‘You like your job, don’t you?’ said Sue, after a moment.
It was an unexpected question. Kate looked at her curiously. ‘Of course I do.’
‘Do you like magazines? Working in magazines?’
Kate said simply, ‘More than almost anything. I can’t believe how lucky I am.’
‘You want to stay at Woman’s World for the rest of your life, then?’
‘No,’ said Kate frankly. She wanted Sue to understand.’ But you know, I love it. I mean, I love working here, with everyone, but I love the magazine too. I like answering the Reader’s Letters, and working out what they want to read about, and talking to people, and giving people a slice of their lives. You know, the good slice.’ She realized she was talking too much; she babbled when she was nervous – she knew it. Suddenly Mac’s face, saying the same thing, flashed into her mind. How strange. She shook her head, as if exorcizing his image, willing it away.
‘Yes,’ said Sue slowly, and Kate wasn’t sure if she thought she was crazy or not. ‘Thanks, Kate. Thanks a lot.’ She tapped her pencil impatiently on the desk. ‘And good luck with the flat-hunt. I think you’re mad to move in with Charly. You’ll have no liver left, no boyfriend and no money after six months. She’ll steal them all. But each to his own.’
‘You could be right,’ said Kate, happily, but the phone rang, and suddenly Sue wasn’t listening any more.
The next week, Kate and Charly found their flat, a sunny but tiny two-bed at the very top of a tall, narrow Victorian house, in between Kilburn and Queen’s Park, near Zoe and Steve. The agent said they should say they wanted it now. It was a busy time of year, and the market was crazy. It was all happening fast, too fast for Kate. Only a week ago she hadn’t known about any of this and now…? But Charly had been galvanized into action by the thought of leaving Leigh-on-Sea and having her own place, a place with Kate. ‘Two crazy single girls out on the town,’ she said when they signed the lease.
Kate wanted to say No, that’s not it. But, on her first night in their flat, after Sean had helped her pack up their old flat, taken her to the new place, lugged her boxes up the stairs and then regretfully, sadly, kissed her goodbye and gone off to meet his new flatmate Jem at the pub, Kate found herself standing on the steps of the spindly redbrick house that was now her home, without any idea how she’d ended up there.
She turned back, opened the front door, and started wearily on the stairs. As she did, she heard a loud bang from the top floor, up in the roof, and looked up, cautiously – what had Charly done now? Was it always going to be like this? Loneliness clutched at her again, and as she got to the second floor she thought of Zoe, wished she could take advantage of their new neighbourly situation to pop round to their home, a real home. But she and Steve had left that morning, to visit Mac in Edinburgh. Zoe had told her a few days ago that they were going, in a very soft voice, as if she was worried about how Kate might react. Kate wasn’t sure what she, Zoe, was worried about; that she wouldn’t be around for Kate’s first night in the flat, or was Mac still verboten as a subject between them, even now? She shrugged, thinking about this as she climbed the stairs. Coolly, she told herself she rarely thought of him now; she didn’t need to. To remember him – it – what had happened, how she had felt …
She blinked. Surely that was all behind her now – she had her life, he had his, and there was no further proof needed that their night together was way in the past than this – her new life, what she was doing now, climbing the stairs to her new home.
Kate finally reached her floor panting slightly, squared her shoulders and pushed open the door. Time to get on with it, then, she told herself, and she forced herself to smile, faking a cheeriness she didn’t feel.
Wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee! came a high, whistling noise from inside, and as Kate came into the sitting room, not knowing what to expect, she found Charly, a small, silver party hat sitting lopsided on her silky tawny hair, blowing a streamer whistle, with a just-opened bottle of champagne – the source of the loud bang, Kate realized – in her hand.
‘I thought you might need cheering up,’ Charly said, smiling at her. She handed her a glass, shaking her head, as if laughing to herself about something, and she looked happy, happier than Kate had seen her in ages. ‘Welcome to our new home, Kate.’
‘Hey!’ said Kate, delightedly. ‘That’s so – you’re so sweet!’ They clinked glasses. ‘Welcome to yours!’
‘To new beginnings,’ said Charly. She nodded wisely at Kate. ‘Who knows what the future holds, eh?’
Kate nodded, and they each took a sip, framed by the window in the early evening light as the setting sun streamed in across the rooftops.
