Chapter 21

Audrey

Walking into the Turbine Hall at Tate Modern, Audrey scanned the length of the vast, cavernous space.

“Right, Granny, where shall we start? How about the Rothko room? We always love it in there. Or do you want an early lunch first?”

Audrey’s eyes continued to sweep the hall.

“Are you OK? You seem a bit distracted.”

Audrey turned to Mia and smiled, trying to ignore the pounding of her heart. “I’m fine. I’m just always surprised by how busy it is in here.” The little white lie was hot on her tongue.

It had been three weeks since her latest diagnosis, when the idea had begun to formulate. She knew it was risky, knew the jeopardy involved should she be caught, but in spite of the possible repercussions, she hadn’t been able to stop herself.

“Shall we go up, then?”

“Let’s just stand here a moment, shall we? Even when there’s no exhibition in here, I still love this space.”

They both looked up at the steel joists running from floor to ceiling, at the viewing windows jutting out from the floors above like enormous bird boxes, at the strip of skylights running the length of the room beneath intersecting metal beams. Audrey felt the clamminess between her palms, tried to reassure herself that this time things would be different. She had deliberately planned it as far away from home as she could without arousing suspicion, had chosen the one place she had felt sure they wouldn’t be caught. But as she looked up at the light streaming through the glass ceiling, she couldn’t erase memories of the last time she had attempted this.

Over Mia’s shoulder, she spotted a familiar figure walking toward her, their face breaking into a wide, trusting smile.

And then she sensed Mia turn and follow her gaze, felt the crackle of tentative recognition as Mia’s eyes locked onto the young woman heading toward them.

“What the . . . ? Granny, what’s going on?”

And then Phoebe was there, standing in front of them, just inches away from the cousin she hadn’t seen for twelve years.

The two young women stared at one another and Audrey watched them, aware that time had slowed down, that all around them parents hurried children toward escalators, friends rushed to greet one another, first dates were met with disappointment or relief, and tourists rotated gallery maps from left to right, while in the center of the ramp, standing on the fossil-gray concrete floor as though the clocks had stopped, Audrey’s granddaughters looked into each other’s eyes for the first time in more than a decade.

Audrey felt the muscles in her chest pull taut. It was only now, seeing the two of them together, that she understood how deeply she had wanted to witness this encounter and how long she had waited for it to happen.

She watched as looks of confusion passed between her granddaughters and then words began to fall from her lips before she had a chance to collect them in the right order. “I’m sorry, I didn’t want to fib to you both. But I thought that this way neither of you had to lie to your mums about where you were going and no one could accuse you of duplicity. I just wanted you to have a chance to meet and get to know each other. It’s absurd, you being kept apart all these years. I’m sorry, I probably shouldn’t have done it in secret. It must be a terrible shock . . .”