by V Clifford
As she was leaving Melanie said, ‘Would you like a proper tour?’
It hadn’t occurred to Viv that that would be possible but she said, ‘I’d love one. When?’
‘I can arrange it with my boss. I’ll email you with some dates. It’ll take a couple of hours. So best do it at the end of a working day.’
‘Great. Look forward to that.’
Once an academic always an academic. Anything to do with books and knowledge got her fired up. At times like this she regretted not taking a full-time teaching post, but she had had her hair clients to think about. They’d stuck with her through thick and thin and she hadn’t wanted to let them down. Besides she was as addicted to cutting their hair as they were to having her cut it. A full-time lectureship may have made life simpler but simple had never been her thing.
Her next client was in the Grassmarket, an antique dealer with a passion for miniature portraits. What new acquisitions might he have today? She pushed her hair back from her eyes and smiled. He was always going to find an undiscovered Rembrandt but so far, no luck. She pressed the buzzer for his flat. No answer. She pressed again. Still no answer. She took out her phone and rang his number. It went straight to voicemail. She left a message then wandered back towards her own flat, stopping to have a look at the knitwear in the window of Bill Baber’s.
Chapter Five
As she approached her building she was surprised to see Mand with one foot hovering on the step outside the front door.
‘Is everything all right?’ Her first thought was that something had happened to their mum.
Mand, dressed in cream skinny jeans, a cream down jacket and cream ankle boots, pushed off the step to make space for Viv to open up, and shrugged, ‘I’m not sure.’ She tucked an imaginary hair behind her ear with beautifully manicured, pale pink nails.
‘What do you mean you’re not sure? Mum’s either all right or she’s not.’
‘I think mum’s okay but . . . let’s go inside.’
Viv unlocked the door and they made their way up to Viv’s flat. It was the first time that Mand had visited and Viv hoped she’d left it in a fit state. Mand’s house was an immaculate minimalist space where little evidence of life was to be found outside of a cupboard door. James, Viv’s nephew, would no sooner stop playing with a toy than it was picked up and put back in its rightful place. White carpets and shiny objets d’art were not the ideal play things for a toddler and yet Mand didn’t seem able to give them up. Mand stepped over the threshold and looked around but said nothing. Nothing in words. Viv dropped her rucksack in the hall and went straight into the kitchen to put the kettle on.
‘Coffee?’
Mand followed, ‘How long have you been here now?’
‘Couple of years. Not counting. But what’s up? It’s not like you to venture over to the dark side.’
Mand bristled. She was every bit the New Town woman, preferring wide streets and invisible neighbours. The Old Town was crammed with people coming and going, pubs spilling over and restaurants leaking the smells of exotic ingredients. Mand wouldn’t live here if someone paid her to, but it was what Viv loved about it.
Mand said, ‘I don’t know if I’m overreacting.’
Viv couldn’t stop herself from raising her eyebrows. Mand was the mistress of overreaction.
Mand continued, ‘I’ve just been at mum’s – James is at play group – and I found her going through that box of old photographs.’
Viv opened her eyes wide in mock surprise and turned her hand round and round for Mand to continue.
‘Well, I went to the loo and when I went back into the sitting-room she was stashing a piece of paper back into a compartment in the box that I didn’t even know existed. A tiny edge of it was still visible, but she shut the box quickly as if she didn’t want me to see it. I wonder if we should take a look at whatever it is? Also she’s edgy. When I arrived the door was double locked. She never locks her door.’
‘You do know that that could be a symptom of something else?’
Mand sighed, ‘You got that wrong last time, and I don’t believe it this time. She’s spooked by something.’
They had a running argument about whether their mum had the beginnings of dementia. The last time it had come up Mand had taken her to see the GP, but it turned out that her confusion was caused by a UTI and there was nothing wrong with her cognitive ability. Viv conceded that she’d got it wrong, but it didn’t mean that was the case now.
Viv said, ‘What do you want me to do?’
‘Well, one of us has to take a look.’
