I must be doing okay.
James is smiling at me, too.
“I made you a picture.” My voice sounds funny, like the lump in the back of my throat is stopping the sound from coming out like normal. “Would you like to see it?”
Her little body wiggles, and I step forward, closer. She nestles her head into James more, so I step behind him.
“I remember my first day,” I say into the dark head of hair; I still can’t see her face. “It’s scary, isn’t it? Your tummy feels all wibbly, and your heart beeps really fast. My heart’s beeping really fast now, too.” Her head moves, and for the first time, I see part of her face.
I smile.
Her eyes are even more blue than Maria’s. Although Lucy’s are rimmed with red.
She’s been crying.
“Your eyes are very pretty,” I say, and she peeks out further. I can see her nose now, and a blue mark on her face.
Maria said she would have bruises like I get from school sometimes. I frown. I don’t like seeing them on her face.
On your knees are okay.
Scrapes and scratches happen, especially from football when I play with Billy. But now I’m closer, I can see Lucy has lots of little bruises. Even on her arms that she still holds onto James tightly with.
“I got you a teddy.” I hold it up and she lifts her head.
I don’t even know if it’s possible, but my heart beeps even faster.
Beep, beep, beep.
Boom, boom, boom.
“I thought we could call it Cookie.”
“Cookie,” she whispers.
A big smile explodes like a firework on my face. “Yes,” I say too loudly. “Sorry,” I say quietly, looking at Maria who has tears running down her face.
“Happy tears,” she whispers, and I nod to show that I understand.
“Are yours happy tears?” I ask Lucy, who has tears streaming down her face.
She doesn’t answer me though. She just reaches out her hand as I pass her the teddy. Her fist clenches around it, and I whisper, “Welcome home, Cookie.”
4
Kara - Present
TheblackBentleypullsup to the kerb in front of Claridge‘s. They’ve extended the pavement into the road and covered it in a luscious, red carpet which runs along the length of the front.
Posh cars line up, waiting to drop off their guests.
On either side, photographers stand behind rope, constantly taking pictures of people as they mingle towards the entrance. Some talk, ignoring the flashes, while others stop and pose for them.
Some I recognise, mostly though they are just faces in a sea of people.
I glance in the compact mirror and reapply my blood red lipstick that matches my dress, my eyes coated in a gold, shimmery eye shadow.
I’ve done exactly what Anya suggested when she came and helped me get ready.
