The Woman at Number 24

by Juliet Ashton

  Sarah did remember. It was a warmly tinted home movie in her mind that nothing, not even Leo’s transparent playing for time, could spoil. But it’s history. ‘Nostalgia, Leo, shouldn’t be used to seduce. I don’t want to turn back the clock any more.’ There was no point beating about the bush; better to pull the plaster off in one go. ‘Leo, we were in love once. Proper red-hot love.’

  ‘Don’t I know it!’ Leo wasn’t on the same page. He was on an X-rated page. ‘Let’s get back there, now!’ He stood up and lunged at Sarah, only to tumble against the sideboard when she sidestepped him.

  ‘Leo, I said we need to talk.’

  Rubbing his knee, Leo said, ‘Can’t we talk while we do it? This dawdling is juvenile. I mean, we both know why you asked me up here.’

  ‘Leo, stop making this just about sex. Like you, I wanted more from this.’ She saw Leo frown at that, as if it was news to him, and her blood began to simmer. ‘I’ve been kidding myself we’re moving forwards, but really we’re going backwards. Can you see that?’

  ‘See what?’ Leo glanced at his watch.

  ‘Somewhere you have to be?’

  ‘Of course not.’ Leo reclined on the chair, hands behind his head, to illustrate how very, very relaxed he was. His foot jiggled at warp speed. ‘Talk, darling. If that’s what you want, talk.’

  As if talking is the fee men pay for access to women’s erogenous zones. Sarah looked at Leo and saw a man who seemed smaller than she remembered. And that chic shabbiness? Just shabby. ‘Tell me, Leo. What do you want from me? From this?’ Now that Sarah was no longer duping herself she knew the answer, but she needed to hear it from his own lips.

  ‘Me? What do I want? But it was you who summoned moi, darling.’ Leo was cagey. Happy, still, but cagey. Like the time when Sarah found a hotel receipt and he’d had to invent an explanation that didn’t involve Helena or suspenders.

  ‘I don’t mean today, Leo.’ Despite the fire within her, Sarah was cool. ‘I mean, what have you really wanted from all our snatched meetings?’

  Leo wiggled in the chair, possibly unaware that his stalling was obvious. ‘What do any of us want, Sarah?’

  ‘That’s not an answer.’ As he pretended to think, Sarah circled him and said, ‘I’ve been living in the past, Leo. The past’s a dead end. Everything that could happen there has happened.’

  ‘I . . . suppose.’ Leo was watchful, giving nothing away until he knew where this was going.

  ‘Seeing Smith again was a bit like time travel,’ said Sarah.

  ‘I’m still giggling about Smith’s resurrection.’ Sarah had always loved Leo’s ability to see humour in the grimmest situation, but now it seemed shallow, as if he never cared enough to engage his emotions.

  Sarah savoured what she was about to say as if it was a fine wine she could already taste on her tongue. ‘In case you’re wondering, she told me about what you did.’

  ‘What did I do?’ Leo practically fluttered his eyelashes.

  ‘You made a pass at her. It really is time you looked outside number twenty-four for your conquests, Leo.’

  ‘Darling, you’re taking the word of a sensational liar? I wouldn’t go near your bonkers mate. Alive or dead.’

  ‘I think you’d snog a corpse if there was nobody else around.’ Sarah didn’t give him time to take offence; she was soaring now, a phoenix leaving the ashes of her marriage far below her. ‘You haven’t answered my question, Leo. What do you want from me?’ She urged him silently, Say it, Leo, say it! Would he have the courage to name it at last? To say he’d been after some no-strings fun, that he’d demoted her from love of his life to bit on the side.

  ‘You’re painting me into a corner. I never made any promises, darling. You knew the score.’

  Stripped of filters, Leo was unappealing. ‘Still not an answer.’ Sarah had learned to pick up Mikey without pricking herself; she could surely handle Leo.

  ‘Where did this harsh sourpuss come from?’ cooed Leo as if Sarah was a recalcitrant pet. ‘OK,’ he sighed, throwing up his hands when Sarah stared him down. ‘What do I want? I want you. Right now. Right here.’

  ‘But I don’t want you.’ It felt good to say it aloud. Sarah felt purged, as if she’d completed one of Helena’s beloved detoxes.

  ‘You do want me, darling. You do. Don’t you?’ Words wreak more havoc than bombs. Leo’s face sagged into a blankness that made him look twice his age. ‘Is this about bloody Tom?’

