Cherished by the Grumpy Bratva Fixer

Tamsin

It feels as though nothing has changed when I walk through the front door of Mom’s house.

Same scarred wood floors. Same magnolia paint on the walls.

Same pictures of my foster siblings and me hanging on the walls, one a little crooked.

The only difference is how tidy the house is now.

Now that Mom doesn’t have three feral kids running around.

I drop my bag on the floor and drag my suitcase towards the base of the stairs.

“Mom, I’m home,” I call out, and the familiar warmth of saying it rushes through me.

I first lived here when I was five. I remember the child services worker walking me to the door with my belongings in a carrier bag, and being welcomed by a middle-aged woman with a kind smile.

The house was a mess. Shoes were scattered around the hallway, which she picked up as she went by.

A school bag was hanging over the end of the stairs, open with books spilling from it.

Then two heads peeked around the doorway at the end of the hall, a girl and a boy, as I was led into the den with the child services worker.

“My name is Patricia, but you can call me Patty if you like,” the woman had said, pouring a glass of water from a pitcher with ice clinking in it.

There were cookies laid out that I didn’t dare touch, but my tummy rumbled at the sight of them.

The kind lady just pushed the plate closer to me with a wink.

The social worker spoke to the lady about me, saying words I didn’t understand at the time. Words I’d later found out meant that my parents were losing their parental rights because they weren’t sober long enough to look after me properly.

As an adult, I know it was for the best. But at five years old, I had no idea why I had been taken from my parents, even though neither of them seemed to mind.

Now I know how lucky I was to have landed with someone like Patricia Kleine. How she did nothing but love me, right from the moment I turned up on her doorstep.

“Is that my firecracker?” Her voice sing-songs from the kitchen.

“I made your favorite.” Mom bustles through from the kitchen, arms spread, a tea towel thrown over her shoulder, and wraps me in her arms. She smells like peanut butter cookies and vanilla.

“Tamsin,” she breathes my name like she can’t believe I’m here.

“I’ve missed you, and I can’t wait to hear all about what you’ve been up to. ”

She holds me at arm’s length and looks me over. “You get more beautiful each time I see you. Even when I think it’s not possible. Come on, you have to tell me all about those boats.”

With that, she ushers me into the kitchen, asking about my work, my life, and telling me about how she can’t wait to show me the new things around town.

I tell her everything. How wonderful it all was to start with. How after a while, for the first time in my life, dancing started to feel like work. Then it started to feel like a chore.

“You need a rest, honey,” she says, putting her hand over mine and rubbing her thumb over my knuckles. “A rest will do you the world of good.”

And I believe her because I want to. Because I want rest to be all I need. Because dancing has been my life since she enrolled me in classes when I was seven years old, and I don’t know what I’d do if I didn’t dance.

Only there’s a prickling feeling of doubt inside me, and it’s getting harder to quiet the voice that keeps asking questions. Like, what if rest isn’t enough? What if I need something different now? What if I’m done with dancing?

I unpack my suitcase into my small bedroom.

Despite being the smallest room in the house, it’s still bigger than what I’ve been used to over the last couple of years.

On the cruise liner, I shared a bunk with another dancer.

The bunk itself was a narrow single bed, one on top of the other.

There was the same amount of space beside it, and a door that led to a wetroom-esque bathroom.

Here, I have my single bed, a wardrobe and chest of drawers, and a bookcase. But the best thing is all the memories. Posters on the walls from my teen years, trophies on the bookcase from my dancing competitions. Books scattered around that Mom would buy for me and I would pretend to read.

The window looks out onto the street where so much has changed, and yet nothing seems different.

Maybe that’s why I had such a strong urge not to renew my contract and to come home. Maybe I just needed something familiar. Somewhere I could figure out my next move without the pressures of performing every night hanging over me.

I’ve just finished unpacking when Mom knocks on my door, inching it open and popping her head around it, just like I remember.

“The new bookstore is having an opening event tonight. Nothing huge, just some locals and some cake. Would you like to come?”

I think for a moment. The urge to crawl into bed and sleep for three years is real. But it would be nice to get out with Mom and just spend some time together.

“Sure,” I say with a smile. “Just give me ten minutes to wash up and change, and I’ll be with you.”

I change into a fitted tee and long flowing skirt that is warmer than it looks, then meet Mom at the bottom of the stairs.

Her lipstick is a shade of peach that went out of fashion in the “0s, but it suits her, so it became her signature look. It’s just another part of her that makes this feel like home.

