In March last year, my sisters and I gathered in the south of France where the youngest had moved a few months before.
It was the first time we were away together, just the three of us. Away from our parents. Away from the noise of the past.
The time of squabbling and arguing was over. We rediscovered each other over a weekend. It almost felt like I had just met these two young women.
Turns out, we really got on.
The first night, we talked and we hugged a lot.
We said that even though we now live miles away, we would always support each other. Our childhood may have been messy, but we realised we were now old enough to make our own choices.
We talked about our grandmother, on the English side of the family, and of the things she had taught us. We talked about those moments when all of life seems bad, and we laughed about the fact the three of us do the same thing: we make a cup of tea, and by the time the teabag is in place, by the time the water is boiled and poured, we already feel a little bit better. It's our Englishness.
We decided to get a matching tattoo.
We didn't talk about it much. One of my sisters scribbled on the back of a receipt from a cafe.
We would all get a tiny cup of tea, with its steam bringing warmth towards our hearts.
It's a story about a promise. A secret pact.
It's a story about becoming an adult.
It's a story about three young women realising they will never be alone.
written by ninon