The Apartment

by K. L. Slater

  ‘Oh sweetie . . . sometimes new things can seem a bit daunting, I know.’ I sit down on the bottom step and pull her towards me. ‘But they can be exciting, too.’

  She leans into me a little and sighs. Her small pale face looks troubled. ‘Will Petra have already made some new friends at my old school?’

  I do try not to lie to Skye if at all possible, but it’s important to be kind, too.

  ‘It’s easier for Petra because she already knows the people in her class. I’m sure she’ll find friends to play with, and you wouldn’t want her to be lonely, would you?’

  ‘No,’ Skye says thoughtfully. ‘But Martha Fox always tried to take her off me when we played tag on the field, and Petra used to say she was a show-off. And now Martha is going to be her new best friend.’

  Skye folds her arms and stares at her feet.

  ‘I think Petra will be just fine, as you will, too. And perhaps in the summer, Petra can come over and we can go for a nice picnic in Kensington Gardens.’ I don’t think there’s any chance of this with Kat’s current attitude, but I’m running out of things to say. ‘In the meantime, you should put all your energy into finding some nice new friends for yourself at St Benjamin Monks.’

  ‘I hope the other children like me.’ Worry darkens her face again. ‘I wonder if the little girl who lived in my room used to go to my new school, too?’ she says in a small voice.

  I pretend to look for something in my handbag to avoid having to answer. She’s like a terrier clinging on to the idea of the girl.

  It’s completely natural that Skye is feeling apprehensive about her new school and mourning her friendship with Petra, terrified that her best friend is moving on without her.

  But I don’t quite know what to do about the ‘little girl who lived here’ thing. I’m not sure what else to call it.

  Dr Marsden denies saying anything about it the day we moved in, and Skye insists that she overheard him. I have to believe that she did, now that other details have come to light.

  I’m crossing my fingers that once her life is full of school and new friends, she’ll forget all about it. I only wish I could.

  There’s a flurry of noise and the sound of a door opening and closing and Audrey appears out of the shadows, dressed in a black trouser suit, as if she’s going to sit on an interview panel.

  Her white, starchy quiff gleams in the filtered sunlight and her powdered skin looks heavily made-up this close.

  ‘Ready?’ she asks.

  I nod and Skye grabs my hand and steps closer as we move towards the front door. A few minutes later, we’re negotiating a labyrinth of back streets lined with white stucco houses that I can only imagine the cost of.

  ‘I thought it would be nicer for you to see the hidden parts of Kensington, rather than we run the gauntlet of the high street,’ Audrey says.

  I appreciate the gesture, but today I’d have preferred the diversionary bustle of the traffic and shops.

  ‘I’m glad you got the note yesterday letting you know the time to meet. I didn’t realise you’d popped out, usually I hear the front door.’

  ‘We were just downstairs,’ I tell her. ‘Lily Brockley in apartment four invited us down for tea and cake.’

  ‘Lemon drizzle,’ Skye provides.

  ‘I see.’ Audrey gives me a strange look. ‘I didn’t realise you two knew each other.’

  ‘We met her in the garden,’ I explain. ‘She and Skye share a love of birds.’

  ‘I’m helping Lily to feed the birds every day,’ Skye says.

  ‘Fancy that,’ Audrey murmurs, but her expression seems to sour a little.

  We emerge from a side street and cross the busy Kensington High Street. Straight in front of us is the back of a very big, very old Gothic-style church.

  ‘St Mary Abbots. It has the tallest spire in the whole of London,’ Audrey remarks as we draw closer.

  ‘Wow!’ Skye is impressed with this fact and lags back a little, looking up in wonder.

  I manage to get her moving again, and we pass a war memorial before making a sharp left underneath a quirky little bridge that seems to be part of the church itself. We emerge on to a short narrow road with the school on our right.

  Audrey marches slightly ahead while we’re like two little sheep following her around another corner, which leads us into a pleasant green space bordered by the school playground wall.

  Skye and I slow to a stop at the glorious sight in front of us. It’s the front of St Mary Abbots in all its splendour.

  ‘Breathtaking, isn’t it?’ Audrey nods.

  A wall of noise spills over the high stone wall around the playground. The children must be outside on their break.

