At first I assume she’s talking to Zoe, but soon realise that the focus of the room has shifted slightly, an uncharacteristic silence hovering over the crowd as the music pauses between tracks. As Seal’s ‘Kiss From A Rose’ kicks in, I twist around to see what everyone, including Tom, is staring at.
I turn, pulling free from his embrace, but notice that he keeps one hand on my shoulder, as though he’s reassuring me. Standing by the doorway, a glass of wine already in her hand, is Auburn. My big sister. The girl who tormented me throughout my childhood, and who I haven’t seen for years.
Nobody else knows who she is, of course – but they do know she’s a stranger, and the café isn’t the sort of place you pass by accident at night.
The lighting is still dim, but I can see the ways she’s changed. She’s tall and slim, like me, but that’s where the similarity ends. Her hair, which she hated as a kid and kept chopped in a bob, is now long and gleaming, hanging in a straight, glossy curtain over her shoulders. Where Zoe is ginger – bright, fiery red – Auburn is definitely … well, auburn.
She’s wearing skinny jeans and a leather jacket, and looks a bit like she might have come straight from a glamorous rock festival in the Alps. Her clunky biker-style boots add to the image, as does the backpack she has balanced at her feet.
I see her wave at Mum, and then she grins at me. I suddenly feel hot and bothered and tense, as though I’ve just been noticed by one of those velociraptors in Jurassic Park. This is obviously unfair and silly, but is a deeply ingrained response, honed by years of sibling rivalry, stolen hairbrushes, mutilated Justin Timberlake posters and catfights over territory.
I give Tom a quick smile to show I’m okay, and make my way towards her. I try and keep the smile on my face for her as well, but it’s a little strained, I suspect. This is change. This is chaos. This is hard to handle, even if I know it’s for the best.
‘Hello, stranger!’ she says, reaching out to give me a quick hug. I notice now I’m closer that she’s still tanned despite living in London – it’s like her travels in exotic locations have left a permanent mark. It suits her, I have to admit. She’s not one of those pale gingers who burn at the first ray of sunlight, Auburn – she has the kind of skin tone that turns to chocolate, and big hazel eyes to match the concoction.
‘Hello back,’ I reply, wishing I didn’t have to drive, so I could drink more wine as well. ‘Do you want to go outside? I’m boiling to be honest …’
She shrugs, and I follow her through the doors. I’m perfectly aware of the fact that every eye in the room has followed us, and I turn to face them all as I reach the doorway. I raise my eyebrows and give them a stern look, and they all unfreeze, like someone’s just pressed the play button in a game of musical statues. Cherie, at the far side of the room, blows me a kiss.
Outside, the air is blessedly cool compared to the oven of our makeshift ballroom. It’s well after eight, and the sky is a clear, deep indigo, dotted with stars and washed with an almost-full moon. Even over the hum of the music from inside, I can still hear the waves murmuring in down at the bay, the gentle hiss of water sucking sand.
The garden is lit with fairy lights, and always looks mysterious at night-time, its winding path curving around the hillside, the wrought-iron archway glinting beneath the moon. In winter, we set up big patio heaters, so people can still sit outside with their hot chocolates. This was the place Frank and Cherie got married, and where Laura and Matt properly got together, and where Cherie first laid eyes on her sister Brenda again after decades apart. This little garden, perched on the side of a cliff, has a lot of history – and now I can add a little bit of my own to that.
Auburn has plonked herself down on one of the benches, feet stretched out in front of her, biker boots propped up and ankles crossed. She has a glass of wine in one hand, and a lit cigarette in the other.
‘Are you sure you’re a healthcare professional?’ I ask, watching as she sips and puffs. She never used to smoke.
‘What can I say?’ she replies, shrugging unapologetically. ‘I’m a pharmacist, not a saint. But … yeah. Bad habit. I keep meaning to quit, but every time I do, something stresses me out and I start again. How are you, anyway, sis?’
Good question, I think. How am I? I’m hot. I’m a bit worried. And I’m feeling strangely disconnected from my body. Like I could be floating above us looking down, rather than sitting here talking.
‘And what’s with the hair?’ she continues, reaching out to flick a lock of neon pink with her fingers. ‘When did that happen?’
‘I just woke up one day and my hair had gone pink,’ I reply, smoothing it back down. ‘It was the weirdest thing.’
She snorts a small laugh at that one, and gazes back inside the café. Everyone is dancing again now, I’m glad to see.
‘This place has changed,’ she says, quietly. ‘Grown. What was the name of the lady that bought it, all those years ago?’