Viv handed Mand a cup of black coffee and they went down the hall to the sitting-room.
Mand glanced around and crossed to the window. Viv loved the view and waited to hear Mand’s reaction.
‘Nice view. Noisy though.’
Viv smiled, ‘Yeah it is. Comforting.’
Mand said, ‘Well, will you take a look or shall I? I don’t want you to think I’m snooping for no reason.’
This was the best side of Mand. She was honest to her core.
She sat on the edge of the ottoman and took in all of Viv’s paintings and prints. ‘D’you have help to clean this place?’
‘No. I blitz it every now and then but you wouldn’t want to eat your dinner off my floors any time soon.’
Mand shook her head. ‘You think you’ve got me taped but you haven’t. My OCD is what’s kept me sane.’
Viv almost choked on her coffee at the irony. She knew what Mand meant, though. The ritual of perfect placement and tidying had its benefits and without that Mand would be even more uptight. Everyone found ways to survive and Viv wasn’t immune from the odd moment of crazy realignment herself. Not so long ago, in Bella’s bistro with Mac, one of the prints on the wall was sitting at an odd angle and the whole time that Mac was speaking she was distracted by it. Eventually he’d asked her what was wrong. She got up and adjusted the print, then gave him her full attention.
‘Why don’t we both do it?’
Mand looked surprised. ‘Okay. When?’
Viv checked the time on her computer. ‘We could go now, but she’ll guess something’s up.’
‘She’s out. A bus trip with the women from the . . . I saw the bus arrive.’
Neither of them knew what to call the place their mum lived in. It wasn’t a care home and it wasn’t sheltered accommodation. It was a hybrid: independent living with a bit of help if you needed it. Viv had settled on ‘the Pound’, since it was the name for the home that cats and dogs were taken when they were unwanted. No nursing care in their mum’s place though; that much they’d made explicit. If she was away on a day trip, now would be a good time to check out the box. Without another word they put their cups in the kitchen and headed out to the street.
‘My car is over here.’ Mand gestured to her Lexus on Victoria Street.
‘How did you manage to get that? I rarely get a space close to . . .’
Mand grinned, ‘So living here is not all good?’
‘I don’t think it’ll kill me to walk a few metres to my car. But when I’ve got a bag of kit or groceries it’s a drag, I’ll give you that.’
They jumped into Mand’s car and drove to Haymarket. The car smelled new, but only because it was valeted so regularly. Mand’s ex was always looking for ways to win her back by dangling goodies, like the car, as carrots. The car was posh admittedly, but not exactly child friendly; then there was said valet service and some serious financial support, including private nursery. Viv had to give her sis credit for not taking him back, although she still enjoyed company perks that benefited James. None of this would have happened if Doug hadn’t been discovered attempting to squirrel finances offshore. She glanced over at Mand, a good-looking woman who Viv guessed wouldn’t be on her own forever.
Viv said, ‘Did the warden go with them?’
‘How would I know? I didn’t see her earlier.’
‘Fingers crossed she has, or, even better, she’s
gone to live with an ancient aunt in New Zealand.’
‘Have you got a problem with her?’
‘Yes. Why? Have you not? She drives me nuts with her officious smugness. She’s unkind and mum’s scared of her. Why would that be?’
‘D’you think she’s threatened her?’
‘I don’t know. But mum’s never exactly been worried about speaking her mind until this new warden arrived. Now when I say we should speak to her about something, take the central heating for starters, mum won’t let me. It is as if she is scared of upsetting her. Getting the heating sorted is the warden’s job. So now mum lives in a bikini state.’
‘I’d noticed it was warm, but hadn’t thought that mum was uncomfortable.’
‘Oh, she’s not. She lives in a tee shirt and baggy linen trews. She doesn’t even bother to put socks on.’
Mand went to push another imaginary stray hair off her face and mistakenly scratched her head dislodging another hair from its tight bun. ‘You’re right. Why didn’t I notice that?’
