Keep on the Sunny Side
I was awoken the next morning by the scream of the kettle and the gentle clinking of metal against glass. I looked up blearily to see Sasha in the kitchen, making coffee in their cafetiere.
“What time is it?” I said quietly, surprised by how croaky and broken my voice was. Sasha turned round and grinned at me.
“Good morning! It’s just after ten. I let you sleep in a little. Would you like some coffee?”
I nodded and gratefully accepted the warm mug, cradling it in my hands and watching the thin plume of steam trail across the surface, illuminated by the weak morning sun streaming in from the window. I tried not to shift around too much, aware of Katya’s still slumbering body next to me. Sasha looked at us both and smiled fondly.
“I really love her, you know. We’ve been through some tough times together. She’s helped me out more times than I can count. The least I can do is help you both out now.”
I opened my mouth to reply, but Katya groaned and stirred and rubbed her eyes, distracting me. She squinted at me with sleep-crusted eyes, stretching her arms out.
“Mmmmmmorning,” she said, yawning. “I can’t remember the last time I woke up next to you. I’ve always had to rush off at four in the morning to avoid getting caught. I like it.”
I chuckled. “I like it too,” I said softly. “Do you want some coffee? Sasha’s made some,”
She sat up properly, the sun glinting off her crumpled hair.
“God, I’m gagging for a coffee. Sash, do you mind if I smoke?” she said, reaching for the mug Sasha offered her. Sasha shook their head.
“No. Just don’t get ash on my sheets, which I know you are fully capable of, you pig woman.”
We all laughed, then lapsed into comfortable silence, broken only by Katya and I sipping on our coffees. I stood up to get dressed but remembered I had slept in my clothes as I didn’t have any others. That probably needed to be rectified, as I already felt grimy and sweaty. I shyly asked Sasha if I could borrow a few of their clothes just to tide me over, but instead they swept over to a small copper box and dug out some notes.
They pressed a wad of money into my palm and I stared at it, bewildered.
“What’s this? Sash, I can’t take your money,” I protested, but Sasha waved it away.
“Take the day off, hon. Go into town, buy some new clothes, mooch around the markets, chase the pigeons, go to a cafe. You deserve a rest, and to be a tourist for a day. These are your earnings from all those months you performed at Regatta, and you didn’t take a single penny for it. Use it to get the bus to Trafalgar Square. Go and have fun, Trix.”
I looked at Katya, and her lips twitched into a smile. I so hated to be indebted to anyone, and to feel like a charity case - but I guess I had earned this, in a weird way. I smiled back.
“Let’s do it,” I said wildly, extending my hand to Katya.
Once we were out in the shining October sunshine, we decided against taking a bus into town, and instead walked, our hands lazily intertwined, peering in shop windows, talking about whatever came into our heads. We skittered lazily down to Trafalgar Square, sat on the steps, ate sandwiches from a cafe and soaked up the last dregs of the autumn sunlight before winter snatched it away for four months. We watched people pass - girls in short skirts and kneehigh boots, boys with long hair and flared corduroy trousers - while sharing tea from a flask and letting the burnt orange leaves brush past our feet, and oh! It was so lovely.
After a stern security guard gave us stony glares for climbing on top of the huge lion statues, we settled at the edge of the fountain and took turns flicking coins in and making wishes. Three or four wishes in, we got giggly and stopped taking it seriously.
“Okay, okay,” Katya said, breathless with laughter. “I wish the Berlin Wall could come down so I could go back to East Berlin and get a Krapfen from this incredible stall run by a crazy old blind lady. They were the best things I’ve ever eaten and now I’ll never get them again. It’s a travesty, man,”
“Hang on, THAT’S the worst thing about the Berlin Wall? And when did you go to Berlin?!” I questioned, convinced she was just making it up at this point.
“I went on a holiday there with a bunch of kids I knew when I was about eight or nine, I can’t remember. It was just before the wall went up. And we mostly ran wild, but I distinctly remember getting these Krapfen - doughnuts - from this stall in a marketplace. I wish you could taste ‘em, Trix. They were honestly unbelievable,” she seemed to go into a dreamlike coma remembering the doughnuts, and I nudged her to bring her back to reality.
“I thought you didn’t like food?” I teased.
“I don’t. Just those doughnuts.” she rebuffed, and set me into cackles.
