Greta Garbo meowed and pawed at the thick brown tights beneath her mistress’s houndstooth vintage Jaeger skirt before finally sitting on the toes of her rather clumpy tan brogues.
‘What a ghastly racket. You sound quite frightful, Greta, and you know how I feel about clinginess. It smacks of weakness and dependency and we all know that for you it’s just a ruse – you like your own company! You’re only interested in me when I appear to be abandoning you.’ She gave a throaty laugh and shifted her foot. ‘I shall be no more than an hour. Nap or play with a ball, or whatever it is you do when I’m not here. You know the rules: no parties, and I’ve left Jenni Murray on for you for company.’
Bending to give Greta a brief, affectionate stroke, she felt the familiar swirl of giddiness and leant against the wall with her eyes closed. This was yet another aspect of being old that bothered her enormously. It wasn’t that she wanted to dance or run again, although both would be fun, but she did want to be able to hear clearly, so that she could keep safe and listen out for burglars or the first crackle of a fire, and she would have loved to be able to bend over without the floor rushing up to meet her and every joint creaking in protest.
The doorbell rang. She turned to Greta Garbo and waggled her finger. ‘Remember! No parties!’
Slowly she made her way along the hallway and opened the half-glazed front door.
‘Morning, Miss P. Lovely day for it.’ Len the cabby smiled and offered her his arm.
‘If you say so, Leonard. I’m afraid my day has been rather difficult thus far. My cleaner just walked out without so much as a by your leave! So now I’m high and dry!’ She tutted angrily at the memory. ‘Such an inconvenience, and tomorrow is ornament day. I fear they will have to forgo the caress of a feather duster this week.’
‘Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. People is unreliable sometimes. Mind how you go, now.’ He pointed at the steep flight of slightly uneven basement steps as he guided her upwards.
‘I’m afraid you are right, Leonard. People is.’ She trod gingerly, with one hand on the metal handrail and the other looped through his crooked elbow. In his other hand, Len carried her basket.
‘Ooh, they’re beautiful. Stocks. They smell lovely, don’t they?’ He smiled.
She nodded and concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other. It took an age, but the reward was worth the effort. Looking around as her head emerged at ground level, Miss Potterton felt a surge of happiness at the fact that this was her home, this beautiful street in Kensington in the greatest city in the world! For her, the thrill never dulled. Her only sadness was that her advanced years and infirmity stopped her from gallivanting around the way she used to, no longer able to take advantage of the parks, museums and galleries that had been her sanctuary since she was a child. Not to mention all those deliciously bohemian dance clubs that she and Tom had enjoyed so much, the kind referred to in the more salacious social pages, where entry was via a secret knock on a rusting door.
‘You all right for a minute while I get the walking stick?’ Len asked, as he always did, before hurrying to his cab and opening the back door. ‘Shan’t be a mo.’
‘Yes, Leonard, I promise I shan’t run off.’ Despite her flippant response, her eyes widened with the fear that, unsupported, she might wobble and fall.
With the special walking stick now retrieved – it was kept exclusively for Miss Potterton’s use, as she refused to give in and buy one of her own – Len returned to her side and so began the slow process of manoeuvring her into the back seat and getting her buckled up for the journey.
‘Incredible to think, isn’t it, that when I was a girl there were only two cars in this street and one of those was Daddy’s. He had a Crossley. Its colour was Atlantic green. I can’t recall the model, but it had a darling canvas canopy and studded leather upholstery. Very grand. I can remember street boys coming to leer through the windows and our driver, Mason, shooing them away from the paintwork that he’d spent all morning polishing. It was another world entirely. A man used to come and visit the street with a little monkey in a red-and-white striped waistcoat. He’d whistle and the ugly little thing used to flip over. Quite bizarre. Doubt it’d be allowed nowadays, it’d only want one precocious child to have its fingers bitten off and that would be the end of that.’
‘That’s health and safety for you.’ Len nodded. He wasn’t sure of the relevance but liked to join in. It was hard to think of something different to say when he’d heard the same anecdotes repeated more times than he cared to remember.
