‘Whatever,’ said Lisa, waving her hand dismissively. ‘Safe flight, you. Call us, OK? And don’t fucking leave it so long this time.’
It was six o’clock; her last night in the flat, in London, for who knows how long. Kate let herself in, wearily, and looked down in surprise. There on the floor, slid under the door, was a handwritten note; her blood ran cold, fear spiralling in her chest. She looked again. It was attached to a magazine.
This is the kind of post I like getting; hope you do too. Your
first piece for Venus, enclosed. Congratulations, Kate. I
always knew you were a star.
Sue Jordan
CHAPTER FORTY
It was Saturday, and the day dawned, cloudy and rainy, the sort of weather you only get in the UK, where one can’t imagine there was ever such a thing as a blue sky, or a sun shining on those sad daffodils, flattened by the wind of the previous night. It suited Kate’s mood. She drank tea in the kitchen, looking around her home in the damp grey light. Her bags were packed, she was ready to go, there was nothing more to be done – other than see Mr Allan, who was going on the Heathrow Express with her.
There was a sad, back-to-school feeling to the day, like the previous few weeks of spring and sunshine had never really existed, but Kate knew they had. She knew she was different, that her time back in her home town had changed her, for the better. She was stronger, she was back to her old self – no, not her old self, perhaps, but on the way to being her own person, for the first time since she was a young girl, probably.
As she was putting her own copy of Venus back in her dresser, and wondering when she should go up to Mr Allan, the doorbell rang.
‘It’s Geraldine Garley,’ a voice came over loudly on the intercom. ‘Hi there. From Prince’s, the estate agents? I just want to measure the flat, my colleague didn’t do it yesterday. Can I come up?’
‘Of course,’ said Kate, pressing the buzzer.
Geraldine was short, stocky and very determined to impress. She was also clearly furious that she was having to do this.
‘It’s a busy time of year for us, Kate,’ she said, pointing the electronic measuring gun at the opposite wall and zapping it viciously. ‘And I don’t see why I should have to pick up Nigel’s pieces, just because Nigel is a total and utter w-Oh!’ she said, coming to and remembering where she was. ‘Seventeen, six. Great. Nice place,’ she said, looking round.
‘Thanks,’ said Kate. She perched on the edge of the sofa, watching her. ‘Do you want a cup of tea or anything?’
‘Tea? No thanks, Kate. I’ll just – fifteen. OK, and nine inches. Well you know what they say about nine inches, eh!’ She bellowed, loudly.
‘I do indeed,’ said Kate, trying not to wink, like someone out of a seaside postcard.
‘So why you moving?’ Geraldine asked. She got out a clipboard. ‘Jesus! He hasn’t even filled out the – men. That’s men for you! Bloody useless! Fucking Nigel! Well, now I’ve gone and done it Kate, I’ve sworn in front of you and we’re absolutely not supposed to. Please accept my apologies.’
‘Don’t worry about it,’ Kate called from the bedroom. ‘It’s fine, honestly.’
‘So where you off to?’ Geraldine said, following her in.
‘I’m going back to New York,’ said Kate. ‘I live there. I was just over here for a bit, so I’m renting the flat out again after I’ve gone.’
Geraldine was only half-listening. ‘That’s great, Kate. That’s great. You like New York, do you?’
Kate loved the way people asked questions like this in London. It was basically a polite way of saying, ‘Are you stupid? Why do you live there?’
‘Love it, yeah,’ she said. ‘It’s great, you ever been?’
‘Couple of times.’ Geraldine finished scribbling down something and looked up. ‘Tell you what, though. If you’re talking about cities, I prefer Paris.’
‘Really?’ Kate said. She was surprised, she didn’t know why. She had Geraldine pegged as more of a Las Vegas kind of chick. ‘Do you?’
‘Yeah. Paris is lovely. Really beautiful. Dog shit and stuff, and it stinks of fags, but it’s great. You can walk anywhere. It’s small too. I liked that. Me and my boyfriend went there just before Christmas last year.’ Her face lit up. ‘Walking along the river. All those pretty little streets and stuff. Lovely. You want to think about going there. It’s so romantic.’
‘That’s nice,’ said Kate.
‘Yep, it is,’ Geraldine said, hugging herself. She snapped out of her reverie. ‘Well, it will be again, if I make my bloody bonus. I’m the one who paid for it.’
