by K. L. Slater
This is too much after them paying for the removals.
I’m about to protest when a door opens at the other end of the room and Audrey appears. She pads elegantly over to her husband and Skye and watches them without comment.
‘Now, which one will it be?’ Dr Marsden says in his deep, velvety voice. This room feels too warm with all the glass, and just listening to him after our busy day is starting to make me feel a bit sleepy.
Skye points shyly at the unicorn. ‘I’d like this one, please.’
‘So, that’s your choice, is it?’ They both seem entranced by my daughter.
‘Yes.’ Skye nods firmly. I feel relieved she didn’t choose the Steiff or I’d have had to intervene.
‘It’s only fair I should point something out, Skye. This one’ – Audrey holds the bear aloft – ‘costs four times as much as this one to buy.’ She shakes the unicorn with her other hand.
I’m not sure where they’re going with this, but I watch, intrigued.
‘So, I’ll ask you one final time.’ Dr Marsden leans forward. ‘Bearing in mind what Audrey just told you about the value of the two items, which one would you like to take as your present today?’
‘I’d like the unicorn, please,’ Skye says without hesitation.
‘Then that is the one you shall have,’ Dr Marsden says and hands the toy to her. ‘Welcome to Adder House, Miss Skye.’
‘Thank you!’ Skye cuddles the unicorn close as she beams up at me, delighted. Audrey stares at Skye, as if she’s baffled by her choice.
‘This is so very kind of you both.’ I feel I have to thank them even though I’m a tad irritated. ‘It’s certainly not necessary but it’s very much appreciated. Thank you.’
‘I haven’t forgotten you, my dear. I shall be offended if you don’t accept a tot of my finest sherry. We must toast this very special day.’
‘Thank you,’ I say, hiding a grimace. I’ve always disliked sherry.
Audrey pours three small glasses from a heavy crystal decanter and places them on a round silver tray. We follow her over to the big cream couches.
Clutching the unicorn, Skye finally leaves my side. She’s still fascinated by all the beautiful trinkets Dr Marsden has around the place; exquisite bronze sculptures on strategically placed plinths, carved wooden boxes that have probably come from somewhere exotic.
I take the proffered glass and sniff it. It’s only teatime and the smell is so strong I can’t help but jerk my face back.
‘Wonderful aroma, isn’t it?’ Dr Marsden says, drawing in a long inhalation above his own glass. ‘Barbadillo Versos 1891, a rare limited-edition sherry dating back to the nineteenth century.’
‘It’s . . . very distinctive,’ I say, desperately trying to keep the look of distaste from my face.
I force myself to take another sip. To my uneducated palate, it tastes just like cough medicine.
‘Don’t rush now. You have to sip it slowly to fully savour its bouquet,’ Dr Marsden insists.
I fight another flash of irritation in my chest and put down my glass on the table. ‘Sorry, it’s really not my thing,’ I say as politely as I can. ‘I’m not a big drinker.’
The Marsdens actually look shocked that someone openly dares to have a different opinion to them.
This place is like living in an over-inflated bubble of luxury. Don’t they know there are people just a few streets from here living rough, struggling to find their next meal?
Then I catch myself, feeling like I don’t belong again and my last foster mother’s words replay in my head. You’ll never make anything of your life. You’ll see.
But she was wrong. I am making something of our lives here. It’s just going to take a bit of getting used to.
It’s 2.40 a.m. when my eyes spring open.
The glowing red digits of the clock don’t get the chance to move on a minute before I start feeling a little queasy.
I prop myself up with pillows and lie back in the soft glow of my single bedside lamp. It must have been drinking sherry at the Marsdens’ on an empty stomach like that . . .
What on earth was I thinking?
I’d only had a few sips before putting down my glass, but it was strong stuff. I’d felt the warming effect of the alcohol when we came back upstairs, but I hadn’t had enough to feel remotely drunk.
