Page 40 of Strap In

With food to lay out, and banners and streamers to hang, there’s no time for Jean to stop and question what she’s doing there.

Beneath the shade of the marquee, she feeds Ava a string of fairy lights to weave through the metal frame.

Leah’s husband, Simon, returns with the two children, both of whom race across the lawn to greet their aunt.

She swings them into the air one by one, plastering each face with kisses.

Theo is more interested in turning cartwheels across the grass than meeting Jean, which she doesn’t take personally.

But Evie sticks out a hand, expression serious. ‘Good to see you, Jean.’

Ava turns to hide her smile as Jean takes those tiny fingers in her own.

‘You too, Evelyn. I’m glad you’re here, because we could use some help putting these lights in the bushes.

’ Jean releases Evie’s grip to hold up a string of bulbs.

‘We especially need someone who knows how to make it look pretty. Think you’re up to the job? ’

Evie nods, taking great delight in festooning hedges and bushes with the glimmering LEDs. And when Aaliyah calls her offspring inside to change into party clothes, a task wisely left until the last minute, she and Ava redistribute the lights more evenly.

‘You’re great with her,’ Ava says, draping a row of lights over the hedge’s top row.

Jean stares at her. ‘I shook a small child’s hand. Again. Like she’s a forty-year-old woman working in HR. Which you laughed at both times, I might add.’

‘Evidently she liked it – I think there might be a repeat whenever she sees you.’ Ava dusts off her hands. ‘Not that I expect it’ll happen often. Anyway, how are you doing? If any of this gets too much, we can go. Just say the word.’

She’d do it, too. Walk away from her own party. Colleagues, friends, family… ‘Don’t worry about me. Your family have all been wonderful.’

‘Cool.’ Ava peers round the garden, but they’re alone save for the myriad of lights; the rich perfume of roses; sparrows chirping in the branches above. She presses a chaste kiss to the corner of Jean’s mouth, raising it into a smile. ‘I’m glad you hit it off.’

Jean’s on the cusp of returning that kiss with interest when footsteps approach.

Together they turn to face the newcomer: a man in owlish glasses and a white shirt patterned with blue palm fronds.

Alasdair Harris stands comfortably at six feet, even with the academic slouch hunching his shoulders.

And he beams at the sight of his daughter.

Ava embraces her father, and he kisses the top of her curly head – and Jean realises that it was from him Ava inherited not only her height, but that easy affectionate manner.

When he releases Ava, those keen blue eyes light on Jean, curious now.

‘Hello there,’ Alasdair says, still with a broad Glaswegian accent even after all his years teaching at LSE. ‘Who’s this you’ve brought along?’

Ava runs a hand through her curls, looking between them, and Jean stands a little straighter. ‘Dad, this is Jean Howard. She’s a friend of mine. A good friend. And a lawyer too – she’s been a lifesaver getting CJC off the ground. And this is my dad, Alasdair.’

‘Pleased to meet you, sir.’ Jean holds out a hand, which she lets fall before he can take it.

‘Oh God . I’m sorry! Your wife mentioned your politics, and here I am calling you sir.

Alasdair. And before we go any further, I think you should know that it’s corporate law that I work in.

Just to get that speedbump out of the way. ’

Jesus . Ava’s staring at her as if she’s sprouted another head.

And no fucking wonder. Not since her gauche and stumbling days as an intern, overawed by every person – every actual lawyer that she met – has Jean crashed and burned this badly.

But then entire decades have passed since Jean’s been the one scrabbling to impress.

Alasdair’s beard twitches, and Jean gets the distinct impression he’s trying not to laugh.

‘Yes, well, nobody’s perfect. Lucky for you, the firing squad took a day off in honour of our celebration.

’ He takes Jean’s limp hand, gives it a brief and gentle squeeze.

‘You’re very welcome here, Jean – it’s not every day that my daughter introduces me to a female companion. ’

‘Oh! No. That’s not what’s happening here.’ Ava colours a magnificent shade of scarlet under her father’s scrutiny. ‘I mean, I did introduce you to Jean. And she is female. Obviously, she’s a woman in that dress. But I’m not, we’re not—’

‘My mistake,’ Alasdair says, though his eyes sparkle with mischief. ‘Either way, I’d better fire up the barbecue. I’ll see you later, Ava. Comrade Howard.’

Alasdair retreats across the garden, hands behind his back, whistling – unless Jean is very much mistaken – the former USSR’s national anthem.

‘Sorry about that,’ Ava says, still not looking at her. ‘Dad enjoys teasing people, but I think he liked you.’

‘No, I’m the one who should be sorry.’ Jean itches as the conversation replays itself in her mind. ‘I’m a complete and utter fucking mess right now. Why the bloody hell did I have to go and call him sir? That’s going to haunt me.’

‘No, the best bit was when you outed yourself as a fully paid-up member of the bourgeoisie.’ Ava cackles at the pained look on her face. ‘On the bright side, Simon’s never managed to make him crack a smile in twelve years. You did it in under two minutes.’

And Jean can’t help but laugh at the absurdity of it. Ava slumps against her, helpless with the giggles. Of course, Alasdair looks up from tipping coals into the barbecue then, drawn by the sound of their laughter. He raises his fist in a classic communist salute.

‘He didn’t seem to mind,’ Jean says, when she gets her breath back.

‘What, that you’re helping millionaires turn into billionaires?’

‘No. Well yes, there’s that. But your father didn’t seem opposed to it. The idea that you and I might be…’

‘I told you, he’s the least judgemental person you’ll ever meet.’ Ava shrugs. ‘It’s not a big deal.’