‘Well, fingers crossed,’ Kate said. She added, jokingly, ‘If you get shot of this flat first, perhaps you can go to Paris again.’
‘That’s what I’m thinking, and if Nigel thinks he’s getting his useless little hands on it – oh my god, I’ll kill him, Kate!’ Geraldine chuckled. ‘I’ll fucking kill him. Oh, now. Now look. I’ve done it again. My god. My apologies.’
‘It’s really OK,’ said Kate, seeing she looked quite alarmed.
Geraldine hit herself gently on the head with her clipboard. ‘Best be off before I get myself into more trouble,’ she said. She looked over at Kate’s bags. ‘Nice to meet you, anyway. You going soon?’
A voice behind her in the open door made her jump, suddenly.
‘She’s going in five minutes, and I’ve come to collect her.’
‘Mr Allan!’ Kate said, turning round to greet her neighbour. She kissed him on the cheek. ‘Oh, you’re really here. I really have to go. Oh dear. Thanks again, Geraldine.’
‘Thank you, for choosing Prince’s,’ said Geraldine, almost bowing, and she shut the door behind her.
‘Who on earth was that young lady?’ said Mr Allan, coming into the sitting room and looking around him in bemusement.
‘Estate agent,’ said Kate, putting the remote controls on top of the TV. ‘OK.’
‘I could hear her voice from the flat upstairs. Well,’ he continued, ‘this is a sad day, isn’t it?’
‘Oh,’ said Kate. ‘Don’t, Mr Allan. I’ll cry, honestly.’ She held her hand out to him. ‘I don’t want to go. I’m feeling homesick already.’
‘Cry? Rubbish,’ said Mr Allan. ‘You are a strange girl, Kate. Here you are, back off to New York, which you were constantly telling me was the best city you’d ever laid eyes on, and all of a sudden you don’t want to be there any more? Honestly.’ He picked up a case. ‘Make up your mind.’
‘I’ll take that one, it’s –’ Kate was going to say heavy. She corrected herself. ‘It’s lighter.’
‘Rubbish,’ Mr Allan said again. ‘Now, before we go, here we are. Let me give you something.’ He rummaged around in the capacious pockets of his overcoat. ‘I have a present for you. Where did I put it. Here.’
He produced a paper bag with something wrapped inside it, and a plastic case. Kate unwrapped the bag.
‘It’s chorizo!’ she said. ‘Er. Thanks?’
‘Fresh from the lush plains of Mallorca.’ Mr Allan smacked his lips. ‘Now,’ he said. ‘You can’t take that into the States with you. There’ll be six foot seven immigration officials all over you if you try to enter the country with that on your person. So, I thought I’d look after it for you.’
‘You’re going to look after a Spanish sausage for me,’ Kate said.
‘There’s another present,’ Mr Allan said, ignoring this. ‘Now, where – ah, in the case. There we go.’
‘“Chappell Quartet: Songs for Lovers”’ Kate read out. ‘This is you?’ she asked.
‘Me and the band, yes,’ said Mr Allan. ‘We cut that disc in 1960, you know. On my tenth wedding anniversary. To the day.’ He nodded. ‘Yes. Thought it was the last word, and then three years later that kind of music was absolutely dead. We became what we are,’ he said, lovingly holding the CD and gazing at the playlist. ‘A band of old fogies. Even back then, when we were relatively young. Haha.’
Kate’s eyes f
licked over the songs. ‘“That’s All”,’ she read out. ‘Well, of course that one. “There’s a Small Hotel”, “I Get Along Without You Very Well”. “I Remember You” – that’s Oscar’s favourite. Oh, Mr Allan. What a beautiful album cover too. I love it.’ She paused. ‘Thank you. Thank you so much.’ Her finger rested on the last song. ‘“It Never Entered My Mind” – I don’t know that one.’
‘Rodgers and Hart,’ Mr Allan said, filling the gap. ‘Saddest song in the world. So beautiful. Listen to it.’ He sang a few lines, quietly. His voice was croaky, a little shaky, but true.
She took the CD and put it in her bag, so he wouldn’t see her eyes filling with tears for him. There was silence.
‘What will you do?’ she asked him, breaking the tension. She wanted to know.
