And no need to cook, she thought as she opened the various packets and cartons and put them in the fridge. Old habits died hard, though, and it did seem rather remiss to ask Rosie for Sunday lunch then give her shop-bought snacks. Obviously she needed more practice in simple indolence, so, having transferred the pre-washed salads to a bowl, she poured herself a glass of Coke and took it into the other room, where she stretched out on the sofa. She sat in delicious idleness, reflecting on her achievement. It might not seem that big a deal – thousands of people lived on their own without congratulating themselves – but for her it was a milestone. After a lifetime of dependence, she was proving once and for all that she could be self-sufficient and actually enjoy it.
The buzzer intruded on her thoughts. Rosie – early, but who cared? They had nothing to do all day but laze around.
She ran downstairs to let her in. ‘Hi, Rosie. Good to see you. Where’s Stephen?’
‘I left him with Mum. It’s so seldom I take a day off, I wanted to make the most of it Anyway, we can’t talk with him around.’
‘Oh dear. I’ve got in a stock of ice cream for him.’
‘Don’t worry, I’ll eat it. I love ice cream, especially on a day like this. I’ve brought some wine. It should be fairly cold still.’
‘Rosie, I told you not to bring anything!’
‘And a house-warming present. Here.’ She handed Catherine a bottle and a large knobbly gift-wrapped package.
‘Gosh, thanks. I’ll open it upstairs. I hope you’re fit, by the way. It’s five flights up. But worth it when you get there.’
‘Yeah, the view’s fantastic,’ Rosie agreed, as they stood together at the window. She turned back to the sitting-room. ‘The decor’s a bit weird, though.’
‘Mm. I gather Dinger’s a bit weird himself.’
‘What’s his name?’
‘Dinger. He’s gone to Thailand to buy cheap silver jewellery, and then he’s travelling all round India. You’re not really meant to sub-let, but Brad says he’s fixed it, whatever that’s supposed to mean. The rent’s incredibly cheap, so I’m not enquiring too closely. A lot of the properties round here are owned by some housing trust. That’s one of the advantages of living in Hackney – perks for us proles. It makes Andrew apoplectic. He says the council’s worse than loony left, it’s out and out Trotskyist.’
Rosie laughed. ‘Has he been here yet?’ she asked, as she wandered around on a mini tour of inspection, peering at the books on the shelves, picking up ornaments and photographs.
‘No. And I can’t say I’m looking forward to it. He thought Camden Town was bad enough, but this is beyond the pale. He’s quite convinced I’m in danger of my life every time I put my nose outside the door.’ She smiled in defiant satisfaction at having moved to an area so at variance with Stoneleigh. Although, to be fair, it was nothing like the hell-hole Andrew assumed. There was Victoria Park, for instance – a green oasis, with venerable old (Wane trees and a boating lake complete with ducks and swans – and the canal, and Hackney Marshes. And behind the soulless estates and ugly high-rise flats were quaint narrow streets with an almost villagey feel to them. In fact, despite its dubious reputation, the whole district appeared to be thriving. New businesses were springing up, even in the shabbier parts, and there were dozens of rejuvenated buildings – galleries and workshop units and artists’ studios and the like. There seemed to be hoardings all over the place announcing RENOVATION and REDEVELOPMENT, so her own personal redevelopment fitted in well.
‘Come and see the bedroom,’ she said, opening the door gingerly (one of its hinges was coming loose). ‘There’s only room for the bed, but it’s quite something.’
‘Wow!’ Rosie gazed at the old-fashioned monster with its massive headboard and gargantuan slab of mattress. ‘You’d get three or four in there, I’d say.’ She looked at Catherine anxiously. ‘You must miss Will.’
‘I do.’ For all her triumph in managing to cope on her own, there were still days when she couldn’t think of Will without a feeling of utter wretchedness. And the nights were worse. Although the bed was exceptionally wide – especially compared with Will’s tiny single one – she hadn’t yet broken the habit of sleeping on the very edge and would wake up in the morning practically falling over the side.
She was aware of the sudden silence. ‘We’re trying not to see each other,’ she said despondently. ‘It makes things a bit less painful.’
‘Well, you know my views on men.’
