by Kate Riordan
Perhaps you have guessed by now that I’m not just writing to inform you of her existence. You, Emma and your ex-husband are her nearest living relatives. Unless you were to refuse, which of course is your right, she is yours. Though, as I’ve said, there appear to be no official documents, she says her name is Sylvie.
I take the Polaroid to the window, where the London sky is already lowering, though it’s not yet November. She stares back at me through the camera lens, heart-shaped face, the sharp chin lifted, gaze defiant and little fists clenched. She isn’t smiling but, then, it isn’t that sort of photo. It was probably taken by a policeman or a social worker. She must be looking into a bright light because she’s squinting slightly, inadvertently showing off long sooty lashes. You can still make out the colour of her eyes through them, and they’re amber, flecked with gold.
I found out what that tattoo of Élodie’s meant. I went to a tattoo parlour in Camden Town and sketched the three black swirls for a woman with orange carp and cherry blossom twisting around her arms.
‘Yeah, I can do that,’ she said, when I finished. ‘Where do you want it?’
‘Oh no, I don’t want – Sorry, it’s just that my daughter had one like it. I saw it before … before she died. I wondered what it meant. If it stood for anything.’
She looked at me, her face softening into thoughtfulness. ‘It’s one of those really old symbols. It means motherhood. Maybe she had it done for you.’
I glance up as I hear the latch of the front door click, the tinny beat of your music spilling into the silent flat. You’re home from school. And I turn, ready to show you the picture of your niece, a last piece of my first daughter found: a glint of something precious I might be able to pluck from the wreckage. Another chance.
Acknowledgements
My biggest thanks must go to my wonderful editors, Jillian Taylor in the UK and Seema Mahanian in the US, who helped me make The Heatwave’s central relationships much more complex, interesting and real. Thank you, both, for pushing me without ever being pushy. I’m so grateful to the rest of the brilliant team at Michael Joseph, too – especially Ella Watkins, Grace Long, Sophie Shaw, Hazel Orme and Emma Henderson.
Another huge thank you goes to my amazing agent Rebecca Ritchie at AM Heath, who was not only a cheerleader for this book from its very first lines but so supportive of me writing a more contemporary novel.
I would also like to thank Marie-Laure Pierson and Jacqueline Priou, long-standing family friends I have spent many a happy childhood holiday with en France. Fortunately for me, they possess between them excellent English and experience in child psychology – an invaluable combination for this book. On the British side of the Channel, my step-mum Joan Reardon advised on French terms and also played a crucial role in establishing France as a sort of beloved second home for me. (And yes, you were right that I should have done GCSE French instead of Drama. I don’t know what I was thinking.) Any mistakes are mine and not theirs.
My early readers are also owed a big debt of thanks for being so encouraging, helpful and kind. Thank you to Darren Loftus, Emma Stonex, Emylia Hall, Amanda Reynolds, Hayley Hoskins, Helen Hockenhull and my mum, Meryl Parker. All my friends and family, in fact, have been fantastic. I couldn’t do it without you.
THIS IS JUST THE BEGINNING
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First published 2020
Copyright © Kate Riordan, 2020
‘You fit into me’ from Power Politics copyright © 1971 Margaret Atwood. Reproduced with permission from House of Anansi Press Inc., Toronto.
www.houseofanansi.com
The moral right of the author has been asserted
Cover Image © Getty Images
ISBN: 978-1-405-92263-0
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