Orphan Sisters, page 27
Rex as her biological father would be harder to digest, though.
As would be the knowledge that he had more than likely taken advantage of her mentally ill birth mother, perhaps even raped her. She had not wanted to say the word, just like her mother, who had skirted around this horrifying possibility as she coldly reeled off the events of her ‘adoption’. But Tina wasn’t about to sugarcoat what went on all those years ago and how she came to be in this world. There would be no fantasising about the loving young couple who’d been forced to give her up for adoption because no one could understand their love. Her conception had come about in a most horrible way.
Tina thought about the mother she would never meet: how she must have felt in the presence of Rex Andersen; having to give up her children. Tina would never give up Samantha; they would have to kill her first. That poor, poor woman, she thought. In the absence of a single memory of Adanya, Tina’s empathy could only stem from a place that sympathised with all women who were victims of horrific circumstance. That she could give her: empathy. There just wasn’t enough space for much else at the moment. She had a lot to digest.
Her mother – her adoptive mother – called daily, with Tina unable to speak with her for more than five minutes. A latent anger threatened to expose itself at any time. Her mother had lied to her all her life.
What kind of woman did that?
Tina understood why she couldn’t have adopted all three children, but the rest was unforgivable. Tina would find it hard to trust her – or anyone – again. Like Mark. The husband who always worked late and who was always so … distant.
To any outsider who cared enough, Tina’s life was continuing on as it always had. Nothing had changed.
Everything had changed.
She now had two sisters.
Sisters.
She had sisters now! Warmth swam across her tummy at the thought of this. The excitement of having two real-life sisters overshadowed all the negativity surrounding her birth and the lies. As a child she’d longed for sisters – or brothers – anyone to take away the loneliness of being shipped from country to country thanks to Daddy Quinton’s job.
Tina was grateful his memory had not been tarnished with a lie. He’d always be the man who’d accepted her as his own, insisting she call him Dad within hours of the wedding. He’d been the best father she could ever have hoped for and no one could erase those memories from her mind or her heart. Quinton Jennings was hers forever. Quinton Jennings had known nothing about the deception surrounding her ‘adoption’.
The way ahead would be full of kinks and confusing emotions. Yet with two brand-new sisters holding her hand, at least she wouldn’t be treading this unknown road alone.
Chapter Thirty-seven
As she stared into the full-length mirror, her focus remained on the contours of her face and the texture of her hair, piled high into a bun. That day, almost a week ago, sitting opposite her sister Lana, it had been instantly clear how different they looked. They even pronounced certain words differently thanks to their upbringings. She had never believed in a class system – that was more her mother’s beliefs – but it was clear that she had experienced a life very different to that of her sister: the woman sitting at her kitchen table and with whom she shared a sizable amount of DNA.
Warmed by the disclosure that Samantha looked like Adanya, she longed for something, anything, that could tie her to the woman who gave birth to her.
She ran a hand through her high, blonde bun, overlooked stray strands of dark-brown regrowth betraying its true shade. Lana’s jet-black braided concoction was so far removed from any style Tina would ever have considered, yet what she saw reflected back from the mirror was worrisome. Very worrisome.
A framed picture of Rex had sat on the shelf of their busy wooden cabinet ever since the family had moved into the four-bedroom house. Both her mother and stepfather had insisted on some sort of homage to the man who’d ‘adopted’ her as a baby and who had, at one point in her life, loved her. Now it lay on her bed as she attempted to appraise the image with new eyes. No longer an adoptive father, but her biological sperm donor.
She could now see the contour of his face that resembled her own. Even her eyebrows and the shape of her ears were his.
She closed her eyes and released the bundle of hair from its bind, allowing it to tumble loosely around her shoulders.
For the first time in seven days, she had clarity.
Tina glanced at her reflection in each shop window she walked by, looking at herself questioningly.
Who am I?
This was not about becoming a new person, but perhaps adding to the current one and arming herself with the confidence to sit her daughter down one day and tell her about her grandparents. But how would she explain an ancestral past she herself knew nothing about? Nigeria was a country she’d only ever heard about on the six o’clock news. Didn’t they have a military coup a short while ago? She was on the cusp of the biggest ever change in her life and didn’t know where to begin this unexpected new journey.
‘Take the first step, shall I, Daddy Quinton?’ She often ‘spoke’ to her father, finding comfort in a habit she never wanted to break, recalling his wonderfully comforting energy, which always allowed her to feel safe.
‘The first step,’ she reiterated.
Tina stiffened as she opened the door of E and A Afro Hair and Beauty Salon. She’d often driven past the shop with Mark on their way to somewhere unimportant, her mind never resting on the possibility she might actually one day walk through its doors. A quick panic ensued, having never set foot in an Afro-Caribbean hair salon before, followed by a pang of shame at that fact.
‘Hello,’ she said meekly. Her voice was practically inaudible over the harsh sounds of dryers, a radio and animated chatter. The variety of styles stuck on the wall was confusing, as was the stylist’s method of using a large needle to sow a weft of hair into a woman’s head. Such unfamiliar expressions of style had never been a part of her life. Just another section of her upbringing which had been stolen, she thought.
