Quinn was just about to go down into the station when her mobile rang. It was her cousin Jill, and Quinn felt a pang of guilt as she stared at the caller ID. She hadn’t been in touch with Jill since sending her a text on New Year’s Day, wishing her a Happy New Year and announcing the engagement. Jill was Quinn’s closest friend, and the only person besides her parents and Gabe in whom she confided, but lately Quinn just didn’t feel like talking. After finding out about the night she’d been conceived, Quinn found herself turning inward, as if not telling anyone might retroactively change what happened. She had told Jill, of course, but had no wish to keep returning to the subject, not until she was in possession of new facts.

Quinn had finally worked up the courage to tell her parents about Sylvia a few weeks ago, but they hadn’t been ready to discuss the news until they’d had some time to deal with the shock. Quinn understood. This was the call they never expected to receive since Quinn had been found in a church pew when she was only a few days old and turned over to social services until an adoption could be arranged. Since no one knew who Quinn’s birth parents might be, there was no danger of Quinn ever tracking them down. An extraordinary chain of events led Sylvia to Quinn a few months back, and now Quinn knew, and understood, why Sylvia chose to give her up, but she still had to lay out the facts for her parents. 

The conversation had gone much as Quinn anticipated. Susan and Roger Allenby loved her too much not to feel outraged on her behalf and eager to soothe the hurt, which allowed them to vent their anger, but left Quinn feeling upset and unsettled. She saw their point of view only too well. They wished they could turn back the clock and prevent Sylvia from showing up on Quinn’s doorstep. It was always better to cherish a dream than be faced with the reality, which was sometimes unexpected and cruel, and Sylvia’s version of events was just that.

“Darling, we will support you in whatever you decide to do,” Roger said when he managed to get a word in edgewise.

“Quinn, you don’t owe this woman anything,” her mother cut in. “She found you by chance. It’s not as if she was even searching for you. And to think that your father…” She sucked in her breath, still unable to accept the truth. “Please, let this go. Can’t we be enough?”

“Mum, you and Dad are enough, and always have been, but I need to know where I come from. I’m a historian. I spend my life uncovering people’s stories. How can I not know mine?”

“Sue, she needs to do this,” Roger Allenby said. “She’ll never rest until she finds out. And the sooner she does, the sooner she can put this behind her and move forward with her life. Isn’t that right, sweetheart?”

“Yes, Dad,” Quinn said, grateful for his understanding. He had always been the more open-minded of the two, although Quinn knew that her mother’s stubbornness was born of a fierce love for her, and the desire to protect her from pain.

“Please tell me this woman will not be invited to the wedding,” Sue pleaded. “There will still be a wedding. Won’t there?”

“Yes, Mum,” Quinn said gently. “There will be a wedding, and I would like to invite Sylvia. She’s no threat to you. Just think of her as another guest.”

“As if I could. The thought of her there…”

“Mum, Sylvia has two sons. I’m going to invite them as well.”

“Must you?”

“They are my half-brothers.”

Quinn heard the sharp intake of breath, followed by a loaded silence from her mother, who was no doubt rummaging in her pocket for a tissue. She felt betrayed, which was exactly what Quinn had feared all along. How could she explain to her parents what it meant to her to have siblings after all these years? It was a dream come true, a fantasy come to life. She’d prayed for siblings when she was little, asking God to bring her a brother or a sister in lieu of birthday or Christmas presents. She wouldn’t mind sharing her parents with a baby, she’d assured God. She would be good, and helpful, and loving. It was her dearest wish to be a big sister. But, there was never a baby. Her mother was infertile, a word Quinn didn’t understand until much later, and the Allenbys didn’t have the financial resources to go through another adoption. Quinn was destined to be an only child. She had Jill; that was true. Jill was her honorary sister and closest friend, but it wasn’t the same, since they weren’t biologically connected in any way.

“We look forward to meeting them. Don’t we, Sue?” Roger said, his tone gentle, but full of warning. He rarely got between Quinn and Susan when they disagreed, but he realized that this situation would require serious diplomatic negotiation, especially once the wedding drew nearer. “Now, tell us about Emma,” Roger invited.

Quinn ignored the sniffle that came over the line. Her mother hadn’t taken the news well, but to her, Gabe having a child was still the lesser of two evils. Of course, that hadn’t stopped her from expressing her opinion about men who indulged in casual sex with women they barely knew and didn’t prevent her from voicing her disappointment with her future son-in-law, who would have to work very hard to get back into her good graces.

