After Isabella

by Rosie Fiore

  Except Craig, she reminded herself. It would never have happened to Craig. He was far too much of a shark to get caught out.

  After the meeting, he made a point of walking out with her. He stopped just outside the door. ‘Coffee?’ he said, his voice dripping with faux sympathy.

  ‘I’d love to,’ she said evenly, ‘but I really don’t have time.’

  ‘Of course you don’t. What with everything that’s going on. So, this Dickens thing is a bitch, isn’t it?’ He had managed to stand in such a way that he was blocking her exit. She would have to push past him or ask him to move in order to escape.

  ‘Well, these things happen.’

  ‘Of course they do. Especially when your stock-in-trade has been research and teaching rather than talking to the media. It’s easy to make a blunder.’

  ‘I didn’t make a—’

  ‘I saw you’ve been having rather a hard time on Twitter too.’

  ‘On Twitter?’

  ‘I saw your mentions. Some really nasty trolls.’

  ‘Troll, singular. I’ve dealt with it.’

  ‘It happens, you know, especially to women in the public eye, and especially if you’re not internet savvy. Maybe you could get someone to manage your online profile for you? A graduate student? Take the pressure off.’

  ‘I said I dealt with it. It’ll stop now,’ she said, sounding less convinced than she wanted to.

  ‘Well, think about it. It’s not a sign of weakness to ask for help.’ He patted her on the arm and walked away before she could respond.

  That evening she was viciously chopping vegetables for a stew when Michael arrived. They had exchanged emails during the day, so he knew what had happened. He let himself in – she had given him a key some weeks before – and came to kiss her. She heard the clink of glass in the shopping bag he held. ‘I know it’s a school night,’ he said, ‘but I thought it was a good time for a large glass of wine.’

  ‘It is, it really is,’ she said gratefully, and he went to find glasses and a corkscrew.

  Esther took the glass that Michael offered and wandered through to the living room. Lucie must have brought in the stack of post when she came in from school, and she had left it on Esther’s desk. Esther picked up the letters and leafed through them. There were the usual bills and charity requests, a reminder about her tax return, and a square envelope which contained what felt like a card. It was much too late to be a birthday card. It had to be some kind of invitation. She opened it, and sure enough, the front image showed a pretty thatched cottage with window baskets and an apple tree. The word ‘Housewarming’ curled in pretty script across the top of the card.

  Esther opened it.

  Dear Esther, Michael and Lucie,

  Please join me in wetting the roof of my new home.

  There was a date, a Sunday four months or so hence, and an address in an area not far from Esther’s house, a leafy, villagey part of north London – expensive and rather fashionable.

  The card was from Sally. Esther raised her eyebrows. Sally? She was moving? How had she managed that? And why had she not said anything?

  ‘You look surprised,’ said Michael, coming into the living room, glass in hand.

  She held out the card to him. He read it quickly. ‘Ah, so she managed to get them to complete,’ he said.

  ‘What? You knew she was buying a new place?’

  ‘Yes, she told me the morning she came back here with you. I thought you knew.’

  ‘No, I didn’t know. And she’s bought in Mill Hill? How did she manage? I imagine she’s got a tiny little flat.’

  ‘No, I think it’s a house. Two or three bedrooms, I think she said. I forget.’

  ‘A three-bedroomed house in Mill Hill? Now? In the middle of a housing boom?’ Esther couldn’t keep the incredulity out of her voice.

  ‘What do you know about Sally’s financial situation?’ asked Michael.

  ‘Nothing. Well, nothing but the fact that she’s never really worked. And she’s not working now. I assumed she was claiming some form of benefit.’

  ‘She’s not.’

  ‘Really?’ said Esther, surprised. ‘What do you know?’

  ‘To put it crudely, she’s absolutely loaded.’

  ‘Loaded? Like—’

  ‘A millionaire. More than. Several times over.’

  ‘How? I mean… How?’

  ‘I don’t know all the details, but she was your friend Isabella’s sole heir, more or less. And Isabella’s house was something special, I’m told…’

  ‘She designed it herself. It was unique, and rather beautiful. Very airy.’

