But there's a longer one coming in a few hours)
There was a woman sitting on the steps that led up to Emma’s doorstep. Long legs sheathed in skin-tight leather trousers and a short denim vest that squeezed her breasts up, a cascade of blond-bleached waves falling on wider shoulders. As Emma approached, the woman took a drag on a cigarette, and the ember at the end of it illuminated a face with a strong jaw and full lips. Mid-forties or early fifties.
Emma slowed down.
The woman saw her and threw her cigarette away. It traced a long arc in the dusk.
“May I help you?” Emma asked.
She’d seen a lot of women like that in her job. Waitresses at Jugs, strippers, hookers. The woman took a step forward, and shifted her weight from one foot to the other. “I’m looking for Emma Lewis,” she said. She had a clear, loud voice.
“I am Emma Lewis.”
The woman pushed her big hair back and gave her a big bright smile. “How are you Emma?! I guess it’s been a hard day. You feeling all right, honey?”
She came forward and seemed to hesitate, then offered her hand.
Confused, Emma shook it. Thin metal bracelets jingled, long nails caressed the back of her hand.
“It’s been a—yes, a long day. But I’m fine.”
“Marvellous!”
She moved up the steps and rummaged in her pocket for the keys. “Do I know you from somewhere?” she asked.
“Yes. No.” A big grin. “Well, not exactly.”
Emma opened the door and squinted at the blonde. “Not exactly?” she asked.
“I’m Carmel,” the blonde said. “I’m your mother.”
Emma felt her head spin. She placed a hand on the door handle for support. “My mother?”
“Your biological mother, that is.” The blonde’s smile broadened. “Don’t you invite me in?”
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