Page 136 of The Sunrise Sisterhood

Dear Daddy,

I was born on 29th August last year at three-thirty in the afternoon. Mummy was starving because I’d taken my own sweet time to arrive. I had thick dark hair when I came out and Liz said I looked like a chimney brush. Mummy didn’t say anything, but she wasn’t very happy about it and, when Liz left, she told me that I had lovely hair just like my daddy.

We live in a flat in Bath and Mummy has had great fun carrying me and the buggy up four flights of stairs every day. She kept saying that she couldn’t wait until I could walk. But now that I can, she seems to be scared of me doing it. I was really glad that you were there when I took my first steps, even if that huge dog did knock me to the sand straight afterwards.

If I was to tell you everything that has happened to me over the last year, this letter would be very long, so I’ll just give you the highlights.

I love bath time and I especially like trying to eat the bubbles. I pooed in the bath once and Mummy said some naughty words, but on the whole she keeps her potty mouth away from me. My favourite food is toast. I can carry a mushed-up crust in each hand for hours. I’m starting to talk now: bic-bic and mama being my two favourites. I’m not a fan of ice cream, but I’m open to persuasion – maybe we can try again one day. I go to nursery while Mummy’s at work where we sing songs, make a mess and eat a meal approximately once every two hours. I have lots of friends but not a lot of family.

I’m having a birthday party on my actual birthday at Liz’s house and I’d really like you to come so that when I’m older, I can look back at the photographs and see that you were there. You don’t have to talk to Mummy if you don’t want to. She’ll understand. But I’d like you to talk to me please.

Lots of love

Ivy xx

PS Here’s a memory stick full of photos from my first year. There are 363 – one for every day of my life so far. I’d really like one of you and me together on my birthday. Hope you can make it.

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Clare

It was Ivy’s birthday and her party was in full flow. Wearing her gift from Skye, a batik print dress and matching headband and knickers over her nappy, the birthday girl was the star of the show. Clare brimmed with maternal pride as she followed Ivy’s progress from guest to guest, pinching crisps from plates and wiping sticky fingers on clothes and getting away with it due to her impossible cuteness.

Clare stood leaning against the glass of the balcony, taking a moment to imprint the day on her memory. The sun was bright overhead, and a blue sky and shimmering water dotted with boats formed the glorious backdrop to the party. Despite this afternoon’s heat, she could feel summer coming to an end; there was change in the air, an autumnal nip, and she felt the stirring of anticipation that school would soon be back in session. New children, new families to get to know, new challenges for her school, and she couldn’t wait to get started.

There were changes afoot for her and Ivy too. Leaving the lovely flat she’d owned for several years was going to be a wrench, but there was no outside space, not even a communal area she could use. Now that Ivy’s sole purpose in life seemed to be to move as fast and as far as she could at a moment’s notice, Clare had decided to find a house with a garden. A new home for the two of them. She was excited for that too.

A burst of applause brought her back to the present; she turned to see Ivy centre stage, bending her knees and wiggling her bottom, her head waving side to side to the music, Marta, Skye, Ele and Jade giving her encouragement. Patrick had brought a couple of portable speakers with him and was in charge of the music. Motown, he’d decided, would bridge the generations and start Ivy off early on her journey to musical appreciation. Ivy, giving it her all while The Supremes sang about baby love, seemed to approve.

Clare’s gaze lingered on her sister and Marta. The two women were so good together, joy seemed to radiate from them. Skye had taken to coming into Clare’s room last thing at night for whispered conversations so as not to wake up Ivy. They talked and talked now, making up for lost time, sharing bits of their lives previously withheld. Skye was still getting used to falling in love with a woman, constantly questioning herself and her emotions. From what Clare could see, Marta was the gentlest and wisest of humans and, if she had to entrust her sister’s heart to anyone, Marta would be her top choice.

Clare let the sounds wash over her: the gentle burble of conversation; spoons tinkling against china cups; the hoot of Liz’s laughter coming from indoors. Her heart thrummed with gratitude: her hotchpotch Salcombe crew, the friends and family who cared enough to come together to celebrate her daughter’s first year and the start of her second.

She’d invited not only Patrick, but his mother and aunt too, much to their delight. The two old ladies had declared themselves not fans of buffets and preferred to be in the middle of the action, which apparently meant pulling their chairs up to the table. For such slender creatures, they could certainly put away a decent amount of food.

Liz had been to their retirement home herself to fetch them so that Patrick could sail across from the other side of the estuary. He was obsessed with that boat, Liz was fond of saying, as if the two of them were already an old married couple instead of the starry-eyed, touching-each-other-at-every-opportunity couple which they actually were. Any awkwardness about Liz’s friendship with Mike had evaporated. Clare and Skye loved her too much to harbour any grudge and, as Liz had said, she’d done nothing wrong other than fall in love with someone who hadn’t loved her back.

The song changed to ‘My Guy’ and Liz whooped with delight. ‘Where is he? This is my favourite?’

Patrick gathered her into his arms in seconds and the rest of the party watched, misty-eyed, as the two of them began to dance with eyes only for each other. Across the room, Skye caught her looking and both of them pressed their hands to their hearts. Bless them. Clare smiled at the two old ladies swaying and clapping in time to the music. How happy they were to see Patrick finally get his girl. How long would they each stay living on opposite sides of the estuary? Clare wondered . They’d seen each other every day since their first date and were already planning to rent out their properties as holiday lets and move into each other’s houses when they got bookings.

Ivy spotted her mum and tottered across to her.

‘Ah-ah.’ She held her arms up to Clare.

‘Come on then, hang on to Mummy’s neck.’ She reached down and Ivy held on tight, settling onto her hip and tucking her head under Clare’s chin.

She fits perfectly, thought Clare, kissing her daughter’s hair. We fit perfectly. She breathed in the scent of Ivy’s shampoo, of her skin – smells she could identify without hesitation. Her baby. She’d had the honour of having her precious daughter in her life for one year today; she’d been a mother for a whole year.

Motherhood, she thought with a pang, what a lot it had brought her. A bond she’d have forever, a feeling of belonging, a love so immense and unconditional that just thinking about what it meant to be Ivy’s mother made her well up. Clare cast her mind back to the day she realised she was pregnant and the overriding fear that she couldn’t do it alone. But she had.

Skye approached carrying two champagne flutes. Elderflower pressé they’d gone with, rather than alcohol, and it was the perfect choice for a summer’s afternoon. Clare was still having to manage one-handed, so she had to make a choice: either put Ivy down or decline the drink. She chose to keep hold of Ivy and Skye set the glass down on the table for her.

‘Happy with everything?’ Skye asked, nodding to the party decorations which she and Marta had put up earlier.

‘Very,’ Clare replied. ‘It’s gorgeous, you’ve done a brilliant job. I think Ivy may have peaked too soon in terms of good parties. She’s going to be appalled next year when she sees what she gets when I’m in charge of the décor.’

The colour scheme was a pastel rainbow: ivory, pale pink, baby blue and lilac. Skye had gone to lots of effort to keep everything to theme. Tissue-paper honeycomb balls hung from the ceiling as well as from the newly erected sail-shaped sunshade on the patio. A helium balloon arch spelling ‘Happy Birthday Ivy’ bridged the gap between inside and out and a tiny throne (an old chair which Skye had discovered in a skip) was wound with fronds of real ivy picked at dawn that morning, and looked like something from a fairy tale. Vases of fragrant stocks, daisies and lisianthus adorned the table among plates of food. Liz had handled the catering, naturally, managing to create a menu both delicious and whimsical to suit the occasion, including bowls of Ivy’s favourites – Wotsits and Quavers.