Miss Potterton liked that she didn’t have to confirm her destination or make unnecessary small talk. Len had been driving her there once a month for the last twelve years, rain or shine.
The cars sat bumper to bumper on Kensington Church Street. ‘It’s a shocker on the roads today, world and his wife are out.’ He spoke to the rearview mirror.
She ignored him, gazing instead at the shop displays, the people that crowded the pavements, and the sky. This monthly trip was her window on the world and she didn’t want to waste a second of it.
‘Good Lord!’ She inhaled sharply.
Len followed her gaze until his eyes fell upon a young girl who was covered in tattoos. Even her face was adorned with the stars and stripes of Old Glory.
‘Shocking, isn’t it, Miss P?’ He shook his head.
She stared at the girl with her big eyes and dainty figure. ‘I’ve always thought one should leave room in one’s life for a small handful of regrets,’ she mused. ‘Do things while you can that will keep your cogs turning when your candle has nearly burnt out. But that seems rather drastic.’
‘Can’t see her heading up customer services or getting a job as the local bank manager!’ Len chuckled.
‘No, you’re quite right. Lucky girl! Maybe she’s smarter than she looks. Can’t think of anything worse than being stuck in administrative mediocrity.’
Len blinked in response. ‘I was just having a think about what you said earlier. One of my neighbours is a cleaner – smashing girl. Do you want me to have a word and see if she can fit you in? She might like the extra cash and it’s not too far.’
‘I’ll think about it.’ She was dismissive and Len wished he hadn’t bothered, embarrassed at having made the suggestion.
When they got to Hampstead Cemetery, he indicated and pulled over, leaving the hazard lights on as he opened the door and helped Miss Potterton out.
The two wandered along the path arm in arm and at a snail’s pace, with the bright autumn sunshine peeking through the canopy of trees above. Under his other arm, Len carried a lightweight fishing chair – something else that he kept in the cab especially for Miss Potterton’s monthly outings. Both of them were silent, as usual, and almost reverent as they made their way between the various Gothic mausoleums, elaborate family graves and featureless statues whose faces and costumes had been eroded by centuries of wind and rain.
When they reached the spreading yew tree in the quiet north-eastern corner to the right of the gate, Len set down the fishing chair and waited. Miss Potterton shuffled forward and dropped the bundle of blue stocks onto a low grassy mound. Then Len took her arm again and eased her into the chair so that she sat facing a small cluster of graves.
‘Be back in twenty minutes, Miss P. If you need me before then, just raise your arm. I’ll be watching.’
It was as if she hadn’t heard Len, who ambled back to the car with his hands in his pockets. She stared, transfixed by one of the weathered, moss-splashed gravestones.
Then she leant forward. ‘Hello, my darling.’ She smiled.
5
Ian Munroe slipped out of his white coat and hung it on the back of the door before shrugging on his zip-up fleece, which sat snugly over his pale denim shirt. He smiled at his colleagues as he sidled out of his surgery and through the outer offices, avoiding the waiting room, where he would undoubtedly get waylaid by determined stragglers. But there was no escaping the receptionist.
‘Ooh, Dr Munroe…’
He wondered if there was any way he could make it out of the front door uninterrupted – by whistling or checking his phone perhaps, anything that might convince her he hadn’t heard. Ten minutes in the car, that’s all I want. Ten minutes in the bloody car! It didn’t feel like much to ask.
But Julie turned in her chair and reached out towards him as he passed. He had no choice but to smile and acknowledge her, particularly as she had grabbed his leg.
‘I need you a mo.’ She swivelled round and began searching for a document on her messy desk.
He could hear the seconds ticking by loudly in his head while she giggled at the chaos and peeled apart flimsy sheets stuck together with the residue of whatever sandwich she’d been eating and a smattering of biscuit crumbs.
