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by Penny Parkes

  ‘Can’t take any credit for the garden, I’m afraid,’ Richard said with a smile, reaching out to shake her hand. ‘Belongs to the family in the maisonette below. Green-fingered chap – retired, you know. Still, we get to enjoy the view.’ He gestured to the tiny wrought-iron balcony outside the kitchen window where two folding chairs hovered above a precipitous drop. ‘Mind your head when you clamber out, won’t you?’ he added solicitously. ‘Best spot you’ll ever find for morning coffee.’

  He smiled affectionately at his wife. ‘Unless you’re heading for Rome, in which case, I imagine we won’t be lacking.’ Checking his watch and then glancing up at the station clock above the kitchen table for confirmation. ‘Three hours, darling, until the car comes, so shall we crack on and we can fill in young Anna here as we eat?’

  ‘Of course, of course, but you must meet Norbert first or he’ll lose his mind.’ Eleanor stepped back and opened another door from the hallway, a rush of ginger fur and pent up excitement spilling through as she did so.

  Anna crouched down, immediately enchanted. Norbert the Norfolk terrier was miniature perfection, apart from enormous ears that made him look a little like a Wookiee.

  ‘Hello, Norbert. Aren’t you gorgeous?’ Anna said, as the little dog tumbled around her hands and into her legs, his tail wagging so hard in delight that his body moved too.

  ‘Not exactly show standard, but the love of my life,’ said Eleanor without inhibition. ‘Present company excepted, of course.’ She shot Richard a smile, but it was clear from his indulgent acceptance that his place in the pecking order was well established.

  ‘And then you’ll find Ulysses somewhere around, but he’s not so much shy as aloof,’ Eleanor warned.

  ‘Ulysses is the cat?’ Anna clarified, as Norbert gave her a very thorough once-over, no doubt smelling both Leia and Chewie on her clothes.

  ‘Technically he’s a cat,’ Richard laughed, ‘but realistically he’s Satan. Honestly, Anna, just put out his food and empty the litter tray. He’s not much company unless he wants something.’

  ‘Richard!’ Eleanor chastised him, shaking her head. ‘He’s just sensitive.’

  ‘Hmm, well if Attila the Hun was sensitive too then I imagine you might be right. Now, less chat, more lunch, darling, unless you’ve gone off the idea of the Eternal City?’

  * * *

  Tucked around the tiny fold-out table in the kitchen, Anna felt immediately at home. There was food, conversation, laughter and a sense of welcome she hadn’t experienced for a while. House-sitting could be a rum gig, she acknowledged to herself, as much a lottery as anything else. And, yes, the past few weeks had hardly run to plan, but this – this she could get on board with.

  Listening to Eleanor and Richard banter back and forth – teasingly, rudely, affectionately – it was easy to see how the years of marriage had been kind to them. Hearing that Norbert had been named by Harry-Potter-loving grandchildren added another dimension to their otherwise civilised life.

  And, no matter how small this city kitchen, it was fitted to perfection – magazine-worthy granite worktops, limed oak cabinets and a sense that these people knew exactly who they were and what they liked. This idea was only compounded by the snack foods alongside the Instagram-ready arrays of tagliatelle, grissini and extra-virgin olive oil on the open shelves, by the shameless jars of maraschino cherries, brandy snaps and Cadbury Mini Rolls.

  ‘Are you going to Rome for a special occasion?’ Anna asked, nibbling on pimento olives and sipping her sparkling water.

  Eleanor blushed a little. ‘Well, it’s actually a work trip.’

  ‘She’s too modest,’ Richard cut in. ‘She’s actually the keynote speaker at the university convocation – rather an aficionado in her field, aren’t you, darling? And true, Anna, you might say that nobody else could be bothered to dedicate their life to studying the Divine Aesthetes of Ancient Rome, but that’s where you’d be wrong. Quite the crowded field and yet still my Eleanor stands out.’

  Eleanor swatted his compliments away. ‘Any jokes about winning the scarecrow award will be harshly received, Richard.’

  ‘I have been warned,’ he chortled to Anna, filling up his wife’s glass, pride etched on every inch of his face amongst a lifetime of wrinkles and sunspots, hair receding yet still a distinguished gentleman.

