by Vivien Brown
‘True.’ She knew only too well how George saw things, which was why she’d not set eyes on him for so long. It was time to change the topic of conversation, before she let too much hurt rise back up to the surface. Crying in front of this kind stranger, who had more than enough pain of his own to deal with, would be unthinkable. ‘Now, where’s that cat? Let’s see if she wants to finish this last drop of milk, shall we?’ She emptied the contents of the milk jug into a bowl and laid it on the floor, carefully avoiding Tom’s gaze.
‘Well, I’d best be off.’ He took the hint quickly and looked at his watch. ‘I’ve taken up far too much of your time. It’s been good to chat. See you again perhaps, Madalyn, before you head off home?’
‘Yes, I hope so. And do call me Madi. Everyone does.’
‘I will. Thank you, Madi, for the tea and cake.’ He pulled the back door open, ready to go back the way he’d come, through the garden. ‘Ah, look, here comes Flo. And not a mouse in sight, you’ll be glad to hear.’
Madi sat quietly after he’d gone. She lifted Flo up onto her lap and enjoyed the warm weight of her as the little cat purred contentedly with her eyes closed and her paws gently padding up and down on the soft edges of Madi’s woolly cardigan.
Goodness, what was she thinking telling so much about herself to someone she had only just met? But then, he had been more than willing to talk about his own troubles, and in such a natural, uncomplicated way too. In fact, the way he had talked, it was hard to see them as troubles at all. Life had thrown a curve ball and he had learned how to adapt and deal with it. Perhaps she had been looking at things the wrong way all along. Nothing was going to change the past. She had been dealt a hand and it couldn’t be undealt. But she could certainly work out what to do about it from now on.
She waited until Flo had had enough pampering and had headed off up the stairs to leave yet more hairs all over the bed and retrieved her mobile from her handbag. She had resisted going anywhere near it all week, but perhaps it was time. If having cancer had made one thing clear to her it was that you never really knew how long you had left, that something could come along and hit you full pelt at any time. It was all too easy to put things off until tomorrow, but there might never be a tomorrow. And now the worst of it was behind her and her call could not be misinterpreted as a cry for help, it was time to start mending fences.
She scrolled down her contacts list. Casting agents, theatre offices, fellow actors, doctors, George … Her thumb hovered over his name.
Home number? Of course, he might have moved house since his split with Jessica. They could have decided to sell up, and he could be living alone in some little bedsit or hotel room by now. Or even with another woman, but knowing her son as she did, that didn’t seem likely. Still, Madi realised with a jolt of guilt, maybe she didn’t know him that well at all any more. How had she let things come to this?
Mobile number? He probably wouldn’t have changed that, unless he wanted to stop his wife – or his mother – from calling. Maybe blocked her somehow. It all came down to how badly he wanted to avoid her, and how willing he might be to leave the door open and see if she made any effort to come through it. Only one way to find out.
As it was the weekend there was no reason to think she might be disturbing him at work. After a childhood like his, he had told her on the day he got married ten years ago that he knew only too well the importance of drawing a line between work and family, of taking proper days off when his marriage and his home life would take precedence, and work was nothing but a dirty word. She had thought him arrogant at the time he’d said it. Unrealistically romantic. As if he was merely trying to make a point, and at her expense, but maybe he had been right all along. Whatever had gone wrong between George and Jessica – and she had a fair idea what that was – it would not have happened because of any want of trying on his part.
It threw her when the answerphone message kicked in. ‘Hello, this is George Cardew. I am not available right now. Please leave your name and number.’
She didn’t, of course. That was not the way she wanted to make contact again after so long. Not with an impersonal message that he might decide not to respond to. She sat, nursing the phone after she had hastily rung off, just staring ahead of her into space. She would try again, of course. Another day, another time. And he would see her name in his missed calls, so there was always the chance he might call her back. In the meantime, however, it had been lovely – no, better than lovely – just to hear his voice.