‘Cherie,’ I reply, ‘Cherie Moon. She’s the one who looks like a plus-size Pocahontas. She married Farmer Frank.’
‘Oh! Right. The guy who owns the cottage … wasn’t he already married?’
‘He was. She died a few years ago. You might have been away, but life goes on.’
She nods, and drops the cigarette butt to the floor, grinding it out with her boot heel. I’m glad to see her pick it up, and slip it into her pocket.
‘Who was that guy you were smooching?’ she asks, teeth shining in the moonlight as she grins at me. She looks ever so slightly predatory, like a fox that’s been turned into a human. ‘Is he your boyfriend?’
She manages to give the B-word exactly the same inflection she used when we were kids, and she was winding me up about some boy in my class. These little exchanges often ended in her holding my head while I tried to punch her, my shorter arms windmilling as she kept me just far enough away for it to be funny. Every now and then, though, I’d get one in. Call me Slugger.
‘No, he’s not my boyfriend,’ I reply, giving it the same intonation. ‘He’s just a boy who’s a friend.’
‘Okay. He’s hot, though, in case you hadn’t noticed – though I’m not sure about that Firefly T-shirt … who was the blonde guy? Good-looking, tall?’
‘Good-looking, blonde and wearing a cowboy hat?’
‘Yeah – that’s the one.’
‘That’s Cal. He’s taken.’
‘Oh. What about the other good-looking blonde one, surfer dude?’
‘That’s Sam. He’s taken.’
She chews her lip, and looks thoughtful.
‘All right. Brawny one, a bit on the Harrison Ford side of the spectrum?’
‘Matt. Very much taken … look, what’s this all about? Have you come here to film a reality dating show or to see your mother?’
She doesn’t seem to hear me, and instead is staring through the steamed-up café windows again.
‘Well, if Firefly’s not your boyfriend, maybe I’ll have a crack at him …’
I slam my hand down on the table to get her attention, and her head whirls round to face me.
‘Auburn, you’ve been home for fifteen minutes, and I already want to kill you.’
She puffs out a breath and tucks a stray lock of silky hair behind her ear, before she gives me a sheepish grin.
‘The joys of family life, eh? I’m sorry, Will. I’m … well, I think I’m nervous, to be honest.’
This is something of a revelation to me. I have never – as far as I’ve known – ever seen Auburn anything less than full-on, confrontational, and oozing confidence.
‘You? Nervous?’ I say, incredulously. ‘You’re Auburn Longville. Toughest girl in the west. You’re never nervous!’
‘Well I am now, okay? So give me a break.’
She grabs another cigarette from the pack on the table, and lights it with hands that do, in fact, seem to be trembling. Huh. She is nervous. It must bring out her lecherous side.
‘Where’ve you been then?’ I ask, gently. I’m nervous too, and I don’t want our mutual nerves to engage in some kind of stand-off and escalate until they’re weapons of mass destruction. ‘And why didn’t you tell us you were back?’
She taps her fingertips on the cigarette pack, drumming them against the photo of a man with a diseased lung, which doesn’t seem to be putting her off at all.
‘Well, I was in Peru for a while, wasn’t I?’
‘On the cannabis farm?’
She grins, and blows out a cloud of smoke, tilting her head to try and avoid hitting me in the face with it. Obviously, the breeze automatically adjusts and gusts it towards me anyway.
‘Sorry, first rule of smoking,’ she says, making wafting gestures with her hands.‘Wherever the non-smoker sits, the wind will blow. Anyway. It wasn’t actually a cannabis farm – I’d forgotten I said that! Bizarrely, I think I was just trying to impress Mum. I know most mums would be horrified, but ours always likes a bit of spice, doesn’t she? And Van was doing his Tibet thing, and I always felt so competitive around him …’
Around everyone, I add silently.
‘So. It wasn’t a cannabis farm. It was a kind of ranch that ran tours for backpackers. And after that, I moved around South America, and then spent some time in South East Asia before heading back to Europe. Bit of a stay in Barcelona, and then … well. Long story. Let’s just say I decided it was time to grow up a bit, so I signed up for the pharmacy course. I’d got some credits from the first year of my degree, and my A-levels were good, so I managed it in two years.’
I nod, and think that over. She’s been in the UK for over two years, and we’ve not heard a word from her. Two very tough years back here at home.
‘And why didn’t you tell us you were here? We assumed you were still running drugs in Columbia.’
‘I never ran drugs in Columbia – though to be entirely fair, I did do some drugs in Columbia. Oh look, I don’t know, okay? We’ve never exactly been the kind of family that lived in each other’s pockets, have we? And, cards on the table? I thought Mum might be disappointed in me.’