“Lord only knows how many more children there might be,” Susan said dramatically. “I hope you know what you’re getting into, Quinn.”

“Mum, Gabe is hardly a serial lothario who’s had a string of meaningless affairs. I trust him.”

“So you say,” Susan countered. “You trusted Luke as well. And look how that turned out.”

Quinn groaned. “Mum, I don’t want to talk about Luke.”

“Neither do I,” Roger said firmly. “You were about to tell us about Emma.”

“Oh, she’s lovely, Dad. She’s so sweet and funny, and she looks just like Gabe.”

“Hmm,” her mother interjected, still sniffling.

“She’s lucky that she will have you for a mum,” Roger said.
“How’s Gabe handling fatherhood?”

“Like most new fathers. He alternates between joy and panic, with panic prevailing,” Quinn joked.

“To think that he never even knew about her,” Susan said, joining the conversation again. “I can understand a woman depriving her child of a father because he’s a danger to her, but Gabe was hardly a threat. She must have been very selfish, this Jenna,” Susan added.

“Let’s not speak ill of the dead, Sue,” Roger suggested. “Gabe’s a good man, Quinn. Please, don’t hold this against him. He might not have planned this, but life has its own plan, and he’s taking responsibility, which is all that matters. So many men wouldn’t.”

“Gabe is so in love with his child, Dad. He grieves the time he missed with her, but he will be the best father Emma could have wished for.”

“I’ve no doubt he will be,” Roger agreed.

“So, when can we meet our granddaughter?” Sue asked, her voice no longer laced with the bitterness of a few moments ago. Quinn smiled. At least this portion of her news didn’t cause a nuclear meltdown, at least not a full-blown one.

“As soon as you return to England. I’d like your help planning the wedding, Mum.”

“Try and stop me. You are my only daughter, and I will be a mumzilla of gigantic proportions.” Quinn chuckled. Clearly, someone had been watching American reality programs.

“Looking forward to it. You will have to fight Phoebe for the privilege. She’s already making plans. You two can go head to head,” Quinn joked.

“Will Emma be a flower girl?” Sue asked. “Oh, she will look lovely walking down the aisle with her basket of petals.”

“Emma would like to be a bride’s maid,” Quinn replied. “She was quite clear. She said that being flower girls is for babies.”

“Clever girl,” Roger said. “I like her already.”

“Have you set a date?” Sue asked, moving on to practicalities.

“It’ll be this summer, but we don’t have an actual date yet. We have yet to decide where we want the wedding to be.”

“I thought it’d be in London. And we’ll have the reception at a nice hotel,” Sue said, adopting her newly-acquired mumzilla voice. “Quinn, you must set a date and book something as soon as possible. All the best places get booked years in advance.”

“Gabe’s parents have a beautiful garden. I thought it might be nice to put up a tent and have a reception there after we get married at the local church.”

“Darling, this is England we are talking about,” her mother retorted. “Chances are it will rain.”

“Sue, don’t you have your book club meeting to get to?” Roger asked. Quinn could hear the amusement in his voice.

“Hmm? What? Oh, yes. Sorry. We’ll talk about this later.”

“I’ve no doubt we will,” Quinn replied as her mother hung up her extension.

“I have to go too, Dad. Nice save, by the way. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

“Anytime, love.”

**

Quinn pressed the answer button on her mobile. She really wasn’t in the mood to talk and briefly considered sending the call to voicemail, but guilt won out. “Jill, hi.”

“Hello,” Jill replied. Quinn could hear the hurt in her voice and tried to diffuse the awkwardness by jumping right in.

“I’m sorry. I know I haven’t called, but something’s come up.” Quinn inwardly cringed at her choice of words. In the past, had something come up, she would have called Jill right away to discuss the situation, but things had changed, at least for her.

“Can you come over?” Jill asked. Her voice sounded small and desperate. “I know you must be very busy, but I need someone to talk to.”

“Are you all right?”

“I’ve been better,” Jill replied. “Oh, and if it’s not too much trouble, bring a bottle of Malbec. Or two.”

“I’m on my way.”

