‘You look beautiful, Lizzie,’ said Ash, once he’d stopped talking about how, one day, he’d love to live in a street like this.
We’d just walked twenty minutes from the underground station. Old time dance music escaped out of an open window. A three-storey house worked well for parties. Guests walked along the hallway mat before dumping their coats and grabbing a first drink from the downstairs kitchen. Mum always felt that gave their shoes time to discard any mud and germs before making their way upstairs to the lounge where we spent most of our evenings. As soon as I was old enough to carry a tray, I used to feel very grown up going up and down the stairs, supplying guests with drinks and canapés.
Dad had offered to collect us from the station but I knew how stressed Mum got in the run-up to hosting a party. She’d need him there to assist with any last-minute changes to the furniture positions or lighting – or her outfit. And it was just as well as the train ran forty minutes late. It was the first time I’d been home this term, even though South Kensington was only ten underground stops and one line change away from my student accommodation. I couldn’t believe I was already in the second year.
‘I wonder what they’ll say to my hair?’ I said and took off my rucksack.
‘Don’t worry, they won’t even notice the blue once my charisma has blown them away.’
‘Idiot.’ I stood on tiptoe and kissed him firmly on the lips, my body automatically pressing itself close. Reluctantly I pulled away. I couldn’t wait for my parents to meet Ash. He was polite, funny, a family man who worked hard and had ambition. I hadn’t wanted to introduce them until we felt things were getting serious. I learnt from a girlfriend who’d taken her boyfriend home after three months. Her parents adored him but then they split up. I wouldn’t want to hurt Mum and Dad like that.
‘Once I’ve made your mum my special toasties for lunch tomorrow she’ll be begging us to get married, and I’ll bamboozle your Dad with my sporting knowledge.’
I thumped him gently in the ribs before putting my key in the lock. He ran a hand over one of the Roman pillars. I dreamt of owning a smaller house away from the fumes and engine sounds of a busy road. We went in, put our rucksacks by the door and removed our jackets. I hung them on the coat stand.
‘Elizabeth? What on earth have you done to your hair?’
‘Aunt Fiona. Hello.’ I leant forward and kissed her cheek. ‘This is Ash.’
‘Pleased to meet you,’ he said and smiled broadly, extending his hand.
She stared for a moment and then limply returned the gesture before turning away from him.
‘Have you got some pretty shoes to change into, Elizabeth? If not, I’ve got a pair you could borrow.’
‘No thanks. How’s life in Devon? You’re staying the weekend?’
‘For a week. Your mother and I are going to the theatre. Jack and your dad said something about golf. Perhaps you could come across for dinner one night?’ She didn’t look at Ash.
I gazed past her shoulder and took his hand as my parents came into view. Mum dashed forward and gave me a big hug. As always, her hair was neatly scooped up into a chignon. Her shoes were shiny enough to offer a reflection. She stood back and held me by the shoulders.
‘Goodness. What have you done to your hair? Have you accidentally dyed the lot this time?’
‘There must be an echo in here. Aunt Fiona asked exactly the same.’
‘Never mind, I’ll make an appointment at A Cut Above. They’ll sort that out in no time.’
‘It’s meant to look like this, thanks anyway, Mum. I love your outfit.’ She wore a dress with a military style short, gold-buttoned jacket.
She exchanged looks with her sister. I gave Dad a hug. He wore slacks and a starched shirt done up to the top.
‘And happy birthday. I want you to meet someone very special,’ I said.
‘This is the Ash we have been hearing about over the last year?’ said Dad stiffly.
Ash held out his hand again. Mum and Dad both shook it. Their eyes dropped to the black outline of a paintbrush on his wrist. Ash wasn’t much of a tattoo fan but loved mine and wanted a smaller version.
‘Can I offer you a soft drink, Ash?’ said Dad. ‘I assume you don’t drink. Where does your family come from?’
‘I was born in Leicester. We moved to London from there.’
‘I mean originally, where in India?’
I cringed.