  As we enter the bright school reception, I feel Skye’s fingers tighten anxiously around my own.

  When she sees Audrey, the middle-aged receptionist sits bolt upright. ‘Mrs Marsden! How nice to see you.’

  Audrey indicates for us to sit down on the comfy visitor chairs while she speaks in a low voice at the reception hatch.

  ‘The headteacher will be with you in just a moment,’ the receptionist calls over to us before resuming her conversation with Audrey. I wonder if she realises I’m the person she told yesterday that the head had no space at all in her diary.

  Skye gives me a little grin, but I can see the nerves in the twitching corners of her mouth.

  30

  After a minute or two, the double doors leading inside the school building open and a handsome woman dressed in a midi tweed skirt and simple knitted sweater appears. Her short, wavy hair is dark with stylish silver tinges at the temples.

  ‘Audrey, how’re things?’ she says in a no-nonsense tone. One of the rare people I’ve seen so far who isn’t nervous in Mrs Marsden’s company.

  ‘I’m well, thank you, Iris,’ Audrey replies and looks over at us. ‘This is Freya Miller and her delightful daughter, Skye.’

  She walks over to us, shakes my hand and then Skye’s.

  ‘Welcome to St Benjamin Monks, Skye,’ she addresses her. ‘Your class teacher will be along very shortly to show you around.’

  Skye nods at her with wide eyes.

  ‘Thank you,’ I say. Before I can speak again, the doors open and a woman in her early thirties enters reception. She has neat bobbed hair and wears a floral maxi dress. She nods to Audrey and walks over to us.

  ‘Hello, Mrs Miller and Skye, is it?’

  I nod and shake her hand. I feel Skye pressing into my side.

  ‘I’m Miss Perkins, your class teacher.’ She extends her hand to Skye, who shyly takes it. ‘Hello, Skye, I’m so pleased to meet you at last.’

  Skye glances at me and I give her a little nod. ‘Hello,’ she says quietly.

  ‘I thought we might go through so I can show you the classroom where you’ll be joining us. It’s break time, so all the children are outside . . . Mum can come, too, if you like?’

  Skye nods, her face straining with tension. Part of me wishes I could just cuddle her and take her back home, but of course that’s not in her best interests.

  We follow Miss Perkins down a short corridor, where she opens a brightly painted blue door with glass inserts at the end.

  ‘This is Fern Class. All the classrooms at St Benjamin Monks are named after things in nature.’

  ‘That’s nice,’ I say. ‘Isn’t it, Skye?’

  She doesn’t answer me. She’s looking through the window at all the children dashing around in the playground.

  The interior of the classroom is spacious and bright and the walls are covered with the children’s artwork. Judging by the papier-mâché models on the tables, it looks as though they’re in the middle of a project on birds.

  ‘I thought it might be nice for you to sit here today,’ Miss Perkins pulls out a chair at the table next to her desk. ‘Next to your new classmates, Javeed and Hannah.’

  The colour drains from Skye’s face and I look at Miss Perkins, puzzled.

  ‘I thought it was ju
st a quick visit today,’ I say lightly. ‘I didn’t realise Skye was going to be staying.’

  ‘Yes. I believe Mrs Marsden has made arrangements for Skye to be admitted from today. But if that’s not the case . . .’

  Skye looks up at me fearfully, but I’m too flustered to speak.

  Why would Audrey take it upon herself to do that? I made it perfectly clear we just wanted a visit and to begin admission arrangements for September.

  Miss Perkins crouches down so she’s on the same eye level as Skye. ‘I mentioned Javeed and Hannah because they’re both really looking forward to meeting you and they can help you with your papier-mâché model. Have you made papier-mâché before?’

  Skye shakes her head and her forehead furrows. I hold my breath, certain she’s on the brink of bursting into tears.

  ‘She loves birds,’ I hear myself say. ‘She can identify all the popular types.’

  I’m not going to leave Skye if she gets upset. She’s had enough upheaval in one week with the move.

  ‘I’m impressed!’ Miss Perkins pulls an exaggerated face. ‘If you stay today you could have your very own bird to take back to your new bedroom.’