I’d made Skye a simple tea of fish fingers and peas, but I hadn’t bothered having anything myself simply because I felt so tired. That had clearly been a mistake.
I take a sip of water from the glass I brought to bed with me last night and allow my head to sink back into the pillows. I don’t know why I feel restless, I should be counting my blessings.
Yet I can’t help asking myself why they are so accommodating, pushing gifts on my daughter, paying bills that have nothing to do with them. Some folks might think I’m crazy for even questioning their motives, but it makes me uncomfortable. Simple as that.
They could fill this place a hundred times over for the peppercorn rent I’m paying, there’s no doubt about that. So what’s so special about us?
Dr Marsden told me he chooses tenants on the basis of how they fit in here. But a single mother with various hang-ups and a precarious financial status? A little girl who’s struggling after the death of her father?
We seem a world apart from the existing Adder House residents. I sigh and close my eyes, tired of turning it all over in my head.
It’s so blissfully quiet here. There’s no traffic noise and, as our apartment looks out over the back of the house, no sounds from people returning home from a night out in the surrounding houses and apartments.
Most people around here seem older, more conservative than the diverse mix of neighbours we had in Acton. I’m far from missing the place but feel a little squeeze of concern that once we’re properly settled in, I’ll need to ensure I’m mixing with younger people, too.
There is more to life than antique vases and vintage sherry, although the Marsdens don’t seem to think so.
I look around my apartment at the newly painted smooth walls, the modern and functional Roman blind at the window, and the spotless beige carpet. This place seems to have literally everything we need.
But I’ve no intention of living in the landlord’s pocket, and I need to make that crystal clear as soon as I get the chance.
10
We set off for school early Monday morning. We have to walk up the road to the bus stop and then get the first of two buses to Skye’s current school, Grove Primary in Acton.
I could have easily kept her off school for the remainder of the summer term. It would certainly be easier than trawling across London on various buses twice a day. But I thought it was really important to keep the routine going, particularly as I hadn’t had a chance yet to inform Grove about Skye’s transfer to a new school.
But before our moving day, I rang St Benjamin Monks Primary, the school just down the road here where Audrey is a governor.
It’s a state school, rare in this area with its sea of independent private primary schools costing up to twenty thousand pounds a year for each child. It’s located on Kensington Church Street, and Ofsted have graded it as ‘Outstanding’ for the last three inspections. Plus, the school’s examination results rank in the top five best state primary schools in the whole of London.
It’s a no-brainer which school Skye is better off attending.
When I called, the school office put me through to the headteacher, Mrs Grant.
‘It’s probably neater if Skye finishes the term at her current school, if you’re able to travel there in the meantime,’ Mrs Grant suggested. ‘We hold a holiday club all through the summer break, so Skye can come in a few times and get used to the school and meet some of the children who’ll be her new classmates in September.’
This had sounded like a great plan, and I was heartened by the thought of Skye making new friends before the autumn term started.
Once her old school closes down for the
summer, there are no other facilities offered. There are no holiday clubs, no residential camps. Already I can see the benefit of my daughter attending a better-funded school with such useful additional holiday activities, particularly when the time comes for me to find another job.
It’s mid-July, so there is only a week and a half of the school term remaining.
Although it takes three times longer to get to Grove Primary from our new address, we won’t have to do it for long, and it will give Skye a chance to say goodbye to her teachers and friends.
I get an uncomfortable pulsing in my throat every time I think about telling her. I’ve done everything the wrong way around. I should have dealt with this stuff while we were still living in the old house, but our moving date came around so quickly, I barely had time to think.
I haven’t even spoken to Kat, her best friend Petra’s mum.
Skye skips along the pavement, excitement buzzing like a layer of electricity under her skin.
Before all the awful things that happened with Lewis, she used to remind me of an effervescent bath bomb, fizzing with energy and a joy for life. He left us for another woman first and then he died.
Unsurprisingly, tragedy sucked that joy out of her, and I’ve become accustomed over the past year to her new, more reserved nature. Too reserved, some of the time. For a healthy five-year-old anyway.
