Chapter 1

“Happy Birthday to you,” Mama sings as I enter the living room still bleary eyed from waking up minutes ago. Her favourite reggae birthday song, that she plays every year, blasts through the apartment.

Mama stands behind our round dining table, which is filled with presents and a chocolate cake. She points her phone camera at me rocking from side to side singing loudly.

She adds my name to the song and laughs as she tries to fit the words in.

I wait on the other side of the table for the song to finish. When it does, Mama cheers, punching the air with one hand like turning twelve was winning the lottery.

She scurries around the table and hugs me. “Happy Birthday my little baby.”

“Mum,” I groan, pulling my head away as she plants kisses all over my face.

“What? I can’t kiss my daughter on her birthday?” she says stepping back, still with the camera pointed at me.

I shield my face. “I just woke up,” I tell her, knowing full well that video is going to end up on social media.

“Oh, stop yuh moaning and set yuh face straight,” she says, waving me away. She stands back. “You want to open yuh presents now, then have breakfast? Or breakfast first?”

“Presents first, please!” I beg, flashing her my sweetest smile.

She laughs. “Go on den, open dem.”

Christmas and birthdays are always so exciting for me. Not because I expect much. We’ve never had much money, but I know that whatever Mama gets me, it will be something I have mentioned. Something I really wanted. She is good at that. All the books I have in my room are because Mama heard me talk about them. She never says anything. Never tells me she’s writing it down somewhere so she can remember, but she does. She always remembers.

I open the cards first so Mama doesn’t think I’m only interested in the gifts. Although it’s killing me inside not to rip all the presents open and ignore the card.

Mama’s card has a photo of us both when we were on Lighthouse Island last holiday. We were sitting by the pool of Uncle Edmond’s huge villa and Aunty Desiree took the photo without us knowing. She sent it to Mama when we got home.

Inside the card is the usual—she loves me, how she is proud of the woman I am becoming, how she is proud to be my Mama. I beam, placing the card on the table. The second card I open is from Ms Lee, our neighbour, who looks after me sometimes when Mama is working. A few hundred Jamaican dollars fall out. Mama grabs it before I do. She folds the money into her pocket, giggling.

“Mama!” I cry.

She looks at me with wide eyes. “Your money is my money, Fayson, we can buy some patties wid dis.”

I sigh, returning back to the card. “Okay,” I say quietly.

There is silence, then Mama breaks into loud laughter. She nudges me, handing me the money back. “Look at yuh face!” she cries. “Yuh wud think someone had died. Tek yuh money.”

I shake my head. “It’s okay Mama, you need it more than me.”

Her smile fades and she places the money on the table. “Yuh really should think about how yuh say tings,” she mumbles.

The mood lightens again as I read a card from Barry, my frenemy from the other block of flats.

“Nice,” I mutter.

There are cards from Uncle Edmond, Aunty Desiree and the twins. Finally I reach for the presents, ripping them open at top speed as though I am on a timer and they will all detonate.

Just as I expected, Mama got me what I wanted. A new notebook, “for your detective business,” she says, and a Polaroid camera which I know was expensive.

I do a little bounce of excitement and hug her tightly. “Thank you, Mama.”

“Happy twelfth birthday,” she says. She holds me for some time as though we are saying goodbye. I nestle in her chest, waiting for her to let go. “Right,” she says, heading to the kitchen. “Yuh get yuh favourite breakfast today.”

I clap with delight. “Mango, plantain and fried dumpling!”

“With some callaloo,” Mama adds.

I make a face. “Yuk.”

My phone pings. It’s a message in the Island Crew group chat, so I sit down at the table and open it.

Immediately the texts start coming in.

I am surprised Tia is organizing a birthday party for me. I would have expected it from Gaby, Ace or even Aaron, but not Tia. Not so long ago we were fighting about everything and anything. Like, who leads Di Island Crew, who had the best ideas. If ever we had to take a vote, Tia and I always disagreed. If she said blue, I said red. Now she was willingly throwing a birthday party for me. It’s strange how your opinion of someone can change.

Mama places a plate of food in front of me and one for herself. She sits down across from me and I show her the text. She squints at the message because she struggles with her eyes sometimes, but she refuses to go to the opticians.

“Another party?” She shakes her head. “Dey have parties for waking up over dere.”

“It’s for my birthday,” I tell her, sticking my fork into a slice of plantain.

“Oh,” she says, “dats alright then.”

After breakfast, I collect all my presents under my arm, piling the cards on top to carry them to my room.

“Oh, mi did forget to give yuh dis,” Mama says, rushing over to the kitchen table where all her letters are piled. She shifts through and grabs an envelope, bringing it over to me. She places it on top of the pile. “From your father’s family,” she says, returning to the table.

I stare at the white envelope while balancing under a jenga of cards and presents. I read the words on the front in neat capitals:

to ms fayson murray

There are little heart stickers all around my name and my address written in black ink. I continue to stare at the card, reading the words over and over like I have never seen my name written down before. I wonder what my father’s handwriting would have been like if he wrote my name. I bet he was a messy writer like me. He seemed that way from all the stories Mama told me. He seemed a lot like me.

“The family would like to spend some time with you. They realize you’re growing up and have missed out.”

I can feel my chest rising quickly. A million thoughts rush through my head.

She’s wiping the table clean now and I watch the cloth in her hand move from one end of the table to the other with a rhythmic swishing sound.

“I thought they lived in the Cayman Islands,” is all I can think to say. I don’t really know my father’s side of the family. I barely knew him. All I know is where he was from and that he met my mum when he came here to work. I know his birthday was October 6th and that he died on January 12th.

Every few months his sister Maureen reaches out through Mama. Usually through email or social media. But that is all. They are strangers to me.

The swishing stops. I feel the fan above my head. The welcome cool air in a hot and closed-in room. I inhale it and thank the fan for being there for me at the right time.

“Yes, dey still dere.” Mama pauses,...