Waiting for sunshine, p.41
Waiting for Sunshine, page 41
This unexpected insight had also been a continuation of a kind of acceptance between Chrissie and Diana – or more accurately, a lessening of dissatisfaction – that had begun when Diana had spilled her heart, and Chrissie had climbed up onto Diana’s hospital bed. Stuart called it the Barnsley glasnost, and it did feel as if a long regime of chilly denial had come to an end. The glasnost hadn’t extended to a full explanation from Diana of her reasons for wishing to avoid pregnancy, but anyway Chrissie knew them already thanks to Nina, and she didn’t wish to shame her mother. Least said, soonest mended – that was the maxim the Stevenson women generally lived by, and when Chrissie, on this occasion, broke the rules and said she, Diana, would always be the only mother she ever needed, Diana had said, ‘Oh, Christine, don’t be so soppy. Make yourself useful and pour me a coffee.’
And now it struck Chrissie with the weight and clarity of the blazingly obvious that the reason Diana was the only mother she’d ever need was because she also had Nina, who’d been a constant wellspring of love in Chrissie’s life – dedicated, interested, invested. And here she was still, not in person but in spirit, all her love and kindness and impeccable flair contained in this album, which she’d rushed out to them in France, making a priority of them, as she always had.
‘Open it, Mummy,’ Sunshine said, seeing the big book resting in Chrissie’s lap. ‘What it is?’
‘Wedding pictures,’ Chrissie said. ‘Auntie Nina took them, and put them in this lovely book.’
‘My wedding?’ Sunny said, with an expression of bright interest.
They laughed and Stu said, ‘Our wedding, Sunshine,’ and she nodded, accepting that she’d shared her wedding with them, and said, ‘Open it, Mummy,’ again, and they settled into a companionable row against the headboard of the bed, and an observer might have thought that stars were shining from the pages of the album, or butterflies were being released on every turn, because they were all three immediately captivated by the images.
Chrissie, Kim and Julia, arms linked on the lawn, grinning at each other like a trio of schoolgirls.
Stu, Sol and Rocco in a line, leaning against the old brick wall at the bottom of the garden, looking into the lens with studied cool, in their sharp suits and narrow ties and white, white shirts.
Sunshine with Chrissie and Stu, Sunshine with Juno, Sunshine with Diana and Doug, every shot natural and unstudied, moment after charming moment caught on film before anyone but Nina knew it was happening.
Sunshine and Juno, hands clasped, bodies cantilevered, spinning themselves round and round into a blur of white taffeta and pink organza.
Chrissie standing between Doug and Diana; Doug looking at Chrissie, Chrissie looking at Diana, Diana looking at the camera.
Chrissie and Stuart, Chrissie and Stuart, Chrissie and Stuart … time and again, caught by Nina in a kiss, or a joke, or a tender moment of quiet; two people who had found their matching half, without ever really having had to search.
And Chrissie with Nina, not the only shot of them together, but easily the best. Rob had taken it, in the hour or so that he’d had possession of the camera so that Nina would be in some of the photos. Chrissie and Nina, sitting side by side on a wall in the garden. A marvellous photograph, one of the best of the day for composition and lighting and for the truth of the story it told. Here in their bedroom in Bordeaux, they studied it for a long time, long enough that Sunshine succumbed to sleep before they stopped looking, because it had special powers, this photograph; it drew and held the attention. Chrissie and Nina, sitting together without touching, yet somehow still profoundly connected, each of them radiant with a private inner happiness, each of them looking into the camera with a candid gaze, and it was so striking, so remarkable, because the two women looked alike in a way that neither Chrissie nor Stu had ever noticed before. It was all about the eyes. Their eyes seemed identical – no, they were identical, a miracle of biological coding; wide and clear, fringed by long, thick lashes perhaps one shade darker than their hair. But the colour was the thing; their eyes were precisely the same colour, a colour without a name, the colour of the sea beneath a cloudless sky, when the water seems to trap and hold the light.
