Chapter 12

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It's pouring when I meet my Aunt Liz at Borough Market, near South Bank. The old market building has forest green rafters, the same colour as the Brew Books storefront. I meet her under a stone archway, shaking my umbrella out. I haven't seen my Aunt for a few months, even though we now both live in London. A catch up is long overdue. She pulls me into a hug and a kiss and remarks again on my hair, and my outfit, and the colour of my skin.

Aunt Liz is my mother's sister. She's shorter than me, but fit, with a lean frame and narrow shoulders. Her hair is light brown and styled in a high ponytail with layers around her face. She looks younger than her age from years of yoga and working very little over the years. Instead, she has raised two daughters, who are still in secondary school.

'Oh, darl, look at you,' Liz says. 'Honey, you need to eat something!'

'Lovely to see you too,' I say. 'Coffee?'

There is a tiny coffee van wedged between the stalls of food, and I know it has the best coffee, despite its small footprint. We get our drinks and then wander around the market, Liz looking for cheeses, oils and breads to stock up her pantry, while I'm eyeing all the sweets on offer, looking for inspiration.

'So how's the job?' Liz asks me. 'They're not working you too hard? You still have time to bake?'

'I'm getting paid to bake,' I tell her. 'For the cafe. So it's actually perfect.'

'Oh, honey, look at you. You've got such an entrepreneurial spirit, just like your father,' Liz says.

I'm not sure how true this is, but I don't say anything.

'So how is your father, anyway? You said you went to Brighton recently?'

'Oh, he's fine,' I say. 'He's exactly like he always is. Working his staff too hard, reaping the profits, taking his wife on expensive holidays.'

Liz stiffens at the mention of my father's new wife.

'But yeah, he's good,' I say quickly. 'And I popped by the restaurant to see how it's all going. It's really successful.'

'Oh, hun, that's great to hear,' Liz says. 'Wow, this is a good coffee. Do you make coffees this good, now?'

'I try.'

I suggest we get something for lunch from one of the many street food stalls in Borough Market, but although Liz adores the market for the groceries, she can't quite comprehend the idea of buying food from a stall and eating it while walking, so she steers me away from Southwark and towards South Bank, where we find a restaurant with prices I'd never be able to afford with my meager bookstore pay.

'And tell me, what are your coworkers like in this bookstore?' Liz asks me after our food arrives. 'Are they nice? Are they all old and stuffy?'

'No, not at all,' I say. 'The manager of the whole place is only in his early twenties. His parents paid for the place, but they've trusted it to him to manage it. You know Philip Lyndon, the member for... oh, I don't know, somewhere north.'

'Tory?'

'Mm,' I say, through my seafood pasta.

'I won't bore you with my thoughts on that,' Liz says. 'You're too young to care about politics, anyway.'

'That's not true.'

'Oh, trust me, I remember at your age, all I cared about was parties and boys. Your mother and I danced around London without a care in the world. You should have seen some of the things we got up to. See, it was the eighties, darling,' Liz waves her fork at me. 'You wouldn't even believe the things we got up to. Oh, the things that happened in ski chalets in Switzerland and country houses in France. You know, I remember your mother always had her journals with her. I'm sure I've got them somewhere.'

'You've got my mother's journals?' I say, surprised.

'Oh, honey! Yes, my god, I think I do! When she moved out of your father's house and into that little flat she had absolutely no room, so she left a lot of stuff for me to look after. It must be in the attic. Mind you, I haven't been up there, so I might have to get John to take a look.'

'Would you?' I ask, leaning forward across the table. 'Liz, if my mother had journals...'

'Not recent ones, darl,' Liz says. 'No, only from when she was younger, I think. Well, I don't know. But I'm sure she would have told me...'

Liz takes a sip of her white wine. 'I'll get John to have a look for you, okay, hun? And you're always welcome to come by, the girls would love to see you. Oh! And I was thinking about your birthday. Have you got any plans? I'd love to take you out to dinner.'

'Oh, I hadn't even thought about it,' I say honestly. 'I've been so caught up with work that I hadn't even realised my birthday is coming up.'

'Well you should throw a party in your bar, of course, hun,' Liz says. 'And invite all your old friends. Do you still talk to those girls, Rachel and that lot?'

'Well, kind of,' I say. 'Rachel's kinda dating Drew now.'

'Shut the front door,' Liz says, and I burst out laughing.

'No, seriously, hun!' Liz says. 'That is not okay. She's supposed to be your best friend!'

'Well, not anymore,' I say. 'Kitty's my best friend.'

Liz narrows her eyes, but refrains from saying anything, and just takes a sip of wine.


Author's Note

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Question for you - who's your favourite Disney character?

xx Elle

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