  ‘No. And yes. I do want Tom, but I cocked that up. He’s not relevant here.’ Even as she said that, Sarah reconsidered. Realising I could desire Tom gave me the confidence to put Leo in the rear-view mirror.

  ‘Come here, Sarah, please.’ Leo stood and held out his arms. The rudiments of sincerity seemed to be grouping on his face. ‘You’re my best chum, darling.’

  ‘Chums don’t sleep with each other.’

  ‘This isn’t like you.’ Leo looked her up and down, as if bodysnatchers had replaced his easy-going ex with a bolshie substitute. Something struck him. ‘You’re not planning to . . . it’d be heartless to tell Helena, you know.’

  ‘At last you mention her!’ Sarah would have liked to do a movie villain laugh. ‘You’re so cavalier with the women who love you. As if we’re buses. As if there’ll be another one along in a minute.’

  ‘This is all getting heated. Let’s calm down. I’ll just . . .’ He gestured at the bathroom and went in.

  Sarah leaned against the door. ‘Leo, as I’m not moving out we need some new guidelines.’ She was in charge at last. It was time to lay down the law for this regime change. ‘This flat won’t belong to you any more. You can’t visit when you feel like it.’ She turned her head. ‘Are you listening? This is my home.’

  ‘Home’ implied a great deal more than floor plans and mod cons. Sarah hadn’t chosen the people in number twenty-four. They were random. They were family. The word crept into her heart. Filled it.

  She jumped as the door was wrenched open.

  ‘Now I see why you wanted to talk.’ Leo was seething. ‘All those stupid questions! I’m warning you, Sarah, be very careful about your next move.’ Shoving past her like a bull, he was gone.

  Alone, puzzled by Leo’s transformation, Sarah scanned the bathroom for clues.

  Picking up the small wand on the side of the bath, the two lines in its window defiantly pink; Sarah closed her eyes briefly at her own foolishness, and dropped it into the squeaky pedal bin.

  You weren’t meant to see that, Leo.

  The front door slammed shut. Sarah slipped across to the sitting-room window in time to see her prospective buyer hurry down the path, coat flapping.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Notting Hill, W11

  This calendar is FREE to valued customers!

  Saturday 10th September, 2016

  KEEP A GREEN TREE IN YOUR HEART AND PERHAPS A SINGING BIRD WILL COME

  Zelda was adamant. ‘You look like death warmed up, dear.’ Dee-ah. Sarah was packed off to bed in the middle of the afternoon. ‘It’s the weekend. You need to be better for work on Monday.’

  Despite her protests, Sarah relished Zelda moving about the bedroom, tucking her in, pulling the curtains, giving her permission to fall apart if only for an hour. Zelda had been quiet, more contained than usual that morning. It was only when she registered Sarah’s pallor that she swung into action.

  Sarah burrowed into the mattress. Healing sleep was on its way.

  Zelda regarded her appraisingly from the doorway, only a slice of her visible in the enforced twilight. ‘Sarah, I might need your help later.’

  ‘You got it,’ mumbled Sarah.

  ‘I warn you, dear, I’ll be asking a lot of you.’

  ‘You’re scaring me.’ Sarah twisted around in the bedclothes, hair in her face, eyes bleary.

  ‘Next week’s going to be a big week,’ said Zelda. ‘For now, sleep off the tummy ache and sleep off Leo. You’ve been in a trance since you spoke to him yesterday.’

/>   Sarah turned to the wall, her eyes closing gratefully.

  All divorces are nasty, but Sarah had prolonged the pain of her split from Leo by refusing to let go. Perhaps she’d been doomed to replay the scenes from when the Lynches flew apart.

  She couldn’t cast her father as Leo, but Sarah identified with her mother. Watching a man you love leave is hard. Tom’s advice, impartial and level-headed, didn’t sound so extraordinary now. Should I call her?

  Sleeping during the day sometimes made Sarah rise up with a mouth like the bottom of Peck’s cage, but the nap restored her, sending her down to fetch Una with a clear head.

  Graham was babysitting. He handed over Una with good grace, zero sarcasm and even a hint of respect.

  Taking Una outside for what might be their last outdoor session – the sky was a uniform greige – Sarah began her patter, chatting aimlessly. The little girl was still locked in, alone. Sarah held her hand a little tighter and Una squeezed back.

  Reliable, but none the less sexy for it, Tom awaited them in the garden. He wasn’t industrious today; he stood with his hands in his pockets, looking into the middle distance.

  ‘Oh,’ said Sarah. ‘Your hair.’