  ‘So, do you have any plans for your week in Bath, Anna?’ Eleanor said, shaking her head at her husband in loving reproval. ‘You’ll find that you can take Norbert almost everywhere except the museums. Ridiculous really, when they let all those children in.’

  Richard caught Anna’s eye and smiled. ‘You’re getting a sense of the priorities around here already, but truly, Bath is a wonderful town to explore with a dog at your heels.’

  ‘I have big plans for making plans,’ Anna said firmly, as much to remind herself of this commitment.

  There was a loud thump on the ceiling and a volley of shouting, the vocabulary of which widened even Anna’s eyes. Then followed an angrily slammed door and hammering feet down the stairs.

  ‘And that would be our other neighbours,’ Eleanor said tiredly, suddenly looking her age. ‘It’s all hours, I’m afraid. And I’d like to say that you get used to it, but…’

  Richard frowned. ‘They’re no trouble, other than the noise. Shouting mainly.’ He glanced at his wife as though silently conferring how much to share, and Anna’s heart sank. Just for a moment, a fleeting moment, she genuinely thought she had landed on her feet. Her disappointment must surely have been almost palpable.

  ‘There’s a daughter, Callie. Sweet girl. Very bright. But clashes terribly with her mum’s new beau.’ She sighed. ‘You might find Callie calls round from time to time. Don’t be put off by her, well, by her appearance. She’s a sweetheart and the sooner her mother sees sense about that ghastly man, the happier the whole building will be.’

  ‘You don’t need to get involved though, Anna. We’ve told Callie that we’re going away. And it probably sounds worse than it is in our kitchen because it’s directly underneath their sitting room. You’ll be fine at night. It never bothers us in our bedroom does it, Ellie?’

  Anna watched Eleanor’s expression carefully. It was clear that there were different interpretations of the word ‘bother’ at play in this conversation. It was, in fact, clear that the whole situation with Callie bothered Eleanor Harvey very much indeed. Yet still she stuck to her husband’s covenant. ‘It’s true, you don’t hear a thing in our bedroom.’

  Chapter 26

  Bath, 2019

  It was true: you could hardly hear a thing in the bedroom, but that didn’t stop the echoes of the arguments resounding in Anna’s head as she struggled to fall asleep later that night.

  There was a joy to be had, certainly, from being in the heart of the city; not least the camaraderie from seeing so many lights dotted through the darkness, still shining in the wee small hours.

  She wasn’t the only one burning the midnight oil, although she doubted how many others had lost track of time with a leather-bound copy of Paradise Lost. Ungainly reading until you found your rhythm for sure, yet there was still enough of the magic in Milton’s prose to hold her captive and hopefully distract her from her circling thoughts.

  ‘You really are a useless waste of space.’

  That was the line that had stayed with her, closely followed by yet another slamming door, which reverberated even through the thick Georgian walls down into the Harveys’ apartment.

  Her imagination, as ever, prepared to fill in the gaps.

  Hence the Milton.

  Yet, shouting neighbours aside, Anna knew that she owed Emily an enormous debt of thanks. This placement couldn’t be more perfect: a compact one-bedroom a stone’s throw from The Circus and The Royal Crescent, a sunny orientation and a book collection to rival those of her dreams. Not to mention that Eleanor and Richard were so keen for her to enjoy her stay that they had filled not only the fridge, but also a notebook with suggestions of th
eir favourite haunts.

  Kind, caring people, a beautiful and affectionate Norfolk terrier, and a cat that may or may not have been possessed by the devil. Anna couldn’t help but smile, even as Ulysses yowled from the front window in protest at being abandoned by his mistress. The scratches on Anna’s hand were a testament to his refusal to accept substitutes.

  Norbert’s approbation had been easier to achieve: stroking his silky ears and welcoming him onto the bed, where he immediately curled into his habitual spot, seemed to have done the trick.

  So, on balance, a few slammed doors were a small price to pay.

  You really are a useless waste of space.

  The disparaging scorn in every syllable, however, refused to release its hold even hours later. Who was the poor girl on the receiving end of this tirade? And please – please – let there be somebody looking out for her, somebody she could talk to at least.

  An image of Jackie flashed into Anna’s mind, bringing with it the memory of Shalimar and that pinched look of concern that seemed to be a constant fixture whenever Anna’s name was mentioned. Yet, for all her stand-offish authority, Jackie had always been there, on the end of the phone, in person, fighting her corner.