  ‘Sally said she hung onto it for a few years before she sold it. I don’t know what she got for it, but it was a lot. And Isabella had a life-insurance policy too, which seems to have paid out significantly. Add to that her mum’s house and estate…’

  ‘Good grief.’

  ‘She didn’t tell me a lot, but it sounds like she was very cautious in her investments, so she weathered the financial crash very well. She’s absolutely minted. She’ll certainly never have to work, if she doesn’t want to.’

  ‘How did I not know this?’

  ‘Because you didn’t ask,’ said Michael, and there was something in his voice that made her look up sharply.

  ‘I’m not in the habit of enquiring about people’s financial situations,’ she said defensively. ‘I don’t usually check my friends’ bank statements.’

  ‘But you would usually know something about a friend’s situation. You’d know if they owned their own home, and you would have an inkling if they were struggling, I’m sure.’

  ‘What are you saying?’

  ‘I suppose I’m asking why you have a problem with Sally.’

  ‘What? I don’t have a problem with Sally. She’s a friend, that’s all. Not a close one.’

  ‘She thinks of you as a close friend. As a very precious friend, in fact.’

  ‘Oh God,’ said Esther, exasperated. ‘I can’t really be dealing with guilt about Sally right now, from you of all people. I’ve had a shitty day…’

  ‘What do you mean, from me of all people?’

  ‘I saw you and her cosying up in the kitchen the other day.’

  ‘Cosying… what?’ Michael couldn’t help himself. He actually laughed out loud. ‘Good grief.’

  Esther couldn’t stop herself; she kept talking. ‘You were smiling and laughing, all warm and intimate, and she was wearing that ridiculous transparent blouse…’

  ‘We were talking about house prices. Not really sexy talk.’ He looked at her hard. ‘Are you accusing me of something?’

  ‘No… I…’

  ‘Are you asking if I fancy Sally? If I’m thinking of running off with the buxom heiress? Because I’m not. And the suggestion is both rude and slightly insane.’

  ‘So I’m a hysterical female, is that it?’ Esther found herself yelling.

  Michael’s voice was cold. ‘I’m not even going to dignify that with a response. I’m not your psycho ex, okay?’

  They stared at each other, bristling, for a long moment. Esther had a sudden out-of-body experience, a view of herself – angry, irrational, attacking the one person she needed most as her ally. She had to stop.

  ‘You are supposed to be on my side,’ she said, a little weakly.

  He looked at her, his eyes so dark they were almost black. ‘I am utterly on your side, and I don’t believe I’ve ever given you cause to believe otherwise. What I don’t understand is why you’ve decided Sally isn’t.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  ‘Hi, Sally, this is Esther. Just a quick call to see how you’re doing. I’m so excited to hear your good news. We’d love to come to your housewarming. What a great new beginning. Anyway, give me a call when you have a moment.’

  She would try. She really would. Michael was right. Somehow, she had become resentful of Sally, suspicious even, and there was no cause for this. Sally was a gentle, harmless woman, with li
mited life experience, who just wanted to be friends. So she would make an effort to be a better friend, to get to know Sally, to repay the compliment Sally had given her by wanting to be her friend. She could do that. After all, everyone else seemed to adore her – there must be more to her than Esther was currently seeing.

  Sally returned her call within the hour.

  ‘So sorry I missed you,’ she said breathlessly. ‘I was out for a run.’

  ‘A run?’

  ‘Well, a little jog and a walk, you know. I’m trying to shift some more weight, and my Weight Watchers’ leader says it’s all about exercise. Now, how are you?’

  Where to begin? Should she tell Sally about the Dickens fiasco at work? About her uneasy truce with Michael? About Lucie, who was reaching maximum sulk now that Stephen’s wife Melissa was getting closer to giving birth? Should she tell Sally how she felt scrawny and unfeminine? About how she’d been stalked and harassed by a horrible man she’d gone on three dates with?

  ‘I’m fine,’ she said. ‘I really rang because I wanted to hear all about you and your new house.’

