didn’t want to feel it. It was ungenerous when she had Radia all to herself all the time… and yet, the prospect of sharing her carefully protected child with her mother didn’t feel great. But there was absolutely nothing she could do to prevent it.
She watched her dad, wondering how he’d react when Radia inevitably launched herself at him, once she’d finished roughing up her granny.He’d better hug her, she thought unkindly.
She saw the hesitation from him, but then there was a great cry of ‘Grandad!’ and the silent giant picked up the little girl into the air like she weighed nothing at all. He hugged her close to his chest and kissed her forehead, and Radia didn’t even say ‘yuck’ or wipe it away.
Joy had expected awkwardness between the three of them when there was, evidently, none at all. How the hell had that happened? Is this what they meant when they said that thing about blood being thicker than water? She’d wanted to believe it was nonsense but here they were, strangers who shared DNA, making a child’s synapses fire out messages of recognition, telling her she belonged with these people.
And now, everyone was looking at Joy. It was her turn, apparently.
She stepped out towards her parents, not nervous, exactly, but nowhere near calm.
‘Hi, Mum,’ she heard herself say. That was good. Casual, she thought.
‘Oh my god, Joyce! Look at you!’ her mother cried, very loudly. The lace curtains at the cottage window overlooking the scene twitched at the commotion. They were being watched.
Pamela stepped towards her daughter and wrapped her in a hug that almost knocked Joy backwards. At first, it felt showy and fake, and then, when her mum didn’t let her go and she felt Pam’s heart thumping and her tears heaving, it felt the way it was probably supposed to.
Joy let herself be held and rocked and kissed, standing there halfway up the slope at the point where Up-along became Down-along, depending on your perspective and direction of travel.
To her surprise, her dad took off the aviators to reveal crying eyes and stepped in, spreading his long arms in a hug around his wife and eldest daughter, saying nothing at all, but giving away so much.
Radia clapped and danced beside her aunt before stopping everyone in their tracks by wondering out loud whether there might be any prezzies in the bags they’d brought.
Chapter Twenty-nine
Five years, almost six, as if they hadn’t already been aware of the fact, is a long time to miss. Radia’s whole lifetime to be precise. Suddenly, now that they were here in Devon, the texts Joy had exchanged with her mother, the postcards and Christmas cards that had criss-crossed the planet, connecting them up on important days, sometimes getting lost, sometimes arriving late, were now exposed as exactly what they had always been: inadequate at best, insulting at worst.
Radia had been brilliant, of course, chattering away and showing her grandparents every inch of the bookshop and dragging them round the back to the garden, announcing that this was where their new friend Monty had barbequed the big fish. Joy had avoided her mum’s eyes at that moment and insisted it was too chilly to stand around outside any longer.
Finally, after insisting on reading stories for a long time so everyone could see how clever and grown-up she was, Radia had caved and at last fallen asleep on her little bed beside Joy’s father who, no matter how uncomfortable he looked crammed onto the edge of the bed (still in his aviators), was soon snoring contentedly beside his granddaughter.
That left Joy, Patti and their mother clearing away the coffee mugs and the remains of the Colin the Caterpillar cake (Pamela Foley was, like her youngest daughter, devoted to M&S and couldn’t pay a visit to anyone without calling there first).
‘So,’ Joy said when the cups were put away. ‘Bedtime?’
Her mum looked at the clock on the wall, which traitorously said it was only half-seven.Dammit.
‘I… should probably get to my room at the Siren’s Tail, right?’ said Patti.
‘You’re staying the night in the village?’ Joy was amazed.