‘Me? Oh, you know. I’m not sure.’
‘Will you stay here?’ said Kate.
‘Well, again, I’m not sure.’ Mr Allan blinked, looking around the room as if searching for something, and she realized with fear that he was older than she liked to admit. ‘Sheila wants me to live with her, and you know, that’s fine, I get on with her, but I’m pretty happy here, you know? I lived with Eileen here for over forty years. Of course it’ll be strange that she’s not there any more. Getting into my hair.’ He smiled. ‘But I have my friends, I’m going to do some gigs, I think, for old times’ sake. I’ve got to clear out the flat a little bit, not too much though. And you know – I’ve got my memories, and as the song goes, I’ll have my love to keep me warm.’
‘But what about if you –’ Kate began, and then stopped.
‘I’m old enough to be able to look after myself,’ he said, firmly. ‘I don’t need anyone.’
Kate wanted him to understand. ‘Yes but take it from me, Mr Allan. No man is an island. You need to rely on people, people who care about you.’
‘Well, I can, I can,’ he said rather snappishly. ‘All except you, of course.’
Kate stepped back, as if he’d slapped her.
‘I’m sorry, my dear,’ he said gently. ‘I don’t mean it like that, of course. I just mean that, you know what?’ He took off his glasses and fixed her with a steely, but kind, stare.
‘What?’ said Kate, returning his gaze.
‘I’ll miss you. That’s all. I will bloody miss you, Kate. You coming back into my life just when I needed you most – a bit like an angel, the vicar said. You are an angel.’
‘Me?’ Kate was astonished. ‘Are you sure he meant me?’
‘I mean you,’ Mr Allan said, seriously. ‘You arrived as they were taking Eileen’s body away. If that’s not someone looking out for me in my darkest hour, I don’t know what is. I thank God for it.’
‘I really don’t think –’ Kate began, and then she stopped.
Mr Allan walked into the centre of the room. ‘You can say I’m a silly old fool, who doesn’t know what he’s talking about, his wife’s died and he’s got a God complex, but there are things we don’t understand, and there are things that are awful which happen for a reason, far beyond our ken. And I believe someone sent you to me to look out for me in the days after Eileen – went.’ He picked up the heavier suitcase. ‘You gave me strength. Strength to carry on. Now, you think about that, dear Kate, next time you’re telling yourself everything’s your fault and no one loves you.’
Mr Allan wheeled the suitcase to the front door.
‘We’re going now,’ he said. ‘We’ll be late otherwise. I don’t want you walking round this flat saying goodbye to everything. I want you to walk out of here, with your head held high, and we’ll go to the airport in style. God bless you, Kate.’
Terminal Three at Heathrow was like Armageddon. Plastic sheeting everywhere, walls open to the elements, the low sound of drilling, bags lying around on trolleys, in a worryingly relaxed way – whose bags were they, and why were they just casually being abandoned? – and queues and queues of people, some of whom didn’t even seem to be sure for what purpose they were queuing. When Mr Allan stopped one old lady and asked her if this was the queue for the check-in to JFK, she said, faintly,
‘I don’t know. I’ve been here for nearly an hour and nothing’s moved. I’ve lost the will to live.’
The screen on the board said the flight was scheduled to depart on time, at two p.m. but, at nearly one p.m., Kate still hadn’t checked in. As she and Mr Allan waited, shivering in the breeze from the open wall nearby, Kate said,
‘Shall I tell them I’m –’
‘I have already, if you’re going to New York,’ said a man in front of her firmly, as if he took pleasure in grimly disabusing her of the notion that her case was special – again, a very British trait, she thought. He added irritably, ‘I told them my flight was at two about an hour ago, and they said it’d be moving in a minute.’
‘Ooh, the liars,’ said Kate, trying to sound lighthearted, but feeling increasingly stressed. She wanted to leave, she’d made up her mind to leave, she had to leave. Please, she said in her head, don’t let there be some hitch. I’m not mentally equipped for a hitch. I’m mentally equipped to go to New York, don’t fuck with me, Lord.
‘Honestly,’ she said, turning back to Mr Allan, for the third time, after they’d been waiting for half an hour. ‘You should go. I’ll be fine, just go.’
‘No, no, no!’ said Mr Allan, rocking on his heels, his eyes shining. He liked a bit of drama. ‘I’ll wait to see you through security. Come now, my dear. What else will I have waiting for me at home?’