‘I can’t speak for my parents, but there’s no way that my sister would be so relaxed about it.’

Ava must read something of those memories on her face. She steps closer to Jean, brow creased with concern. But Aaliyah steps out onto the patio, smoothing invisible creases from the peach dress that is – Jean realises – a perfect match for her twin’s suit.

‘Come on – the guests are starting to arrive.’ She looks between Jean and Ava. ‘And I’m not greeting them on my own. Bring Jean if you must.’

‘She’s nervous,’ Ava whispers, her hand coming to rest in the small of Jean’s back.

We have that in common , is what Jean wants to say. But Ava will worry about her – enough to keep her from smiling and hugging and shaking hands – and Aaliyah will resent her for it. So, Jean rallies. Together they join Aaliyah on the terrace.

She meets Grandpa James, helped by cousins Ella and Faith. Stands by as Ava’s former manager, a majestic dark-skinned woman named Zora, wraps her in a long hug. And catches her eyes overspilling when two former clients introduce Ava to their newborn son.

Then more cousins arrive, and Jean accepts that she’s never going to remember every name; just smiles every time Ava says, ‘And this is Jean,’ offering no further explanation.

And when guests begin to pour in earnest through the doors, Jean stands out less than she might have expected.

The Harris-Emmanuel family, their colleagues and friends, are London at its most multi-cultural – though Jean has claimed the city as her home for close to thirty years, the higher she has ascended in the world of corporate law, the less her day-to-day life has reflected this plurality.

At a joint thirty-seventh birthday party, Jean had expected to be conspicuously older than most of the twins’ guests.

But she’s surprised on that score too. Along with the senior generations of the family, there are the registrars and consultants from Aaliyah’s place of work.

Some of Ava’s colleagues look to be around state pension age – yet when Jean speaks to these women, they give no signs of slowing down, animated by the same pure passion that drives Ava.

Though Jean recognises Amari as the sweet-faced hijabi who’d taken Rhona under her wing, and is quite certain the entire ACWRC is aware of her plight, it’s not at all awkward with them.

But then every one of these women chooses to sit with trauma every single day.

There is nothing about Marianne’s fury, nor even her and Jean’s story, that has the power to shock.

Amari’s friendly, yet doesn’t treat Jean as if she’s liable to break at any moment, perfectly natural while explaining that she and Rhona have decided to stay in touch after hitting it off.

They’ve even made plans to attend a mixer for young lawyers in the autumn.

And Jean’s delight is platinum-pure: definitive proof that Rhona intends to keep on going.

Robert’s there too, in a tan linen suit, dabbing at his forehead with a pocket square. If he’s surprised to see Jean in the Harris family’s back garden, he gives no sign of it. Jean brings him to shelter under the marquee’s shade, fetching them both a sweating cup of crisp white wine.

Rob too knows about everything that happened with Marianne and the resultant scandal – Jean can tell by the way he watches her when he thinks she isn’t looking.

But he doesn’t broach the subject directly, instead reminiscing about Ava as a student; his pride in teaching her how to channel the same zeal that carried her through countless marches and protests into her coursework.

Ava appears, wrapping both arms around Robert.

And when they’re done catching up, she whisks Jean away with her to safer ground; to people who have never heard of Jean, of Marianne Walker and Kate Brennan, or even DDH.

Among them are women Ava knows from the gay scene – though some of them lean towards stereotypically butch presentation, there are women in gauzy dresses and flowing skirts too.

It’s not their look that tips Jean off, nor even Ava herself, so much as the way these women carry themselves.

An indefinable quality Jean cannot put her finger on – what her junior associates might refer to as ‘the vibes.’ And though Ava has the presence of mind not to touch Jean, or tilt towards her when she speaks, every one of these women wears the same knowing smile.

Then it’s time for the toasts, Ava’s father clinks a fork against his wine glass and the hum of chatter falls away.

Ava pauses the music on her phone. Alasdair praises his daughters’ intelligence, hard work and good hearts.

‘Any father would be proud to have one such a daughter,’ he says, eyes bright.

‘And I consider myself extraordinarily blessed to have two.’

Both the Harris twins hug their father, Ava fishing a tissue from her pocket to dab at her eyes.

And in that moment Jean aches to go to her.

To stroke Ava’s back, to clasp her wrist; the little everyday touches that say I’m right here with you .

But she stays in place, catching Robert’s eye across the crowd.

Aaliyah, who maintains her composure, goes first, thanking everyone for coming and talking about how good it is to have all their people together in one place.

‘We’re here to celebrate our birthday, but more than that we’re here to celebrate my baby sister as she closes one chapter in her life and begins another.

’ She swallows. ‘Ava, I don’t say it nearly enough, but I’m proud of you.

You have the talent and the drive to do anything at all in this world, and every time you choose to make it a better place. ’

Ava’s a goner after that, with streaming eyes and shaking shoulders.

When able to speak, she thanks her former colleagues for all they’ve taught her as a lawyer and a human.

Her family for their love and support. Robert for continuing to nurture her well beyond graduation.

Then Ava’s eyes lock with hers, the rest of the world melting away as she speaks.

‘And Jean – you’re the busiest person I’ve ever met, yet you’ve still helped out every time I’ve asked, and even more times when I haven’t. ’

A warmth that has little to do with the sun overhead spreads from Jean’s chest out to every atom of her being, thawing the chill that had taken hold during Marianne’s accusations.

Theo’s the last to get up and speak. He climbs up onto a chair and shouts: ‘Grandpa would like me to tell you it’s time for dinner! ’