‘Disappointed? You thought she’d be disappointed in your training to be a pharmacist?’
‘I know! It’s messed up! And I’m sure she wouldn’t have been – but it all felt a bit boring. You know how upset she got about Angel.’
‘That wasn’t because of his job,’ I reply, frowning at her. ‘She was happy he’d found something he was passionate about. It was because he changed his name – that felt like a rejection to her.’
Auburn nods, and drops the cigarette, and chews her lips viciously. She really does seem quite strung out.
‘Yeah. I know. I was also … well, I wasn’t sure if I’d stick it out. I don’t have the best track record with that sort of thing – sticking it out. I’ve always moved around, kept mobile. I wasn’t a hundred percent convinced I’d be able to hack staying in the city for long enough – there was always a part of me that thought I might jack it all in and book a midnight train to Georgia. It was something I just needed to do alone. Anyway – enough about me. How’s Mum? I was relieved she even recognised me, I didn’t expect that from what you said on the phone.’
‘Don’t flatter yourself,’ I snap back reflexively. ‘She calls everyone with red hair Auburn.’
As soon as the words are out, I regret them. By my sister’s standards, she’s being super-conciliatory here, and me sniping at her won’t help either of us.
‘I’m sorry,’ I add straight away, reaching out to touch her hand. It’s still shaking. ‘That was mean. But … also true. She’s always convinced that Zoe, who runs the bookshop over there, is you. I’m often someone called Joanna. She thinks her parents are alive and well and being kept in a cellar, and she still runs yoga classes at the Community Centre. She sometimes tries to get to the café at night, and I’ve even found her halfway up the road to Briarwood.’
‘That old house on the hill? That’s still there?’
‘Very much so. In fact, Tom, the boy who’s a friend – the one you may definitely not have a crack at, by the way – has bought it. Turns out, he’s … well. Another long story. I’m not even sure how much time we have – are you staying for a bit?’
She nods, and tucks the lighter back inside the pack with the cigarettes. She starts glugging her wine instead, and I realise she simply can’t sit still without fiddling with something.
‘I took two weeks’ leave for family reasons. God, I’m sorry it’s like this, Will – I know this can’t have been easy for you. I would have come, really, if I’d known. And Van would, too. Angel … well, maybe he’ll have a change of heart.’
I remember the look on his face as he all but ran towards his car, and suspect he won’t. No use worrying about that now – not when I have a real-life sibling sitting right here in front of me, peeling away the skin around her fingernails.
‘What’s Van up to, anyway? I thought he was in Tibet, but Tom says he’s in Tanzania.’
‘Yep. He’s running a school there. He’s hard to get hold of, but I managed to get an email to the charity he works for, explaining what was going on and asking him to contact us. He moved a few years ago – we met up for a weekend in Phuket. Didn’t you get the postcard? We sent you one, honest. Even tried Skype, but we couldn’t find you.’
‘Um … no. No postcard. No phone calls. We’ve not heard anything from him for ages. Mum occasionally talks about him, her proud spirit warrior – but no contact. With either of you. For. Ages.’
I sound resentful, and hate myself for it. But her being here – it’s a bit like it’s popped some kind of bubble I’ve been using to keep myself content. A bubble full of bitchiness and pain, all of which now wants to spill out.
Reacting in the way I traditionally associate with my sister, she picks up her cigarette packet, and lobs it at my head.
‘We didn’t know, all right?’ she says. ‘I realise you’ve been coping on your own, and that sucks – but don’t blame me for not being here when you never even took the time to tell me about it. I might not have been in touch, but I wasn’t hiding – Tom found me easily enough. I get that you’re angry, and probably exhausted, and you’re entitled to that, but give me a break. I only found out about Mum a few days ago, and I came as soon as I could. So put your big girl pants on and let’s figure out how I can help!’
I rub the side of my head, saying ‘ouch’ and pretending it’s hurting a lot more than it is. In reality, it’s not my head that’s hurting, it’s my sense of fair play. She has a point, after all. I told her, and she came. Time to stop bleating, and pull up those big girl pants.
‘Okay. Fine. Where are you staying?’ I say, throwing the cigarettes back at her. She easily catches them, and shoves them back into her bag.
‘Well, I thought I’d stay in my childhood home, with my mother and sister and dog, if that’s all right with you?’
‘I suppose so,’ I say grudgingly, standing up to go back inside. ‘But if you think you’re getting your bloody room back, you’re deluded.’