  ‘It’s for the role.’ Tom put a self-conscious hand to where his exuberant hair used to live. What was left was bright blond, smarmed down and tucked behind his ears. ‘Vile Bodies is set in the thirties, hence . . .’ He pointed at his short back and sides. ‘It’s awful, isn’t it?’

  ‘No. It’s nice.’ And a bit awful.

  Una stared, frowning ferociously. Clearly she didn’t approve.

  ‘My ears get cold,’ said Tom with a pout.

  I love you. For a second Sarah panicked that she’d said it out loud. It was so clear in her head, like a bell tolling. I. Love. You.

  Una kept up her death stare.

  Sarah said, ‘It’ll grow back.’ I can’t love him, not literally? It was a big concept, love; but when it appeared, solid and confident, it couldn’t be ignored. Sarah had been wrong about much, especially lately, but her love for Tom had become clear-cut.

  ‘Now you’re just patronising me.’ Tom tried to mess up his hair. ‘It’s too short to even move,’ he said despairingly.

  ‘Hi folks!’ Camilla, cheerful in a determined way, strode up the steps. Her arms were folded and Sarah imagined her fingers twitching as she acknowledged Sarah with a Seriously? You again? look on her face. ‘Hi, Tommykins.’ She kissed him, showily, on the lips.

  ‘Hi, babe.’ Tom’s eyes met Sarah’s awkwardly as Camilla disengaged.

  ‘Oh look!’ Camilla pointed. ‘That little hedgehog looks like poor Mickey.’

  ‘Mikey,’ said Sarah and Tom mechanically.

  A one-eyed ghost strutted out of the sunflowers, paws high, nose twitching. Mikey headed for his house but Una intercepted him, lifting him off his feet to silently, intensely commune with the hedgehog, nose to nose.

  Sarah held her breath. This could be the moment for Una!

  But Una said nothing. Tom said enough for all of them. He whooped, calling out to the house that Mikey was alive. ‘Come on!’ he yelled at his sister when she appeared at the window, and soon Jane was there, and Zelda, with Lisa and Graham hurrying out.

  From the terrace Leo looked down, caught Sarah’s eye and turned to go back inside.

  ‘I noticed him first,’ Camilla was telling whoever would listen.

  ‘So we gave the wrong hedgehog a state funeral?’ laughed Jane.

  ‘Where’s he been?’ asked Zelda.

  ‘Off sowing his wild oats,’ said Tom. ‘Whatever. He’s home now.’ He picked up Una and whirled her round, Mikey secure in her arms. His look to Sarah asked for permission and she granted it. ‘Are you glad,’ he asked Una deliberately, ‘that Mikey’s come back?’

  Una looked into Tom’s eyes. ‘I hate your hair,’ she said.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Notting Hill, W11

  This calendar is FREE to valued customers!

  Sunday 11th September, 2016

  IF YOU CHASE TWO RABBITS YOU CATCH NEITHER

  It was Leo’s turn to suggest they talk. His turn to sound a touch desperate. Sarah’s response to his text was a simple, ‘You know where I am.’

  Leaving the door ajar, Sarah thought of Una. She’d thought of little else since the day before, even when so much was hustling for her attention. She came back to us.

  Sarah would never forget how that voice sounded; the one Una had lost and found. It was delicate, a little squeaky. But strong.

  The door of Flat B opened and closed. Sarah patted her hair, cleared her throat. Leo would say more or less what she expected him to. It would all be disappointing, some of it hurtful, but she was beyond his reach.

  ‘Hi darling.’ Leo appeared, his face brick-red, like a ruined cherub.

  Not offering her cheek for a kiss, Sarah avoided the damp rose of his lips. ‘So. You want to talk.’

  ‘Yes, I do, if that’s OK.’ Sarah had anticipated aggression, but Leo was misty-eyed, softly spoken, nothing like the bully who’d barged out of her flat forty-eight hours ago. ‘Sarah, I want to make things up to you.’

  ‘I don’t need you to do that. I don’t need you, Leo.’

  ‘Come on, darling. Face facts. You need me more than ever.’

  Bighead. ‘I might have felt like that a while ago, but it was wrong of me to act on it. Things are different now. When the flat’s sold and I hand you the cheque for your half, that really will be that.’ That prospect had terrified her once; now it calmed her down.

  ‘This mess is all my fault. I’ve been so damn wrong about everything.’

  Sarah’s daydreams were coming true too late. Leo’s finger hovered over the button that would return everything to ‘normal’, and Tom was all she could think of.

