by Isla Dewar
‘I find that hard to believe.’
‘Apparently the rent hadn’t been paid for some time. So he took it instead of the money.’
‘I suppose he took all the other stuff too,’ said George.
‘Probably.’ Anna didn’t want to mention the emptying of the flat.
‘I want to see it,’ said George. ‘Take me there.’
‘I need to say we’re coming. There won’t be anyone in at the moment.’
George fetched her phone from the kitchen unit and handed it to Anna. ‘Did she give you her number? Phone her. Tell her we’re coming.’
Anna took the number from her pocket and put it into the phone. Grace answered.
‘Hello,’ said Anna. ‘It’s me. I’m the woman who wanted to see your kitchen.’
‘And now your friend wants to see it?’ said Grace.
‘Yes.’
Grace sighed. ‘Okay. Let’s do it. Tonight? Seven o’clock?’
‘Excellent.’
They ended the call.
‘She’s Grace,’ Anna told George. ‘She’s your old landlord’s granddaughter. He left her the house on condition that she didn’t change the kitchen. She’ll let you see it tonight, seven o’clock.’
‘Is she annoyed?’
Anna shook her head. ‘She knew I’d get in touch.’
‘What’s it like? Is it the same as it was in the flat?’
‘I never saw it in the flat. But I think so. There’s an old horn gramophone. And a turntable. Lots of pictures. Cookery stuff. A coffee machine with a long handle.’
‘Yes,’ said George. ‘Yes. That’s it.’ She took up the phone. Got Matthew. ‘Anna has found the kitchen. We have to go see it.’
‘When?’ Anna could hear him clearly. There was wind in the background.
‘He’s playing golf,’ George told her.
‘When?’ Matthew asked again.
‘Tonight at seven o’clock.’
‘Sweetheart, that’s five hours away. I’ll be home about four. Plenty time.’
‘You will be here? I have to go. You won’t be late?’ George was nervous. ‘I can’t miss this.’
‘I’ll be there. There’s margarita ice cream in the freezer. Relax.’
‘Margarita ice cream,’ George said to Anna, as she ended the call. ‘I never knew there was such a thing.’ She swigged more wine. ‘We might get drunk.’
‘You seem a little agitated,’ said Anna. ‘A little light tipsiness might be in order.’
*
Matthew drove them to the kitchen house. ‘You’re not driving,’ he said to George. ‘State you’re in, all nerves and wine. You’d crash the car.’
They arrived outside the house at a quarter to seven, parked and sat staring at the gates.
‘I’ve got butterflies,’ said George. ‘I was really just a kid when I first saw this room. I’d gone home with Alistair and didn’t know what to expect. He showed me to his sofa, which was filthy to be honest. Then I needed a pee in the middle of the night, as you do. I found my way to the bathroom but couldn’t find my way back to the sofa. Which door? I didn’t know. I opened the wrong one. There it was. The kitchen. I was bedazzled, overwhelmed. I’d never seen anything like it. I’d intended to go back to my mum and dad next day but when I saw that kitchen I decided to stay. I wanted to be in there, to sit and eat at the table. I thought it would make me sophisticated.’
‘Did it?’ asked Matthew.
‘You know it didn’t. But there’s nothing like feeling sophisticated when you’re a kid. Drinking your first espresso with too much sugar in and thinking you’re Elizabeth Taylor.’
At seven exactly the three left the car and went to the front door of the house. Grace was waiting for them. She ushered them inside and pointed the way to George. She beetled ahead. ‘I want to see this alone.’
They heard a gasp as she walked through the door. ‘Oh my God.’ She reappeared in the hall. ‘It’s exactly as it was. I’ve got old and wrinkled but it’s as young as ever.’ She went back inside.
They waited twenty minutes, thinking they’d be summoned when George had recovered from her slap of nostalgia. But nothing happened. They stood, not even making small talk, waiting to be given the okay to join George. When it didn’t come, Anna peered round the kitchen door.
