"When my nine-month-old baby daughter came from Central America to live with us in south London, I, like many new mothers, was keen to introduce her to the world. So I took her to meet the local shopkeepers: 7 Star Cleaners, where the Turkish Cypriot proprietors live, eat and alter clothes around a big family table, behind a forest of Cellophane-wrapped hangers, within waving distance of the counter. One of the women beckoned us through, and at her summons husbands, uncles, nephews and aunts swiftly materialised.
They all complimented Rosie on her rose-tinted honey-brown skin - different in tone from their own olivey skin - and gorgeous black hair. I had known this woman for years, was acquainted with her husband before he died of a heart attack, and in spite of her less than fluent English we have a bond: she too knew my husband, two boys and five-year-old daughter Angelica, who had died of meningitis four years earlier. On the day of Angelica's funeral, her family had brought yellow roses to the porch of the church." [More]
They all complimented Rosie on her rose-tinted honey-brown skin - different in tone from their own olivey skin - and gorgeous black hair. I had known this woman for years, was acquainted with her husband before he died of a heart attack, and in spite of her less than fluent English we have a bond: she too knew my husband, two boys and five-year-old daughter Angelica, who had died of meningitis four years earlier. On the day of Angelica's funeral, her family had brought yellow roses to the porch of the church." [More]
