When the doorbell rang, she sprang gratefully to her feet, despite her own rum punch headache. “I’ll just see who that is.”
Steve the mechanic stood on the front step, looking clean-scrubbed and hopeful and smelling good. When he saw Livi a flicker of disappointment showed on his face, but he quickly regrouped.
“Hi. I was wondering if Cass was home?”
“Hi, Steve. She is, but...she’s just in bed. Come up though, come up.”
He hesitated, one foot over the threshold. She couldn’t help noticing that there was not a trace of engine oil under his slightly ragged fingernails. Clearly he hadn’t just been passing by, but Cass in bed was a circumstance he obviously hadn’t been prepared for.
“Come on up,” she urged. “She’s in bed by herself.”
He blushed, as she thought he might, and stepped in and followed her up. She tapped gently on Cass’s closed door.
“Cass?” Silence. She knocked again, sharply this time. “Cass! Steve’s here.”
There was a muffled sort of groan from within. “Steve? No. Queasy…” Then silence again.
They waited a few moments, but nothing more was forthcoming.
“I’m sorry,” Livi said. “She wasn’t feeling very well.”
He couldn’t manage his disappointed face this time. “That’s okay. When I phoned, your mum said you’d be back, so I just thought…” He turned to go. “Thanks anyway.”
Her heart ached for him. “We had such a late night,” she said. “She’s really worn out.”
“That’s okay,” he said again, with a determined shake of the head. “I knew I was aiming high. I’d better get back to work.”
She saw him down the stairs, closed the door on his purposefully upright figure, and went straight back upstairs into Cass’s room, without knocking this time.
“Hey, Cass.” She shook the batik-printed mound. “Wake up.”
“Nooo.”
The mound travelled to the other side of the bed, but Livi was merciless. She pulled back the covers and tugged the pillow out from under Cass’s head. “Wake up!”
“What…why did you do that?” Cass was indignant. “My head is absolutely killing me, that doesn’t help, you know.”
She grabbed the pillow back and put it over her head, blocking out the light and Livi’s reproachful face.
“You should have seen him. If you’d seen him, you wouldn’t have sent him away. He must have taken time off work. He looked so sweet. And well-groomed.”
“If you were in this head, you wouldn’t be receiving visitors either.”
“But it was such a big deal for him to come here. I mean, it was brave. He said he knew he was aiming high.”
“Oh!” She emerged from under the pillow, surprised and pleased. “Did he? He is sweet. You know,” she added, “I have been thinking about him an awful lot.”
“Don’t say you might actually, properly, like this one?” Livi teased.
Cass looked pink. “Maybe. I would like to find just one. You know, the right one. It’s not my fault if it’s been taking a long time.” She was suddenly struck with remorse. “Oh God, do you think I hurt his feelings?”
Livi’s teasing had unintentionally hit home. “Yes, you probably did. I think—”
But her reply was cut short by her mother’s raised voice. Although they couldn’t tell what she was saying, she sounded upset. Livi turned and made for the kitchen, and Cass heaved herself out of bed and followed, dropping the pillow on the floor.
They found Evelyn leaning out the window. From below, they could hear a familiar voice shout, “Just let me come in and explain! Come on love, open up…I’m telling you, it would really be best if you let me in.” Then he started hammering on the door.
Livi and Cass looked at each other. “Is it locked?” Cass whispered.
Livi nodded, grateful for the automatically locking night latch. Then, seeing her mum’s distressed face, she went and stood with her at the window.
In the front yard, an agitated Len Mortlock was pounding on the door and yelling up, “Evelyn! Come on now, Evelyn!” The suave demeanour was gone. Now his well-tended hair was in disarray, and his moustache was askew. She would have laughed at the sight he made, grim expression, beetroot face, and flying spittle, but he looked so incensed that she felt quite afraid. She was glad to be a storey above.
“Len, please go away,” Evelyn pleaded. “I really don’t want to hear any explanations.”