So it’s lovely to see a little of her old joie de vivre.
‘I’m going to tell Petra all about us moving to Adder House today, Mummy.’ She dances around me like a mini boxer as I steer her to the bus stop. ‘Can she come over to ours soon? I know she’ll want to help me unpack all my Sylvanian Families and see my new bedroom. Oh, and she’ll need our address so her mummy can bring her over. But I’ll still see her every day at school, won’t I?’
‘And you might be able to finish your painting today in art class!’ I say quickly. ‘We can stick it up on your bedroom wall.’
Thankfully, we spend the rest of the journey talking about the art supplies she’d like for her birthday which falls at the end of August.
I breathe a sigh of relief when I drop her off and finally beat a hasty retreat from the playground, grateful not to have bumped into Kat. We’re not big friends ourselves but we’re both under no illusions that our girls are close buddies and that the friendship means a lot to each of them.
Once I tell Kat exactly where Adder House is, she’ll know immediately that Skye cannot practically continue attending this school. But the last thing I want is for Petra to know that Skye will be leaving Grove Primary before my daughter herself does.
I head for the bus stop and blow out a long exhalation of air. I resolve to speak to her this evening. It’s the right thing to do.
Impulsively, on my way home, I decide to pop in and see Brenna. A quick chat with her over a coffee will be sure to cheer me up.
As a respected professor in the field of psychology, Brenna occasionally guest lectures at universities throughout the UK, but mostly prefers to work from home writing her academic research papers.
Her partner, Viv, works away a lot, and as such, we’ve always spent quite a bit of time together; and she’s been a godsend in looking after Skye at short notice.
The last time I visited her at home was just after I’d met Dr Marsden in Starbucks. ‘I’m so glad you called in, I have great news,’ she’d said cryptically when I rang the doorbell. She signalled for me to sit at the breakfast bar while she made coffee. ‘Viv has a friend in phlebotomy who’s looking to rent out her apartment while she takes a sabbatical year abroad. It’s a little small and further out of town, but Viv has visited her there and she says it will be just perfect for you and Skye, at least until you get turned around.’
Brenna and Viv knew just how worried I’d been about finding a suitable place to live that fitted my budget. They had already kindly offered us their own spare room if we needed it temporarily.
Brenna had smiled expectantly, waiting for my reaction, which would have been an ecstatic one, if I hadn’t got some news of my own.
‘That sounds really great, but actually I came to tell you something,’ I’d said tentatively, wondering how I was going to word it. ‘I’ve found somewhere amazing for me and Skye to live. In fact, we’re moving in there next weekend.’
Her mouth had fallen open as I explained about the opportunity at Adder House. I’d watched as the smile slid from her face, the way her hand froze in mid-air before pulling out a couple of mugs from the cupboard.
It sounded crazy; I knew it did. But I also reminded myself it was real. Amazingly, it was real.
She’d stared at me. ‘You’re seriously telling me that some random guy you met in a coffee shop just signed you up to an apartment in South Kensington?’ Her voice shot up an octave. ‘For five hundred a month?’
‘I know, I know, it sounds dodgy, but it’s true. It’s all above board. I’ve been to view the place, fully checked it out.’ I could barely keep the smile off my face despite Brenna’s concerned expression.
‘But you have checked him out, right?’
‘He’s a retired doctor,’ I’d explained. ‘He lives there, at Adder House, with his wife.
He’s such a nice man, Brenna, you’d understand if you met him.’
‘But he could easily be a conman of some sort. Believe me, some of the doctors I’ve met over the years, they’re unstable and prone to—’
‘He’s not like that.’ I’d rolled my eyes. ‘I can just tell.’
‘But you read about this stuff all the time; people running off with rental deposits and that sort of thing. Aren’t you worried?’
I’d nodded. ‘Oh yes, really worried . . . I keep worrying he’ll change his mind.’
