Page 184 of The Pearl Sister
‘I hope so. She’s gonna book the flight and let you know what time it lands.’
‘Perfect,’ he said. ‘I’m hungry. You?’
‘Starving, as it happens.’
‘I’ll go and do something with eggs then.’
‘Okay, I’m off to pack.’
‘Right.’ He paused in the hallway. ‘Does your Chrissie cook?’
Remembering her homemade cakes, I nodded. ‘Yeah, she does.’
‘Good. I’m glad you’ve found your person, Celaeno,’ he said as he ambled off along the corridor.
* * *
‘Take care of yourself, won’t you?’ my grandfather said as he gave me a hug in the airport departures lounge and I thought how great it felt to have two people who really didn’t want me to leave Australia.
‘I will.’
‘Here, I’ve collected some documents for you.’ He handed me a large brown envelope. ‘In there is your birth certificate – I got it from the public records office in Broome when I visited the ex-nurse. If you’re serious about coming to live here for good—’
‘Of course I am!’
‘Then I suggest that you apply for your Australian passport as soon as possible. The form is in there too, as well as your mum’s birth certificate.’
‘Right,’ I said as I tucked the envelope into the front of my rucksack, trying not to crumple it up. ‘Say hello to Chrissie for me, won’t you? I hope you like her.’
‘I’m sure I will.’
‘Thanks for everything,’ I added, as the boarding call was announced over the tannoy. ‘I hate planes.’
‘Perhaps you’ll hate them less when one is bringing you back home to me. Goodbye, Celaeno.’
‘Bye, Francis.’ With a wave, I walked towards security, bracing myself for the long journey to London.
34
When I stepped out of the doors at Heathrow, the freezing cold air of London hit me like a block of ice. Everyone around me was bundled up to their ears in thick coats and scarves, and the cold air stung my eyes and nose. I pulled my hoody over my head and hailed a taxi, hoping I had enough English cash in my wallet to get me to Battersea.
When the taxi driver pulled up in front of my apartment building, I handed him a crumpled note and some coins, then stepped out. The Christmas lights I’d left had been replaced by a late January gloom and I felt like I had been taken from a Technicolor film and plunged into monochrome.
The lift took me up the three floors to the door of my apartment. I unlocked it and was startled to see that all the lights were on inside. What a dunce I was that I hadn’t even switched those off before I left, I thought as I slammed the door behind me, realising the apartment felt far warmer than I had set the thermostat to. The air smelt sweet, like a yummy cake, not fusty as I’d expected. In fact, it smelt like Star.
I’d texted her from my stopover in Sydney to let her know I was flying home and would be landing today, and asking if she had time to meet up in the next week. I needed to tell her I was selling the apartment, because even though it was me who’d owned it, it had been her home too.
I grimaced at the Guy Fawkes scarecrow still in my studio, sitting on top of the oil drum as if it was a throne, then walked towards the kitchen and saw with horror that the light in the oven was on. I was just about to turn it off when I heard the front door open.
‘Cee! You’re here already! Oh damn! I thought it would take you ages to get through immigration and London in the traffic . . .’
I turned to see Star, her face and the top half of her torso hidden behind an enormous bunch of bell-headed lilies, which she held out to me.
‘I just went out to get these to welcome you home,’ she said breathlessly. ‘They were meant to be in a vase on the table, but never mind. Oh Cee, it’s so lovely to see you.’
During the ensuing embrace, some of the lilies got squished between us, but neither of us cared.
‘Wow!’ she said as she stepped back and laid the lilies down on the coffee table. ‘You look incredible. Your hair’s got lighter as well as longer.’
