Kate's Progress

by Cynthia Harrod-Eagles

  Which led to Mark, her most recent relationship, and the one that really hurt. Mark was in the same business as her, PR, and she met him at a press conference for a movie in which they both had actors. The attraction had been instant. He was only moderately good-looking – the fact that he was not mega-handsome was somehow reassuring – but he made up for it in charm. He was smartly dressed, intelligent and funny. When he first caught her eye during a particularly dire speech and winked and gave her a great urchin grin, she felt as though they were the only two people in the world who knew what was what. She had taken her eye off him for a moment, and when she looked again he was easing his way through the crowd to get to her side. They watched the rest of the speeches together, and when they had to part, to attend to their own celebs, he had made a date with her with flattering urgency.

  He was everything her previous boyfriends were not. He was great company; he made her laugh; more than that, he really listened when she talked to him, and seemed to like as much as she did those long telephone chats that go anywhere and nowhere. He’d send her funny and sometimes mildly obscene emails and texts when she was at work, which made her snort inelegantly, so she’d have to pretend she’d been sneezing.

  He told her all the time how great she was, and made her feel that she was the only person in the world who mattered. He was generous: the best restaurants, taxis, good seats at the theatre, and flowers sent for no reason except ‘I was thinking ’bout you!’

  He liked her friends – how rare was that? – and was interested in everything, always up for any outing or activity, whatever it was, from hang-gliding to a picnic in the park. He was a good dancer; he liked the same books and movies as she did. The sex was amazing, but he also loved to cuddle – how many men could you say that about?

  Kate was deep in love. She hadn’t stood a chance, really, against such a pattern of a man. She was convinced he was The One. He was so perfect that Jess sighed and asked how Kate could be so lucky and where she could find one like him. Lauren called him Darcy – she always had sharp names for everyone. ‘He’s too good to be true,’ she said, and, ‘Handsome is as handsome does. We’ll see.’ But he made her laugh, and she liked him too, albeit grudgingly.

  It was Lauren who pointed out one day that he and Kate always met at the girls’ flat, or went out – Kate had never been to his place.

  ‘So what?’ she said defiantly.

  ‘So nothing,’ Lauren said. ‘I just wondered, that’s all.’

  It was some days before Kate asked him – she hated herself for allowing Lauren to make her suspicious. She dropped it into the conversation casually one evening. ‘Why don’t we go back to your place tonight?’

  He was not at all fazed. ‘We’re nearer to yours.’ They always were – he lived way down in South London.

  ‘But I’ve never even seen it,’ she said.

  ‘Nothing to see.’ He shrugged. ‘It’s a bit of a tip. My flatmate’s a slob. We’ll be more comfortable at your place. But if you’re so curious …’

  ‘Oh, I’m not really,’ she said, feeling foolish. And when the time came they went back to the girls’ flat as always, and she didn’t press the point. If there had been anything wrong, he would have looked uneasy or acted guilty, and he hadn’t. And he’d said they could go to his place if she wanted. That proved it, didn’t it?

  But Lauren had planted the seed, and as months passed it grew and festered in the back of her mind, spoiling her serenity. One day, hating herself for it, she went round to his address. He was away, gone to Amsterdam for a shoot, and she was missing him. She told herself it couldn’t hurt just to walk past, see what sort of a place it was. Why shouldn’t she? He knew everything about her, they were in love, he could have no secrets to keep. Just looking at his door would keep her going until he got back.

  It wasn’t a flat; it was a narrow, modern townhouse. She hadn’t known that area of London before, but it was obviously quite smart – the sort of place young professionals were buying into, pushing it up the social ladder. She stood on the other side of the street staring at it, frowning, wondering. Maybe she’d made a mistake, written the address down wrong? But she was sure she hadn’t. She debated going across and ringing the bell, seeing if his ‘flatmate’ was in. But what would she say? She didn’t want to make a fool of herself. She was torn, in two minds, one half hating this ‘checking up on him’, the other half arguing that as his girlfriend she had every right to call at his address if she happened to be in the area.

