by Imogen Clark
‘Under no circumstances,’ Grace continued, ‘under no circumstances whatsoever must you ever, ever . . .’ She wasn’t sure how much longer she could keep this up. She concentrated on maintaining her serious expression. ‘Hang a pair of fluffy dice from the mirror.’
Relief washed over Charles’s face. ‘I solemnly swear that I will attach no dice, gonks or other fluffy items to any part of any of the cars,’ he recited with his hand over his heart.
10
LEAH – NOW
I leant down and stroked Poppy’s golden hair. My beautiful girl, so feisty and determined when she was awake, looked little more than a baby when she was asleep. Her face lost all those angular, sarcastic expressions of a teenager and became entirely soft and smooth.
There had been an issue at school that day and Poppy had been in trouble, which didn’t often happen. I’d expected the usual teenage dramas, but it turned out that she had been in an actual fight with another girl, Cindy Waters. Just her name was enough to send shivers down my spine. Her mother, Stacey, had made my life hell when we’d been at school together, and now it seemed that history was repeating itself. It was yet another downside to living in the place where you grew up. You couldn’t start again no matter how hard you tried.
Of course, I’d made Poppy apologise even though I was certain it would have been the Waters girl who started it, and it was all smoothed over. But now as I stroked Poppy’s hair, the thought of Stacey Waters made my scalp prickle.
I planted a kiss on Poppy’s forehead and turned off the bedside light. Then I pulled her bedroom door ajar and headed downstairs to the empty lounge.
Sometimes it was hard, being single. Evenings were the worst. During the day, I kept busy, running at life so fast that there just wasn’t time to feel lonely. And I really wasn’t that lonely because I had the kids and they were great company. But once I locked our front door at night and the children were tucked up in bed, that was when I really missed having someone there to be with.
You’d have thought I’d have got used to it. Apart from a few haphazard relationships, none of which had turned out particularly well, I’d been on my own since Mum died. At just eighteen I’d had the responsibility of being a fully functioning grown-up thrust on me. I was totally overlooked by the state as I floundered about in my grief. I didn’t feature on anybody’s list because technically I wasn’t at risk, although practically, of course, I was like a tiny baby turtle swimming in the wide-open ocean. I’d effectively been orphaned almost overnight with Dad disappearing less than two weeks before Mum died. But how did that make me worthy of attention? Parents leaving happened to children every day of the week.
Plus, I’d not been left homeless. The house just came to me and there was no one there to say otherwise, so Social Services didn’t even need to rehouse me. I was of no concern to anyone and so no one took any notice of me. It was just Leah Allen against the world. And usually I had the upper hand. Having said that, ‘feisty and independent’ were all very well, but sometimes I longed for a bit of ‘protected and cherished’ instead.
The television was on downstairs. It was always on when I was awake and, for a while before the children were born, when I was asleep as well. I liked the soundtrack that it provided to my life. It didn’t matter that the voices didn’t belong to actual people in the house with me. It was just comforting hearing them. Without them, the tiny space felt too quiet.
Having pottered about picking up the kids’ belongings and dropping them at the bottom of the stairs for them to ignore the next day, I settled myself down on the sofa and turned my attention to the screen. I flicked through the channels and stopped on a reality show about a sink estate in Birmingham, but I didn’t really engage.
Instead I picked up my phone and scrolled through my Facebook timeline. It was full of people I knew from school either complaining or drinking or both. I wasn’t sure why I wasted my time with them. I loved to follow strangers, though, who travelled the world experiencing the things that I might have done had things worked out differently. I’d sit on my little sofa absorbing their photos of distant and exotic places like a flower soaks up sunlight. It was my secret pleasure.
From amongst the drudgery of my schoolfriends’ lives, a cobalt-blue sky caught my attention. Which of my ‘friends’ could afford a holiday abroad? I wondered. But it wasn’t any of them – it was Clio, caught as she laughed at something happening behind the person with the camera. I zoomed in on the picture. It was taken at a restaurant set high in a cliff face, the turquoise sea glistening below – Menorca, maybe, not that I’d been, but I’d pored over enough pictures to hazard a guess. Clio was wearing white, and with her expensive haircut and her healthy tan looked like she should be in a shampoo ad. For all her beautiful surroundings, though, did Clio look happy? I thought not. There was a sadness in her eyes, and her smile felt only half-formed.
