‘Mum!’ says Lexi, wriggling free.
It’s like letting her go off on a gap year.
They hug, and I watch with breath held.
‘You’ve grown so – uh, grown up,’ says Elisa finally.
‘I was fourteen in March,’ says Lexi.
‘OMG, really?’ says Elisa.
There is a pause. Dan and I look at each other.
‘But you know that,’ he says easily, although to me, I can hear the steel in his voice. ‘Obviously, you wouldn’t forget that.’
‘Of course not,’ says Elisa. ‘Silly me. It’s just that, well – you’ve grown so tall ...’
Elisa still looks startled at this. Did she think Lexi was still in pigtails and little girl sweaters with fairies on them?
Lexi beams at her. How could anyone resist this exquisite girl who is kind, funny and so talented?
Both myself and Dan put a hand on each of her shoulders but she shrugs them off.
‘I follow you all the time, Elisa,’ says Lexi, who clearly doesn’t plan on calling this woman ‘Mother’.
Small mercies.
‘You do?’
Safer ground here. Elisa can do fans.
Fans, but not daughters?
‘I should give you my autograph.’ Elisa is all perked up now. Bet she has a pink pen and puts hearts on the ‘i’s in her name. Fine until you’retwenty-five; worrying afterwards.
‘Not an autograph,’ I say, attempting my ‘isn’t this fun?’ voice. You do not give someone you actually carried in your body an autograph.
‘The girls in school would love it!’ Lexi says.
Nobody in her school ever wants my autograph, I think glumly. But then, they see me picking Lexi up in a dirty car with my hair a mess and Teddy screaming things at us all from the back seat and tossing her small box of raisins around. That does take the glamour away, somewhat.
‘You’re right, Freya,’ says Elisa. ‘Instead, show them this!’
She walks, in a rippling movement, over to one of the tables where she picks up a neon pink bag left to one side and tied with a white bow.
She repeats the rippling walk back and I wonder if she’s had an eighth of an inch removed off one shoe, the way Marilyn was supposed to have done, in order to keep that exquisite hip movement going.
‘I picked all of this myself for you,’ she says, handing the bag to Lexi, who flushes with pleasure.
‘I’ve even signed the compliment slip inside,’ Elisa adds, ‘but it’s not an autograph.’
This last bit is to me.
‘I’m not really famous yet and just so you all know, I’m using Elisabetta from now on. The Surella people love it. It’s classier.’
‘Ilove it,’ says Lexi happily.
‘Now, I know you came to see this, but it’s probably not a good idea this morning,’ Elisa – sorry, Elisabetta – says. She gives me a look that I instantly identify: anxiety over me being here.