  Tom was what love looked like.

  A hunger for him swamped Sarah. She would duel Camilla if necessary. Anything, anything, just to be able to tear off his clothes or count his eyelashes or argue with him. They say a dying person’s life flashes in front of their eyes; Sarah’s potential life with Tom flashed in front of hers. ‘Leo, we don’t need another scene.’

  ‘Poor darling. Drama isn’t good for you when . . . you know.’ Leo gestured at Sarah’s torso, as if it was a vague but important area it was best not to dwell on. ‘I’m not going anywhere.’ Leo was firm but doting, like a grandma who knows best. ‘This gets sorted out today.’

  ‘It is sorted.’ Why the sudden fervour to talk everything over? ‘Leo, you’re free. You don’t owe me a thing.’

  ‘No, no, no! You and me, we’re Burton and Taylor.’

  ‘They ended up divorced.’ Sarah raised an eyebrow. ‘Twice.’

  ‘How did we think we could live so close to each other and not break the rules? We’re dynamite.’

  ‘Are we?’ Sarah remembered the sexless bed they’d shared towards the end of their marriage.

  ‘We shouldn’t disagree, not now. My prime concern, darling Sarah, is you. It always has been. These last few weeks have been fun, haven’t they?’

  ‘Not really.’

  ‘Now now.’ Leo waggled a finger. ‘You liked it, too. Secret sex is the best sort.’

  ‘Speak for yourself, Leo. The secrecy made me miserable.’ What a poor return on a long-term investment; Sarah’s ex-husband knew so little about her. One thing was clear: Leo had been in it for the danger. Not for me. Never for me. Without the fairy dust of Sarah’s obsession all was tacky and worthless.

  ‘You loved it, you minx.’

  ‘No, Leo, I loved you.’

  ‘Now, hang on, darling!’ Leo laid his hands on Sarah’s shoulders, talking urgently. ‘Did we ever mention love? Did I ever once mention a future? Did I? You can’t accuse me of that, Sarah.’

  Pushing away his hands, Sarah snapped, ‘Nobody’s accusing you of anything, but it’s nice to know you edited your pillow talk so I couldn’t accuse you of being in love.’

  Leo’s arms h
ad multiplied; octopus-like, his tentacles battled to hold her closer as Sarah battled to pull away. ‘I have nothing but respect for you, remember that.’

  Sarah extricated herself and rubbed her upper arm where he’d grabbed it.

  ‘Sarah, darling, it’s you I’m thinking of when I say get rid of it.’

  ‘It?’ The noise of Notting Hill was stilled. The only sound was Leo’s voice.

  ‘The baby. Him. Her.’ Leo grimaced. ‘I misspoke, darling. Jesus, I’m an idiot. Sorry. It’s not an it.’

  Sarah turned away. She’d thought Leo couldn’t drag them any lower, but he’d found a hidden basement level.

  ‘Get real, Sarah. What could we offer a baby? It’s for the best.’ Leo’s sugary concern subsided into the self-pity it really was. ‘Surely you don’t expect me to be involved with this child? We had sex once, for crying out loud!’ As Sarah kept her back to him, Leo collected himself. ‘I’m told it’s just a tiny procedure. All over in minutes.’ He raised his voice, agitated. ‘Are you going to let one mistake ruin both our lives?’

  Another voice, husky, querulous, called Leo’s name from the front door, left open in his haste.

  Sarah spun around and Leo hissed, ‘I’ll pay for the termination!’ just before Helena appeared.

  ‘Is my hus— ah, there you are!’ Helena clattered to Leo’s side and locked her arm through his. ‘Has he told you, Sarah?’ Helena swatted Leo, a playful gesture that almost toppled her overwrought husband. ‘You might as well be the first to know. We’ve waited three months before sharing this.’ She pulled her shoulders to her ears, her smile a watermelon slice. ‘I’m pregnant!’

  Leo’s eyes, two hysterical dots in a purple face, pleaded with Sarah.

  ‘Isn’t it wonderful?’ Helena emoted enough for all three of them. ‘Poor old Leo’s been so good. I’ve felt so ill. No sexy time for poor Daddy!’ She chucked Leo’s cheek and he looked as if he might vomit.

  A penny dropped. In fact, pennies fell like rain around Sarah. So that’s why you came sniffing around. The champagne cork that had popped before they visited back in June was to celebrate this news. Then they’d come up to see her, hugging their secret, and Leo had offered Sarah his ‘help’.