Quinn sent a quick text to Gabe to tell him that she’d be home in a few hours, dropped the phone into her handbag, and descended into the station. Jill sounded very upset, and it was only while Quinn paced the platform as she waited for the train that she realized that it was Friday, and Jill wasn’t at work. Jill loved her vintage clothing shop in SoHo and never took time off, primarily because she ran the business single-handedly. Jill had given up a lucrative career in forensic accounting to follow her dream, and had been very content with her life the last time Quinn visited her back in November. She had a new boyfriend, and the shop seemed to be doing well. What could have happened since they last spoke?

Of course, much could change in the life of an unmarried thirty-something small business owner in two months. Quinn briefly reflected on her new venture with the BBC and the breakup from Luke, which happened by text, and was later followed by the revelation that her partner of eight years was already in a relationship and making plans for the future with someone else. Luckily for her, things had worked out for the best, but that wasn’t always the case. Jill was sensible and insightful when it came to the choices of others, but she was something of a hothead when it came to dealing with her own life. She was surprisingly impulsive for a woman who used to spend her days crunching numbers, but her decision to quit her job, invest every penny she’d saved in a new business, and turn down a proposal of marriage from her long-term boyfriend had still come as a surprise to those who knew her, especially her parents, who’d spewed dire warnings about decisions made in haste. Quinn hoped that whatever happened could be easily resolved with a cozy chat and a few glasses of wine. Jill had always been supportive when Quinn needed her, and Quinn had every intention of being there for her best friend, no matter what crisis Jill was facing.

Quinn picked up two bottles of wine at the off-license shop on the corner and walked up to Jill’s flat on the third floor. The apartment was small, but fashionably decorated with eclectic pieces of furniture and Eastern-inspired accents. Jill referred to her style as ‘shabby chic.’ Jill herself looked shabby, but not particularly chic. She was wearing an oversized jersey and leggings, and her hair looked unkempt and unwashed. Her face was devoid of any makeup, a sign in itself that something was wrong, and her feet were attired in strange fuzzy socks in an alarming shade of magenta.

Jill plopped herself down on the sofa after letting Quinn into the flat and thrust out her chin in the direction of the kitchen, silently inviting Quinn to get wine glasses and a corkscrew. Jill swallowed half a glass of wine in one gulp, then set it down and turned her red-rimmed eyes on Quinn. Her fingers plucked nervously at the Indian throw-pillow she hugged to her body like a life-preserver.

“Jill, what’s happened? Why aren’t you at work?” Quinn asked, imagining every conceivable tragedy.

Jill shrugged. “I just couldn’t face it today.”

“Is something wrong at the shop, or with Brian?”

“Yes and yes,” Jill said as tears filled her eyes. “Oh Quinn, everything has gone wrong so quickly. I was really happy. Finally, I was doing something I loved, and I thought I’d found a new love in Brian. We were getting on so well. And then it all went tits-up, as Brian likes to say.”

“Why don’t you tell me what happened,” Quinn invited as she set down her own wine glass. She normally liked Malbec, but the wine made her feel queasy. Perhaps she should have eaten something before drinking. She hadn’t had anything since the madeleines Rhys made, and it was well past lunchtime.

“I must close the shop,” Jill replied, sounding broken. “I’ve tried, I’ve really tried to keep it going, but I simply can’t continue hemorrhaging money. I get about a dozen walk-ins during any given day, and maybe one of them, two if I’m really lucky, make a purchase. There are days when I sell nothing at all. Business picked up a bit just before Christmas, so I got my hopes up, but it’s been practically nonexistent for the past two months. I’m seriously in the red, Quinn.”

“Is there nothing to be done?” Quinn asked. She knew what this meant to Jill. She’d been so happy when she quit her job and threw herself into setting up her business. And now, less than a year later, she was talking about chucking it all in. “Can you not advertise, utilize social media?” Quinn asked, knowing the answer already. Advertising cost a lot and didn’t necessarily bring in customers. Jill catered to a particular type of customer, women who liked vintage and one-of-a-kind pieces, not mass-produced ready-to-wears peddled by all the major chains and priced to sell.

Jill shook her head. “I can’t compete, Quinn. I’m spending way more than I’m earning, and if I stay open for a few more months, I will get heavily into debt. I’m an accountant, for the love of God. I can’t allow that to happen. I made a bad decision. I miscalculated, and now I’m paying the price.”

Quinn poured Jill more wine and sat back, thinking. There was something niggling at her, but she couldn’t quite remember what it was. Something she’d read. Quinn took a sip of her wine and closed her eyes, trying to envision what it was she was trying to recapture, but nothing came to her.

“And what happened with Brian?”