‘My grandparents were born in Pakistan, and I do drink as a matter of fact. A beer would be great. Thanks, Mr Lockhart.’
Dad gave an abrupt nod of the head and Ash and Aunt Fiona followed him into the kitchen.
‘What do you think?’ I asked Mum excitedly.
‘How long have you been dating?’
‘About six months.’ Officially, that was, although we’d kissed on and off before that. ‘I didn’t see the point in introducing him until our relationship was solid.’
‘Is that what this is all about?’ She ran her hand up and down the air between us. ‘The hair, the clothes…’
‘Of course not.’ I squeezed her hand. ‘Let’s have a proper catch up tomorrow. Now, when do you want your present?’
Chatting we joined everyone else in the kitchen. Mum and Dad asked me about my studies. I waffled and said I preferred macro to microeconomics and had just started a module about corporate social responsibility. We headed upstairs to join other guests. Ash and I mingled with old and new neighbours and my parents’ colleagues. He was good like that, with a knack for putting people at ease and genuine interest in other people’s stories. The room was tastefully decorated with a few gold balloons. Thanks to body heat the walnut and black granite fireplace didn’t need to be turned on. I’d brought sixtieth birthday table glitter and scattered it across every surface.
‘Your Ash is a real dish,’ murmured Miriam from next door. ‘Eyelashes to die for. Does he have an older brother?’
‘Yes, but he’s married.’
‘Pity, I don’t want to be single for my eightieth birthday next March.’
We both laughed. Ash charmed friends of my parents who also had children at university. I heard him reassure them about the loans by telling them his older brother managed fine with the monthly deductions from his salary. We danced to a Frank Sinatra number. I caught Mum and Dad watching and waved. I hoped they might have joined us but they were too busy talking to Aunt Fiona.
I’d notice, over the years, how when they hosted get-togethers their time was spent mingling, networking for work perhaps or keeping up with the neighbours. But often, after everyone had gone, and I’d supposedly gone to bed, I’d secretly creep down and watch them in the lounge. They’d put the music on again and dance more wildly than I’d ever see them do in public, twirling each other around and laughing so hard.
Dad gave a speech and guests raised their glasses. Mum thanked everyone for coming but her usual sparkle was lacking and her demeanour reminded me of those summer days when she’d become sad and less chatty. It was heading toward midnight and we’d run out of glasses so I followed her down to the kitchen and offered to wash up as the dishwasher was mid-cycle.
Mum had always enjoyed cooking, preferring basic dishes to the elegant meals Dad grew up eating. She had lots of clever tricks, like getting me to eat broccoli and sprouts by slathering them in the tastiest vegetarian gravy. Eat up your greens and brown, she’d say, and then you can have pink. It was a silly family joke to call foods by their colour. Pink was always exciting because it usually meant ice cream.
‘Everything okay?’ I asked and rubbed her back with my hand. ‘It’s a fantastic party and your make-up is amazing; I bet no one can believe you’re sixty.’
Her face softened. ‘Thanks for the lovely card you painted, and the cut-glass rose. That red running through the bloom is absolutely stunning.’ For a second she looked sad again and then pointed to the window sill. ‘I’ve put it there until I decide on the best place.’
‘I’m glad you like it
. Ash’s uncle owns a gift shop and as soon as I saw it, I knew it was perfect.’
Her body became rigid.
‘You do like him, don’t you?’
‘I can see the attraction. At your age I had a crush on a music student. He had long hair and was in a band, his bohemian style seemed so thrilling.’
‘This is no crush, Mum.’ I rolled up my sleeves and went to turn on the taps. ‘I’ve met his mum. You’ll love her as much as I know he’s going to love you and—’
‘What the hell is that?’ Her eyes bulged.
I followed her gaze.
‘Elizabeth Lockhart, what have you done?’
Mum never raised her voice like that. The Lockharts didn’t lose their temper. I glanced down at the big, bold paintbrush tattoo that stood out against my pale skin. She grabbed my arm and dragged me under the fluorescent light.