‘You’ve been distracted with James and it’s probably suited you to have a warm environment for him.’
‘Yeah, but not so warm as to have mum sitting in her summer clothes in the middle of winter.’
They pulled up on the opposite side of their mum’s building to where Viv would have parked, a legal space at the back away from the peering eyes of the warden.
‘Do you always park here?’
Mand nodded. ‘I use the back door.’ She dangled a set of keys.
Viv had keys somewhere but it wouldn’t occur to her to go into her mum’s home if she wasn’t there. Although, happy to make an exception now.
The flat always seemed much smaller when the sisters were in it together. They sidled round each other in search of the box, a familiar item, because it had housed the family photograph collection since before they were born: a brown mock crocodile skin square box about eighteen inches by eighteen inches by eighteen inches. Not easy to conceal but their mum had managed to force it beneath her bed and cover it with a bag of crocheted blankets.
‘Mand. Can you lift up the bed while I try and pull this out? How the hell she managed to get it under here is anyone’s guess.’
‘Here, let me help.’
With a bit of tugging Viv managed to free it, but a corner of it caught on the old bedsprings and ripped. ‘Shit. We’ll have to fix that before we put it back.’
‘That the royal we?’
Viv shook her head. ‘Let’s see what’s inside.’
Viv opened the box and riffled through the photographs. Seeing images of her dad tugged at her heart.
Mand said, ‘Give it here. If you stop to look at every picture she’ll be back and we won’t have the paper.’ Mand ran her hand round the inside of the box but couldn’t feel anything suspect. She slid her manicured fingernails round the top and caught a fine invisible pocket, which she prised apart. ‘There’s no way we’d have found this when . . .’
Best not to finish a sentence that implied their mum’s demise.
She pulled out the sheet of paper. Yellowed with age and with a stamp across the original address declaring it, ‘Top Secret’.
Mand glanced at Viv. ‘What the . . .’
‘It must be something to do with dad.’
‘But it’s got mum’s name on it, not dad’s.’
Viv took the document and read what she could, since some of the words were blacked out. It didn’t make sense. She handed it back to Mand and put her hand into the pouch inside the box. At the bottom she felt something else. She slipped out a receipt stapled to a small sepia photograph of a woman. Her hairstyle looked sixties, maybe early seventies. Their parents never had disposable income in their entire lives so what the heck was her mum doing with a receipt for £450,000? They sat on the floor of their mum’s bedroom and tried to make sense of what they were handling.
‘Why so secretive about this? Why keep it tucked away where no one, not even we could find it? I mean if you hadn’t interrupted her . . . It’s weird.’ Viv took out her phone and was about to take a photograph when there was a light knock at the door.
Mand put her finger to her lips and shook her head. It was as if they were back in childhood caught doing something illicit by one of their parents. They both put a hand over their mouth; a rare glimpse of a past that they’d lost sight of. The person knocking shuffled by and they each let their breath go.
‘Shit. D’you think you should take a photograph? She sure as hell doesn’t want us to see any of this.’ Mand ran her hand over the yellow document. The receipt wasn’t that old. There was a date obscured by a crease where a corner had been folded over in storage. Viv took a few photographs with her phone and they tucked the papers back into the box.
Mand said, ‘What will we do about that little tear? She’ll notice it.’
‘Only if she has reason to take it out again. We’ll risk it. She’ll notice if it’s been mended as well. You know what she’s like; never misses a trick.’
They nodded their agreement and Mand held up the bed as Viv pushed the box back under so as not to damage it any further. They left the same way they’d come in. Once back in the car Viv took out her phone and stared at the documents. Magnifying the receipt made it easier to see the date. It was only five years old. They drove back to the West Bow. Mand had to pick up James but they agreed to speak later. Viv took the stairs two at a time and spent the next couple of hours searching sites where there was a chance she’d find out who the woman in the photograph was. It was slow work and eventually, after being up too many blind alleys, she interrupted the search to answer the call of her belly rumbling in protest. She stumbled out of her new ‘office’, rubbed her eyes as if she’d surfaced from underground, and went in search of her phone.