When Stuart closed the album, Chrissie’s impulse was to stop him, and when the photograph was no longer visible, she felt lost. But it was an insubstantial, ephemeral feeling; there, then gone, because she knew that her world was here in this room, and Nina – wherever she was – was here too. She turned to say this to Stu, and saw he was already asleep next to Sunshine, who was flat on her back between them. Stu was still dressed, and there was a very good case for waking him, but instead Chrissie just lay down too, and settled on her side to watch Sunny sleep, and resisted kissing her or stroking a finger across her soft, pink cheek, but anyway the child stirred and shifted as if she’d felt the touch, and when her eyes opened, she looked at Chrissie for a while with a kind of peaceful interest, then asked, in her loud whisper, ‘Can’t you sleep, Mummy?’
‘Not yet, sweetheart,’ Chrissie whispered back, and they shared a smile at this predicament they’d found themselves in.
‘I’ll show you,’ Sunny whispered. ‘Do this,’ and she closed her eyes again, and plunged back into her dreams.
Acknowledgements
There are so many people involved in the production of a novel, from manuscript to bookshelf, and I’d like to thank everyone on the team at Transworld for steering Waiting for Sunshine through the process – but special thanks go to my editors, Francesca Best, whose advice and insight was invaluable, and Alice Rodgers, who stepped into the role with grace and ease and a good deal of patience. Thanks, too, to Andrew Gordon, my rock-steady agent for the past twelve years.
The events and the people in my novel are entirely works of fiction – real places are named, but the people in the story who live and work there, and the things that happen to them, come only from my imagination. However, certain aspects of the story called for authenticity and accuracy, and I’m grateful to Guy Hindle for sharing with me his wealth of knowledge about police procedures. Any mistakes are absolutely mine alone.
There were also some key books that helped me on my way, and for The Lineman’s backstory I found much inspiration in Stuart David’s brilliantly entertaining account of the first formative year of the band Belle and Sebastian, In the All-Night Café. On the subject of adoption, I drew from the real stories in the following books: How I Met My Son: A Journey Through Adoption by Rosalind Powell, No Matter What by Sally Donovan and Meant to Be by Lisa Faulkner. The Primal Wound: Understanding the Adopted Child by Nancy Verrier wasn’t used for research, but gets a mention in the story. It’s a long-standing and much-respected work, aimed at a better understanding of the adopted child – it just so happens that in my novel, Chrissie Stevenson takes against it. This is by no means a reflection on the book, only on Chrissie’s temperament.
Thank you to Kim Staniland, who, when I first told her the premise, said, ‘Oh, I really want to read that story’ – and so I wrote it. And finally, thanks in abundance to Brian Viner, my sounding board, sympathetic ear, copy editor and kindred spirit.
If you enjoyed Waiting for Sunshine, you’ll love Mix Tape – a feel-good, nostalgic and uplifting romance
You never forget the one that got away.
Daniel was the first boy to make Alison a mix tape.
But that was years ago and Ali hasn’t thought about him in a very long time. Even if she had, she might not have called him ‘the one that got away’; after all, she’d been the one to run.
Then Dan’s name pops up on her phone, with a link to a song from their shared past.
For two blissful minutes, Alison is no longer an adult in Adelaide with temperamental daughters; she is sixteen in Sheffield, dancing in her skin-tight jeans. She cannot help but respond in kind.
And so begins a new mix tape.
Ali and Dan exchange songs – some new, some old – across oceans and time zones, across a lifetime of different experiences, until one of them breaks the rules and sends a message that will change everything …
Available now
THIS IS JUST THE BEGINNING
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TRANSWORLD
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Transworld is part of the Penguin Random House group of companies whose addresses can be found at global.penguinrandomhouse.com.
First published in Great Britain in 2022 by Bantam Press
Penguin paperback edition published 2023
Copyright © Jane Sanderson, 2022
The moral right of the author has been asserted
Cover design by Marianne Issa El-Khoury/TW
Cover artwork by Anthony Maddock/TW
Images © Shutterstock
This book is a work of fiction and, except in the case of historical fact, any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Lyrics on p. 138 from ‘Johnny B. Goode’ written by Chuck Berry.
Lyrics on p. 193 from ‘It’s Different For Girls’ written by Joe Jackson.
Quote on p. 239 from Under Milk Wood written by Dylan Thomas.
Every effort has been made to obtain the necessary permissions with reference to copyright material, both illustrative and quoted. We apologize for any omissions in this respect and will be pleased to make the appropriate acknowledgements in any future edition.
ISBN: 978-1-473-56999-7
This ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorized distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.
Jane Sanderson, Waiting for Sunshine