Jill’s fingers started plucking at the pillow again, pulling out bright red threads and tossing them to the floor, which was already littered with colorful fibers.

“Things were good. At least I thought they were. And then I found out that his ex has been stalking him on social media. I don’t go online much, but with business being so slow, I started spending more time on Facebook, searching for groups where I might promote for free. I never knew how many groups there were,” Jill said, shaking her head in wonder. “There are so many devoted just to Victoriana. I’ve joined several and posted some photos of my merchandise. A lot of people responded, but many of them are not actually based in London, so no joy.”

“And the ex,” Quinn prompted.

“She started commenting on all of Brian’s posts and sending him daily messages, asking him to come round. Seems that she’s no longer keen on the bloke she left Brian for. He appears to have a wife and two children that he forgot to mention for nearly a year.”

“Yes, that would put a damper on the proceedings,” Quinn replied, disgusted. She couldn’t help thinking of Luke, who most likely forgot to mention that he’d been living with Quinn for the past few years to his new love, Ashley, until he was sure that he wanted to pursue a future with her and give up Quinn. “What a wanker.”

“He is, and it did. I confronted Brian last week, and we had a blazing row. I accused him of wanting to get back with Denise and stringing me along until he knows for sure that things are back on between them.”

“And does he want to get back with her?”

“He claims that he doesn’t, and that he never replied to any of her messages, but I don’t really know. Do I? He could have gone to her flat if he wanted to, and I wouldn’t be any the wiser. What bloke can resist a woman who’s gagging for him? He’s probably shagging her right now,” Jill added dramatically.

“What exactly did he say?” Quinn asked, suddenly feeling sympathetic toward Brian. Jill was being a bit irrational, even for Jill.

“Other than that I’m controlling, mistrustful, and generally insane? He said he loves me and would never go back to Denise, not even if things didn’t work out between us.”

“But you don’t believe him? Has he given you reason to doubt him?”

Jill started crying softly, and buried her face in the much-abused pillow. “No, he hasn’t, but I was so upset about the shop and so stressed about my financial losses that I took it out on him. I haven’t heard from him since.”

“Has he heard from you?” Quinn asked carefully.

“No. Complete radio silence.”

“Do you think you might want to shoot him a text? Tell him you’d like to talk.”

“Why should I, when he hasn’t reached out to me? I’m the injured party here,” Jill retorted, tossing the pillow angrily across the room and splashing the rest of the wine into her glass.

“Jill, if you love Brian, then give him the benefit of the doubt. You are the one who accused him of cheating and lying. If you think he is, then grieve and move on, but if you think that he really does love you and wants a future with you, then you are making a mistake. Text him, call him, send a carrier pigeon. Whatever. Just make the first move. Talk things out. Clear the air. It’s never too late to end a relationship, but it might be too late to salvage one. I bet he’s desperate to hear from you.”

“Do you really think so?”

“I do. Here,” Quinn picked up Jill’s mobile off the coffee table and handed it to her. “Do it now, before you change your mind.”

“Oh, all right,” Jill mumbled and began to type. “I asked him if he’d like to meet for a drink tonight. Nice and neutral.”

“Good girl. Now, there’s something I just thought of.” The elusive idea that Quinn had been chasing a few minutes ago finally crystallized in her mind since she was no longer trying so hard to grasp at it.

“Jill, I read something a few weeks ago. A small blurb online, really. It talked of how a dress worn by Kate Middleton sold out in days after she was photographed wearing it to a charity event.”

“So?” Jill asked, gazing at Quinn in confusion.

“So, that’s what women want. They want to look like a princess. Kate has a very particular style, and every time she wears something, it flies off the racks, no matter the cost. If you want to remain in business, you have to cater to a different type of customer. I know you love the vintage pieces, but that’s not what the general public desires. You must reinvent yourself in order to survive.”

Jill took a gulp of wine and looked at Quinn, her eyes brightening. “You know, you might be onto something there. I tend to think that women want unique, timeless pieces, but marketing trends say otherwise. They obviously prefer to fit in rather than stand out. They might admire an Edwardian frock or a beaded flapper dress in a magazine, but would never actually splurge on one, thinking they’d have no occasion to wear it. They want practical, classic garments that make them feel like royalty. Who would have thought?”

Quinn smiled. “Things never work out quite as you expect them to, do they? But you can still offer vintage dresses and accessories as long as you also invest in more practical stock. You have a good location, and high potential for foot traffic. All you need are some high-profile items that will draw the more conservative shoppers in.”