Me and Clio had clicked, I knew. My gut told me that, even though it felt a bit presumptuous. I mean, we’d definitely got along, but there was more to it than that – a shared sense of . . . what? I couldn’t put my finger on it, but whatever it was, it was definitely there.
Oh, what the hell . . . I found the messenger app and typed a message.
Hi Clio. I was wondering if you’d like to meet up some time. Leah x
Then I pressed ‘Send’. As I watched the message disappear, I felt a lurch of regret. What if I’d read the situation totally wrong, if I’d just got a bit carried away by Clio’s talk of the places she’d been to? She was probably just biding her time until she could discreetly unfriend me from Facebook and sever the unfortunate connection forever.
Then my phone beeped.
Hi! That would be amazing! When works for you?
Everything inside me smiled. I knew I was right. There was something, a chemical fizz or whatever it was. The two of us had got a shared . . . thing.
This weekend? I typed back optimistically, but I was already thinking that there was no way that Clio’s hectic social life would accommodate such an impromptu appointment.
How about Sunday? came the instant reply. I know your Saturdays are busy ;) Why not come here? Bring Poppy and Noah.
Go there? Wow! That was unexpected, but I wasn’t about to turn down the chance to see Clio’s amazing house for myself.
Great. Where’s the nearest station?
There wasn’t much spare cash for random travel, but I had a family railcard bought with supermarket coupons and Noah still travelled for free.
Morpeth. I’ll send Marlon to pick you up. Let me know what time your train gets in. Shall we say around twelve and then you can come for lunch?
Oh my God. I couldn’t believe it. One little message and now I had a day trip to see how the other half lived and food on top. Then, feeling suddenly suspicious of my good fortune, I wondered if I was being taken for a ride; but all my instincts were telling me that Clio was as excited about this as I was.
Great. I’ll check the times and get back to you. L.
Can’t wait xxx came the swift reply.
As I looked up the train timetables, all my nerve endings were buzzing. This was the start of something new and exciting. I just knew it.
11
LEAH – NOW
‘Where are we going, Mummy?’ Noah asked me for what felt like the twentieth time as the three of us marched along the pavement towards the Metro station. Poppy took over the explanation and I felt immensely grateful to her. Sometimes the endless questioning of a four-year-old could drive you to the brink of insanity.
‘We’re going to see that nice lady who came to the house before – Clio. Do you remember?’ asked Poppy, as if it was the very first time anyone had mentioned Clio that morning.
‘The lady who liked my SpongeBob book?’
‘Yes. The lady who liked your SpongeBob book,’ Poppy confirmed, and Noah nodded sagely.
‘And why are we going to her house?’ he asked again.
Poppy turned her attention
from her brother to me and repeated the question. ‘Why are we going, Mum? Isn’t it a bit, like, weird?’
It was a bit weird, I thought.
‘It’s not weird at all,’ I said sharply. ‘She invited us because she likes us and I said yes because I like her. End of.’
Poppy looked at me sceptically. ‘It is weird, Mum,’ she said.
I shrugged. ‘Well, maybe just a bit, but Clio’s really nice and she’s invited us to her posh house for lunch, so let’s not look a gift horse in the mouth.’
‘Will there be horses?’ asked Noah, his eyes wide as he bounced up and down next to me.
‘No,’ I sighed. ‘It’s just an expression, Nono.’
‘And has she got kids and stuff?’ Poppy asked, her tone dubious. She had reached the age where being made to socialise with strangers was anathema to her.
‘No. No kids. Just Clio. And her mum lives there and maybe her brother. I’m not sure.’
‘But why talk about horses if there aren’t any? That’s silly.’
‘Yes. Sorry, Nono.’
‘Isn’t she a bit old to be living with her mum?’ Poppy asked, and I felt my heart ache at the idea that she was already contemplating a time when she didn’t live at home.