‘Anne, what’s going on?’ Dad appeared, followed by Ash and Aunt Fiona.
16
Now
A new trend is parents getting tattoos of their children’s doodles
I continued in the direction of the stream as I heard Trish lock up her shop.
I replayed the thought: I was worried about Taz.
An indefinable, uncomfortable sensation shifted in my gut.
Increasingly, as each day passed, the kitten dominated my mind. Was he putting on the right amount of weight? Sleeping well? Did he get lonely at night? Was he bored during the day? What would happen to him once I left? Would another foster or adoptive owner love him enough?
It was as if a door had opened, just a chink, to give me a peek into the world of parenting.
Like a dark, clammy fog a chilling realisation rolled across my back. The parental instinct bypassed character flaws and fed on the best parts of us like our unselfishness, empathy, our willingness to care. Even if it magnified the latter, I could now see that the intent came from a good place.
It also resulted in a twenty-four-hour sense of concern.
It had never struck me before that parenting had a downside for Mum and Dad. I’d always seen them as setting the rules for the way I lived from a position of authority.
But now I recognised the possibility that they’d had little control over their desire to give me the best and safest life they could.
17
Six years ago – the party
When heavily tattooed Geoff Ostling dies, his skin will be donated to the National Museum of Australia to be displayed as art
‘Look at this.’ Mum showed my arm to Dad and Aunt Fiona.
The room filled with an uncomfortable silence. I swallowed and lifted my head. It was my life, I had to follow my own heart.
Dad shook his head. ‘Oh Elizabeth…You’ll never get a job with that.’
‘Tattoos are mainstream these days,’ I said and pulled away my arm. ‘It’s just another form of art.’
‘Did he put you up to this?’ asked Mum, glaring at Ash.
‘Lizzie is her own woman,’ said Ash calmly.
Is that what they really thought, that I’d get something this bold just to please someone else?
‘But why a paintbrush?’ asked Aunt Fiona. ‘I know you’ve always liked art but—’
‘Yes. I wanted to study it at A level and university and—’
‘We went through that. There’s no future in that sort of degree.’ Dad exhaled loudly and leant against one of the distressed wood kitchen units. ‘It’s a great hobby to have. Your mother and I love the cards you make and we enjoyed watching you move on from sketching to watercolours, but…’ He rubbed his forehead. ‘It’s so naive to think you could forge any kind of career from drawing and as for maiming yourself like that…’
‘With all due respect,’ said Ash, ‘I’m doing a degree in art and the career prospects are—’
‘I should have known.’ Mum folded her arms. ‘Elizabeth was fine until she met you. Now she’s embraced all these indulgent ideas about her appearance and lifestyle, but blue hair won’t get her a serious job in the city.’
She didn’t approve of my boyfriend?
‘Don’t you trust me to make an informed decision? I’ve considered this for months.’
Dad rolled his eyes. Uncle Jack appeared and Aunt Fiona filled him in on what was happening. He shot all of us sympathetic looks.
‘Surely it’s personality and work ethic that counts?’ said Ash.
‘What would you know about ethics?’ fired back Dad. ‘You drink alcohol. Your parents must be so ashamed.’
‘Steady on, Lawrence,’ said Uncle Jack.
I gasped. Hurt etched Ash’s face before he tried to disguise it.
‘Look, let’s discuss this tomorrow when we’ve all had a good night’s sleep.’ I was sure they’d come around and realise it wasn’t as bad as they thought.
‘It’s too late for talk,’ said Mum. ‘Now we’ll have to fork out for laser removal.’
‘There’s no point,’ I said focusing hard on keeping my voice steady. ‘I’m sorry but this won’t be my last tattoo.’
‘Don’t act like a spoilt child.’ Mum looked at Dad. ‘Honestly, Elizabeth, the last year or so… What’s got into you?’
‘Your parents haven’t spent the best years of their life giving you top opportunities just for you to squander them,’ said Aunt Fiona.
‘Maybe we should leave Anne and Lawrence to deal with this,’ said Uncle Jack quietly.