George was sitting at the table, hands neatly folded in her lap as she stared round at the room. ‘This is where I sat,’ she said. ‘Alistair was over there, facing me. We didn’t do an end each. That would’ve made us too far apart.’ She smiled. ‘Pasta, risotto, stir fries, curries, stews, tarts, all sorts of puddings I discovered at this table.’
She got up, walked to the wide area between the kitchen unit and the table. ‘We danced here. Charleston to old records on the horn gramophone, jived to Bobby Vee singles, waltzed to Tchaikovsky’s Nutcracker and “The Blue Danube”. We impersonated Bob Dylan and John and Yoko. We’d eat and sing and dance. And the coffee from that machine,’ she pointed to the Italian espresso machine, ‘was to die for. You don’t think that magic like this is going to happen to you when you’re a kid in the suburbs, living on egg and chips and beans on toast.’
Anna agreed.
‘And you don’t think it’s going to end,’ said George. ‘You just live and think nothing of it really.’ She returned to the table.
Matthew and Grace joined her.
‘The smell is missing,’ said George. ‘It used to smell of coffee or garlic and onions in here.’
‘I don’t cook,’ Grace told her.
Matthew took in the pictures. He smiled to note a drawing of Desperate Dan’s cow pie next to a painting of a bowl of cherries done in heavy oils. ‘I like it,’ he said. Then, ‘Where did he get the money?’
‘An inheritance from his grandmother.’
‘Is that what you lived on?’
‘Alistair had a job. He was a chef. He went off in the morning and came home again late afternoon.’
Matthew said, ‘Ah.’ He nodded. ‘So what did you do?’
‘I went back to school. And after I left, I cleaned and waited for him. I was young and not in love. I was besotted.’ She sighed. ‘Just words. They don’t describe the truth. I cleaned. The place was filthy when I arrived there. Except for this room, of course. I slaved. I scrubbed. I sweated. There was a lot of bleach involved. Being besotted makes you do absurd things.’ She turned to Anna. Her eyes brightly glazed, tears coming. ‘It’s most peculiar to sit here in the place where I was young. It is proof that all the things I thought happened did happen. It was the beginning of me, this room. Alistair was already the man he was destined to be – stubborn, funny, a perfectionist, and in love with me. This room stopped. I’ve moved on.’
She got up. Moved to behind the unit and stroked the Italian coffee machine, placed her hand on the horn gramophone, ran a finger down the pile of albums, remembering each one. ‘Classics all,’ she said. She looked at the copper pots hanging from the ceiling and at the row of books on the shelf beside an old manual coffee grinder. ‘There,’ she said. ‘I’ve touched my lost friends and told them all goodbye. Time to go.’
She kissed Grace on the cheek. ‘Thank you for letting me see this. It means a lot. I was once very happy in this room.’ She looked at Anna and Matthew. ‘C’mon, chaps. We’ll take Anna home.’
*
They parked outside Anna’s building. Matthew got out of the car to walk Anna to her door. ‘Because I’m a gent,’ he said.
George leaned out of the window. ‘Come by soon. Eat food that isn’t good for you. We’ll drink wine, play old songs and be happy.’
Anna waved and said it sounded like a plan.
Matthew took her arm. ‘There’s something odd about Alistair driving off like he did. Did he keep her away from people? Did he want her for himself?’
‘I think so,’ Anna said. ‘I think that after Lola came along, he knew she’d give him less attention. He knew he’d lose her. I think he wasn’t one to share.’
Matthew said, ‘Probably. You know, I am ashamed of how jealous of him I am. The times they had. The fierceness of their love. I want it to have been me.’
Anna said, ‘I’m jealous too. What a time she had. I wish it had been me.’
36
The Awkward Age
Anna went to the library, returned her books and took out two more. After that she shopped for food. These days her list included more than baking potatoes and tins of beans. She got goodies for Marlon – chocolate fingers, little oranges and tuna for his sandwiches. Today she also bought a remote control jeep for Marlon’s birthday on Saturday. This excited her, as did the hideous orange wrapping paper. She knew he’d love it. She thought one of the best things about being a child was you didn’t have to bother about good taste. You went for bright colours and gaudy design.