‘What it is, is…’ She paused. ‘Is I need a signature off you for Tyler Jackson’s passport. His mum’s been in and she said if we don’t get it back to her today then Tyler won’t be able to get his passport in time and he’ll miss the geography trip to Latvia. He’s cried himself to sleep for the last four nights apparently, worried he’ll be left behind at school and will have to go into Mrs Alpass’s class, and she’s a right cow.’
She finally took a breath.
Ian had missed most of the detail but caught the gist. ‘Ah, well, we can’t have the little fellow upset.’ He unscrewed the top of his fountain pen and signed the sheet Julie now brandished, on which she had pencilled a large X.
‘Oh, he’s not a little fellow. He’s eighteen. Captain of the rugby team.’ She blew a large pink bubble with the gum she was chewing so furiously and let it pop against her chin.
Ian always parked in the same spot in the corner of the car park. This was partly to hide his monstrous four-by-four under the large tree; he hated owning the most ostentatious car in the practice and would have preferred to cycle in, but Helen said that wouldn’t be fitting. He also liked that spot because it offered the best view of the vast Asda megastore with whom the practice shared a car park, allowing him to people-watch while he ate his pasta salad or tuna and sweetcorn sandwich, depending on the day of the week.
As he settled himself into the capacious front seat, he swallowed, then swiped his finger over the screen of his phone. Time was of the essence, so he didn’t have the chance to rehearse, which is what he would have liked. Instead, he was just going to have to go in blind and hope for the best.
‘Yup?’ Helen’s tone told him she was in a hurry, made it clear that any call, even one from him, was a bloody inconvenience.
His heart raced accordingly. The only thing worse than knowing he was an inconvenience was knowing he was an inconvenience that she no longer wanted in her life.
‘It’s me.’ He hated the quiver in his voice.
‘Yes, I know it’s you. As I’ve told you a million times, we have caller ID. Your name comes up with your number on the little screen.’ Irritation dripped from her.
Yep, that’s me: fucking stupid. I don’t understand the phone, can’t use the remote control, never made it as a surgeon and am not a patch on Julio, the suave, Spanish, tennis-playing dickhead who not only heads up his own team of plastic surgeons but probably also has a very large penis.
He shook the image from his head. ‘Did you mean it?’
She prefaced her words with a sigh, a very bad sign indeed. ‘Yes, Ian, I meant it. And it’s not like this is news—’
‘It’s news to me.’
‘Well, that says it all, really. The fact that you think we can simply waltz through life, watering the hanging baskets, taking a couple of holidays a year, having Sunday lunch with the family, getting the shopping delivered three times a week, having sex on Friday nights and special occasions, and expect that to be enough?’
Ian considered this as he pinched the top of his nose. ‘I did, actually, Helen. I thought it was more than enough.’
‘For you!’ She practically spat the words. ‘It was enough for you.’
‘Yes,’ he whispered. ‘Enough for me.’
‘Minty says she thinks I have been more than fair, she says she’s amazed I’ve stuck it for as long as I have!’
Ian looked out of the window at a couple who laughed and stopped to kiss each other as they piled their groceries into the back of their van. ‘I don’t think it’s fair that you’ve been discussing this with our daughter. Arraminta should not be asked to take sides, and by giving her details you’ll make it very hard for her not to feel guilty.’
Helen laughed loudly. ‘Minty? Guilty? Don’t think that’s likely! And she already knows the details. She’s lived with you too – she knows how boring you are!’
‘Yes, of course, I’ve been boringly working my nuts off to send her to that ridiculously expensive school and to get her a sodding pony that she lost interest in after five minutes and to keep our massive bloody house running and, best of all, to send you on numerous holidays, the last one of which is where you met fucking Julio!’ He hit the steering wheel with the heel of his hand.
‘And that, I’m afraid, is the problem. Julio says he thinks you somehow resent the life Minty and I lead.’
‘I thought he was a plastic surgeon, not a bloody psychiatrist! And for his information, the only thing I resent is how unappreciative you both are. It makes me sick.’
Helen took a deep breath. ‘We are mismatched species, you and I. Both wanting, no, needing different things. Julio gets me, Ian, he really does.’
