‘Sorry, I should have asked,’ Cohen wiped his mouth. ‘Did you want the red apple?’
But Rushi shook her head. ‘No. No, I don’t want the apple.’ She cleared her throat, putting the remnants of her sandwich down, resting her hand on the top of her cane. She peered at Cohen thoughtfully, her lips pressed together.
‘I underestimated you, Ford,’ she said suddenly. ‘I underestimated everything about you.’
‘Really?’ Cohen asked, uncertain whether to feel hope or worry.
‘Mmm. Your mother calls me, she tells me about her son. The son who ignores her messages. The son who doesn’t call on birthdays. The son whose life she’s had to fight to be part of these past fifteen years. She calls, and I listen. Because that’s what good friends do, Ford. Theylisten.’
Rushi stopped, considering him again. ‘But parents can’t be friends with their children, not really. They must be parents first, after all. Like me and my River. She’s the best friend I ever had, you know? But she’s also my child. And lately I’ve been thinking, am I listening to River like a friend? Or am I only treating her like I would a child? For weeks, she’s been going about the house with a smile on her face and a skip in her step. And there I am, like a fool, thinking how wonderful it is to see my child happy. I’ve been a good parent to River, that I know to be true. But I haven’t been a good friend to her, maybe. Because a friend would have asked, why are you smiling? Why are you happy? And maybe if I had asked, she would’ve told me about you.’ Rushi sighed. ‘Because youarethe reason she’s been so happy recently. I can see that now.’
‘And are you ...’ Cohen paused. ‘Are you happy about that?’
Rushi frowned. ‘I wasn’t at first, no. I only know of you what your mother has told me. The spoiled boy. The selfish man.’
Cohen took a deep breath, her words stinging more than he was prepared for.
‘But I’m prepared to reconsider her opinion. Because now I am thinking, has your mother been a friend to you, Ford? Or just a mother? Because maybe, just maybe, she hasn’t been your friend. Maybe she hasn’t been listening to you, the way I haven’t listened to River. Maybe there is more to you than what other people think, than what other people say. Well, I’m willing to take a chance on that.’
Cohen felt a flare of hope. ‘What do you mean?’ he asked, a tremulous waver in his voice.
‘I mean that I’m willing to support your ...’ Rushi swallowed again, looking away from Cohen to the spires of St. Pauls. ‘I’m willing to let you form a relationship with my daughter. You make her happy. She seems to make you happy. And you’ve shown, on more than one occasion now, that you are willing to learn her language to be with her. And I admire that Ford, I really do. Because you know something?’ Rushi leaned closer now, prodding him with a sharp finger. ‘Because I did the same thing.’
Cohen couldn’t speak. He was lost to the excited bubbles in his stomach, the sudden knowledge that not only did Rushi know about him and River, but that she was willing to support their relationship also.
Rushi sat back, the lines of her face suddenly softening when she next spoke. ‘Everyone said the same thing about me and my Guido, you know. He was Italian, I was Chinese. Everyone told me to stay away from him, that he was trouble. And he was.’ Rushi smiled fondly. ‘He really was. I met him in my first year here in London. He hired me as an assistant in his café, taught me everything there was to know about gelato. Everyone said, oh, you can’t marry that boy, he’s so hopeless at Chinese, and his English is not much better. They were right too. Even after fifty years with me, he couldn’t speak a word. I had to learn Italian for him, did your mother ever tell you that?’ Rushi looked off into the distance, momentarily lost in a happy past. ‘A whole new language, just to be with the one I loved.’
‘You were happy,’ Cohen said, because in the damp, grey light of London, Rushi’s face looked almost girlish when she recalled the great love of her life.
‘Yes,’ she replied. ‘Wewere happy. We couldn’t have children, but we were happy. It was my idea to foster children when we were both too old and should’ve known better. We had three children with us before River. But River ... as soon as they brought that little girl to me, I knew I would never let her go. She’d been let down so badly by her parents. So, so badly. Life played a cruel trick on that girl, taking her hearing and her family all at once. But she was resilient, anyone could see that. Within a week of arriving she was clinging to my arms like a limpet, and within a year she was signing away. Guido, the old fool, couldn’t learn Chinese for me but learned BSL for her. She brought great hope and happiness to his final years, you know?’ Rushi sighed again, reaching for her coffee.
‘I’m going to make her happy, Rushi.’ Cohen’s voice was firm, weighed down by conviction.
‘You already have.’ Rushi shrugged. ‘I only ask that you keep making her happy, every day that you have together. Which I suppose brings me to my next point: what happens now?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean, what happens now? You live in New York, River lives here. And if you even suggest taking her away from me, moving her to America, so help me God, I will kill you and turn your body to gelato. You’re a big man, but I run an ice creamery and own a damn big freezer.’
Cohen nodded. ‘I wouldn’t take her away from you,’ he reassured her.
‘Good. Because few enough folk speak BSL here, so I imagine the rates in the US are much lower.’
‘I’ll stay in London,’ Cohen decided suddenly, understanding entirely the implication of those words. Because staying in London meant giving up New York. It meant giving up his apartment, his car and his friends. It would mean changing his whole lifestyle for a city he had always been half-hearted about.
But then he thought of River, of her hazel eyes and gingham skirts and soft hands and clinging body and heknew,he just knew, that he would never be happy anywhere else ever again unless she was by his side. He’d never be half-hearted about her.
Rushi nodded. ‘So, you stay in London, you learn BSL. How will you stay in London? You aren’t British. You aren’t European. You have no right to stay, unless your work will sponsor you ...’
‘Actually.’ Cohen pressed his lips together, the next words awkward to say. ‘Actually, I just quit my job.’
Rushi stared at him. ‘So, you’re unemployed then?’
He nodded.
‘Ah,’ she remarked drily. ‘The perfect son-in-law.’
Cohen flushed. ‘I have money,’ he said tightly. ‘And my own money too, not just the Sedler funds.’