‘Who knows,’ she said, but she was thinking only of Sean, now, only of the life that lay ahead of her with him, and she crossed her fingers with one hand. ‘Who knows.’
PART TWO
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
London, 2007
Kate woke feeling like she’d been hit by a cosh. She banged the clock radio, ineffectively, trying to turn it off, emerging from the kind of deep sleep where you feel your limbs are melding into the mattress. She blinked wearily, trying to work out where she was, fragments of dreams and memories and actual events all crowding into her mind. Coming home. Dad – Mr Allan – the coffin. Dani’s pink pyjamas. She’d seen Zoe. Zoe – Mac – Sean – Charly’s letter.
Sitting up slowly, Kate rubbed her eyes with fumbling, clumsy hands. Her limbs felt as if they were full of lead. Her head ached, her throat was a little sore and she didn’t really feel rested at all. She looked around slowly, taking in the contents of the room, how weird it was to be here again. The grey painted chest of drawers, the long blonde wood wardrobe that was to have housed her and Sean’s grown-up, business attire. He had put up the creamy Venetian blind; you could still see the black holes in the wooden window frame from the previous blind that he’d taken down.
No. No more of this. Slightly to her own surprise, Kate stumbled out of bed, pulled up the blind and opened the window. Outside a bird sang enthusiastically, chirping loudly against the faint hum of traffic and it hit her weary brain then: she was definitely back in London. She could even smell it. Coffee. She needed coffee. She stumbled through to the kitchen, remembering how the floorboards squeaked just so, how she and Sean had discussed carpets.
Kate shook her head and started hunting for something to put her coffee in. She loved opening the cupboards in her kitchen again, rediscovering the old mugs she’d left behind; the orange striped Penguin mug that said ‘Pride and Prejudice’; the spotted set from Habitat her dad (or probably Lisa) had bought for her birthday; the ones with pictures of the Moomins, the old chipped mug that said ‘Central Perk’ on it: she’d been so proud of that one when Sean had given it to her, a month after they’d got together. She opened the tiny door onto the minuscule balcony, no more than a windowsill really. Fresh air flooded into the kitchen and she took a deep breath.
‘So you’re back,’ she said aloud. ‘It’s OK. But you’ve got to –’
Got to what? She looked out, around her, drinking in the wet, London, petrolly, grassy smell, back inside the kitchen again. She didn’t know what she had to do. Then she caught sight of the Central Perk mug.
‘Got to make it work. So you sort everything out. Don’t leave, feeling like you’re slinking away.’
The kettle switch flipped off. She took it as a sign, and nodded firmly, ignoring the stare of the man in the flat opposite her. She came inside and closed the window, feeling properly awake, and suddenly full of purpose.
She was going to see her father later, but she had to time it right, didn’t want to tire him out – or make him angry. He was not a good patient. Lisa knew enough, too, to keep Dani out of his way for a large portion of the day. That was for after lunch: in the meantime, what else was she supposed to do? Kate poured water into the cafetiere, thoughtfully.
She could go and see Zoe again, or call Francesca. She hadn’t
spoken to her since she’d been back. But Francesca would have a go at her, ask questions Kate didn’t want to answer. She couldn’t quite face it, not just yet. She couldn’t call in to the office and make sure everything was going OK; they wouldn’t be there for another six hours. And she’d only left on Friday; what was the point? Then it struck her with force that, apart from anything else, there was nothing she needed to check on anyway. Jersey Lorraine could do that job standing on her head. Better than Kate.
Standing in the kitchen, silence crowded in on her, the strange situation of her own futility. Out there was London, the city she loved, friends she knew, and Kate felt removed from it all. And then she heard a noise from upstairs. Someone was moving around, shuffling slowly across the floor.
She felt the pull of the city, suddenly, like it was talking to her, telling her to come outside, walk around again. There was spring on the breeze, and outside she could hear someone singing in the street. She had to get up, go out, keep moving, she had to embrace this or else just not bother, slink back to New York and give up. She poured the coffee, cradling the mug in her hands as it got cold, looking out of the open window until she realized her bare arms were flesh-cold and she was shivering. She had a shower, got dressed, and shut the door. She knew where she was going.
‘Hello Kate,’ he said.