  And as she stood wrestling with internal debate, the door opened and out came a very smart, pretty Japanese woman, her make-up perfect, her short dark hair shining in the sun as though lacquered. She was leading two little half-Japanese boys, cute as buttons, immaculately dressed in what looked like Tommy Hilfiger for Kids. The elder one definitely had Mark’s nose.

  The blood rushed from her head so fast she almost fell down, and had to clutch on to a car roof for support. Her mind gabbled with possible reasons and explanations, but her heart knew the truth from that moment.

  He didn’t try to deny it, and she could never decide if that made it worse or not. That was Mariko. And his boys. Yes, he was married. He’d never said he wasn’t. What was the problem? He and Kate had fun, didn’t they?

  ‘You said you loved me.’

  ‘I do. You’re a gorgeous, gorgeous girl and I love you to bits.’

  ‘But I thought—’

  That was the trouble. When she went over it in her mind, what she thought had been made up of assumptions, which were entirely reasonable in the circumstances but were not based on anything he had said, only on the way he had seemed. The only lie he had told her was that his flatmate was messy. The house was not a flat and she could not believe from that glimpse that Mariko was anything but obsessively tidy. But when she taxed him with it, he said he had lived in a flat once, and his flatmate there had been a complete slob, so it wasn’t really a lie.

  ‘But it was a deception,’ she said.

  ‘Well, maybe a little. But you wouldn’t have liked to know the truth, so I was saving you from it. Haven’t we had nice times together?’

  He must have known it was all over, because he became alarmingly frank. She wasn’t the only one: there was a Swedish woman, a pilot with Lufthansa, whom he saw when she had a layover in London. Or, on that particular occasion, Amsterdam. He didn’t see anything wrong with it. He kept them all happy, didn’t he? Hadn’t Kate been happy? As long as none of them knew about the others …

  That was the trouble. She knew now. Her house of cards had come tumbling down. Not only was her heart broken, but she felt a fool – a trusting fool. If you were to be punished for believing in people, what point was there in any of it? She could not, would not see him again; but she missed him, and hated herself for missing him when he was such a swine, a creep, a hateful lying philandering bastard.

  Lauren and Jess were brilliant, of course, rallied round, plied her with tissues and hugs and ever more savage epithets to describe the deceiver. Kate went from a state of shock into mourning, and when she was over the first acute pain of it, she knew she had to get out. She hated London, men, the dating scene, even her job, which reminded her of Mark (of course, how perfect a niche for him, to be a PR man!).

  ‘Don’t throw everything away,’ Lauren begged her. ‘Don’t let him ruin your whole life. Take a break, sure, but don’t cut off your nose to spite his face. I always thought it was a silly face,’ she added parenthetically. ‘Weak. Soft. Self-indulgent. I told you so at the time.’

  ‘Did you?’ Kate said, face swollen with tears. She didn’t remember. She only knew her twenty-eighth birthday was approaching and her lovely romance had turned to dust and ashes. Two years of Oliver, six months of Andy and just over a year of Mark. Three and a half of the best years of her prime given away for nothing. There had to be something better to do with your life than that.

  It was at that low point, like a miracle, that Gaga, her darling grandmother
in Ireland, had sent her the money.

  The letter came as a complete surprise, the enclosure even more so.

  You know I always meant to leave my fortune to you girls, Gaga wrote, at least the four of you, because if I left Denise anything she’d only give it to the convent, and you know how I feel about the nuns. But I was talking to the solicitor the other day and I suddenly thought, why wait till I’m dead? I’d get no joy out of that. I’m a selfish old woman and I want the pleasure of being thanked and hearing about all the fun you have with it. So here’s what I’m doing, Katie my pet. I’ve got the house, and Daddo’s pension is enough to live on, and all that cash he left me is doing nothing good in the bank. So I’m dividing it between you girls, and sending you each a cheque right now, on condition that you tell me all about what you spend it on. I want all the details, mind!

  And whatever it is, I hope it gives you pleasure, and makes you think often of

  your loving,

  Gaga.

  There followed a flurry of intra-family phone calls.