‘Can I help you, love?’ said a smartly dressed woman. She was combing a smelly white substance into the hair of a woman engrossed by a magazine. Tina glanced at the wall and at the picture of Janet Jackson in a short crop, a striking blue sea as a backdrop. A tiny radio bellowed a reggae-type Bob Marleysounding song she was not familiar with. Tina had never been familiar with anything except Wham! and Duran Duran – she liked them, even if her mother and Mark often referred to the music as ‘noise’.
‘Can I help you, love?’ repeated the woman.
The volume on Tina’s voice remained jammed at zero as a few of the women turned to look at her.
‘I just wanted a …’ She looked to the picture of Janet Jackson again, the only person she actually recognised.
‘You all right there?’
‘Y … yes.’
‘So, is there any particular style you’d like?’
‘What do you do here?’
‘There’s braiding, relaxing, weaving, bonding, curly perm, Ghana weaves, interlocking, texturising, twists, dreads – loads, really. Depends what you want.’
The lady with the white substance on her head huffed loud enough to be heard over the music.
The hairdresser, picking up on her customer’s irritation, said, ‘I’m a little busy, love, so if you could let me know what you’d like … I mean, although we specialise in Afro-Caribbean hair …’ a faint snigger from a large lady under the dryer ‘… we can also do European hair.’
‘Actually …’ Tina began to explain, but thought better of it. The urge to just leave the building was growing more urgent. She apologised profusely and found herself back outside in the cool winter air, hair still in need of something, her pride a little bruised. Although the hairdresser had been courteous, what stung more than anything was her mixed heritage being totally overlooked. It dug into the very core of who she was, or wanted to be.
This was all very confusing.
She could only blame herself for this disconnect, having long since rejected her mixed heritage, happy to live in the bubble her mother had created for her. There had never been any verbal denial that she was mixed race – indeed, it was never really spoken about. As they travelled to different countries throughout the course of Daddy Quinton’s career, she was never subjected to any questions about her heritage. The ‘adopted child’ moniker was explanation enough, it would seem.
An hour later, she was in the hands of K, her trusty hairdresser for the last two years.
‘I see the roots are showing a little,’ he said, pulling at strands of her hair. ‘Just in the nick of time, Miss Tina.’
She glanced at the modern chrome and white décor, triangular mirrors and oval styling stools, and the absence of any black faces around her. Not one person looked like her sister.
‘Thanks for seeing me at such short notice,’ whispered Tina.
‘No problem. You know you’re my favourite customer.’
‘I am, am I?’
‘Yes. You have the same style every visit and no complaints.’
Tina glanced at one of the stylists currently adding the finishing touches to a rather intriguing hairstyle of ginger hair braided into scores of tiny plaits and interwoven with bright yellow ribbon.
‘I don’t think that will suit you, Miss Tina.’
Tina knew she wouldn’t be returning to her regular hairstyle but was unsure of what to try. Her mind wondered back to the pictures adorning the wall of the previous hair salon.
‘I need a change, K.’
He felt the surface of his forehead and sighed. ‘I never thought I’d hear those words from your mouth. Dare I get excited?’
‘I would like you to give me my natural colour back.
‘Mousey blonde?’
‘No, my natural colour please, K.’
‘May I ask, what’s brought this on?’
‘Nothing. I … I … just thought I might have a change, that’s all.’ However long she’d known K, she could never consider telling him her news. Indeed, Mark’s reaction the night before had probably made her even more determined never to confide in another soul.
‘Wow,’ Mark had said rather underwhelmingly, as if he’d known all along and had been waiting for her to merely articulate this news.
‘I’ve just told you my adoptive father was my real father and I have two older sisters and all you can say is wow?’ She wanted to feel his arms around her body and for his hands to massage her tense shoulders. She wanted to simply bury her face against his chest and feel his heartbeat – a reassurance that the life she’d known previously still lived and was real.
‘What happens now?’ her husband asked instead.
‘I don’t know.’
Mark had shaken his head. ‘Your mother has a lot to answer for.’
‘Which one?’ A surprising yet misplaced attempt at humour.
‘She should never have done this to you, Tina. Never.’
At last, she thought, some sympathy.
He moved over to her, his mouth curving into a solemn smile. ‘You will get through this, Tina. It’s a setback, but you’ll get through it.’
And that was it.
She’d turned her back, feeling his eyes on her. Perhaps he had wanted to say more that night – she would never know. Instead she picked up her daughter, buried her face into her soft hair and, holding onto her, sobbed discreetly and privately for the rest of the night.
‘You haven’t changed your hairstyle in ages, Tina. What’s brought this on?’ asked K.
‘I need to be me again.’ She didn’t care how corny that might have sounded. ‘Although I’m not sure who me is!’
‘I’d say you’re more …’ He placed a finger to his lips.
‘White?’
‘Where did that come from?’
‘Sorry.’