“Evelyn! Just open the door and we’ll talk about it.” More hammering. “I’m starting to get really angry now…”
Evelyn turned away and started to cry. “Oh Livi, I’m so sorry. I didn’t think he’d do this.”
As reassuringly as she could, Livi said, “It’ll be okay.” She gestured to Cass, who came over and put an arm around Evelyn’s shaking shoulders. Then she leaned through the window, and tried to use her most authoritative voice. “Len! You need to go now.”
“This is between me and your mother.” He sent her a look that made her go cold, but, with Evelyn crying behind her, she stood her ground.
“Len, if you don’t go I’ll have to call the police.”
He snorted. “I’m coming in.” And he started kicking at the door.
Before any of them could think what to do next, they saw a figure charge through the front gate and grab Len by the back of the collar. As he jerked backwards, his face was a study in scarlet surprise, and any menace he held for them evaporated as they watched Steve effortlessly spin him around and fling him into the hawthorn hedge. He howled with pain as the thorns connected with a dozen parts of his anatomy.
“Sorry about the hedge,” Steve called up to them as he hauled him out, scattering glossy green leaves and berries, and manhandled him to the street.
“Another time, love,” Len managed to get out, despite his head being wedged between his elbows. “Another—”
He was cut short as Steve hustled his sorry form, still flailing and fighting, along the pavement, around the corner and out of sight.
With his removal the street was quiet again, as though nothing at all had happened. They found themselves laughing, and crying a bit, with the sudden release of tension.
“My God, he’s quite mad,” Evelyn said, still shaking. “Thank goodness the downstairs neighbours weren’t home.” She lowered herself into a chair.
Something occurred to Livi. “Mum, what did he want to explain?”
“Oh…well, yes. I suppose I’ll have to explain myself now.”
The girls sat down with her, and she reluctantly began.
“Well…after the play we started walking to find somewhere to eat. We went down a little side street, and then we came to one of the old red phone boxes, and he said he needed to make a call.” She stopped, rubbing her forehead.
“And what happened then?” Livi prompted.
Her cheeks reddened, but she made herself continue. “Well, then…he sort of pressed me into the phone box, and…I’m so embarrassed...he tried to pull up my skirt, and, you know…” She swirled her now-cold tea in its mug, avoiding their eyes. “Luckily someone came past just in time.”
As her meaning sank in they were both incredulous, and furious.
“You shouldn’t be embarrassed about that!” Cass exclaimed. “That’s absolutely scandalous.”
Livi felt a hot anger in the middle of her chest. “It is, it’s disgusting. Especially when he tries to make out that he’s such a gentleman.”
“He did seem so charming and funny,” said Evelyn. “I thought he was just a bit cheeky, a bit of a larrikin. But…obviously not.”
“I really do want to call the police now,” said Livi.
“Oh no, I’m in one piece. Unsullied. But, speaking of gentlemen, thank goodness Steve was here.” She neatly changed the subject.
Livi looked at Cass. “Yes, what do you think of your Steve now?”
“Well, I know we’re not supposed to be impressed with manly displays like that any m
ore, but that was impressive.” She got back up and peered out the window and down the street. “I can’t see a motorbike. Maybe he had to park around the corner. Do you think he’ll come back?”
“I hope so,” said Evelyn. “He deserves a big thank you.”
“I know how I’d like to thank him,” Cass said, grinning, her headache apparently forgotten. “Surely he’ll be back.”
Livi looked doubtful. “I don’t think so. He looked pretty flattened when he left the first time.” She felt for him. She knew the feeling all too well herself.
“You could call him,” Evelyn suggested.
“I don’t have his number,” Cass said, dismayed. “I never asked him for it.”
“Then you’ll just have to wait for him. That’ll be a change for you,” said Livi, not able to resist.
Cass wasn’t offended. “Now you and I will both be on the hunt for missing men. But,” she said to Evelyn, “I hope yours stays missing.”
“So do I,” she replied wholeheartedly.