  ‘Oh, not much to tell,’ said Sally, but Esther could hear she was thrilled to be asked. ‘I just decided that at my advanced age, it was time to have a place I could call my own. And now I have the car, I’m not so limited by bus routes and so on. I’ve always loved Mill Hill…’

  ‘It’s a lovely area.’

  ‘So I just started looking, and I found a place right on top of the hill that I just fell in love with.’

  ‘I can’t wait to see it.’

  ‘Well, would you…’ Sally hesitated. ‘Would you like to come and see it this weekend? I’ve completed and I have the keys… I’m just having a few little bits done before I move in.’

  ‘I’d love to,’ said Esther. And she meant it.

  Sally picked her up in her smart little car on Saturday morning, and they meandered through the suburbs to Mill Hill. It was a lovely area, set in acres of green fields yet still close to town, with access to the Tube. Esther herself would have loved to live there, but it was well beyond her means. Sally’s place was much bigger than she had expected, a detached, two-storey house set back from the road. There was a crescent-shaped gravel driveway in front of the house, and a big oak tree nearby cast dappled shade. On one side of the driveway was a skip filled with broken kitchen cabinets, which made Sally’s comment about having a ‘few little bits done’ seem like rather an understatement.

  ‘Are you putting in a new kitchen?’

  ‘The old one was a bit shabby.’ Sally looked a little embarrassed. ‘My estate agent suggested I should do it. Make the house more saleable, he said. Not that I plan to sell it.’ She scrabbled in her handbag and brought out a key. ‘Shall we?’

  It was very quiet when Esther stepped out of the car. She couldn’t hear any traffic, just the music of birdsong. Sally crunched over the gravel to the front door and she followed. The house was empty of furniture and clean, although there was a fine film of dust on the floor from the renovations.

  It was beautiful. The rooms were elegantly proportioned, with big sash windows which looked over a small garden and then out over the fields, as if the house was in the middle of the countryside rather than a few miles off the North Circular. There was something calming about the emptiness of the rooms, with their pristine, newly painted walls. It was as if the house waited, in a hush of expectation, for the new adventures which would unfold within. Quiet adventures, Esther imagined, but adventures nevertheless. She had a moment of envy – the house was exquisite and full of possibility, and she loved it – wished it were hers. But at the same time, she was full of excitement for Sally, for whom the house held such promise. Her first real home. Esther was not demonstrative, but she found herself taking Sally’s hand and squeezing it warmly.

  ‘It’s lovely, just lovely. I wish you great happiness here.’

  ‘I shall rattle around in it,’ Sally said, smiling and blushing.

  ‘Well, you’ll have to fill it with friends and parties. Given the size of your living room, you could probably host musical soirees and play-readings too.’

  ‘You don’t think I’m crazy? Buying a big place like this?’

  ‘God knows, you’ve earned it,’ said Esther. ‘You gave decades of your life to caring for your family. I think you should have anything you want.’

  For a moment, Sally’s eyes looked as if they were filling with tears, but she blinked rapidly and then smiled broadly. ‘All I need is George Clooney in my spare room and I’ll be all set!’ She paused for a moment and then said, hesitantly, ‘As you can see, the house is empty. I wonder if you might maybe help me… fill it?’

  And thus they went on a number of shopping trips. Sally was determined to get rid of all the furniture from her mother’s house and start afresh. Now Esther had an inkling of Sally’s financial position, she felt a great deal less anxious than she might have done as they swept through curtain warehouses and sofa shops, measuring, matching fabric swatches and taking phone snapshots of lamps and cushions. Unsurprisingly, Sally seemed unsure of her own taste and was forever asking Esther to make decisions on her behalf. Very quickly the house began to take shape. It was softer and more feminine than Esther would have chosen for herself, but she sensed it was right for Sally. The living room was decorated in shades of dusky mauve, with accents in a pale green. It looked like a summer garden. The kitchen was all blonde wood and white china, and Sally’s bedroom was a riot of pretty floral prints.