  ‘It’s true, she’s sent the same to me, God love her.’

  ‘Has she gone crackers, do you think?’

  ‘Denise thinks she’s having a spiritual house-cleaning.’

  ‘I think she means just what she says.’

  Kate’s mother said, ‘I’ve spoken to her, and she’s determined. No, there’s nothing wrong with her, as far as I know – she’s not at her last knockings, or anything. I told her it was folly to give away all her money when she doesn’t know how much longer she’ll live, but you know how stubborn she is, once she gets an idea. She wants to give you all the money while she can still have the fun of seeing you spend it, and that’s that.’

  Kate’s father said, ‘She’s got enough to live on, and there’s always us. We wouldn’t let her starve. Enjoy it, pet. It’s what she wants. I don’t see why she shouldn’t do what she likes with her own money. She owes nobody anything.’

  And Denise – aka Sister Luke – said, ‘You can’t take it with you. Gaga knows that all right.’

  When she had got over the first shock, Kate showed the cheque to Lauren and Jess.

  Jess whistled. ‘You are kidding me! A hundred and twenty-five thousand? It’s a bloody fortune!’ Then she laughed. ‘I know what I’d do with it!’

  Lauren said, ‘It’s a serious amount of money. You need to think about this. There’s no point in investing it with the stock market the way it is, and deposit accounts pay nothing these days.’

  ‘Sensible cow,’ Jess said. ‘I was thinking of a fabulous car or a fabulous holiday. Even better, both.’

  ‘Bricks and mortar’s the only way to go,’ Lauren insisted.

  ‘Of course I thought of that first. But it isn’t enough to buy a house or a flat,’ Kate said.

  ‘Not unless it was in the back of beyond,’ Jess agreed.

  ‘It’d make a hefty deposit, though,’ Lauren said. ‘Which would bring the mortgage for the rest within reach.’

  They rented the flat together: buying had never been an option for any of them. Property in London – and most other places they’d want to live – was just too expensive.

  ‘Still, that wouldn’t be much fun for her grandma,’ Jess pointed out. ‘Just putting it down on a flat.’

  ‘She could tell her all about the hunt for the right place,’ Lauren said. ‘String it out into a story. Anyway, it’s Kate’s money now, and she has to use it wisely, whatever her granny says. She’ll never get another windfall like this in her life. Take your time and think about it carefully, Kate.’

  ‘I’ll certainly do that,’ Kate promised. ‘Though I agree with Jess, I’m not sure using it wisely is what Gaga has in mind. I fancy she wants me to have wild adventures.’

  ‘You can’t just blow it!’ Lauren said, shocked.

  ‘No, of course not. But I’m going to take a couple of hundred out of it to take you two out for a slap-up celebration. That’ll be something to tell her, at least.’

  But the thought had already come to her that she could use the money to get away. She had wanted a complete change, to escape from the scene of her shame, from Mark, and from London, where, because of her job, she was always likely to bump into him or hear his name mentioned. Yes, escape! She just had to think how best to achieve it. It was true, as Lauren said, that she’d never get a sum like this again, and she didn’t want to fritter it away: she wanted something to show for it at the end, and it was also true that bricks and mortar were the best investment. It could be her only chance to get on the property ladder.

  Gradually an idea began to form, nebulously at first, around Jess’s words, ‘the back of beyond’. How to get away, but not blow the money? How to have a complete break, but be able to come back?

  And then she saw the advert.

  Two

  Exmoor’s River Burr wound its way through probably the most beautiful valley in England. Brawling in winter, burbling in summer, it tumbled over rocks between steep valley sides draped with hanging woods that rose up to the open moors, Burford Hill on one side and Lar Common on the other. At the end of the valley, the contours softened to a gentler, more open country, and here, where the Burr met the Elder Brook, there was a complex junction: a crossroads of two main roads (or as main as they got in that part of the world) and a minor one, all of which also bridged both waters. Here the village of Bursford had grown up. With the two arched stone bridges and the backdrop of the woods it was extremely picturesque, and only its remoteness kept it from being a hot tourist attraction and consequently getting spoilt.