“Me too.” Livi tried not to think about her going off to work the next day, out on London’s streets with only a blue flag and a gaggle of disoriented tourists as protection. If her dad was here, none of this would have happened. She made up her mind to call him as soon as her mother went to bed. She couldn’t imagine why he hadn’t phoned before now. And, despite Evelyn’s strict instructions, she had every right to talk to him. After all, it was her family too, even in this crumbled state. She just hoped it could be reconstituted.
* * *
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: Mothers and madmen
* * *
Drama. We’d only just come back from the Notting Hill Carnival (which was fantastic, by the way) and Len the Australian turned up, pounding on the door like a crazy man. Mum had gone to the theatre with him, and afterwards he tried to take advantage of her in a phone box. Sorry to sound all Jane Austen, but I can’t manage the direct description when it applies to my mother. Anyway, luckily one of Cass’s admirers, Steve, stepped in and got rid of him. We’re expecting that will be the first and last of the walking tourists Mum brings home. Hopefully it’ll be the last we see of Len too.
I phoned Dad last night but I got the voicemail at work and home, and on his mobile. What can he be doing?
You’re lucky to have nice steady parents. Say hi to them from me.
xxx
P.S. Can just see you and James cruising the countryside on the Goldwing, his moustache tickling the back of your neck…
* * *
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: Re: Mothers and madmen
* * *
He’s trimmed it. But even so, no more of those jokes, thank you.
Think we know now that there are no guarantees on steady parents. But your dad would be worried—for all of you—with lunatics at your door. Anyone would be worried. Remember your self-defence. And get Cass to keep her Steve handy. He sounds like a useful guy to have around. Be careful out there.
xxx
Seventeen
The next night, Mia phoned. “This is your personal Google service calling.”
Mia loved a project, and prided herself on her online search skills, so she’d risen to the challenge of helping find the American. Now she put on her efficient voice.
“Right, clue number two. Golders Green, the first of September. I’ve done a bit of research for you.”
“Thank you!” Livi said. “What did you find out?”
“Well, I don’t go up that way very often, so I didn’t know much about it. Let’s see. There’s the London Jewish Family Centre. Did he look Jewish, do you think?”
“Um…I don’t know.” She thought back to dark eyes and exotic golden brown skin, perfect teeth revealed in that mischievous smile. Even standing in the kitchen under a bare light bulb, dirty dishes cluttering the worktop, just the picture of him in her mind’s eye was enough to give her a little rush. “More Italian, probably.”
“Okay.” There was a pause, and Livi could imagine her inscribing a neat cross next to item one. “There’s the Hippodrome theatre.”
“Hmm. What about the ‘3P’ he wrote on the A–Z page—could it be seat 3P, maybe, in the theatre?”
“Maybe, but it hasn’t been a theatre for years. Now one of those hands-in-the-air churches owns it. I haven’t been to church for a long time, but I can’t imagine they’ve introduced numbered seating. What else…oh, there’s a big bus station outside the tube station.”
“Could a 3P bus go from there?” There were great swathes of London Livi had travelled under countless times by tube, but she had no idea what they looked like on the surface. She sometimes thought she should take the bus more, and actually see this city she was living in.
“I don’t think any of the buses have letters and numbers together. Except for the night buses, but they start with N.” A longer, weightier pause now. “The most famous thing in Golders Green is the crematorium. It was on that A–Z page.”
“Oh.” Her heart sank. From a drowned Brian Jones to the crematorium, en route to Jim Morrison…this was turning out to be a less than uplifting search.
Mia was sympathetic. “I know. Not very encouraging. But it’s not necessarily the crematorium. I just thought, graveyards are organised into sections, so you can find people. It looks like there might be a section 3P.”
“So he might be going to see someone buried there.”
“Well, someone scattered. Or possibly in an urn. There are lots of famous people there, apparently.”
“Great, another famous dead person.”
“But he said his mother was English—maybe she’s there. Or some other family members.”
