I fold Ravi’s letter carefully and look at Shane. ‘What d’you think about all of this?’
He blows out air and shakes his head. ‘I don’t know. I can’t quite get my head around it…’
‘No, neither can I.’ Obviously, though, we can’t do it. I’m sure he knows this too but, like me, doesn’t want to be the one to say it.
The party is starting to wind up and all around us, there are hugs and vows to get together again soon. Shane slides the camera back into the gift bag, and I fold up the letter and slip it in too. As he places it on a shelf, someone calls him over to join a conversation. Seeming relieved, he excuses himself and beetles off.
Feeling a little stranded now, I help to gather up glasses and plates. Pam has snapped into practical mode and hasn’t mentioned her daughter’s letter, or the camera, again. It’s as if, once satisfied that she had handed it over, that was that – job done.
‘So where are you staying tonight, Josie?’ Dev asks.
‘The Craven Hotel,’ I reply, glancing at the ornate brass wall clock above the sideboard. Not yet nine o’clock but I’m hit with a wave of exhaustion.
‘Nice,’ he says with a wry smile, and I laugh.
‘It’ll do the job.’
‘Dad’ll give you a lift if you like?’
‘Oh no, I’m fine to walk,’ I exclaim.
Now Kamal has appeared, with Shane at his side. ‘Shane’s at The Craven too,’ Kamal announces.
‘Oh, you’re not staying with your mum?’ Dev asks him.
‘Erm, no. Not this time?—’
‘Aw, mate. I get it,’ Dev says quickly, and he and his father seem to exchange a look. And now Kamal is jingling his keys, insisting that he’ll drive us and reprimanding us for ‘wasting good money on rooms – you could’ve stayed with us!’ Then there are hugs – so many hugs – and Shane and Kamal and I step out into the cool, still night.
It’s reassuring somehow to see that Kamal still drives a big, solid, dad-type saloon, immaculate inside and out. Having jumped into the back, I breathe in the aroma of citrus and leather as Kamal chatters away. ‘So, how’s life in London, Josie? I haven’t had a chance to ask!’
‘It’s great,’ I tell him.
‘You’ve got a daughter, right?’ He catches my gaze in the rear-view mirror.
‘Yes, Cora. She’s twenty-eight. Just had a baby.’
‘You’re a granny! Unbelievable! How’s that then?’
‘Wonderful,’ I reply.
‘Do they live near you?’
‘Yes, just a couple of miles away?—’
‘We’d have loved grandkids, but it never happened with either of ours. You’re very lucky,’ he says wistfully.
‘I know, Kamal. I really am.’ With all that he and Pam have been through, it seems terribly self-pitying to feel hurt by Cora and Zack’s determination to keep me at bay. The first time I held Poppy – this impossibly tiny, beautiful thing – Zack loomed over us, glowering, as if I might be about to bolt out and toss her into the back of a van. And last week I messaged Cora: Okay if I nip over tomorrow? I have the day off. I thought I could take Poppy out, do a big park walk. Give you both a break.
Weekend after next would be better, she’d replied. Say Sunday between two and three?
Such is the strictness of Border Control. By then, hopefully, my visa application will have been approved. I wouldn’t want to try and enter my daughter’s home illegally.
‘And how’s life with you, Shane?’ Kamal glances to the left. ‘How’s Paula?’
I catch a beat’s pause before he replies, ‘Erm, we’re not together these days. But it’s fine, it’s totally amicable…’
‘Oh, it’s good when you can work things out like that,’ Kamal says. ‘Especially when there are kids. You have two, Pam was saying?’