‘I just –’ Kate stamped her feet to keep warm, impatiently. ‘This isn’t a very good goodbye, that’s all. Dribs and drabs. And I don’t want you to get cold.’
‘That’s very kind of you,’ he said. ‘But I’m not a child. I’m fine.’
Fifteen minutes later, just as Kate was starting to accept that, very possibly, she might miss the flight – for what if she and the man in front were the only ones not to have checked in yet and they simply didn’t hold the plane? – salvation arrived, a woman with a clipboard and an understanding manner, and Kate and her companions were ushered into the until now empty Upper Class section, to be checked in. Mr Allan looked around him, anxiously.
‘You OK?’ Kate said. ‘Nearly there.’
‘Yes, yes,’ said Mr Allan. ‘About time.’
‘Wow,’ said Kate, hauling her bags onto the conveyor belt. ‘At last,’ she said, trying not to sound chippy to the woman checking her in. ‘Is it a full flight?’
‘Yes,’ said the lady behind the desk, her mouth pursed in disapproval. ‘It’s a full flight, madam, and I’m afraid you’re very late to be checking in.’
‘But the –!’ Kate began, trying not to yell something unforgiveable.
‘Stay calm,’ Mr Allan whispered in her ear. ‘Close your eyes and count to ten. God bless you, Kate.’
Since there were only two possible responses, going mad and shouting at her, or remaining totally silent and counting to ten, and since she wanted to get on the flight and didn’t want to risk violence, Kate bit her lip, closed her eyes, and counted to ten.
And when she opened her eyes, the woman was staring at her, strangely, and when Kate turned around, Mr Allan had gone.
‘Where did he go?’ she said.
‘Who?’
Kate waved vaguely at her side. ‘The man who was with me. The old – the elderly gentleman. Where did he go?’
The woman shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Sorry. Didn’t see him.’
‘Yes, but he can’t have just disappeared,’ Kate said, trying to stay calm. ‘He didn’t just vanish into thin air. Didn’t you see him at all?’
‘It’s very busy here this afternoon, in case you hadn’t noticed,’ the woman said, with a real edge to her voice. ‘Was he checking in for the same flight as you? Because if so, he’s very late as well and needs to come to the desk. Otherwise, madam, I think you’d better go through.’
Kate looked wildly around her. ‘But – he was just with me! I can’t just leav
e him.’
‘Excuse me,’ came a voice behind her, and she wheeled round.
‘If you’re not going to move out of the way,’ said a hard-faced lady, with a bag clamped under her arm, and an embarrassed-looking husband next to her, ‘then we’ll miss our flight and I will actually be entitled to sue you for compensation.’
‘Oh my god,’ Kate said. ‘Are you serious?’ She said this with such force the woman stepped back, clearly wondering if she was dealing with a psychopath. ‘My friend – Mr Allan – he’s gone missing, he was here a second ago and now he’s gone off, and this lady won’t help me at all, and just because that holds you up for ten seconds, you want to sue me?’
‘Look, just please excuse me,’ said the woman, her face a rictus of unpleasant smugness. ‘Some of us have to catch that flight.’
‘Stupid cow,’ Kate muttered. God, she hated this country, and she would be glad to leave. She picked up her passport, casting a disgruntled look at the check-in lady, and slunk away, her heart racing.
Where was he? Mr Allan wouldn’t have just left without telling her – would he? She didn’t know what to do – she couldn’t leave without saying goodbye to him, but she didn’t want to miss her flight: what would he say if she did? Or perhaps he wanted her to stay so much he’d done this on purpose?
Kate shook her head; he wasn’t that bad. Or was he?
She hung around outside the Gents for a few minutes, anxiously checking her watch and feeling a bit weird, but there was no sign of him, and five minutes later found her hurrying through departures, worry seeping through her, draining her. She was late, she was worryingly late, and she didn’t know what to do. The hall was thronged with knots of people, occasionally bunching up to make way for a stewardess clacking her way through the crowd, pulling a trolley behind her, or airport staff in dazzling fluorescents. She was right about airports, she thought. They were stressful and – in this case, totally, horrifically chaotic – and they were the least romantic places in the world.
The Love of Her Life Page 37