*
9.50. Daniel arrived. He looked as agitated as I felt.
10.00. Coffee. The air was charged and the atmosphere thick with desire and anticipation.
10.15. Bed. With Daniel. I know. I am a slut.
10.30. Wow. I really am a slut. Daniel’s pretty filthy too.
10.40. I remember this.
10.45. Oo, don’t remember that. Let’s do that again.
11.00. Slight cramp in the left buttock. I don’t care.
11.05. If we were in a movie, this would be the ‘Have a cigarette whilst we lie in each other’s arms moment.’ But neither of us smoked. ‘I knew it would be good with you,’ he said as he brushed a strand of hair behind my ear.
11.10. ‘Should we get up?’ I asked as I glanced at the clock by the bed.
The look in Daniel’s eyes told me otherwise.
11.20. Round two. Slower. Both of us with eyes open, drinking each other in. Nice. Very nice.
Monday 14 December, afternoon
Daniel gone. Bit sore. Knees weak. Thigh muscles shaky from major workout – OK, three major workouts. Heart full. High as a kite.
17
Dee
Monday 4 January
A letter came in the morning post.
Dear Ms McDonald,
I am writing about rather a delicate matter.
As you know, the house at Summer Lane is now on the market for sale. I have discussed this with Michael and we are both aware that it can take months to sell a property. The housing market probably won’t pick up until spring and then, even if we do get a buyer, it may take months to exchange and complete. Sales can fall through due to chains, people unable to get a mortgage and so on. There are no guarantees.
Due to this fact, my brother and I both feel that we have no choice but to raise the rent to reflect the current market. My mother was indeed very happy to have you as a tenant and caretaker of her home for the years that she was alive and insisted that your rent stayed the same for that period. However, we now feel that, as it may be months before we secure a buyer and a sale, that we must update the arrangement regarding your monthly payments.
I hope that, having lived there for many years at such a reduced rate, you will feel that this is a reasonable request. I did suggest this to my brother soon after my mother’s passing, but he persuaded me to leave things as they were for a while, partly because we initially thought you might have been able to purchase the house for yourself and partly because we know that our mother valued you as a tenant despite the almost negligible income from the low rent.
As the possibility of you buying No. 3, Summer Lane is no longer feasible in the near future, we feel that it is only fair that we make these changes and hope that you will understand our dilemma and that we are not running a charity.
I have spoken with Mr Bentley from Chatham and Reeves and they have advised us that the current rate for a property of that size, in that location, would be around nine hundred pounds per calendar month – perhaps even more in the holiday season. We appreciate that you are a long-term tenant so would be willing to let you have it for seven hundred and fifty per month until we secure a buyer. I am sure you will agree that this is still good value.
Under these circumstances, we will understand if you choose to vacate and find other premises. If this is to be the case and you wish to give notice, we would appreciate if you could let us know of your decision as soon as possible,
Regards,
William Harris
And a Happy New Year to me, I thought, and put my coat on over my pyjamas and headed straight over to Anna’s.
She hadn’t got dressed either, but let me in and put the kettle on.
‘Call Rose or Fleur,’ she said after reading the letter. ‘They both said they’d help.’
I groaned. ‘That’s the last thing I want to do. It would confirm to Rose everything she thinks about me – that I live with my head in the clouds, out of touch with reality, and can’t cope on an everyday level. I know I was lucky with Mrs Harris for all those years. She was a gift from the gods and I can’t really blame William Harris or Michael. As William said, they’re not running a charity. And neither are my sisters. I don’t want to go running to them. I’m forty-nine. It’s pathetic. God, what must Michael and William think? They must feel that I took advantage of an old lady.’
‘Of course they don’t,’ said Anna.
‘There was a time when I was earning more and I offered Mrs Harris more rent, almost double, I did, but she refused, insisting she was happy for me to be there, that the house was looked after and loved and that was what mattered to her more than anything.’
‘Dee, you don’t have to defend yourself to me. I know what the arrangement was. You didn’t take advantage but you were very lucky to have had someone like that as a landlady. In this day and age especially, when everyone’s out to make money from their property, she was rare.’
‘They must feel like I was her charity case. Did you read that in the letter? “We are not running a charity.” God, I feel terrible.’
‘Well don’t. You know the truth. What does it matter what they think? It was a blessing to have met Mrs Harris, but the arrangement suited her too. Don’t forget that. And now that’s changed and you must adapt. That’s life. It throws change at us. What about Daniel? Could he help?’
‘No! God no. I don’t want to present myself as a loser to him either. It’s still such early days with us.’
‘The possibility of losing your home doesn’t make you a loser,’ said Anna. ‘Don’t be so down on yourself. Things like this happen all the time to all sorts of people. Life has just dealt you a blow, that’s all. We’ll get through this.’
I loved the way she said ‘we’. She was a good friend.
‘What about the advice Rose gave you? Remember? About looking into your rights. That would show the Harris boys, if you came back fighting.’
‘You’re right, I’ll do that straight away. With Christmas, then New Year and … seeing Daniel, I haven’t followed it up yet. But I will.’
