“Tea for me, please,” I said.
In the corner a group of women sat with a fence of prams around them. They looked close to Rose’s age, young to have children. They seemed sympathetic to one another. As one spoke, the rest nodded, until everyone had spoken and everyone had nodded.
When Rose was in school, I knew the other mothers. We met at the school gates and sometimes on playdates but friendship always evaded us. They were of a set: striped cardigans, highlighted hair, endless baking—from bread to tiered cakes. Sometimes I felt that Robert should have married a woman like that, a woman who made tea from loose leaves.
I was too quick to judge them. Katherine and I would not have been friends ten years ago. I would have dismissed her as quickly as I dismissed those other women.
She returned with a tray laden with cups and saucers.
“I bought us some pastries too,” she said.
“Thank you. How are you?”
“I’m well. Training for a marathon. I haven’t run one in two years so I hope I can still do it. Chris, my youngest, has started prepping for his GCSEs. I don’t know who’s more worried between us. He’s gifted but he’s not that academic.”
I met her son once when I ran into Katherine on the street. He was as I expected Katherine’s son to be: tall, delicately handsome, and dressed from a prep-school catalogue.
“Rose thought she was going to fail her GCSEs,” I said.
“Did she?”
“No. They never do. They just make you worry.”
There were framed quotes on the walls, greeting card profundities. Be Yourself. Everyone else is taken. And what if you didn’t like yourself?
“You sounded excited on the phone,” Katherine said.
“I’m going to Bamana to meet my father. I applied for my visa today.”
“Good for you. Are you going on your own?”
“I don’t know yet. I might go with a friend. We haven’t decided.”
“I wish I could come with you. If Chris didn’t have his GCSEs I’d be there with you on safari.”
“I don’t think there are safaris in Bamana.”
“Sorry, that sounds so ignorant. I don’t know much about Africa.”
“Neither do I,” I said.
16
The night before my flight, Katherine and Rose came to say goodbye. We sat in my living room with a bottle of wine between us. I ordered Indian food, or the approximation of it that was delivered by our local takeaway. The bottle was half empty when our meal arrived.
“I shouldn’t get drunk. My flight is in the morning,” I said.
“I’ve never seen you drunk, Mum.”
“We’ll stop before she gets there,” Katherine said, refilling our glasses.
We ate with our hands, ripping the bread apart and dipping it in the curries. We ate straight from the plastic rectangles, with narrow forks that the rice spilled from, oily grains that I would have to sweep up before I went to bed.
“So how long have you lived on our street?” Rose asked Katherine.
“Twelve years.”
“So strange that we never met,” Rose said.
“I saw your dad going to work a couple of times.”
“Yeah, him.” Rose pushed her rice around. She had eaten half a naan but almost no rice.
“How are you feeling about the trip?” Katherine asked me.
“Nervous,” I said, then added, “excited.”
“It’s come out of nowhere,” Rose said.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“You’ve never spoken about your father before. It just seems a bit sudden.”
“I’m glad you’re mentioning that, the night before I leave.”
“I’m not saying you shouldn’t go.” Rose’s phone buzzed. “Sorry, I have to take this.”
She left the room and went to the kitchen.
“Excited is good. Stay on excited,” Katherine said.
“Maybe Rose is right.”
“No, she’s just going to miss you. I’m going to miss you,” she said. “The last time I did any serious traveling was in my twenties. Took six months off work and went across South America. Absolute freedom, with which I did some stupid things.”
“I can’t imagine you being reckless,” I said.
“I had sex on a beach without a towel. Sand was crawling out of my vagina for days.”
“Was it crabs?” I asked.
We laughed until I felt light-headed.
“I need to lie down.” I sank back onto the carpet and closed my eyes.