‘I don’t think her house is like ours. I get the impression that they have plenty of space. Anyway, we’ll see soon enough. And I don’t have to say that I need you two to be on your best behaviour,’ I added. ‘I want to be super-proud of you both.’
Poppy shoulder-barged me playfully. ‘You’re always proud of us. We are perfect children,’ she said, although I saw her blush as she remembered that she had just been in a fight.
The journey went smoothly enough. Noah kneeled up on the seat despite my protestations, and pointed out anything of interest as it flew past the window. His stream of questions was endless and I caught myself looking around the carriage to see if anyone else had noticed my bright-as-a-button four-year-old. Poppy and I fielded his queries between us, but I’d had enough by the time the train pulled into Morpeth station.
The station was small and chocolate-box pretty. It made me think that I really should make time to get out of town more often. There was me, desperate to travel and see the world, and I didn’t even make the effort to explore what was right on my doorstep. I didn’t like to unpack that too far, mind you, for fear of what I might discover about myself.
‘Now what?’ asked Poppy as we got down from the train, the last to leave the carriage after I’d checked and double-checked that nothing had been left behind.
Hadn’t Clio said that she’d get that Marlon to pick us up? I hadn’t really thought about it when the plan was made because I was so excited, but now it all felt a little bit Brideshead Revisited. I was half-expecting this Marlon bloke to turn up in a flat cap and tweed knickerbockers.
‘Someone’s picking us up,’ I said to Poppy. ‘No idea what he looks like, though,’ I added as I took Noah’s hand and encouraged him to walk in a straight line next to me – no mean feat, I can tell you. Having a four-year-old boy is a lot like training a puppy.
As we made our way through the automatic ticket barriers, Noah endlessly fascinated by where his ticket had disappeared to, I felt Poppy nudging me. She nodded towards the station entrance. A man around my age was waiting there. He had a tumble of carroty curls and his face was so freckly that it was hard to see what colour his skin truly was, although it appeared to be almost translucent. He was wearing Cargo shorts and a shapeless yellow T-shirt that clashed violently with his hair. In his hands was a sign hastily fashioned from a cardboard box with LEAH written across it in bold capitals. He was grinning broadly at us and when I caught his eye he raised one eyebrow and pointed at the sign.
Oh, for God’s sake. This was Morpeth station, not JFK, and there was virtually no one else around. I could feel Poppy shrinking in embarrassment but there was nothing I could do about it. I was going to have to acknowledge him and endure the journey as best I could.
‘Hi,’ I said, trying to sound cheerful. ‘Marlon?’
‘At your service,’ he replied, folding his sign in half and then in half again. ‘Hope you don’t mind the sign. I couldn’t resist and I thought the little man might think it was funny.’
‘He can’t read,’ said Poppy dismissively.
‘Oh,’ said Marlon, scratching his chin with a grubby hand. ‘I didn’t think of that.’ He looked genuinely dismayed and I felt myself warming to him.
‘Thanks for coming to pick us up,’ I said, trying to make up for Poppy’s rudeness. ‘We’re very grateful.’
‘No worries,’ he rallied, perking up a little. ‘It’s nice to get off the estate. I’ve been mowing all morning and I’m starting to see stripes before my eyes.’ Another grin. He was mercilessly cheerful, but I was pretty sure that the word ‘estate’ didn’t mean the same to him as it did to me.
‘The car’s this way,’ he added, signalling towards the car park and then following us out.
I had visions of a Rolls Royce at the very least, so I was a bit disappointed when it turned out to be a perfectly normal Volvo with a pair of wellingtons and a couple of spades in the boot.
‘Here we are,’ he said, flicking open the central locking.
The kids dived for the back doors, Noah’s little bottom sliding across the leather seat as if it were ice. It occurred to me that I should probably have a booster seat for him, but not having a car I didn’t own one. Perhaps it wouldn’t be that far to the house. I wanted to scoot in next to the children but that would probably look odd, so I opened the passenger door and got into the front seat. Marlon started the engine and pulled the car out of the car park.