‘Hello, Mr Allan,’ Kate replied. She handed him the daffodils she’d bought the previous day and kissed him, squeezing his arm briefly. ‘How are you?’
He moved out of the way to let her in, nodding his head in a kind of motioning movement. She walked in. So like her flat and so utterly different, the corridor, the light, pretty sitting room, books and records lining the walls, shelf after shelf of them, another wall devoted to CDs. A breakfast bar, with stools, was cut into the wall between sitting room and kitchen, and an old speckled blue fruit bowl sat on it, a denuded bunch of grapes its only inhabitant. Everything was too tidy, somehow. The two of them stood in silence, looking alternately at the floor or out of the window, and Kate wished she was back downstairs again, not trying to be a good neighbour.
On every spare inch of unshelved wall there were album covers. Blue, red geometric shapes, faded black-and-white photos of lanky young men. ‘Chappell Quartet Plays the Tin Pan Blues’ proclaimed the framed album nearest to Kate.
‘Is that you?’ she said, pointing at the second of the lanky men in the row.
‘Yes,’ said Mr Allan, plunging his hands into his pockets. ‘That was me. West Berlin, I think that photo was taken. Well, by then Jimmy had left, so …’
He trailed off.
‘You’ve come about Eileen, I expect,’ he said after a long pause.
Kate was thrown by this. She looked down, and saw that she’d put her hands in her pockets, unconsciously mirroring her host. Mrs Allan had usually done most of the talking.
‘Um. I came to say hello,’ she said.
‘Right.’ Mr Allan nodded; he didn’t venture anything further, or ask her to sit down.
‘I’m so sorry,’ Kate said firmly.
Mr Allan nodded again. He said, without looking at her,
‘I thought that was why you’d come.’
He blinked; his receding white hair moved up and down slightly as he frowned and then widened his eyes in rapid succession.
‘When’s the funeral?’ Kate said.
‘Thursday,’ said Mr Allan. ‘But we’re actually having a cardboard coffin, not that one she left in. We both want cardboard coffins, it’s more environmental.’ He said this flatly. ‘You saw her, yesterday, didn’t you? When you were getting back.’
Again, Kate was irresistibly reminded of a Pinter play. ‘Yes – I didn’t know if you’d seen me. I nearly knocked yesterday –’ Mr Allan bowed his head.
‘I didn’t want any visitors, really. Just wanted to be on my own. Get used to it for a while.’
‘Right, right,’ said Kate. ‘Well I’m sorry for –’
He batted her apology away with his hand. ‘We were together for fifty years, you know. So it’s strange. We always knew one of us would be left alone, you know.’ He blinked again, and looked round the flat. ‘We’re having people back here afterwards,’ he said suddenly. ‘You missed Sue yesterday.’
‘Sue … Sue!’ Kate said, contexts slotting into place, her brain whirring. Sue – of course. Mr Allan’s nephew Alec was married to Sue Jordan, her beloved boss at Woman’s World. It was she who had mentioned that the flat below Alec’s uncle and aunt was for sale at auction, nearly four years ago … ‘Oh, I’m, er, sorry I missed her. I haven’t seen her for –’ she trailed off. ‘Ages.’
‘Yes,’ said Mr Allan. ‘And she’s looking forward to seeing you, Kate. She wants to know how you are.’
Kate thought of Sue, brisk, comforting, hard as nails, always encouraging, always demanding the best. She wondered what Sue would say if she heard what Kate had spent her last week at work doing (sorting out paperclips and booking Anne Graves’ flights to Bermuda for her holidays). She would be cross with Kate, and rightly so. Kate shook her head, looking back at Mr Allan. ‘I’ve missed her.’
‘I’m sure. Now, she said you’d be able to help me.’ Kate nodded. ‘Would you mind telling me something?’
‘Yes, of course,’ said Kate.
‘Where can I get some food, crisps and things?’ He said this as if they were extraordinary delicacies. ‘You know, if people come back after the service.’ Agitation was working its way across his face. ‘You see Eileen is – was the one who did all that sort of thing. I was on the road, she was at home. That’s how it worked. The shops at the end of the road – would they be best, do you think? I’m just not sure.’
‘Yes, and the supermarket and stuff,’ said Kate. She crossed her arms and rocked back on her heels. ‘Look, Mr Allan, why don’t I take care of all of that for you?’