  The other side of Kate’s family, her father’s side, came from Exmoor – Jennings was an old Exmoor name. She had spent happy childhood holidays there, but Granny and Grandpa were much older than the Irish grandparents – her father had been the youngest of a long family – and they had died when she was about ten or eleven, so the holidays had stopped and she had hardly been there since. But she treasured memories of the wonderful greenness, the rolling hills and wooded folds, the little stone villages, the wide open moors and the wandering ponies.

  And she remembered stopping in Bursford for an ice cream from the Post Office stores, always a highlight of any day out. So when, while idly looking through the property section of the newspaper, she had seen the name, her attention was caught and she homed in on the advert.

  Exmoor National Park: Little’s Cottage, School Lane, Bursford. Period two bedroom cottage in need of renovation. Mains services. £119,950.

  It wasn’t much to go on, but there was the coincidence of the place, which she knew, and the price, which was within her grasp. She felt a shiver on the back of her neck as though Fate was directing her towards it. Anyway, it would cost nothing to find out. She hadn’t thought about Exmoor and her childhood holidays for a long time, but now she did, the images came tumbling back into her mind, fresh and alluring. What could be more different from her present life, more completely the change she craved?

  All the same, it was probably a crazy idea, so she wouldn’t say anything to Lauren or Jess yet. She would just ring up the estate agents, Stinner and Huxtable, first thing the next morning, and see what happened.

  John, a young man with an indoor pallor and a rather shiny suit, met her at Taunton station and drove her to the place.

  ‘You do understand,’ he asked, giving her an anxious glance, ‘that you wouldn’t be able to develop the site at all? There’s absolutely no chance of getting planning permission in the National Park.’

  ‘Yes, it was explained to me,’ she said.

  ‘Because I was afraid a lot of people might get a bit excited about the five acres,’ he went on.

  ‘I promise I’m not excited by the five acres,’ she told him. But she sort of was. The more extensive details that had been sent to her said that the cottage came with five acres of adjacent land, described as ‘rough grazing’. She had always wanted to own land. The thought of standing on a stretch of England and being able to say ‘this i
s mine’ seemed a bit like a fairy tale. She was sure Gaga would approve. Hadn’t ‘land hunger’ sent the Irish wandering to every corner of the globe?

  ‘It’s not even really grazing now,’ John went on. ‘You see, the Browns, who last lived there, kept chickens on it and sold the eggs. After he died his wife stayed on but she didn’t do any of that. She got rid of the chickens and just lived on her pension and let everything go. Well, up there, if you leave grazing, the heather and bracken come back in no time. It’s all gone back to the wild. It’d be a stiff job clearing the scrub, and even if you did, it’s not a big enough area to do anything much with, unless you wanted to keep a pony.’

  He looked at her questioningly.

  ‘I hadn’t thought about that,’ she said. ‘It’s the house that’s my main concern at the moment.’

  ‘I see. Well, I don’t want to put you off or anything, but it’s not a very pretty cottage, and when Mrs Brown died, she’d been on her own in there a long time. It needs modernizing. And it’s a bit grotty. Well, a lot grotty, really.’

  ‘You want me to turn around and go back without seeing it?’ Kate suggested humorously.

  He looked embarrassed. ‘No, of course not. I’m only saying that I hope you haven’t got your hopes up too much, because coming from London and everything, you might think …’

  ‘My father’s family was from round here,’ she interrupted quickly. ‘My grandparents lived in Exford. I used to visit them when I was a kid.’

  It was amazing how his face cleared. She wasn’t a townie, so she was all right. ‘Oh, then I ’spect you know Bursford.’

  ‘Yes, I remember it well,’ she said, and he relaxed almost exaggeratedly, like someone in a drama class.

  The journey was only about thirty miles, as she had established from a study of a map before she left home (it was only ten miles from Minehead but there was no railway to Minehead any more). Still, it took more than an hour, partly because of the narrow winding roads of the latter part of it, and partly because of John’s nervous driving, which made him view even the clearest bend like a dangerous animal poised to spring.