Shopping done, she went into Jessie’s café for a flat white and a Danish. She’d been coming here for years. Long before anyone knew what a flat white was. Back then, she just drank coffee. When Jessie had installed a huge industrial espresso machine behind her counter Anna had loved the place more than ever. It was the booths that had originally won her heart. She loved slipping into a high-backed wooden booth. It was so like being in a fifties American movie.
Sitting with her coffee in front of her, admiring the wrapped gift in her bag on the seat beside her, Anna felt a glow of belonging. She was so known here, she was brought her usual without having to order.
Someone slipped into the booth opposite her. She only looked up to see who it was when the person said, ‘Been shopping?’
Dorothy Pringle sat looking at her. She didn’t seem friendly. But then, she never did.
Dorothy Pringle, thought Anna, noticing that it was always ‘Dorothy Pringle’ and never just ‘Dorothy’, even though they’d been at school together. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Got a birthday present for a little boy I know.’
Dorothy nodded. ‘I saw you coming in here and thought it an opportunity for a chat.’ She looked at the counter and ordered tea.
Anna smiled and said, ‘Indeed it is.’
‘Where’s your pal?’
‘George? She’s at home. Well, I think she is. She’s often out doing good works. Taking people with mobility issues to hospital or the hairdresser or wherever.’
‘Atoning for her sins?’
Anna agreed. ‘Aren’t we all?’
‘You two were horrible to me for years. I was very hurt and upset.’
‘Yes, I know,’ said Anna. She shrugged. ‘We were kids.’
‘You lost me on a cycle run. You played tricks on me. You called me names.’
Anna nodded. ‘I know. We are very sorry. It was a long time ago.’
Dorothy Pringle’s tea arrived – a single small teapot, a cup and saucer and a small jug of milk. She thanked the waitress and returned to her theme. ‘I never fully recovered from the treatment, you know.’
Anna picked a piece from her pastry and ate it. ‘I know. But we were awfully young,’ she said.
And you were a complete stuck-up arse, she didn’t say.
‘I cycled mile after mile on my own in tears, and I was afraid. I thought I was lost and you two had just gone on without me. Or you’d turned back and hadn’t told me. Terrible thing to do. Then there were the names. People sniggered when I passed them in the corridor at school. You were horrible.’
‘I’m sorry,’ said Anna. She was sure the names and subsequent sniggering had nothing to do with her or George. Dorothy Pringle must have had other enemies.
‘Pokey Face,’ said Dorothy. ‘Pointy Nose. Really, really not nice.’
Anna agreed.
‘Of course, I blame George. She always led you astray.’
‘No.’ Anna shook her head. ‘We were buddies. We did everything together.’ She was bored now. Accusations always made her slip away inside herself. They had since she’d been a teenager blocking her mother’s tirades. Back then, she’d made things worse by yawning. She resisted the urge to do that now.
‘But you didn’t run away. You didn’t shack up with a man. You didn’t drive your parents insane with worry.’
‘Well, no. But George’s parents knew where she was.’
‘Yes, they knew. And they were paying that rogue she was with money to keep her fed and well.’
‘How do you know that?’
‘They told my parents. They were friends with them. I’m sure George didn’t know about her parents giving Alistair money. They had all the baby stuff waiting for her when she went home to them.’
Anna was shocked. ‘But she didn’t know about them giving Alistair money. She has never forgiven herself for what she did. Alistair adored her. And she suffered when he died.’
Dorothy took a sip of her tea. ‘He committed suicide.’
‘He crashed his car into a tree.’
‘He deliberately crashed his car into a tree. He killed himself. The police were after him for theft. He’d been shoplifting for years. He knew they’d arrest him and he’d get put in jail.’
Anna said, ‘Why doesn’t George know this?’
‘Her parents kept it from her. It was in the newspapers but they didn’t let her see them. There was mention of a woman living with him, but nobody knew it was her. And by the time the police got to their flat, it had been ransacked.’
Anna said, ‘He killed himself? He just drove into a tree?’
‘Yes. He couldn’t face what was coming.’
‘He wouldn’t have wanted George to know the truth. He was obsessed with her.’