  Esther quickly realized that it was easy to be nice to Sally. She was so grateful for the slightest display of friendship and kindness, and she seemed to glow with happiness when Esther offered to do something with her. On the surface, it wasn’t the easiest friendship Esther had ever had, not least because she and Sally didn’t have that much in common. Sally hadn’t travelled, and she had never been married or had children, so many of the usual topics of conversation Esther might have shared with a friend were not open to them. Sally watched a lot of television, which Esther didn’t, and enjoyed a wide range of music from all eras, also not a major interest of Esther’s. Yet somehow Esther began to take comfort in Sally’s company. She was warm and open, she liked to laugh, and she was always keen to hear about what Esther had been up to and happy to ask questions about things she didn’t understand. She had an easy, open physicality too – she liked to kiss Esther hello and often offered hugs and squeezes of the hand as punctuations to conversation. Esther had always been rather protective of her personal space and was usually only comfortable being touched or hugged by lovers or Lucie. Friends and acquaintances seemed to sense this and tended to opt for handshakes or cool air kisses by way of greeting. Sally had no such qualms, however, and surprisingly Esther didn’t mind that.

  One Sunday morning Sally rang and asked her if they could go to the garden centre to choose some plants. ‘I got some local lads in to weed the beds and mow the lawn, and it’s all looking a bit bare. I don’t know the first thing about gardening,’ she said. ‘I just want it to look pretty for the housewarming party, with some flowers in the beds.’

  ‘Well, I’m no expert,’ said Esther. ‘Not like my mum was.’ She said it lightly and unthinkingly, but at the words ‘my mum’, the weight of missing Laura struck her with a blinding force.

  Sally must have heard her hesitate and draw breath. ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘Oh, you know…’ said Esther weakly. She couldn’t get the words out to explain. Fortunately, she didn’t need to.

  ‘I do know,’ said Sally. ‘Look, we really don’t have to do this today – or at all.’

  ‘We do. We should,’ said Esther firmly. ‘Let’s let the spirit of Laura guide us through the garden centre.’

  ‘Lobelias are easy to grow,’ she said, as they walked down the long rows of plants. ‘And geraniums.’

  ‘I need things that are very tough and strong,’ said Sally. ‘Things that are almost impossible to kill.’

  Esth
er laughed. ‘I’ll choose super-plants. Some plants really like a bit of ill treatment. You know, some people swear by beating apple trees with a baseball bat to get them to bear more fruit.’

  ‘Good grief! I wasn’t planning on abusing my plants. Just neglecting them a little.’

  ‘There is a lovely apple tree in your garden though,’ said Esther.

  ‘There is? Well, that’s news to me. I have so much to learn.’

  When they had loaded their trolley with bedding plants, fertilizer and gardening tools (‘I don’t have so much as a trowel,’ said Sally, ‘I don’t even really know what a trowel is’), they took themselves to the garden centre coffee shop for tea and cake. Or at least, Esther had tea and cake and Sally had sparkling water and a fruit platter.

  ‘You’re being very disciplined,’ Esther observed.

  ‘I bought a dress for the housewarming party,’ Sally said, picking up a sliver of melon with her fork. ‘It’s a size ten, and I’m determined the zip will go all the way up.’

  ‘How close are you?’

  ‘Just an inch or so to go. I shan’t be able to breathe, but hey, breathing’s overrated anyway.’

  ‘You’ve lost a lot already.’

  ‘Three stone,’ said Sally proudly. And my cholesterol is down to safe levels. And my blood pressure.’ She gave a broad, sunny grin, and Esther thought, not for the first time, how grateful she was that Michael had pushed her to fix this relationship.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  It was the postcode. She had got the postcode wrong, and the handwriting on the envelope was so shaky, the name of the road was difficult to read. The envelope had been scribbled on and redirected, and was scuffed and marked. But it was there, lying on Esther’s desk. She stood back, staring at it.

  Lucie came into the living room and stood beside her. ‘It’s from Nanny Laura, isn’t it? I found it on the mat when I came home.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Esther quietly. ‘Yes, it is. It must have been lost in the post all this time.’

  ‘Months.’