  She felt a moment’s shame that it was entirely possible she’d never said thank you.

  Too late now, she sighed.

  Jackie had retired three months before Anna turned eighteen, disappearing off her radar completely and absolutely, as though she’d never been there at all.

  There was a loud thump in the stairwell behind Anna’s head and she started, unable to stop the scenarios running in her ever-vivid imagination. She climbed out of bed, leaving Norbert snoring gently, and wrapped a cardigan tightly around herself.

  ‘Hello?’ she called. ‘Is anybody there?’

  Flicking on lights as she walked through the apartment, Anna tentatively opened the front door. Sitting in the stairwell outside her door was an extraordinary girl – mid to late teens, but dressed like a gentleman from the 1940s, with white and black brogues and baggy chalk-stripe trousers. Her hair was a lurid shade of violet and her face was pale and drawn, dark circles beneath deep indigo eyes.

  ‘Shit. Did I wake you?’ the girl said, her voice pure West Country. ‘You’re Anna, right? Eleanor said I should be considerate.’ She paused. ‘I forgot.’

  ‘So, I’m guessing that you must be—’

  ‘Yeah. I’m Callie. The nuisance upstairs?’ She stood up to shake Anna’s hand, her manners incongruous with her appearance, unfolding her gangly limbs and betraying her youth in the embarrassed smile she gave.

  Ulysses yowled piteously from behind Anna’s ankles, his tail fluffed up to epic proportions, skittishly avoiding physical contact.

  ‘The cat hates me,’ Anna said, almost conversationally.

  ‘Ah, that cat hates everybody except Eleanor,’ Callie reassured her. ‘I wouldn’t take it to heart.’

  They hesitated there, in the half-lit darkness of the stairwell, neither, it seemed, quite certain what was expected of them in this exchange. Anna half wondered, from what Eleanor and Richard had said, whether the care and feeding of the girl upstairs was also included in her brief of house-sitting Flat 2.

  ‘You hungry?’ Anna said without overthinking the situation. ‘Supper seems hours ago and there’s enough food in this fridge for an army.’

  No need to mention she already knew that Callie had missed out on her own supper upstairs, the arguments flaring before they could even sit down to eat.

  ‘Food would be good,’ Callie replied, almost apologetically. ‘And maybe I could borrow Richard’s fleece? It’s suddenly a bit nippy.’

  A bit nippy. So said the girl with the violet hair and the one, two, three somewhat brutal piercings that adorned (or possibly marred) her beautiful face.

  Anna stepped back and opened the door a little wider, holding Ulysses back with her foot.

  ‘I won’t hold you up though. A piece of toast and I’m good to go.’ She paused. ‘Maybe a little sugar on top if that’s okay?’

  It was like a kind of shibboleth – an acknowledgement that Callie, like Anna, knew how to fill an empty stomach when times were tight. Anna had to restrain herself from enveloping this fragile girl, and her mass of contradictions, into her arms.

  ‘We might even stretch to a little cinnamon if you’re feeling reckless,’ Anna offered, pausing a beat. ‘Always worked for me.’

  Callie’s eyes flickered up to hold hers, an unspoken understanding passing between them.

  Even in this Georgian splendour there was anger and strife and, yes, even a poverty of sorts. But Anna had been down in this hole before, and the least she could do – if only for tonight – was offer to show this girl a way out.

  Before she could even edit herself, she blurted out, ‘Nobody is a waste of space. You know that, right? We all have something to offer, even if the people around us don’t recognise it.’

  Callie stilled, any pretence dropping with her shoulders as she turned to look at Anna, as though looking deeply through her, assessing her motives.

  ‘I know,’ she said with such conviction that Anna felt herself relax just a little. This girl might be slight, but she clearly knew her own mind and was certainly no easy victim.

  * * *

  With the pot of tea refilled and crumb-strewn plates scattering the kitchen table, Anna nursed her cup and listened.

  Not in that polite way she’d honed so well over the years, with the instinctive head tilt and enquiring gaze, encouraging her clients to talk, to share. But in an almost physical way, leaning in and turning every short admission over and over in her mind, looking for the words unspoken.