Chapter 12
PRUE
After a whole week of mooching around alone, eating too many takeaways and feeling mildly sorry for herself, Prue made up her mind: it had to stop. What a shame it would be to go home after a month in London having achieved nothing but wandering aimlessly about and gazing at a few sights she had already seen a hundred times on TV. So what if she had nobody to talk to, nobody to go out drinking with, no structure to her days? All of that belonged to her normal, everyday life. It was what she had wanted to run from, to test the waters away from Shelling for once, away from the slog of nine to five and the safe haven of familiarity and routine, and most definitely away from Joe Barton. She needed to make the most of the remainder of her time in London. She had had such grand ideas about all the things she could do …
When she opened the door on Monday morning, Aaron was loitering on the landing, one arm raised as if he was about to knock, and his phone, for once, nowhere to be seen. ‘Oh, hi,’ he said, a bit awkwardly. ‘I didn’t know if you were in. It’s my day off – night off, whatever, so I don’t need to sleep all day – and I was wondering if … well, if you were thinking of going out with your camera anywhere today.’
‘I was, yes. Down towards the river somewhere, maybe. Why?’ She hesitated, not quite sure where the conversation was going. ‘Did you want to come?’
‘If you don’t mind.’ He seemed suddenly more animated than she had seen him before. ‘Not if you’d rather not. I mean, we hardly know each other, so I’d understand if you’d prefer to be on your own. But I’m quite interested. In photography. Well, all art really. And I might be able to help in some way. As a local, I mean. Knowing the best places to go, depending on what it is you want to see …’
‘Okay.’
‘Okay? You mean I can?’
‘Don’t see why not. To be honest, I don’t know anyone else here and it might be nice to have some company. Give me half an hour though, eh? I was just popping out for some supplies. Meet back here at ten?’
‘Cool. And thanks. Want me to bring anything?’
‘Not that I can think of. Your lunch maybe? It’s what I’ll be doing. I’m watching the pennies a bit and it’s cheaper than having to eat out somewhere.’
‘Like a packed lunch, you mean? I’ve not had one of them since school!’
She laughed. ‘Well, it doesn’t have to be in a Thomas the Tank plastic box, but just a sandwich and an apple or something? And a bottle of water, or a flask.’
‘Right. I’ll get onto it. See you later.’ And he was off, bounding back down the stairs like an over-eager puppy.
She followed him down, at a slower pace, and walked to the shop where she quickly bought some bread, cheese, bananas and a couple of bottles of juice. She stopped to check Madi’s post tray in the hall on her way back. Nothing today. By the time she had rustled up a cheese and pickle sandwich and packed a few things in her rucksack, it was still only ten to ten. She didn’t want to have to do it but she’d promised Sian, so she switched her phone on and sent a proper text to her mum. She knew she should call, but texting was just so much easier, with no chance of being interrogated or pressure being applied to make her go back.
Am in London. Swapped homes with Madi. Promise to be back in three weeks. Don’t worry about me. All is fine. And please don’t pester Madi for the address. She has been sworn to secrecy! Love you x
That would have to do. She didn’t want to be too accessible, but now, if some disaster did
happen to strike, she was at least traceable. That text had put her mind at rest, and hopefully would do the same for her mum. She wondered, not for the first time, if this level of anxiety was one of those inherited things, if worrying about some ludicrous scenario that might never happen, instead of dealing with the here and now and just enjoying life, was something her mum had passed on to her through her genes. No, it was highly unlikely that she was about to end up unconscious on the bathroom floor, but if she did, there was a chance now of being saved. Eventually. Because if she wasn’t calling home regularly, how was anyone meant to know when to worry enough to raise the alarm? She gave herself a mental slap. God, she’d be checking she had her best knickers on next, just in case she got run over!
Before her thoughts could take her any further down that route, Aaron was back at the door, and the two of them set off down the road towards the tube.
‘Thanks again for this,’ he said.
‘That’s okay.’