‘Is it far?’ I asked, thinking of the need for small talk and the lack of a booster seat.
‘About twenty minutes,’ he replied, and my heart sank. What could we talk about? Was it rude to ask him how long he’d worked for the family? What about his private life? No, that was way too personal. Still, he seemed pretty easy-going in a quirky kind of way. I supposed I could think of worse people to be forced to spend twenty minutes with.
‘So,’ he said, cutting across my thoughts. ‘You lot live in Whitley Bay? That’s so cool. I love the sea. Do you know what my favourite thing about the sea is?’
From the tone of his voice it was obvious that he was addressing Noah, so I relaxed a bit. Noah would have this covered.
‘No,’ said Noah, shuffling forward in his seat as far as the seatbelt would let him. ‘What is it?’
‘Wave jumping,’ said Marlon. ‘It’s the best!’
The conversation continued, becoming increasingly animated as Marlon and Noah’s enthusiasm for all things seaside grew. I sat and watched the countryside roll by. On one roundabout I noticed a brown road sign: ‘Hartsford Hall 1 Mile’. Bloody hell. They even had their own road signs! Then Marlon was turning the car between two huge stone gateposts. A wooden sign announced us welcome and gave a list of opening times for the house and gardens. My God, it really was a stately home.
We continued along the drive, forking right as the main route forked left. The road cut through a huge expanse of grass, punctuated from time to time by enormous trees. Were they oaks? I had no idea, but it felt like they should be in such a grand setting. We dropped down from the brow of a slight hill and then there was the house. Well, it was more of a mansion. I had never seen anything like it and looking at it now made me feel slightly sick.
Then I had a bit of a rethink. I must have got the wrong end of the stick. Clio probably lived in one of the houses in the grounds. There were always loads of them at places like this, weren’t there? Convincing myself that this was right and so feeling slightly less panicky, I looked at the house again. It was incredibly grand, built in pale, peach-coloured bricks over three floors. With its tall chimneys and triangular gables it looked a lot like a giant dolls’ house. It made me think of The Great Gatsby that we’d read at school. Ivy crept up the walls, reaching higher than the ground-f
loor windows, which were massive. In fact, the windows were more like doors. To either side of the main house there was a lower part, just two storeys high. I supposed they must be the ‘wings’ that Clio had talked about.
My stomach clenched again. There was no getting away from it. Clio lived in this incredible place. What the hell was I doing here? Talk about a fish out of water. I tried to slow my heart down by breathing steadily through my open mouth. I’d got this. I was an invited guest, I got on well with Clio, so where she lived was totally immaterial – well, almost.
‘Mummy! Mummy! Look!’
I snapped out of my panic. Noah was bouncing up and down in his seat. I followed his pointing finger. There were peacocks on the lawn. Actual peacocks. Oh my God. What had I got us into?
12
LEAH – NOW
Marlon pulled the car around and we came to a stop right outside the huge front door, the gravel crunching under the tyres. Poppy let out a low whistle and then, seeming to remember that Marlon was in the car with us, blushed furiously. I gave her a shrug that I hoped said, ‘So what if Clio lives in a mansion? It’s just a house, right? No need to come over all star-struck,’ or whatever it was that you did with houses.
‘Mummy, where does the nice lady live?’ asked Noah.
I ignored him, not really sure of the answer, nor why we had parked right outside the door of the main house, and not wanting to look foolish in front of Marlon. I was saved from having to answer because the huge front door of the Hall was flung open and out burst Clio followed by an arthritic-looking black Labrador and a far more sprightly West Highland terrier scampering around her feet. She skipped down the wide stone steps towards us.
‘There she is!’ said Noah, pointing with such excitement that Poppy had to take hold of his fingers and lower them gently to his lap.
Oh dear God, I thought again. This was such a terrible idea. What on earth had I been thinking? I’d only met the woman once and that for barely an hour, and on the basis of some ludicrous idea of kindred spirits I had dragged the children here and was going to have to battle my way through an entire afternoon. I felt a lot like Eliza Doolittle. Would I suddenly be talking all posh by the end of the day – the rain in Spain and all that?