He shook his head as if to shake off her random comment and began to appraise her hair, as if seeing it for the first time. ‘We’ll give you your colour and curls back … actually, no, we’ll go for the crimper. Very now!’
‘I won’t be straightening it for a while.’
K placed his hand to his chest as if being shot. ‘That hurts. But you’re right, we may as well go all out.’
Hours later, the big reveal was announced to the entire salon and Tina felt a flush of embarrassment.
‘Let me look at you,’ he said, pulling Tina up out of the chair. ‘Yes, that style really brings out your mixed heritage.’
‘What …? You knew I was half African?’
‘Well, not sure about all that, but I knew you were half black. I’m a hairdresser, I get to see my clients in their raw naturalness. And I know my curl patterns. Hairdressing is a science, you know.’
‘I can’t believe you knew …’
‘I did wonder why you wanted to change yourself so much. But, hey, who am I to judge?’ He guided her over to the mirror. ‘Make sure your eyes are closed. No peeping.’
She dreaded the sight awaiting her.
‘Ta-da!’
She slowly opened her eyes and her smile widened quickly.
The woman in the mirror wasn’t her.
The woman in the mirror was her.
Her hair, held in place by a band, tumbled down in crimped waves, infused with her natural dark brown. Her fingers rolled over each dark strand and she wondered if she now looked more like Adanya. She hoped so. Lana had promised to provide photos the next time they met, but, for now, she could only imagine.
‘What do you think, Tina?’
‘I think it’s lovely!’ For the first time in a week, Tina was immersed in happiness. She’d always felt she was merely accepting what others decided for her and what they wanted for her and how they saw her. Returning to her natural colour was a small step towards regaining part of who she really was. And, for the first time in her life, Tina felt as if she was finally growing up.
Chapter Thirty-eight
Lana hated the term half-sisters.
It felt like a demotion, a suggestion they’d never shared a life, a home, a history – a mother. She would never refer to Tina like that, because she’d forever be her baby sister, her love and her joy, and, now she’d finally found her, she yearned to be around her every single day of the week. She wanted to learn all she could about the last twenty years of her life, to hold her daughter, to give her husband Mark a hug. From a rational standpoint, Lana knew that Tina needed time to come to terms with the news and she would just have to stay away until invited – dial her number and say hello from time to time, but give her the space she needed.
Clearly not all of Lana’s plans had worked out as she’d hoped and she could only cling to the possibility that Eve would somehow become more receptive. Lee, her sympathetic assistant, had informed Lana that his boss had flown to America on business for a week. Any planned reunions with the three of them would clearly have to wait, dependent on whether Eve would want to see any of them again anyway.
Lunch with Tina and Samantha was imminent and Lana had yet to find one photo of Adanya and Tina together. She’d blindly promised to look for one while being fairly certain that such a picture did not exist. Daddy had shot all the pictures she owned: Eve and Lana as children and single shots of their mother, smiling beautifully towards the camera. She hoped one of those would be enough for Tina and she would pick up the copies she’d ordered from the chemist on her way to Tina’s.
The sound of the doorbell startled her.
‘Hello, stranger,’ said Clifton, with his arms outstretched.
She opened the door first and then the protective gate. ‘It’s been a while, old friend. You’d better come in,’ she said, playfully shrugging away his hug. ‘Feels like ages since I last saw you,’ she said, handing him a mug of tea.
‘How are you doing, Lana?’
‘Brilliant, really great. Tina is really lovely! I’m seeing her later, in fact and meeting her little girl!’
‘You’re an aunty! I’m so pleased for you. I can’t wait to meet them.’ He placed the mug to one side. ‘I’m really glad you’re happy, Lana. I am too. You see, I’m about to do something really amazing.’
‘Walk up Machu Picchu? You used to talk about that a lot.’
‘I’m going to apply for a loan and open my own mechanics business.’
‘That’s great!’
‘And I’m going to ask Denise to marry me.’
‘What?’ Her body jolted in surprise.
‘Not the reaction I was hoping for!’
‘Wow, you’re getting married?’
‘I haven’t asked her yet. And she might say no.’
‘She’d be crazy to.’
‘Thanks.’
‘So, what’s brought this on?’
‘I love her and, well, I’m into my mid-thirties and I don’t want to be an old dad out of breath chasing a ball around.’
‘You’ve always been out of breath chasing a ball around! Seriously, I’m pleased for you.’
And she was, genuinely so. Perhaps a month ago, her internal reaction would have been laced with self-pity and the fear of utter loneliness at the thought of her best friend leaving her. But she had her sisters back now. Well, at least one. She’d be OK.
‘Clifton Joseph is getting married! What will the world’s single women do now?’
‘Are you happy for me, then?’
‘Yes, Clifton. I am.’
‘Great hair!’ enthused Lana.
‘Why, thank you.’ She fingered a few strands as if suddenly remembering she had a new hairstyle. K was right; she wasn’t one for change.
‘Your niece has been dying to meet her aunty,’ said Tina, as Lana followed her into the living room she’d last seen a week ago. ‘Although at this age, she’s probably just happy to see a new face!’