‘Let me know what I can do to help,’ said Anna. She stood up and began to sing, ‘We shall not, we shall not be moved.’
The sight of her singing away in her nightie and slippers made me laugh. She always knew how to cheer me up.
*
Later that day, one of Mum’s texts arrived. ‘Learn to walk, or better still, dance on shifting sands.’
Once again, the message was spookily appropriate.
*
I spent the afternoon on my computer and the phone to an advisor at the council. I found some enlightening websites and the advisor was more than helpful.
In the evening, I sat down with Anna to reply to William Harris.
When we’d finished, she read it out to me.
‘Dear Mr Harris,
Thank you for your letter of 4 January.
I read your proposal with interest, as I am sure you will read my response. Perhaps you and your brother are unaware of the rights of an assured tenant.
It applies if:
• You moved into a privately rented home between 1989 and 1997. I moved into No. 3, Summer Lane in 1991.
• You paid rent to a private landlord.
• Your landlord does not live in the same house.
Other facts you may be interested to read are:
• As an assured tenant, you can challenge rent increases. (I shall look into this further, but for the time being I can inform you that I will not be paying the amount that you suggested.)
• You can get certain repairs done. (In all the time I have lived here, I never contacted your mother once to do repairs. I always paid for them myself, and it was partly this that gave her the peace of mind that her property was well cared for. However, now she is gone, I believe I am within my rights to ask you to fix the roof, guttering, heating and plumbing, which is ancient, external wall, windows and doors – all of which need doing. I shall have quotes done in t
he next month and send them on to you.)
• You can pass your tenancy to someone else if you die. (Will do. My daughter.)
In the meantime, I am well aware that you are not a charity and hope that the matter of No. 3, Summer Lane can be tied up in a manner that will suit both of us. I am still happy to buy the property from you when I get the inheritance from my mother, which is likely to be later this year. I will look into whether, as an assured tenant, I can buy it at a reduced rate.
I look forward to hearing back from you on this matter and the repairs,
Regards
Dee McDonald
‘OK?’ Anna asked.
I groaned. ‘Seems harsh in places. Maybe I should soften it a bit. Michael Harris has always been very polite in his dealings with me and William said in his letter, Michael talked him out of trying to raise the rent before now.’
‘This is business Dee and I am not going to write love from Dee, sorry sorry, kiss kiss at the end of the letter.’
‘I wasn’t going to suggest that!’
‘We need to be firm here. You have to say what you mean. Grow some balls. Learn to fight for what’s important to you.’
I laughed and saluted her. ‘Yes sir, sergeant major.’
‘Ready to print and post?’
‘OK. Ready to print and post.’
I’m dancing on shifting sands, Mum, I thought as I went to look for a stamp and envelope. Asserting myself was a new sensation for me and although one part of me felt slightly mean despite Anna’s pep talk, another part felt good. I’d researched my rights and taken a stand.
Happy New Year, Dee, I told myself. A new, more confident me was emerging. I had a new boyfriend, a new series of paintings to work on and, for the first time in months, a sense of security. Thank you Anna and thank you Rose for pointing me in the right direction, I thought, and made a note to text Rose and tell her so.
18
Fleur
Saturday 13 February, 8 a.m.
This weekend is at mine. Family here at last. I’ve filled the fridge with goodies from the deli down the road. Got some very fine wine. Mira, the cleaner, has been in and cleaned and polished so everything is gleaming. Hah. I bet Rose and Dee won’t believe it. I was always the untidy one when we lived at home. I hope they like it. It will be like a sleepover, all of us together. We were definitely getting on better last month.
I wonder what Mum has in store this time? I’m determined this is going to be the best weekend, whatever we have to do. I’m going to try and find out a bit more about Daniel. Not for me, for Dee. I have a sneaky feeling she has a crush on him. I’ll get that out of her too. I’ll be subtle, of course, encourage her to talk sort of thing. She was always an open book when it came to men. I want to get Rose talking, too – it’s about time she told us more about her life and what’s going on behind that oh-so-cool and controlled mask of hers. It’s going to be great. I can feel it.
Dee
Saturday 13 February, 7 a.m.
‘I suggest we arrive separately and not let on to your sisters that we’ve been seeing each other,’ said Daniel as I lay in his arms in his bed.
We’d met up when we could since December. He had work commitments and so did I, but we’d managed a couple of times – once he came to me and once I’d met him in London and gone to his flat in Camden. It was on the ground floor with a small courtyard at the back. He hadn’t done much to it since he’d rented it a year ago, apart from putting up a poster of the Buddha in the hall. His clothes were on a hanging rail, other clothes still in boxes or cases. A man passing through, I’d thought the first time I was there. Last night was my second visit and we’d had an early Valentine’s night tucked up in bed with a bottle of champagne.
‘At least not until we’ve finished Mum’s list,’ I replied.
‘Good. My role is supposed to be completely neutral, and I don’t want any undercurrents interfering with your mother’s programme.’
‘Understood. Our secret.’
‘What we have is very special but we have to be cool for now.’
‘That will be me.’ I was happy to do as he asked. What I had with him was mine, precious and not to be shared, picked apart or teased about by Rose or Fleur.