‘Is this about the vegan thing?’ he asked, trying his best to understand. ‘Because if it’s that, then I suppose I could give it a go.’
‘No! For God’s sake! It’s about so much more than you being willing to forgo a sausage.’
And just like that, he was back to thinking about Julio’s penis.
6
‘What time you back, Marl?’ Tina called from the kitchen where she was trying to re-create a Japanese flower arrangement she’d seen in a magazine, using the cut-price lilies she’d picked up at the market.
Marley came to the kitchen doorway with his large sports bag slung over his shoulder. ‘Dunno. I’ve got college this afternoon and then me and Digsy are going to his to play FIFA.’
‘Well, I don’t want you out late. You’ve got college in the morning and you need to call your nan tonight. It’s Wednesday.’
Marley rolled his eyes.
Tina pointed a blunted stem in his direction. ‘Don’t look like that. She looks forward to it.’
‘I know, but... it’s just boring. We say the same things over and over. How your studies going? You eating good?’ He did a fine imitation of his West Indian grandma.
Tina suppressed her laughter. ‘Boring for you, maybe, but for her it’s a little lifeline and it makes her happy. And if you can make someone happy by doing something so small, then why wouldn’t you?’
Marley shrugged. The doorbell rang and he raced down the flat’s narrow hallway and opened the door to Digsy, who leant against the wall and waved.
‘All right, Tina?’
‘Yep. You?’ She smiled at the cocky boy, whose manner and language hid a shy, sweet nature.
‘I’m doing okay.’ He beamed.
‘Stay out of trouble and don’t keep my boy out all hours!’ She smiled again.
‘What am I, his grandma?’ Digsy sucked his teeth and let his body fall back while performing an elaborate arm gesture.
‘No, cos his grandma knows that answering back gets you a clip round the ear!’ Tina raised her hand in mock anger. ‘And she’d know about it when Marley calls her tonight, like he does every Wednesday!’ She looked at her son.
‘Come off it! You love me, Tina!’ Digsy shook his head, laughing as he adjusted his baseball cap.
‘Good job, innit?’ She winked.
‘You still have to call your nan every week? No way, man.’ Digsy smiled widely at his mate.
Tina could see this would be a rich source of ribbing later. ‘Yes, Digsy, he does, because she lives o
ver four thousand miles away and so, unlike your grandma, can’t drag him to church every Sunday!’ She grinned. That should even out the ammunition when it came to it later on.
Digsy was uncharacteristically quiet.
She smiled after the boys as they hurried off along the balcony and towards the lifts.
Almost immediately there was a knock on the door.
‘What’s he forgotten now?’ she muttered. Opening up with a twist to her mouth, she was surprised to find Len, her neighbour, standing there.
‘Oh! All right, Len! Thought it was Marley forgot something. What can I do you for?’
‘Bit of a weird one, Teen, but I do a driving job for this lady in Kensington…’
‘Ooh, very nice!’ She cocked her head at him.
‘I’ve done it for years. She’s a bit of a character, and getting quite frail, although she’d have my guts for garters for even mentioning that. Thing is, she’s been let down by her cleaner and she’s a bit stuck. I mentioned you might be interested, so I just wondered, really…’
‘Well, bless you for thinking of me. Where’s she live?’
‘In a flat. Lexham Gardens. It’s between High Street Ken and the Cromwell Road.’
Tina mentally figured out the route, which was possible. ‘How much?’
‘Fifteen pound an hour.’
‘That’s good.’
‘It’s two hours, three times a week, starting tomorrow!’ He laughed.
Tina did the sums. An extra ninety quid a week would be very handy, especially now she was saving for Marley’s college and university.
‘Do you know, I reckon I could fit it in, Len. If Marley can get himself off to college, I could do it. My other cleaning jobs are one full day, one early morning and two afternoons…’
‘Oh, smashing! Shall I tell her you’ll give it a go?’
‘Yeah, go on, why not! I could do with the money, that’s for sure.’
Miss Potterton's Birthday Tea Page 2