‘I certainly do!’ Catherine led the way back into the sitting-room. ‘But what about Stephen? He’s a male, in case you hadn’t noticed. And he won’t stay ten for ever.’
‘Oh, Steve’s all right. I’m relying on him to keep me in my old age, then I’ll forgive him anything. Hey, d’you mind if I smoke? I’m gasping.’
‘’Course not. Here’s an ashtray. And I want to see what’s in here.’ She unwrapped Rosie’s present: a yellow wooden vase with six purple wooden tulips sprouting from the top. ‘Oh, Rosie, it’s gorgeous. Flowers that won’t die – how clever! Thank you, you’re an angel.’ She put it on the mantelpiece and gave Rosie a hug.
Then she picked up the bottle of wine. ‘Chardonnay – perfect. Let’s get it opened right away. There’s a corkscrew in the kitchen.’
Rosie followed, goggling at the dandelion-yellow walls. ‘I say! Terrific colour scheme. You practically need sunglasses! Bit of a squash, though, isn’t it? There’s barely room to swing a cat in here.’
‘Talking of cats, I’m thinking of getting one.’
‘Won’t it be rather dodgy, five floors up?’
‘Mm, that’s the problem. It would mean litter trays, I suppose. D’you know, there’s a woman down the road who takes her cat for walks on a lead, just like a dog. You get all sorts of weird and wonderful people here.’ Having poured two generous glasses of wine, she steered Rosie back to the other room. ‘Make yourself comfortable,’ she said, patting the sofa.
‘It’s okay, thanks, I’ll sit here.’ Rosie settled herself on one of the squidgy scarlet floor-cushions. ‘Well,’ she raised her glass, ‘here’s to your new life, complete with perambulating cat.’
‘Hold on, I haven’t got one yet – a new life, I mean. Let’s drink to being slobs, instead. It still feels very odd, you know, not being at the market after all those Sundays getting up at the crack of dawn.’
‘Well, it’s odder for me, I can tell you. I haven’t missed a Sunday in two years.’
‘I’m honoured, Rosie! I only hope I’m worth it.’
‘Definitely. Anyway, I needed a break. The summer’s been hell – so hot and …’
‘You’ve done pretty well, though, haven’t you?’
‘Mm, can’t complain.’ Rosie took a drag of her cigarette. ‘And certainly this is the first time I’ve been able to afford to pay someone else to run the stall. Mind you, I can’t help worrying. Sue is reliable, but she’s never done it on her own before. I suppose I’m just not used to delegating. When I first started, I had to work flat out simply to cover the rent of the stall. And look at me now – employing slave labour so I can swan around all day!’ She raised her glass. ‘To slobs. Long may it last.’
‘Not too long,’ said Catherine. ‘It’s funny, I was dying to have more time to myself, but now I’m quite keen to find a job. I’m not sure I’m cut out to be a lady of leisure.’
‘Come off it, Plum. Your feet have hardly touched the ground, what with moving flats and everything. Anyway, what sort of job do you want?’
‘I wish I knew. Colin suggested working as a courier. This friend of his has been taking rich Americans round the markets and antique shops, and she says it’s money for jam. But they expect you to look smart. Purple hair’s definitely not on. I suppose I could dye it back to mouse and buy a suit with shoulder-pads …’
Rosie surveyed her critically. ‘I can’t see it, somehow.’
‘Nor can I. But I want to keep my options open. In fact, you know the Circus Space?’
Rosie shook her head.
‘It’s in Coronet Street Half a mile down the road. Well, there’s a job going there, believe it or not.’
‘Heavens! A lion-tamer or something?’
Catherine laughed. ‘No, admin – receptionist cum secretary, but it would be rather intriguing, don’t you think? People come from all over the world, apparently, to train as trapeze artists and clowns and what-have-you. I spent a couple of hours there and the place really gives you a buzz. They even do evening classes in knife-throwing – just the thing for bored housewives!’
‘Perhaps I should enrol,’ grinned Rosie.