Saturday 13 February, 11.30 a.m.
I arrived at Fleur’s late due to snow and ice causing traffic delays. Fleur had bought the flat two and a half years ago, so I’d never been there and was intrigued to see where and how she lived now. It was a first-floor apartment in a block on Sloane Street in Knightsbridge. I found the building, where a uniformed porter greeted me. I stamped snow off my boots, thanked him for opening the doors, then made my way through the marbled reception area to the lift and up to Fleur’s floor.
She was waiting for me at the door and ushered me in with a welcoming smile.
‘Love the boots,’ I said as I looked at the kingfisher blue suede knee-highs she was wearing. They matched her long cardigan perfectly. I handed her a bunch of white tulips that I’d bought at a flower stall near the tube. They’d cost a fortune but I didn’t want to arrive empty handed.
So far so good, I thought as she led me into an elegant and airy living room with floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out over Knightsbridge. It had been decorated in shades of ivory, taupe and white, with silk curtains and dark wooden floors. She’d had an interior designer do it for her and it looked as if no expense had been spared.
‘Gorgeous flowers,’ I said as I took in the vast arrangement of white orchids and bamboo on the coffee table. The tulips that I’d brought her looked pathetic next to them.
Daniel was already there, perched on a sofa. He greeted me politely, nothing more. I said, ‘Hi,’ and turned away.
‘I’ll show you your room first,’ said Fleur and took my bag. I breathed a sigh of relief that she didn’t ask where I’d stayed last night, probably assuming I’d been with one of the friends I had in North London. I followed her out into the hall and along a corridor.
‘Kitchen,’ she said as she opened a door to reveal a magazine-worthy kitchen, which was as immaculate as the living room, with white granite tops, cream painted units and limestone floors. It looked like it had never been used. ‘Help yourself to whatever you like.’
She led me on to the back of the flat. ‘You’re in here,’ she said as she opened another door to a large bedroom.
‘Wow,’ I said. ‘I see you’ve gone for a minimal look throughout.’
‘Yes. Do you like it?’
‘God yes. Course I do. It’s stunning. Makes everywhere look more spacious.’ Fleur dumped my bag on a king-size bed covered in a shimmer of pale taupe silk, then opened another door to reveal a white marble and mirrored bath and shower room. ‘Wow again,’ I said, though I couldn’t help but think that, although lovely, the flat looked soulless and unlived in, like an upmarket hotel.
Fleur seemed happy with my reaction. ‘Make yourself at home,’ she said and disappeared back down the corridor.
‘I will,’ I called after her, but the atmosphere was as far from my home as it could be. No artifacts or books, just the latest edition of Vogue and a single white orchid on the bedside cabinet.
Through the open door, I noticed Rose unpacking in the room opposite. I went to stand in the hall and looked in to see another room in a similar style to mine, except there was a gold bedspread on the bed and one of the walls looked as if it had been gold-leafed. ‘Hi,’ I said.
Rose gave me a nod. ‘Here we are again,’ she said with a shrug of her shoulder. She took off her red sweater to reveal a white silk shirt underneath. ‘I’m boiling. I think Fleur keeps the heating on full blast.’
‘Very stylish, isn’t it?’
Rose wrinkled her nose. ‘But like a show house, don’t you think? I guess she has a cleaner come in. Fleur could never keep it this immaculate.’
I laughed. ‘True.’ When we had lived together, Fleur’s room had always been a mess of clothes, open drawers, a dressing table piled with na
il polish, make-up and perfume, and her shoes left lying where she took them off. ‘How have you been since we last met up?’ I asked. Rose and I hadn’t been in touch much since she’d been down in Cornwall, apart from Christmas cards sent both ways, and I’d sent an email to both sisters in January letting them know that I had my housing situation in hand, and thanking them for their input. I had heard from Fleur in the interim. She’d sent a box of Jo Malone bath oil and lotions, which had arrived a few days before Christmas, and I’d agonized over what to send back. In the end, I’d sent her a pale grey velvet scarf that I’d found in a local shop. It seemed like a poor return, and took me back to the anxiety of many Christmases and birthdays before the fall-out when I didn’t know what to buy the woman who had everything.
‘Good. Fine. You?’ Rose replied.
‘Also fine, thanks.’ No jokes about being fucked up, insecure, neurotic and exhausted this time, I noted. I used to think Rose was like a cactus plant that flowered once a year. When she did open up, it was lovely but rare.
‘Guess we’d better go in then.’ Rose brushed past me on the way back to the living room.
She’s closed up again, I thought as I followed her into the living room, where I took the seat furthest away from Daniel.
After coffee, served in delicate china cups, we were ready to watch Mum’s latest instructions. Daniel had put his laptop on a glass dining table and Rose, Fleur and I took our places, ready. I noticed a couple of framed photos on a shelf by the window: a beautiful one of Mum when she was younger, and a second of Rose, Fleur and me, taken in the garden in Hampstead when we were in our twenties. I felt touched it had pride of place in her home.
The Kicking the Bucket List Page 15