‘I hope you don’t think I’m some kind of stalker. It’s just …’
‘Aaron, it’s okay. Honestly. If you’re keen on learning about photography, I’m more than happy to have you tag along. You can take a turn with Camilla yourself later if you’d like.’
‘Camilla?’
Prue laughed. ‘Sorry. My camera. I’ve always named them. They spend so much time out and about with me, I’ve always thought they deserved names of their own. My first was an old Box Brownie that used to belong to my grandad. I was about six and I called it Brownie, of course. No real imagination in those days. But Camilla’s my biggest and my best. Where I go, she goes. So, where will that be today? You’re the local interest expert. Take us somewhere I might not have found for myself. By the river, but off the obvious tourist route. But pretty, just the same.’
‘You don’t ask for much, do you?’ he joked. ‘But for you, and Camilla here, I’ll put my thinking cap on.’
They ended up at Strand-on-the-Green, tucked away under Kew Bridge, strolling along the footpath beside the Thames, the sun shining on the water. Every few paces Aaron had to stop and shorten his stride so she could keep up.
‘Wow. Beautiful houses.’ Prue gazed up in awe. ‘I wonder what these cost?’
‘If you need to ask you probably can’t afford them.’
‘And look at that little island over there!’
‘Something to do with Cromwell, I think, hiding out there in the Civil War. My dad told me about that. He used to bring me here, on our Sundays. You know, the classic divorced parents thing. A burger, a film, feed the ducks or visit a park somewhere before being deposited back at Mum’s like a parcel. This was one of my favourites. There’s something calming about the river, isn’t there? And sort of constant, when everything else around you is changing.’
‘You’re quite a thinker, aren’t you?’
‘Not really. Thick as shit actually, which is why I work nights stacking shelves.’
‘I’m sure that’s not true. The thick bit, I mean. You shouldn’t put yourself down, you know, or you’ll find other people will too. You just need a bit of confidence in yourself.’ That was a joke, coming from her. Miss Underconfident herself! If only she knew how to take her own advice.
They stopped for a while, Prue pointing her camera at a lone bird floating by, adjusting the lens to bring it into focus. ‘You didn’t want to go to uni?’
‘Never an option. Mum needs me working, to help out with the bills, and the thought of running up all that student debt worried the hell out of her. And me. I wasn’t good enough at anything anyway. Bit of this, bit of that. I liked history, wasn’t bad at art, could manage basic maths and a few words of French, but I didn’t shine at any one thing, and average grades don’t count for much.’
‘How old are you?’
‘Nineteen. You?’
‘Twenty-four, although sometimes I feel more like fifty! Like I’m stuck in a rut I’ll probably chug along in until the day I retire. I do enjoy my job and I was lucky enough to inherit a little house, but the downside is that it ties me to the village I was born in. I really have nothing to complain about, but I sometimes feel like I haven’t achieved anything, struck out and done anything for myself yet, you know?’
‘Ah, but you said yet, so there’s still hope that you might!’
‘I suppose so. In theory, anyway.’
‘So, you didn’t go to uni either?’
She shook her head. ‘No excuses really. Mum and Dad would have supported me, and I did get the grades. But the thought of leaving home, leaving … well, the people I cared about. My gran wasn’t well and I wanted to be there for her. And I knew that when she passed away I wouldn’t have to worry about saving up for a home or trying to get a mortgage, and there was a perfectly good job already lined up and waiting for me …’
‘Sounds so easy. I wish someone would just give me a house and a decent job.’
‘Oh, God, I must sound so up myself. I know there are people worse off than me. Much worse off. And I’m sorry about the divorce, having to split yourself between two parents like that. Mine are stuck together like glue, rock solid, to the point of turning to stone. The classic happy family, although they stopped after having me and never made the regulation 2.4 children. Still, I know I should be grateful. I’d just like the chance to get out and spread my wings a bit now, that’s all.’
As she said the words, a swan opened its massive white wings wide and skittered across the water, and they both laughed.
‘There you are. If he can do it, so can you!’ Aaron lowered himself onto a patch of grass and reached for the camera. ‘Can I?’