Dorothy said, ‘Yes, she was always beautiful. But a bit silly.’
‘She became a very good and respected nurse. She brought up her children. She has a beautiful garden. She’s my friend.’
‘I know. And I saw the pair of you giving out balloons and cupcakes as celebrations.’
‘A favour for a friend.’ Anna played with her Danish. She’d gone off eating it. ‘You won’t tell her, will you?’
‘You don’t think she should know the truth?’
‘It was all a long time ago. Why upset her?’
Dorothy sighed. ‘She is at that awkward age.’
‘She’s a bit older than that. We all are.’
‘Nonsense.’ Dorothy finished her tea. ‘The first awkward age, the teenage thing, is only a short, blushing, difficult time. A rehearsal for the real awkward age when you’re this age – old. You forget people’s names. You walk into rooms and can’t think why you are there. You are stiff and groan when you get out of a chair. You pray you don’t run out of money before you die. You know who and what you are but can’t be proud because you remember all the mistakes you made and they keep slipping into your mind when you’re not expecting them. Sometimes you even cry out, “Oh God”.’
Anna continued playing with her Danish. Her coffee got cold. She’d married a gay man when he’d said he’d make her famous. Never mind love or companionship. Fame was the spur. Oh God. She’d died her pubic hair green. Oh God. She’d been thrown off a bus for loudly trying to perform one of her poems to the upper deck. Oh God. She’d sat in her freezing flat, wearing two jumpers, woolly hat and fingerless gloves, trying to write a poem about everything that was happening in the world at that moment – people paddling canoes up the Amazon, a woman in Ohio hanging out her washing, a couple making love in Glasgow, armies on the move at enemy borders, children in schools, buses crawling through traffic, ships being built. There had been too much to put in. She’d cried and thrown her pen across the room.
Where are you, little world?
Where I marched all day with my flag unfurled?
It had started. Then:
Where are you, little zoo?
Something something something that rhymed with zoo. She couldn’t remember. Oh God.
Meantime George had been shacking up with a rogue who shoplifted and hadn’t told her about her parents’ love and financial help. Oh God.
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘The awkward
age. I think it lasts a lifetime. I have to tell you, George and I never called you Pokey Face. But I will if you ever dare tell George about Alistair.’
37
Everybody Loves George
August gave way to September, evenings got darker, leaves turned gold then brown. Autumn slipped in. Soon the first frosts would come and Anna could wear thick jumpers, a woolly layer between her and the world. And still the book lay on her kitchen table. She didn’t know what to do with it. She had no intention of keeping it, yet she was reluctant to hand it over to George. Memories might be sweet or poignant, but they were also painful and the last entry could cause a lot of upset.
She phoned Lola and asked her to drop by one evening. ‘I’ve got something for you.’ She thought Lola would know what to do.
She knew when Lola’s convertible parked outside her building that her neighbours would be wondering who she was. She knew too that they would ask about her. ‘Who was that in the fancy car?’ Lola did not disappoint. She wore a perfect business suit – crisp black linen. Her shirt was indigo and pink floral, her shoes were fringed moccasins. She never was one to conform. She ran a small fashion business and had resisted offers to expand because she needed to stay in charge. She said she hated the thought of having to design and promote something she didn’t approve of.
She breezed into Anna’s kitchen. ‘So, what do you have for me?’
‘A book,’ Anna told her. ‘It’s a sort of memoir about your mother.’ She shoved it across the table.
Lola flicked it open. ‘This is full of recipes. My mother’s life is recorded in a cookbook?’
‘What better book? It’s spattered with ingredients, grease marks of the times she lived through. It has the food she ate and the music she loved. It has margin notes to die for. Your mother was to die for.’
‘I know. She was gorgeous, wasn’t she?’
Anna nodded.
Lola looked through the book. ‘She did an Irish jig in the High Street?’
‘Yes. Sometimes, in the middle of the night, different times – there was more than one jig. He, your father, went to one end, she went up to the Castle and they hurtled towards one another. When they met, they linked arms and whirled and whirled. You couldn’t do that now. Too many tourists.’