‘Me too. I wonder if they let you work there and attend the classes?’ Catherine kicked off her sandals and wriggled her bare toes. ‘Anyway, there are more conventional jobs around as well. I mean, Arthur told me the other day he could do with some help in the antique shop and asked if I was interested. I’d quite like it, actually, especially the chance of travelling abroad. He goes to France every month or so, to buy stuff from the big antiques fairs, and he said I could go with him sometimes.’
‘I thought you were going to France anyway. Paris, wasn’t it?’
‘Yes.’ Catherine hesitated. She had mentioned Paris, but not Venice or Rome. Rosie would wonder why she was suddenly so flush. ‘I didn’t tell you, Rosie, but Will gave me some … some money.’
‘Will? I thought he was skint. And why on earth should he give you money when you’ve chucked him?’
Again she paused. It did seem extraordinary and she hadn’t told a soul about it yet. But Rosie had always been open with her, and girlfriends were important, particularly now. She explained about the grant, wishing it wasn’t still so difficult to talk about Will dispassionately.
‘Bloody hell!’ said Rosie. ‘That’s decent of him.’
‘Especially for a man, I suppose you mean!’
‘Yeah, too right. Both Jim and Pete pissed off without leaving me a penny, and we were married, for God’s sake.’
‘Will’s not like that. He’s amazingly generous. D’ you know, the day after he got the cheque, he gave twenty pounds to some homeless kid begging in the street.’ She recalled the scene: Will flinging smoked salmon and asparagus into the supermarket trolley as if there were no tomorrow; then sweeping out of the shop and showering largesse on every down-and-out they passed. ‘Of course, knowing Will, he’ll go through the money in a matter of months and then he’ll be broke again. Apparently he was like that as a child. His brother used to save his pocket money in a piggy-bank, but Will always spent his as soon as he was given it.’
‘Plum?’
‘Yes?’
‘You don’t regret breaking up with him, do you?’
Catherine took her time answering. Some things she did regret. ‘The first week was-utter hell,’ she confessed. ‘I felt sort of … raw, and kept wondering if I’d made a terrible mistake. But it’s gradually getting better, and I’m pretty certain now that marriage wouldn’t have worked. I’ve come to see that I repeat the same pattern, maybe unconsciously. I suppose basically I need to be needed. It makes me feel important if I’m the strong supportive one, like I was with Gerry, or even with my father, as a child. I had to help him survive without my mother.’ She remembered how vital it had seemed to be dutiful and uncomplaining, otherwise he too might disappear. ‘Well, I say I was the strong one, but actually it wasn’t strength at all. It was more a form of weakness, though I’ve only just realized that I was so dependent, first on my father, then on Gerry, that I was willing to be whatever they wanted, simply to maintain the status quo. Was it like that for you?’
Rosie flicked the ash from her cigarette. ‘Well, certainly not while I was married – either time. And even when my mother died, Dad coped remarkably well. He remarried within a year, and he had another woman on the side.’
‘But that must have been ghastly, especially as you were so young.’
Rosie shrugged. ‘At least he didn’t need me to buck him up. But go on about Will.’
‘Well, I don’t know what to say. I mean, I’m tremendously glad I met him and in many ways it was a wonderful relationship. But there were quite a lot of problems and I was also beginning to worry about Sam. I felt I should either become a fixture in his life – someone he could depend on – or I should get the hell out before he came to regard me as a substitute mother. He’s been hurt enough as it is.’ She frowned into her glass. ‘I still worry about him, to tell the truth. Will complains that he doesn’t see enough of him, but when he is around he gets impatient and resents the interruption to his work. I know you have to cope without any help from Stephen’s father, but I think I’d be too selfish for that.’
‘Come off it, Plum, Sam’s not your child. Other people’s kids can be hell.’
‘Actually I’m very fond of him. I just hope to God I haven’t hurt him as much as I’ve hurt Will.’
‘I’m sure he’ll survive. He’s got a mother of his own, for heaven’s sake.’
Catherine topped up the wine. ‘I know, but Vanessa seems terribly wrapped up in her career, so I suppose I could have been a help – for both of them, I mean. But I have this gut feeling that before I shack up with any man or take on any child, I need to convince myself that I can be someone in my own right. It’s not that easy, alas. But I’m determined to be independent for a while. Independent of everyone – men, children, in-laws …’
‘Good for you. I’ll drink to that. Well, no, actually …’ Rosie put her glass on the side. ‘Before I drink any more, I’d better have a pee.’