This was a much nicer idea. American boy crossing the Atlantic to pay tribute to his English forebears. It sat much better alongside Pooh Bear, who she obviously much preferred to Brian Jones. But, even assuming the crematorium was the right place, who knew if he’d be there at the same time she was? All she had was a long lunchtime—she couldn’t spend all day sitting in section 3P, whatever that was. The whole exercise was probably, almost certainly, a wild goose chase.
But. But. The memory of him, the electric sensation of standing just a whisper away from his body, breathing in his closeness. Without even touching her, he’d flicked a switch, and she was humming. No one had had that effect on her since Rob. Life is too short to be sensible all the time, she reasoned. And she was sensible in so many other ways. Before she knew it she’d be an old lady, saving her cling film, reusing her tea bags and wearing a warm coat in hot weather. In the meantime, before she took possession of her bus pass and orthopaedic shoes, surely she could take a chance or two.
So she set out from the salon the next day as planned, hung about with her own bag of synthetic origin—pleather, as Cass liked to call it—and the fragrant genuine leather satchel. The heavy glass door had only just swung closed behind her when Mattias appeared.
“I was just coming to invite you to lunch,” he said. “Are you free?”
She didn’t know what to say. How could she explain what she was doing?
“Um…I’m going…I’m going to Golders Green.”
“I haven’t been there yet. I’ll come too and keep you company.” He gave a firm nod, as if it was all decided. “Let me take that bag for you.”
He took hold of the satchel’s strap and began to lift it from her shoulder. There was a polite sort of struggle for a moment, Livi insisting she was fine. It didn’t seem right to let him carry the satchel (though she couldn’t say why). But then she gave in to his absolute determination to be chivalrous. What were the odds of them actually finding the American, anyway?
They made their way through the lunchtime bustle to the Tottenham Court Road tube and waited for an Edgeware train to come along. She noticed that the satchel, not having any hint of man-bag, actually gave him a slight (a very sli
ght) edge of cool. Quite an achievement, she thought.
As they rocked northwards, he made conversation. “Do you have an appointment in Golders Green?”
“Um, no.” She was tempted to tell him she was off for some intimate procedure, just to see his face. A Brazilian wax, or colonic cleansing. Or a smear test. She smothered a giggle. He looked sideways at her, but she resisted the urge. How could he be so well-mannered, and yet blunder along doing things ordinary people wouldn’t dream of?
He continued on. “Where are we going today, then?”
Damn. She was backed into a corner. “Golders Green Crematorium.”
His eyebrows flew up. “Oh!” Then something occurred to him, and he organised his features into an expression of mournful sympathy. “Oh. I’m so sorry.” He put a large square hand over hers on her lap.
“No, no, it’s okay,” she said. “No one has died. Well, not just now, anyway.” Finally she hit on an idea. “I’m going there to research some family history, for…um…for my friend Gemma.” Brilliant, Livi, she thought.
Then she looked down at his hand, still resting on hers. Was it creeping sideways onto her thigh? For once he took the hint, and removed the hand. Mia obviously hadn’t had a word with him yet. She’d have to say something before this outing was finished. But for now, they continued the journey without any further discussion.
They arrived at Golders Green, above ground for once, and trooped out with the other passengers. They followed the iron fence around the edge of the paved forecourt, full of red buses, and she looked around for Finchley Road. “It’s only about five minutes walk,” she told him. But it could be a very long five minutes, she added to herself.
Luckily, he was happy to walk along in silence. She wondered if he felt any residual awkwardness after the wandering hand. Probably not.
Soon they turned into Hoop Lane. It was getting hotter, and she was glad of the trees that reached out and cast speckled shade onto the pavement. On their left a cemetery stretched out behind brick walls, crammed with the substantial, upstanding gravestones of another era. Beyond those they could just see a section of the cemetery where the graves were horizontal, one simple rectangular sarcophagus after another.
The Near & Far Series Page 67