But he didn’t change his mind, and now, as I ring Brenna’s doorbell again, I shrug off the niggling worries I have about the slightly odd Marsdens and Susan Woodings.
I’ve been so desperate to make a new life for us both and to feel fully accepted. As far as I’m concerned, Adder House fulfils both of those caveats.
11
Brenna beams when she opens the door, and I follow her into the kitchen. ‘Well, this is a nice surprise. How’s it going at the palace?’
I can tell there’s going to be a lot of mileage in this nickname.
‘Great. Still loads of unpacking to do, but I thought I’d take an hour out to visit my old mucker.’
‘Hey, less of the old!’ She frowns, having recently celebrated her forty-fifth birthday, which prompted Viv’s annual tease that she was eight years younger than Brenna. ‘Anyway, I’m glad you dropped by, because you’ve forced me to take a break. I’ve been working like a Trojan since six o’clock this morning trying to get my paper finished.’
‘What’s this one about?’ Brenna’s work is always interesting, and I like to get her talking about it when I can.
‘Oh, just exploring some historical stuff,’ Brenna says vaguely, spooning coffee into two mugs. ‘How we can still learn stuff today from experiments of the past.’
I wait for her to elaborate but she’s already moved on. ‘That guy, Marden—’
‘Dr Marsden,’ I correct her with a grin.
‘I really don’t want to rain on your parade, but I know Viv will say it if I don’t . . .’
‘Go on.’
‘Well, despite all I said before, he seems a decent-enough sort, even if his wife is a bit creepy, but I just want to reiterate that you need to keep your wits about you. That’s all I’m saying. The place is fabulous, but you can’t be too careful, especially—’
‘I know, I know.’ I sigh. ‘Especially with what we’ve already been through this last year or so. But that stuff is also exactly why I couldn’t afford to pass up the chance we were offered, Bren.’
‘I know Skye is always your priority, it’s just that she’s been through so much . . .’
I’m aware that Brenna’s suspicious thinking is only in defence of us, and I silently acknowledge that I’d feel
exactly the same if a stranger offered Brenna and Viv something similarly fantastic. I could just do without hearing it all right now.
He offered, I accepted, and I want to keep positive and optimistic about our new life in Kensington despite one or two early reservations, like our weird neighbours, and little details that niggle me, like the lack of photographs in the Marsdens’ apartment.
‘I actually think living there will be wonderful for Skye. I’ve just got to work out how to tell her she’ll have to leave Grove Primary and her best friend, Petra, behind. It might not sound like much, but it’s a very big deal to her.’
She nods. ‘Of course, it’s a big deal for any kid, but she’ll get over it.’
I don’t think Brenna has ever seen the full force of Skye’s wrath. If she had, she mightn’t be as flippant. To my irritation, she returns yet again to the subject of Dr Marsden.
‘Do you think you’re just a tiny bit too impressed with your new place, though? Too willing to trust the old fella from the outset because he’s a doctor?’ She takes her mug over to the sink.
Brenna has won numerous accolades and awards for her groundbreaking research, but sometimes, she allows her imagination to get the better of her.
I smile and shake my head.
‘He’s never pressured or coerced me once, Bren. In fact, he asked me to go away and think carefully about whether living at Adder House was what I really wanted before giving him the go-ahead to prepare the tenancy agreement.’
‘And did you take him up on it and say you’d think about it?’
‘Not likely; I’d have been mad to dither! There’d be a thousand people snapping at my heels to move there in a matter of hours.’
Brenna smiles wryly in a thoughtful sort of way, as if she thinks I’m being naïve. I can’t deny it narks me, but I push it away.
I did google Dr Michael Marsden but surprisingly little came up to match the name. None of the results referred to him. But I get the impression he hasn’t worked for a while, probably retired ages ago not needing the money. More to the point, nothing came up saying a Dr Marsden got struck off or was involved in a terrible scandal. Maybe I’ll ask him at some point if I get the chance, but for now, I’m really not worried.