  Skye bites her bottom lip.

  ‘It’s very easy and lots of fun. What’s your favourite bird?’

  ‘I like owls,’ Skye says, looking down at her hands.

  ‘Oh, in that case, let me show you Oscar’s model.’ Miss Perkins holds her hand out to Skye, and after a moment’s hesitation, Skye takes it. The teacher leads her over to the far side where she picks up an impressive painted model of a tawny owl. ‘He based it on the owl in Harry Potter. What do you think?’

  ‘It’s very good.’ Skye nods. ‘The owl’s name in Harry Potter is Hedwig.’

  ‘Oh, well remembered!’ Miss Perkins exclaims and Skye smiles for the first time. ‘I always forget his name but he’s very cute, isn’t he?’

  Skye nods. ‘Owls have brilliant eyesight, it’s so they can hunt their food at night.’

  ‘Spot on. Well, you could make one just like this and then hang him from your bedroom ceiling. How about that?’

  Skye’s face brightens and I relax a touch as I see her confidence growing before my very eyes. Miss Perkins is quite obviously a complete genius when it comes to kids.

  ‘Perhaps you could tell the class a few owl facts later . . . is that something you’d like to do?’

  Skye nods, still a little unsure. But Miss Perkins is very good at putting her at ease. And if Skye is willing to stay, it would be a massive weight off my mind to put the whole changing-schools issue to bed.

  ‘Let’s say goodbye to Mum then, and you can help me tidy up the models before everyone comes in.’

  Miss Perkins winks at me and I give Skye a little wave. ‘See you later, sweetie, have a good day.’

  She waves and smiles and then turns to take the owl model from Miss Perkins without looking back at me.

  I sigh with relief and close the classroom door quietly behind me.

  31

  I walk back up the corridor towards reception when someone calls my name. I look to the left, into an open office, and see Mrs Grant and Audrey in there. Audrey waves me in.

  ‘How is the little one?’ she asks in her deep voice.

  ‘Fine,’ I say, glancing at Mrs Grant. ‘She’s absolutely fine. I didn’t expect to leave her today, I thought we were here just to look around and complete some paperwork.’

  ‘There’s not a problem with her staying, I trust?’ Mrs Grant asks.

  ‘Oh no, it’s very kind of you to arrange it at such short notice, and Miss Perkins has completely put Skye at ease.’

  ‘We aim to please.’ Mrs Grant nods. ‘And as our esteemed chair of governors requested it, well . . . we had little choice in the matter.’

  Both women laugh, but I’m sure I catch a thread of tension under the surface.

  Audrey twists in her chair to look at me. ‘I didn’t want to mention in front of Skye that she’d be staying today as I could see she was a little anxious. But it’s best to get these things done and dusted as soon as possible, I find.’

  ‘Yes,’ I say, pressing my lips together. Audrey has gone too far in her willingness to help, she should have at least mentioned it to me. Thankfully it has turned out for the best.

  ‘Push the door to a moment and take a seat, Freya,’ Mrs Grant says quietly.

  I do as she asks, pulling out a chair next to Audrey. I feel slightly uncomfortable under their intense stares.

  ‘Audrey has explained your recent personal problems, the death of your husband and the challenges you face as a single parent with meagre financial resources.’

  I open my mouth and close it again, unable to respond. I’m literally flabbergasted.

  How dare Audrey presume she can repeat such personal information? It’s not down to her to discuss such matters with Skye’s school.

  I jut out my bottom lip and blow air up on to my hot cheeks.

  ‘Hope you don’t mind me mentioning it, far better out in the open from the off,’ Audrey says briskly. ‘Iris can offer you a lot of support, Freya, so I do hope you’ll take it.’

  ‘Actually, I do mind.’ I’m struggling to keep my voice level. ‘I would have preferred you to at least check with me, Audrey, before openly discussing my personal circumstances.’

  The two women look at each other and I notice Mrs Grant looks mildly impressed with my obvious dig at Audrey.

  ‘Oh! Well I – I only meant to help,’ she blusters before setting her lips in a tight line. ‘I’m sorry if you think I’ve overstepped the mark.’

  I’m beginning to realise Audrey rarely utters the word ‘sorry’.

