Diane wrinkled her nose. ‘I think we could leave off the “aunt”. None of my other nieces and nephews uses it.’
Tamzin seemed in the mood for conversation, her eyes over-bright. ‘I love your jeans and top, you wear such wicked stuff. It’s well strange.’
The top was a fine linen shirt with shiny chrome eyelets zig-zagging down one side, threaded with scarlet leather laces and tied with fat tassels. The jeans had dinky little zips in odd places, topstitched in emerald green.
Automatically, Diane sat back to display the outfit. ‘This is what I do, I make one-offs, and sell a lot of it to a shop in Peterborough. I wear my own stuff as a kind of walking advertisement. It’s all very highly decorated. I was making boho before boho was invented.’
‘It’s so cool. Really random but pretty. Do you, like, take orders?’
‘Customer commissions? Of course. Mainly evening wear, for ladies who want something you won’t get at John Lewis or Debenhams.’ She stirred her latte.
‘What could you make for me?’
Beside her, Diane felt James start slightly, and wondered wryly whether he’d just seen himself as the guy footing the bill. Oh well, he looked as if he could afford it, with a leather jacket that she kept wanting to trail her fingers across and midnight blue polo shirt that fitted just so. ‘Anything you want, so long as the fabrics are suitable. I don’t do rubber or vinyl or anything.’ She winked.
Tamzin giggled. ‘No, nothing weird. I was thinking, like, freaky tops. And decorated jeans.’
Tamzin turned to link her father’s arm, beaming up at him with a smile, their spat, apparently, forgotten. ‘I haven’t had any new clothes for ages, have I?’
His eyes crinkled. ‘You’re positively overdue for some.’
‘You’re not such a sad Dad.’ She planted a sudden kiss on his cheek before swinging back to Diane. ‘Can I talk to you about it? One morning? I know you visit Uncle Gareth most afternoons. I come to your house, right?’
‘Tomorrow, if you like,’ Diane agreed, unable to read James’s expression but wanting, as much as the welcome commission, because Rowan at the shop was really stingy with what he paid her, to see more of this bright Tamzin who’d suddenly burst on stage like an actress. All the clothes Diane had seen her in so far had been atrocious; it would be fun to do her justice.
‘My mother likes to see me in autumn colours but my favourites are turquoise or hot pink.’
‘Turquoise would look really good on you,’ Diane agreed.
And Tamzin went on and on, talking with her hands and giggling. Presently, she fluttered off to the Ladies, still calling back over her shoulder about beads and fabric, like a child who doesn’t want to waste time peeing but can’t put it off any longer.
James turned to Diane the instant his daughter stepped out of sight. ‘You’reamazing.’
Diane was caught off guard. ‘Why?’
‘That’s the nearest to normal she’s been for two years. If you knew how much I wanted her to take an interest in her appearance but it’s all I can do to get her to brush her teeth. And you just wander in and – She has problems, I suppose you realise? Adolescent depression. She seems mainly to dress in gardening clothes – when I can coax her out of her dressing gown, that is.’ And suddenly his warm hand was closing about Diane’s. She could even feel the pulse in his thumb. ‘Thank you!’
Diane flushed, her fingers tingling. ‘I don’t think I did anything; it’s just a coincidence that what I do interests her.’ Then, cautiously, ‘She certainly swings from one mood to another. I suppose she’s been knocked off balance by what’s happened to her mother?’ She glanced down at their fingers curled together, his so big and capable. She hoped hers didn’t feel incredibly workworn and rough.
He released her suddenly and used the hand to rub tiredly over his face. ‘She has a special relationship with her mother and occasionally comes out batting wildly on her behalf, completely unasked. That row you overheard – I just suggested that Valerie had a bed of her own when she eventually comes out of hospital. It’s practical. She might still be in plaster.’ He hesitated, as if debating how much to say. ‘Tamzin viewed it in the worst possible light. That I was trying to avoid intimacy with her mother. She has a thing – a fear – about us splitting up. She has fears about lots of things.’
Then, in a rush, taking her hand again as if he couldn’t get his feelings across without touching her, he fixed her with his dark grey stare. ‘If Tamzin doesn’t turn up tomorrow, I hope you’ll understand. Persist. Make her another appointment. She sometimes just ... runs out of steam. Stays in bed. She describes her depression as living in a labyrinth of caves. Every time she makes it out of one cave she finds she’s walking into another, just as grey and festooned with cobwebs as the last one. She only ever sees the sun in the distance but some things make it seem closer – I think that her interest in your work might be one of those things.’
‘I’ll be patient,’ she promised. Her heart rate had picked up, as if his enthusiasm was transmitting itself to her through the touch of his hand.
‘I wish more people would just show patience instead of treating her as if she’s feeble.’ His hand fell away, leaving her feeling suddenly cold.
‘Did it just come on? The depression, I mean.’
He grimaced. ‘During her first year at university she began to be overwhelmed in certain situations, unable to organise herself. She attracted the attention of some bullying bastards and began not to eat.’
‘Is she anorexic?’
‘That isn’t the diagnosis. The doctor calls it unhealthily thin.’
‘If she’d been to university she must be older than I thought.’
‘Twenty. She was the baby of the family, of course. Valerie says I’ve babied her too long.’ He sent her one of his fleeting smiles. ‘Tamzin’s so fragile, she brings out the guard dog in me.’