There was a message from Mac reminding her about yoga; he must have been too distracted last night. He reminded her weekly and occasionally she went. She checked the time. If she got a bend on she’d make it. She drank a large glass of water to fill her up then jogged down the Grassmarket to Dance Base where she spotted Mac chatting to a woman at the entrance. She held back. The woman was fawning, throwing her head back and laughing too loudly at something he said. Mac shrank back when she touched his arm. Viv intervened.
‘Hi, I got your message.’
Mac, visibly relieved, said, ‘Great!’ He greeted her with a hug and a kiss. ‘This is Viv,’ he said to the woman, whose face crumpled. She recovered enough to be polite, ‘Hi. Nice to meet you. I’m Olivia.’
Mac said, ‘Shall we?’ and ushered Viv by the small of her back into the studio. Olivia’s phone rang and she pointed to it. Mac waved and he and Viv continued to the class.
‘So?’
‘So what?’
‘So what was that about?’
‘I am forever in your debt. She comes to this class and one of the others and asks me each week if I’ll join her for dinner. Running out of excuses. But now that you’re here . . .’
Viv scratched her head. ‘Not heard of the words: I’m not interested?’
‘Who’d say that? It would be cruel. I’ve managed to get away with work commitments so far, but now you’re here we can have dinner.’
‘How d’you know I’m not committed?’
‘I don’t, but every time you’ve come to the class it’s been because you wanted company to eat. Call me a detective if you like. ‘
She play punched him but he swerved out of reach.
‘Told you! Dinner?’
‘You bet. In fact we could skip the class and go straight to Bella’s.’
‘No chance. You have to earn your treats.’
‘Don’t even go there with the bubble gum psych.’
The teacher began the first stretches and Viv glared at Mac, who smirked then looked the other way.
Ashtanga was such a ferocious work-out that a shower was essential after it. On their way to the changing area she said, ‘Really ought to shower.’
> He threw her a towel, ‘Here, use this.’
They met out front ten minutes later. No sign of Olivia.
Bella’s was busy, but she cleared a table by the window and left them with menus and the specials board. Ravenous now, Viv wanted everything on the board.
‘I’ll have the same as last night.’
Mac said, ‘Sounds good. I’ll have the same.’
Bella returned and said, ‘Lucky, that’s the last of it.’
‘Still got mash?’
Bella said, ‘Still got some buttery mash.’
‘Silly me.’ Viv rubbed her hands together.
When she was this hungry she couldn’t think straight. Bella brought them their usual beers and a basket of bread and they tucked in.
After a few bites Viv said, ‘That’s much better. So how useful was that info?’
He glared at her.
She batted her hand, ‘Okay, let’s not talk about that. So what’s really going on with Olivia?’
He nodded as he finished a mouthful, ‘Oh, she’s a rescuer. Stalking me for weeks. But I’m fine; your timing couldn’t have been better. Another woman around is perfect. She’ll stop trying to save me now . . . but never mind that. I’m guessing you’ve got something on your mind.’
‘No, I haven’t.’
He pointed with his fork over the table, ‘Exactly! No one is that defensive for nothing.’
‘What do you mean defensive?’ She couldn’t help noticing the shrill sound that came out of her mouth.
‘So what’s up?’
Bella arrived with their mains. ‘Right, I’ll leave you two to it then.’ She grinned. Bella had told Viv that eventually she and Mac would see what everyone around them had seen forever; that they should be an item. Viv wasn’t completely averse to the idea, but somehow the timing had never been right. Either one or other was usually involved with someone else, although his record was pretty abysmal. Which was saying something next to Viv.
‘By the way we must stop meeting like this. Folk’ll talk. I mean more than they do already.’ She grinned. ‘I should have mentioned this last night but I’ve had time to do a bit more digging today and well . . . Let me run this by you. Yesterday I had a strange visitor. And so did my mum.’