Feeling sick, I turned to go and tugged at Ash’s arm – the man I loved and was so proud of.
‘I’ve made up separate rooms,’ said Mum. ‘It might remind you of the standards you were brought up with, Elizabeth, regardless of your friends’ lifestyles.’
My patience evaporated. It was fine them not wanting Ash and me to share a bed under their roof but I wouldn’t accept her implying Ash had led me astray. ‘For your information, yes, I am having sex. It’s my conscious decision in accordance with my own beliefs and the way I want to live my life.’
‘Elizabeth!’ Dad’s cheeks flushed.
‘What’s the matter? Does that ruin your image of me as your little girl?’
‘That’s enough,’ said Aunt Fiona.
‘What has this got to do with you?’
‘Everything. Your parents have given you a perfect life on a plate and I won’t just sit back and watch you throw it back in their face. It’s not easy, bringing up children.’
‘What would you know about that?’ Shit. She’d always said that she and Uncle Jack never wanted kids – but what if they had. ‘Look, I’m sorry, let’s just—’
‘Why don’t I put on the kettle?’ said Ash. ‘My mum swears there’s nothing a good cup of tea can’t—’
‘Go home, son,’ Dad interrupted. ‘This is our family and our business only.’
‘If he’s not welcome then I’m not staying either.’
‘What do you want me to do, Lizzie?’ murmured Ash. ‘Name it, I’ll do whatever you think is best.’
‘Can’t you see what a bad influence he is?’ Mum threw her hands in the air. ‘Just look in the mirror. Where’s our lovely, easy-going daughter gone? And her name’s Elizabeth, by the way.’
‘I’ve grown up, Mum. Ever thought about that? I decide what people call me – to university friends it’s Lizzie.’
Mum looked at me in exasperation. She came over and put an arm around my back. Like watery tattoo ink, mascara ran down her cheeks. ‘You’re so intelligent. You’ve got everything going for you. Don’t let a love affair knock you off course. You’re capable of getting a first-class business degree if you put your mind to it, and enjoying a financially stable life. Move back home for a while. Your father and I will sort it all out.’
‘That’s been the whole problem. I know you’ve both meant well but try to understand… I need to forge my own life and make my own mistakes. The business degree won’t be happening.’
Her arm fell to her side. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I didn’t want to tell you un
til tomorrow – I didn’t want to risk ruining your birthday but—’
‘I think it’s too late for that,’ said Aunt Fiona in a measured voice.
‘Business studies – it’s not for me, never has been. I only agreed to it to please you and Dad, but day in day out, I just can’t hack it any longer.’
Dad moved forwards. ‘You’re swapping courses?’
I held Ash’s hand. ‘I’m going to train to become a tattoo artist.’
Even Uncle Jack frowned.
I explained about how I’d increased my hours in the clothes shop. How I’d secured the flat above Kismet Tattoos and could move in, in a couple of months. How I’d talked about the apprenticeship with Katya. I explained what a superb artist she was and how she’d introduced me to meditation and healing crystals. It was exciting – empowering – to realise that I’d taken control and sorted myself out a new career path and home. I was determined to prove my commitment to them and, in time, my professionalism.
‘You don’t need to worry, I’ve done the maths and will be able to pay my bills.’ I clasped my hands together. ‘I’m so excited, it’s always been about creativity for me. I’ve kept practising my drawing over the years. In fact, I met Ash at the art society.’
He nodded. ‘She’s far more talented than many of the people on my course.’
My parents, aunt and uncle listened in silence.
I explained how everything made sense once I’d had this, my first tattoo. I knew then exactly how I wanted to use all the artistic knowledge and skills I’d acquired over time. I told them how I should be good enough to do paid work in a couple of years and how much, potentially, I could earn. I described the equipment I’d need to buy eventually and what exactly I’d be doing for the first year in terms of helping to run the parlour and shadowing Katya and how the career possibilities were far-ranging. I could specialise in cosmetic or medical tattooing, or laser removal.
Summer Secrets at Streamside Cottage Page 11