‘No! There’s so much to choose from!’ Olivia glanced at the menu once more. ‘Is there anything you’d recommend?’
‘The smoothie bowls are incredible. And the pancakes are always good.’
‘OK.’ Olivia looked up into the eager face of the young waiter. ‘I’ll have the tropical smoothie bowl and a latte, please.’
‘Good choice.’ He nodded. ‘And for you?’ He looked at Cece. ‘The usual?’
‘You bet!’ She grinned, passing him the menus and pouring them both a glass of water. ‘It’s so funny how much I used to judge people who came back to the same place on holiday every single year. They’d stay in the same hotels and eat in the same restaurants, year in, year out. I used to think it was such a waste, but now …’ She took a sip from her drink. ‘Now I can see why they do it! It’s so nice having people who know you and what you like.’
‘Back home, there’s this cute little coffee shop at the end of my street; I only need to step one foot inside the door and the guy is making my order for me. Every day, like clockwork, he’s waiting for me.’ Olivia laughed sadly. ‘I think if I were to go missing, he’d be the first person to alert the police.’
‘So, you like a routine, then?’
‘I don’t know how anyone can survive without one!’
Cece arched one of her perfectly sculpted eyebrows. ‘You’d be surprised. Sometimes a little spontaneity does wonders for the soul.’
‘Soul maybe; productivity less so.’
‘And that’s the most important thing for you?’
Olivia knew there was no malice in Cece’s question, but she couldn’t help but feel a little judged.
‘It’s one of them, yes.’ She felt her face flush. ‘Otherwise, how would anything get done? I have a lot of responsibility, in my job and in my family. If I’m not productive or organized, or on top of everything, things fall apart. And that just can’t happen.’
‘I get it.’ Cece flashed her a small, rather sad-looking smile. ‘You like to be in control because you have been put in that position your whole life.’
‘It’s not control.’ Olivia clenched her jaw. ‘I don’t like controlling people. I’m not like that.’
‘I don’t mean you intentionally manipulate people. It’s that you feel safe when you know what’s going on. When there is order and process and certainty.’
‘Well, doesn’t everyone?’ Olivia snapped, her voice louder than she intended. ‘Don’t you?’
‘Not really – to me it feels kind of pointless. We like to think we can control things, but the truth is, we can’t. The more we try to hold on to things and keep them a certain way, the more painful it is when it all tips on its head and changes direction,’ Cece replied calmly. ‘We can’t make people love us, no matter how much we do for them; we can’t stop ourselves ageing, no matter how much Botox we pump into our faces; and we can’t stop people dying, nomatter how fiercely we try to protect them from the world. Ultimately, it’s all out of our control.’
Thankfully, the food arrived just as Cece finished speaking. Olivia could feel the tears stinging her eyes and the thoughts of Leah floating up to the surface. She’d already exceeded her emotional breakdown quota for the day, and she supposed it wouldn’t be quite as acceptable to wail and scream whilst people sipped their coffees and tucked into their morning eggs.
‘I’m sorry, I don’t mean to preach.’ Cece began carving into her towering stack of pillowy pancakes. ‘It’s something I’ve had to learn the hard way, that’s all.’ She held out her arm, presenting the deeply tanned skin to Olivia.
‘My dad died when I was four.’ Cece pressed a finger lightly to the incredibly detailed image of a man that sat hidden amongst the lines and dots snaking around the contours of her forearm.
Grief clamped down hard on Olivia’s heart, so intensely she felt she might crack in two right there in the cafe.
‘God, I’m sorry.’
Olivia berated herself for not noticing the tattoo sooner. For assuming, once again, that because someone looked a certain way, they carried no heartbreak or war wounds. That they bore no scars from life’s cruelty. She should know better than anyone that looks can be deceiving. Hadn’t she been pretending her whole life that she was fine?
‘That’s OK. It was a long time ago now.’ Cece folded her arm back into herself, still cradling the place where the image sat. ‘But what about you?’
Olivia drew in a deep breath, nervous but no longer afraid to share her story. Not with Cece, anyway: a woman whohad held her in her most vulnerable pain, and understood the depths in which she found herself drowning every day.
‘It was my little sister.’
My beautiful, precious, baby sister.
‘She died four months ago.’
Olivia