I swipe on some cherry-berry-pink lip gloss in the mirror beside her, and she winks to my reflection.

Another little gesture that was just ours.

Phoebe, my foster sister, isn’t into make-up and dress-up, so that was something I got to share with Mom all on my own.

The weather is cold as we walk the short distance to the bookshop.

“Daisy decided to take on the shop when it finally became available a couple of months back,” she says as we round the corner.

“It needed a lot of work, and then she got into a car accident, but she is okay now,” she quickly adds when I spin to face her.

“Just a nasty bump to the head, but she is much better now. Anyway, her and one of the Federov’s, you remember them?

---” I would say no, but she doesn’t give me chance.

“Well, Daisy has been seeing one of them, and he was helping with the renovation, but I’m not sure if they’re still a thing or not.

Dee and Sammie, you’ll remember them from school, they run the cat café next door to the bookstore, even have a door linking the properties so people can just pop through whenever they like. Isn’t that lovely?”

“Sounds perfect,” I say, and Mom laughs at my inadvertent pun.

“Anyway, the Federov’s will likely be there tonight, as Dee, Sammie and Kimmie—she runs the new gallery—all married one. Not one Federov, one man each, obviously. Quite quick too, but who am I to judge. When you know you know!”

This makes me think of the man my Mom was married to before she took us kids in. I want to ask her if she has met anyone lately but I know the answer will be ‘no’. It’s always no.

Before I know it, we are walking by the bright lights of what is now a cat café, and mom is pushing open a door that is surrounded by balloons.

“Mrs Kleine!” a woman says, approaching Mom, “I’m so glad you made it.”

“Daisy, I’m so happy for you, I wouldn’t have missed it for the world.” She hugs the woman before turning to me.

“Daisy,” mom says, “I’d like you to meet my youngest daughter, Tamsin. Tamsin, this is Daisy.”

I extend my hand and Daisy takes it with a firm shake.

“It’s wonderful to meet you,” she says. “Your mom told me you’re a dancer on a cruise ship?”

“Urgh… yes. Well, I was. I’ve decided to come home for a while and regroup.”

Daisy nods and smiles and looks amazing in her dress. Like autumn personally dressed her for the event. All coppery satin and amber tones.

I hear Delilah before I see her. Both Daisy and I turn to her when she shrieks my name.

“Tamsin Kleine, it has been too long!” She waddles over to me, her pregnant belly protruding far enough in front of her that even I, someone with no experience of pregnancy or pregnant women, know she must be at least seven months along.

“Dee,” I gasp. “You look amazing.”

She pulls me into a hug and I’m sure her belly kicks me.

A man appears beside her and she introduces me to her husband, Jasper Federov. The name still isn’t ringing any bells for me, despite my mother mentioning it too.

Daisy excuses herself to welcome more guests, and then Sammies comes through the door that must adjoin the café, as she is carrying a tray of cakes in one hard and balancing a toddler on her hip.

She stops still when she sees me, depositing the tray on the counter and the toddler in what looks to be a kids books section beneath the stairs.

Without any words, she closes the distance between us and hugs me tight. “I’m so happy to see you,” she says, tears welling in her eyes. “We’ve missed you.”

Within the space of just thirty minutes I’ve had a whirlwind tour of a cat café, met several cats, and been thoroughly updated on what’s been happening in my friends lives while I’ve been away.

I’ve met three of five Federov men, all of them huge and intimidating and utterly soft for their wives. But it’s Lilah, Sammie’s daughter, who completely steals my heart. She is one year old and clutching onto her massive dad like he is the absolute protector of the realm.

About an hour into the opening, a warm sensation on the back of my neck makes me turn around and look up.

On the mezzanine there’s a man. He doesn’t turn away even though I’ve caught him staring at me.

He just continues to watch me like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

And I’m used to being watched. That’s what being a dancer is.

My entire career is built around people watching me so closely that I can feel every set of eyes on me. But this is different.

He looks at me like I’ve caused him some great, personal affront.

I swallow, and nod my head slightly before turning back to Delilah who is telling me all about her due date and how she has no idea who will help Sammie when the time comes for her to be off having her baby.

“I can help,” I say, mostly without thinking, because friends help friends and it will give me something to do while I figure out what I’m even doing with my life.

The feeling of being watched doesn’t stop.

Not until my mom says it’s time we go home, and we each hug Daisy goodbye and leave the shop.

And even then, the warm spot on the back of my neck doesn’t go, despite how cold the night is.