“I reckon it’s worth a try. I will contact some of the manufacturers of Kate’s dresses on Monday. They’re probably swamped with orders, but I can hang on for a few more weeks, maybe even as long as two months.”

“You said there was some interest on Facebook. Why not create a website and offer an online catalogue? Or post some of your merchandise on Pinterest, especially the vintage jewelry. Some of those pieces are stunning and quite eye-catching. You might have to hire someone to set up the website for you, but if you get some online orders, the website design will pay for itself.”

“You know, for an archeologist, you have a pretty keen business mind,” Jill replied, finally smiling.

“You’d be amazed at how enterprising our ancestors were when it came to selling their wares. Modern-day people didn’t invent commerce, we simply took it to cyberspace, which is the biggest marketplace of all these days. Use it to your advantage.”

“It honestly never occurred to me. I guess I’m not as business savvy as I imagined myself to be. Oh,” Jill said as her mobile buzzed. “It’s from Brian.”

Jill’s face split into a happy smile. “He says that he blocked Denise from all his accounts. He sent her a message telling her that it’s over, and he wants nothing more to do with her. He is asking if he can pick up a take-away and come round tonight. You know what that means. Make-up sex,” Jill said, her hand instantly going to her greasy hair. “I need a bath.”

“I’ll leave you to it then. I have to get back.”

“Wait, have you set a date?” Jill asked, her mind already on the question Quinn had yet to ask. “Have you chosen your bridal party?”

“Jill, there is only one person I want by my side when I marry Gabe, but the wedding is currently on hold.”

“What? Why? Did you two fall out?”

“No, but you’re not the only one who must reinvent herself to survive. Gabe and I went to Scotland just after the New Year.”

“Why? What’s in Scotland?”

“Gabe’s daughter.”

Jill forgot all about her hair and stared at Quinn, her eyes round with surprise. “Gabe has a daughter? And he never told you?”

“He didn’t know. Emma’s mother was killed in a car crash on New Year’s Eve. She left instructions in her will to contact Gabe in case anything ever happened to her.”

“Oh dear,” Jill breathed. “So, Gabe now has full custody?”

“Yes. We went from being friends to getting engaged to becoming parents within a space of two months. To be honest, I’m reeling. Emma is lovely, but I’m still coming to terms with the idea of being her mother. It all happened so suddenly.”

“Blimey,” Jill said. “Your problems are much bigger than mine.”

“You don’t know the half of it,” Quinn replied. “I think I know who my father is.”

“How?”

Quinn shook her head in disgust. “Let’s just say that I was able to obtain DNA from the second candidate. He’s not a match, thankfully. So, that leaves only the American – Seth Besson.”

“And you are going to hunt him down,” Jill said, a mischievous smile lighting up her pale face. “I almost feel sorry for the man.”

“There’s a part of me that wants to meet him, to see the kind of person he turned out to be. I need to know that the man who fathered me is not a monster, but rather someone who made a terrible mistake that he regrets. But after meeting Robert Chatham, I realize that might not be the case. He might be an arrogant, self-satisfied ass who hasn’t given the girl whose life he ruined a second thought. I’m not sure I can live with that, Jill.”

“Either way, you won’t rest until you find out,” Jill said, hitting the nail on the head. “You’ve come this far; you can’t stop now. We don’t get to choose our parents, Quinny. Plenty of people have fathers they don’t love or respect. Just look at the news. Not a day goes by that you don’t hear about some unfortunate child being abused by the person they trust most in the world. Becoming a parent is not synonymous with becoming a saint, it’s not even synonymous with becoming a decent human being.”

Quinn nodded. “You’re right, but it’s still terribly disappointing to know that you come from someone whom you can’t respect, or even like.”

“I know, but since you won’t just abandon this, you have to let the chips fall where they may.”

“That I do,” Quinn replied as she got up to leave. Jill sprang to her feet as well, and wrapped her arms around Quinn. “Thank you,” she whispered. “For everything. This morning my life was a train wreck, but now everything’s changed. It might still come to nothing, but you have shown me a way to regain control, and for that, I’m truly grateful. What happens now is up to me.”

“And up to me,” Quinn agreed, secretly wondering if it was. Her beloved Grandma Ruth used to say, “We have no control over what happens to us, but we can control how we deal with it.” What happened in the next few months would sorely test that theory.