  ‘We can arrange for Skye to see the school counsellor, and we can also offer subsidised trips to support you.’ Mrs Grant warily eyes my darkening expression. ‘If, of course, you are open to such measures. I don’t want to force anything on you.’

  ‘Thank you,’ I say carefully. ‘I’m very happy to chat about it, but it’s taken me by surprise on Skye’s first day in school. Perhaps you and I can discuss it in a day or two?’

  I feel Audrey bristle slightly beside me but I don’t care. I can’t shrug off my annoyance that she’s overstepped the mark so casually.

  Mrs Grant glances at Audrey and clears her throat.

  ‘Of course, that’s no problem at all.’ She stands up. ‘Now, I won’t keep you any longer. Why don’t you leave Skye for a couple of hours and then pop back to sign the admission forms and pick her up? We don’t want to overwhelm her on her first day.’

  I feel my shoulders relax a little. It’s the perfect arrangement and it shows Audrey I have boundaries.

  ‘Thank you,’ I say, and look at the two women in turn. ‘I appreciate both your help in sorting this out.’

  ‘No problem.’ Audrey stands up and brushes invisible creases out of her black trousers and sniffs. ‘I thought we might take a little walk up the high street and have a spot of lunch . . . but far be it from me to impinge on your arrangements.’

  Her tone is cool and there’s no doubt I’ve offended her, but I think about catching her canoodling with that mystery man and wonder how she’d take to me spilling her embarrassing circumstances to all and sundry.

  ‘Lunch would be nice,’ I say quickly before I can tell her not to bother. Like it or not, I’m best keeping on the right side of her if possible. So long as she doesn’t pull any more similar tricks.

  ‘That’s settled then.’ She smiles tightly. ‘I’ve already made a reservation at my favourite place.’

  And just like that, I feel like I’m back where I started – in her firm grasp.

  We carry on walking down Kensington High Street where we stopped to turn off for the school. Then we walk back up again on the other side towards the top of the street.

  ‘What a brilliant selection of shops. I’d no idea there’s such a variety here.’

  Audrey nods. ‘No need to go into central London if you don’t want to
, there’s ample choice of shopping here and it’s less busy.’

  I’d never go into central London for shopping anyway. It confirms that although Audrey is aware of my financial situation on one hand, she simply hasn’t grasped the limitations it exerts on everyday life.

  Still, there are lots of chain shops on the high street within my budget.

  ‘If you carry on walking for five minutes past where we turned around, there’s a Waitrose where you can shop for your groceries.’

  Waitrose! I’d managed so far with getting bits from small independent shops on Gloucester Road, but I’ve already got in mind to google the nearest Aldi or Lidl.

  Audrey rummages in her handbag and hands me a small slip of paper. ‘There we go, a money-off voucher for Waitrose.’

  ‘Oh, thanks.’ I don’t look at it, just slip it inside my handbag. Ten per cent off at the checkout still won’t bring the prices down to discount-supermarket level.

  ‘Here we are. My favourite spot for a light lunch.’

  We stop outside an expensive-looking, ornate café with a mouth-watering window display featuring pastries to die for.

  ‘Café Musica,’ I murmur. ‘Looks lovely.’

  I feel the tendons in my neck start to tighten as I wonder about the cost of having lunch in a place like this.

  The waiter spots us as we enter and makes a big fuss of Audrey.

  ‘I reserved your usual table, madam,’ he simpers, leading us to a quiet spot at the rear and pulling out two chairs at a small table underneath an enormous crystal chandelier.

  ‘I like the extra light for reading the menu.’ Audrey winks at me. ‘The three-cheese omelette is good here, as is the Welsh rarebit. And by the way, lunch is on me today. No arguments.’

  ‘That’s really not necessary,’ I say quickly.

  I can’t afford to treat her in a place like this but I can pay my own way.

  She waves my concern away. ‘I insist. Call it a “welcome to Adder House” treat.’

  I feel my eyebrows knit together. Another Adder House treat?

  Our new apartment certainly comes with lots of added benefits: removals cost, help with school admission, an expensive soft toy for Skye . . . where will it end? And more importantly, what might be expected of us in return?