“Okay, it’s my turn for a wish. Hmmmm… I wish...” I looked all around, trying to think of something funny to say, then my eyes landed on a busker playing a guitar, surrounded by tourists. My eyes suddenly bulged with tears.
“My guitar!! I left my guitar at home!” I cried, distraught. It sounds inconsequential, but that guitar had been my lifeline over the past ten years. It was the only way I could coax myself out of crying all night, it was the only thing that gave me hope for the future, it was the only thing I could ever imagine doing a career for the rest of my life. Katya’s eyebrows knitted together in sympathy, and she covered my hands in hers. She knew how much that guitar meant to me, and she let me gather my feelings in respectful silence.
When I’d recovered, we went clothes shopping at Camden Market. Katya had an incredible eye for things that would suit me, diving in to find a dark green jumper that went beautifully with my hair; swooping towards a stall to snatch up a cute flowery dress; elbowing away dwindling tourists to haggle a black velvet dress coat from a wizened old man running a stall that looked like it was from the 1940s. After only two hours, I had a bulging bag full of clothes to sustain me for a long while.
“What should we do now?” Katya asked. I could see the sun starting to tickle the tops of the trees surrounding the market, and I had an overwhelming urge to see it.
“Can we find a park and sit in the sunset? The sky is so beautiful I’d hate to miss it,” I said, and Katya nodded.
“I think there’s a park over there, if I remember rightly,” she said, taking my hand and weaving through the busy streets. She was right, there was a small park edging the bustling roads, with only a few people milling about. It was perfect.
We trotted across the park and found a small secluded spot surrounded by bushes that meant no one could see us. We settled on the grass, nestled into one another, watching the blazing sun make a lazy trail across the blue, blue sky. Huge oak trees arched above us, and occasionally a crisp leaf would drift down onto our heads, making us start and laugh shakily. Rose bushes crept along the side of the seclusion, and Katya plucked a pink rose blossom with nimble fingers and passed it to me. I held it to my nose and inhaled its sweet scent deeply, revelling in how calm I felt and how perfect this moment was. Katya smiled at me and kissed my cheek, then tutted at how she’d left a smear of bright red lipstick on my skin and went to wipe it off. I shielded it with my hand, wanting to wear it like a badge of affection. After the sun was mostly set, Katya stretched and stood up.
“I’m hungry. Are you hungry? I’ll get us some food,” she said. I made to stand up too, but she laid a hand on my shoulder.
“You stay here and relax, моя любовь. I’ll be back soon.”
Once she was gone, I lay back on the grass and stared up at the sky. The leaves of the oak tree above my head swayed in the gentle breeze, and the sky seemed so impossibly blue. The grass tickled my neck and cheeks and I wondered, just for a second, if this really was heaven. The heady scent of the roses overpowered me, and I felt my eyes twitching closed with fatigue. Soon I was slumbering gently, with the birds singing me to sleep.
“Trixie? Wake up, мед! I’ve got a surprise for you!” Katya’s voice bolted me awake, and I sat up, yawning gently.
“What food did you get? I swear, if you got that weird hippie falafel and pickled seaweed again I’m not eating it. I told you before I didn’t like it,” I said, rubbing sleep from my eyes.
“I didn’t get the falafel, I promise. Open your eyes, Trix,” I opened them slowly and suspiciously, then saw what she was holding. My mouth dropped open. My eyes filled with tears. I was speechless. Katya’s face was fixed in a permanent grin.
She was holding a guitar, the most beautiful guitar I’d ever seen. It was shiny, pearly white, with painted doves flying delicately across the body. Its neck was a dark chocolate brown, and its tuning pegs were silver and glinting. I was still incapable of speech, until Katya gently placed it in my lap.
“Katya…” I breathed softly, and she understood what I meant. She understood that I’d never had anyone show me this level of kindness and selflessness before, and to realise that someone cared about me this much was overwhelming. She understood that I didn’t know how to vocalise my gratitude, because this action had touched me so deeply. She understood all of this, of course, because she understood me, and loved me, and knew me so well.
She sat down beside me, tilted my chin up softly and kissed me. I melted into it, leaning against her, feeling her warm skin against mine, the tickle of her hair on my cheek, the sensation of her fingers ghosting up and down my arm.
It didn’t matter that I didn’t have a home now. When I opened my eyes, and looked into her face, I was home.