‘Yeah, sure.’ She unhooked the strap from around her neck and handed him the camera, watching him balance it on his knees. ‘Do you know how …?’
‘Show me.’
Heads close together, Prue sat beside him and spent a few minutes explaining the workings of the camera and twisting at the lens, showing him how best to frame the shot and capture the right light.
‘You’re good at this, aren’t you?’ he said. ‘Show me some of your pictures.’
She scrolled through some of her recent shots, bringing them up on the screen for him to see.
‘I like this one. And I really love this …’
‘Thanks.’ Did he mean it or was he just being kind? She pulled away from him, suddenly feeling awkward at their closeness. ‘Ready to have a go now?’
‘Yeah, okay. Probably be rubbish though.’
‘There you go, putting yourself down again.’
‘Sorry.’ He swung the strap over his head and lifted the camera to his eye. ‘Oh, great. A boat!’
‘Take your time, Aaron. Look for the right shot. Nobody’s interested in just another photo of a boat. Try to find something different, a unique angle. The way it moves through the water. Its name on the side. That man at the back, trying to hang onto his hat …’
‘You know what I’d really like to do?’ he said, after he’d taken twenty or so shots and declared himself disappointed with them all. ‘Come back when it’s dark. Oh, not right here necessarily, but just by the water somewhere. Can we?’
‘Together? In the evening?’
‘I don’t mean like go on a date.’ He looked embarrassed. ‘Unless you fancy it, that is.’
‘Aaron, I like you, of course I do, but …’
‘Yeah, yeah. I know. Age difference, and all that. Don’t worry. It was just a thought. No, I meant to take pictures really. See how the river looks with all the lights reflected in it, the boats moored up, what the birds are getting up to when there are no boats going by and disturbing them …’
‘Nice idea. Black and white can work really well if it’s reflections you’re after. Adds a sort of moodiness.’
‘Yeah, that sounds cool. Moodiness! I like that. So, can we?’
‘I suppose we could. I haven’t actually seen London at night yet. Wasn’t sure how safe I’d be, on my own.’ Prue pulled one of her drink bottles from her r
ucksack and twisted at the lid.
‘No need to be worried about that if I’m there.’
‘Okay.’
‘Cool.’ He pulled out his own water bottle and took a swig. ‘Could I take some of you?’ he asked, the camera still in his hands.
‘Me?’
‘Yeah, why not? I like pictures of people, don’t you?’
‘I do, yes, but I’m no model.’
‘So? It doesn’t have to be like a fashion shoot. It’s art, isn’t it? And we’re looking for something different. The right angle, the right light …’
‘You’ve got me there!’
‘Proves I’ve been listening. So, can I? Take some of you? Just sitting, looking at the river? You can always delete them if they’re crap.’
‘Only if I can take some of you too.’
‘Fair enough.’
They took turns posing and photographing each other, moving along the path and then back up onto the bridge, to find new locations, new backdrops, until Prue declared it must be time for lunch and they went in search of a bench.
‘So, why are you here?’ Aaron took a big bite of his doorstop sandwich and carried on talking through it, crumbs falling straight at the feet of a waiting duck. ‘Why come to London, and what’s the connection with the actress?’
‘Escape. The same thing I think she was after too, so we agreed to swap for a while.’
‘Swap what? Lives?’
‘Well, homes. I’m not sure actually swapping lives would have worked. I can’t act for toffee and I don’t suppose she’d really be up for photographing prize marrows!’
‘Your job’s really that exciting, is it?’
‘Well, there’s the occasional parsnip.’
Aaron smiled. ‘You’re funny, you know. As well as pretty.’
Prue felt her cheeks turn pink.
‘No boyfriend back at home, pining for you?’
‘Not any more.’
‘I sense a story there.’
‘One for another time maybe.’ She pulled her coat collar up, aware of the sudden turn in the weather. ‘Look at those clouds. I think it’s going to rain.’