Page 14 of Meet Me in Berlin

That makes me smile. ‘Do you remember when I went to Berlin for Study Abroad at uni?’

Her brows knit. ‘Hmm, I think I do. It was for a semester in…’ She stops eating and peers into the distance, deep concentration on her face, then shakes her head. ‘No. It’s gone.’

‘It was my second year. Eleven years ago now.’

‘Eleven? Goodness. Where has the time gone? Your father was so proud of you for doing that.’ Her voice has turned wistful, and an ache expands in my chest at the mention of my dad. Not only do I miss him, but everything changed for Mum when he died.

‘I know he was.’ I pause in case she wants to talk more about Dad, but she takes a big bite of apple pie and looks at me expectantly, so I continue. ‘I told you about that girl I met when I was there?’

She shrugs. ‘Maybe.’

Mum holding me as I sobbed over the girl in Berlin is a vivid memory for me, but it would’ve faded into the background for her. ‘She was from London and I’ve always wondered what happened to her.’

She keeps chewing, her eyebrows raised with interest.

‘Not that I know how I’d find her. She’s just always been in my head.’ I pause. ‘And my heart.’

‘It sounds like you loved her.’

‘Oh,’ I say. ‘I guess I did, in a way. As much as you can when you’re twenty and have only known someone a short time.’

The spoon clinks against the side of the bowl as she chases the last of the custard. ‘Well, I always said nothing worth having comes easy.’

I grin and shake my head in disbelief at the random things her brain recalls. ‘You did always say that.’

Chapter 5

Casey, London

Milky coffee spills from the spout of my takeaway cup as I burst through the gallery doors. It’s Friday morning and I didn’t get to bed until after midnight because Eva insisted that we finalise the reception seating arrangements, which meant her sorting it while I lazed on the sofa watching telly, giving ‘uh-huh’ and ‘whatever you think’ replies. Whenever I tried to sneak off to bed, she’d fetch me tea and chocolate hobnobs then massage my tense shoulders, and I’d cave and stay put.

‘Oh, Casey, there you are,’ Michaela says from behind the counter.

‘Sorry I’m late,’ I say, rushing past.

‘Your ten-thirty’s postponed,’ she calls after me.

I walk back to the counter. ‘You’re jokin’ me?’

Michaela shakes her head. ‘She was struck by a sudden burst of creativity and couldn’t … hang on, I wrote it down.’ She shuffles about the desk and holds up a Post-it. ‘“Break the flow of divine creativity”, so she’ll be here around two.’

I lower my voice so a couple on the far side of the gallery don’t overhear. ‘Fuck’s sake. Again? This is the third time she’s cancelled.’

‘Postponed,’ Michaela corrects me.

‘And this divine flow’s going to stop in time to get here for two from Sussex? Remind me why we want this artist?’

Michaela wrinkles her nose. ‘Making waves in the art world with her fresh perspectives on social justice?’

I sigh. ‘Right. I’ve got heaps of other stuff to do anyway, but I swear if she does this again she’s out of the exhibition. We don’t have time to be messed about.’ I stride off across the gallery floor.

‘And Josanne’s looking for you!’

I acknowledge Michaela’s comment with a wave and head for the staff access door in the far corner, swiping myself in. My office is a tiny, windowless room at the back of the gallery, but it means I don’t have to squeeze into the open-plan area with four other people. It’s painted a crisp white to give the illusion of space. On the wall to the left of my desk is a large oil painting of a pristine beach in the north of Jamaica, close to Montego Bay, where my paternal grandmother is from. A single palm tree leans towards the ocean, shading a section of sand. One of our regular artists, who specialises in depth perception, gifted it to the gallery after discovering she and my grandmother were from the same town. Whenever work is stressful, I disappear into the translucent turquoise sea and pure white sands, imagining sun and salt on my skin, gazing up at the silky blue sky. It always calms me and puts everything into perspective.

I dump my bag, take a swig of coffee and fire up my laptop.

Within seconds, my boss strolls in. ‘Morning, Casey.’

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