‘The bathroom’s just along here.’ Catherine got up to show her. ‘No, not that one.’
Rosie had opened the wrong door and was peering into the tiny second bedroom, where a suitcase lay open on the bed. ‘Oh, you’ve started packing already. When are you off?’
‘Friday. I can’t wait.’
‘So I see. How frighteningly efficient! I never pack till the last minute.’
‘Yes, but you’re a seasoned traveller – I’m a novice. You probably won’t believe this, Rosie, but I’ve never even owned a passport before. I’m usually too embarrassed to admit it, but’ – her voice tailed off apologetically – ‘it just never sort of … happened.’
‘Don’t worry, you’ll enjoy it all the more.’
She nodded. ‘Mm, I’m sure that’s true. I was so thrilled to get my passport, I practically had it framed and hung it on the wall! And I’m getting a real kick out of all the preparations. I’ve bought loads of things for the trip – walking shoes, suntan lotion, a rather fetching straw hat. I even had to buy the case.’ She gazed fondly at the large conker-coloured suitcase, with its luggage labels and security strap. Beside it sat a matching flight-bag, also partly packed, with paperbacks, the tickets, and of course her brand new passport.
‘Well, you’re certainly going to be busy.’ Rosie was flicking through the guidebooks on the bed. She picked up one on Italy. ‘Why this?’
‘I … haven’t told you yet, but I’m going to Venice as well. And Rome.’
‘You’re a dark horse!’ Rosie tossed her the book and squeezed past out of the room. ‘Won’t be a sec,’ she said, opening the adjoining door. ‘Then I want to hear all about it.’
‘Okay, we’ll talk over lunch. Well, lunch sounds a bit too grand – it’s only cold, I’m afraid.’
‘Cold’s fine on a day like today. It’s absolutely sweltering out there.’
‘It does seem rather a waste of a kitchen, though. I haven’t used the oven once yet.’
‘Give it time. You will.’
Maybe, thought Catherine, as Rosie disappeared into the bathroom. Or maybe not. It was up to her entirely. She could give her friends picnic food, or fish and chips from the shop. And she was no longer tied to mealtimes. She could raid the fridge when she felt like it or take a bowl of cereal to bed. It was like being a student – carefree, undomesticated. Living on your own involved not only far less cooking, but less washing, ironing,
cleaning. As Rosie often said, most men needed ‘carers’. There was also a certain relief in not being subject to someone else’s moods. Even Will’s good moods had been exhausting sometimes, and he automatically assumed that if he was up, so must she be, and if he was down, she ditto.
She arranged the food on plates, crammed them on a tray and took it into the sitting-room, where she found Rosie by the bookshelf, examining Dinger’s fossil collection.
‘Sorry.’ Rosie put down a murky-coloured stone. ‘I should have offered to help.’
‘There’s no need – it’s all bought stuff. Mind you, I could have got you something more exotic. The shops round here sell things like calves’ feet and pigs’ tails.’
Rosie shuddered. ‘Spare me!’
‘It’s all right, you’re quite safe. Even the quiche is vegetarian. And I’ve brought some iced mineral water, to cool us down a bit Lord, I do hope it’s not as hot as this in gay Paree.’
‘I do envy you, you know. I haven’t been to Paris in years.’
‘Why don’t you come with me, then? No, I’m serious. You could meet me there just for two or three days if you can’t manage the whole trip.’
‘And what do I do with Stephen?’
‘Leave him with your mother again. Oh go on, Rosie – you’d be doing me a favour. I’d love to have your company. And you can get to France dirt cheap these days.’
Rosie sipped her wine reflectively. ‘I must admit I’m tempted. We could do the tourist bit during the day and spend the evenings in pavement cafés – maybe pick up a couple of Frenchmen.’
‘I thought you didn’t like men!’
‘Oh, holiday romances are fine.’
‘How many have you had, for heaven’s sake?’
‘Dozens,’ said Rosie airily. ‘They’re the only sort of relationship I do have. You get the best of the blokes without the disadvantages and it’s all over in two weeks.’
Second Skin Page 47
