And she’s white.
She unlocks her long legs and stands. She’s tall. But what does this woman have to do with me? Nervously I set off towards her. She tilts her head to one side, and I do the same. It’s a mannerism I’ve always had. The fear’s back, but so is my excitement, twisting, knotting the muscles of my tummy.
When I reach the booth, she rocks my world. ‘I’m Miriam. I’m your half-sister.’
I can’t feel the ground beneath my feet any more. My voice is lost to me. Stinging emotions bulge to bursting in my throat. It finally dawns on me: sweet, merciful heaven above, I’m looking into the face of the only blood relative I’ve ever met. There are no words to describe what I’m feeling. Elation? Joy? Heartbreak? Pain? I’m trembling. The tears run glacial and sharp down my cheeks, a baptism to cleanse away every destructive memory from the past.
Miriam reaches for me. Her toned, strong arms hold me tight against her body. And she whispers, in a voice as lilting as a lullaby, ‘I’ve got you. I’ve got you, baby sister.’
We’re seated now. The steam from a cup of strong builders’ tea adds a glow to Miriam’s cheeks, while my poison is a calming chamomile with honey. I can’t quite meet her gaze because I’m too embarrassed after my mini breakdown.
Miriam picks up her cup, the many silver rings on her fingers and thumb catching my eye.
Her hazel-eyed stare intensifies, her gaze pointed and sharp. ‘I hadn’t expected you to be . . . well, you know’ – her hand waves at me – ‘so . . . err . . .’
Here we go! It’s the ‘YOU’RE BLACK’ lit up in red neon lights moment.
My lips mutinously press together.
‘。 . . so beautiful,’ Miriam finishes. I’m shocked! ‘You’re a natural-born stunner.’ She leans across the table, a conspiratorial gleam in her eyes. ‘Do you think Santa will leave me cheekbones like yours if I put in a special request this Christmas?’
That makes me laugh. Miriam laughs. That eases the tension, softening the hard ground between us so that we can tread closer to each other. We start discussing the things that can’t hurt us.
Where do you live?
Have you got a partner?
What job do you do?
Game of Thrones or Breaking Bad? Or both?
Questions. Questions. Questions.
Then I bring out the heavy guns. ‘I don’t understand why our . . .’ Dad sticks in my throat. ‘。 . . why Danny didn’t come.’
Carefully, Miriam places her cup in its saucer. Her eyelashes flutter. ‘He wanted to—’
‘So why didn’t he?’ The force of my question pushes me to lean closer.
Miriam sighs softly. ‘Because he’s freaking out. And that’s not Dad, believe you me. I’ve never seen him so jittery in my whole life.’
I take a moment to collect my thoughts. ‘I wasn’t sure about meeting Danny.’ Miriam stiffens at my statement, peering at me from beneath her electric-blue fringe. ‘I’m not going to lie to you, but for most of my life I never thought about my birth father. I had the best family ever. Then Cherry, my adoptive mum, passed away—’
‘My gran, who I loved to bits died when I was a teenager,’ Miriam says softly. ‘I’m not going to say that I know what you’re feeling because grief cuts people up in different ways.’
She pushes her cup and saucer aside. Her ringed fingers flutter against the table. ‘Dad was all ready to meet you today. You should’ve seen him, coat on, the most gorgeous bouquet in his hand, as nervous as a junkie facing rehab. And he couldn’t do it.’
My heart nosedives. ‘Doesn’t he want to see me?’
One corner of her mouth kicks up. ‘Maybe he’s worried that you’d blame him about the past, whatever that past is.’
My heart wrenches at the sincerity in her voice. ‘Maybe we should’ve spoken on the phone or had a conference call to break the ice?’
Something about my newly discovered half-sister’s expression changes. Hardens. ‘I told Dad that I’d come instead. But I’ll be straight with you. I wanted to check you out. Make sure you weren’t some floozy-woozy freeloader after Dad’s money—’
‘Excuse me?’ Anger runs molten beneath my skin turning my cheeks red-brown. ‘I don’t need his money—’
‘Don’t get your stethoscope into a twist, Doc,’ Miriam bites back. ‘Put yourself in my shoes. Some woman appears out of the woodwork claiming’ – my breath sizzles, razor-sharp, in my throat – ‘to be his long-lost daughter, how would you feel? You’d want to check her out too.’