  Callie was a master of subtext and understatement. Her rounded, eloquent vowels may have been at odds with the story she was telling – her story – but the emotion in every sinew of her being was all too real.

  She glanced up at the ceiling – plaster and floorboards separating her from the source of her unease. ‘I don’t know who he thinks he is. Honestly, Anna – the gall of the man. He’d barely been dating my mum for six weeks before he’s moved in and then, what are we, four months later? He’s laying down the law with me too.’ She shook her head. ‘I mean, my mum’s alright, you know? But she’s always been…’ She held up her hands expressively as though words eluded her.

  They didn’t.

  Anna could see that Callie knew only too well how to describe her mother, yet held back out of what, habit? Courtesy? Maybe even love?

  ‘Has she always been like this with boyfriends?’ Anna asked.

  Callie nodded. ‘It’s like she forgets she has a say, or an opinion, as soon as there’s a bloke on the scene. It’s all or nothing – these poxy losers elevated to gods in her eyes, while they sponge off her and take the piss.’ Callie sighed, exasperated.

  ‘And, you know, maybe I am over-reacting: it’s not as though Liam hits me, or touches me up, is it?’ She turned pained eyes towards Anna, looking for support for this wonky theory.

  ‘I’ve been here less than twenty-four hours, Callie,’ Anna said gently. ‘And I’ve heard what I’ve heard. And I happen to know that Eleanor’s worried too and she doesn’t strike me as the flappy type.’

  Callie barked with laughter. ‘No, flappy is one word you could never apply to Eleanor.’

  ‘So then, tell me,’ Anna pushed. ‘I’ll be gone in a week. No reprisals, no shame of oversharing for all eternity. What’s Liam’s problem? With you, I mean – I’m guessing he may have a few issues of his own.’

  A smile of recognition, a flicker of complicity in her eyes. ‘In a nutshell? He’s a controlling cu—’ She wrinkled her nose. ‘Sorry. Twat.’

  Anna shrugged. ‘Don’t mind me. I’ve heard worse and it takes a lot to shock me. Controlling like coercive?’

  ‘Controlling like insecure and out for what he can get,’ Callie said matter-of-factly. ‘He lost his job – he was a plumber I think – and then he moved in with Mum. I know it l
ooks like a flash address but it’s social housing – we’re not loaded or anything. But he just wormed his way in, all helpful to begin with. “Let me cook tonight, darlin’ ” and all that. But in, like, weeks he was just sponging off my mum and then lecturing me every chance he got. Arsehole.’

  Anna frowned, trying to get a clearer picture of what Callie was deliberately avoiding putting into words.

  ‘And I can see what you’re thinking,’ Callie said tersely. ‘Happens every day, right? Mum gets a new boyfriend, kid feels pushed out? But with him, it’s a daily battle of wills.’ She rocked her empty mug between her hands, biting at her lip. ‘He thinks I should leave school and “contribute to the household” – says education is a waste of time and I’m welching off him and my mum when I could be earning rather than “flouncing around with books”.’ She scoffed at the thought. ‘Yeah, ’cause clearly his four GCSEs have set him up for life!’

  ‘She’s your mum – you’re not the one welching,’ Anna protested, preaching to the choir, but flaring at the injustice of his accusations. ‘How old are you, anyway? Sixteen?’

  ‘Seventeen next month,’ Callie replied sadly. ‘About to start my A levels. So basically more than a year ’til I can tell him to go fu—, I mean, get lost.’

  Anna shook her head. ‘Stop editing yourself, Callie. You’re fine as you are – scary piercings and potty mouth included. Although…’ She squinted closer. ‘I have to ask what the hell you’ve got there, stuck through your ear?’

  Callie grinned and her face lit up. ‘Ah, well, that’s a plumber’s nut, innit? Just my little way of pissing him off, you know. Not becoming for a lady to have piercings.’

  ‘Or purple hair?’ Anna offered, getting a sense of how Callie had evolved into this eclectic mismatch of style statements.

  ‘Or dress like a bloke,’ Callie confirmed, still grinning. ‘Look, I do know it’s childish but sometimes it’s nice just to have a voice he can’t shout down, you know?’

  ‘I do, actually,’ said Anna with feeling. ‘Do you know what you want to study?’