To her relief he didn’t protest or make excuses. He opened his eyes and said,
‘Thank you, Kate. That really would be extremely helpful.’ He looked out of the window and was silent for a while. ‘It’s a lovely day outside, isn’t it? Spring really is here.’
‘Gorgeous, I know,’ said Kate, following his gaze. ‘Actually, that’s why I came up here. Apart from – well, you know I wanted to … er …’ She cleared her throat. ‘I was wondering. Would you like to go for a walk?’
‘A walk?’ he said, slowly, as if she’d just suggested joining the circus.
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Like we used to, remember? I need to get out of the flat. Clear my head a bit. I thought you might want to, as well.’
‘Well, yes,’ he said. ‘Of course. I’d forgotten. You’re only just back, aren’t you? How long has it been?’
‘A day,’ said Kate.
‘No, my dear,’ Mr Allan said. ‘How long has it been since you left?’
‘Oh,’ said Kate. ‘Nearly three years.’
‘Has it really. You never came back to visit, did you?’
‘I’ve come back now,’ said Kate, looking out of the window again.
‘Eileen always said what a shame it was,’ Mr Allan said. ‘She thought you were such a lovely girl, my dear.’
‘I don’t know about that,’ said Kate, embarrassed. ‘She was a lovely woman, though, Mr Allan. I am sorry.’
‘Well, well, well,’ he said, shaking his bowed head, and a tear dropped to the ground. She looked away, embarrassed, not wanting to see his grief. He looked up. ‘I’m not ready to talk about her as – as a dead person yet. So, please don’t be sorry. Is that alright?’
‘Yes, of course,’ said Kate hurriedly, and Mr Allan continued as if uninterrupted,
‘She’d be sorry to have missed you, you know. We often used to wonder how you were getting on.’
‘I know, and I never wrote back to her,’ said Kate. She felt as low as can be. ‘She sent me newspaper cuttings, bits and bobs, you know.’
‘Yes, I know.’
‘I never replied.’ She shook her head. ‘It was so ru
de of me. I’m sorry.’
‘No, it was natural, after everything that happened. We just wanted you to be happy, dear.’
‘Bless you,’ Kate said, giving him a small smile.
Mr Allan strode across to the coat rack and picked up a long raincoat. ‘So how’s New York? I want to hear all about it.’
Kate jangled her keys in her pocket. ‘Not really much to tell.’
‘Well,’ he said, and he let her help him on with his coat, ‘let’s get going then, and you can tell me all about it.’
The daffodils were out all along the roads up to the park, in window boxes, in clumps on the ground. They walked through St John’s Wood, towards Lord’s, through the heart of London’s apartment block land, every street lined with charming Victorian flats, with balconies, brass plaques fitted with bells, perfectly manicured gardens. The hum of the first mowing of the lawns echoed around them, as they walked further, through the wide, quiet streets, past the private hospitals, the synagogues, the little rows of shops with flats above, and down St John’s Wood High Street. It was Monday morning, and the roads were almost empty in the cold spring sunshine; pensioners and middle-aged couples emerged from their blocks, slowly moving down the street, talking politely to each other.
Mr Allan walked fast, which Kate liked; she wasn’t a stroller. For a man of his age he was extremely fit: tall and sinewy. They talked for a while, he asking her questions about how she’d been, she replying, and asking him questions in return, but after that they fell into silence. He didn’t say much, neither did she, but it was almost as if they didn’t need to. After twenty minutes or so like this, he suddenly stopped abruptly.
‘Oh, we’re here,’ he said. ‘We have gone far. We’ve reached the park. I was miles away, I’m afraid.’
Regent’s Park. She could see it unfolding ahead of her. To their left was the zoo; ahead, the tangled bushes at the edge of the park. She could just see parts of it rolling away towards the heart of the city, gorgeous, glorious Regent’s Park. It seemed so strange to her, all of a sudden, so … English. She hadn’t realized how much it affected her, how overwhelming it was, now, here, to be back home, and how strange it must be for Mr Allan. Last week he wouldn’t have known, couldn’t have imagined in his worst nightmares that this would be his Monday morning, his wife dead. They were both silent. Without meaning to, Kate said impulsively,
The Love of Her Life Page 14