by Jill Mansell
But now that the moment had arrived, she was unable to find the words to introduce herself. And surely, she thought with a surge of resentment, that terrifying teenage daughter would have described her to her mother. Isabel Van Asch must know who she was; she was just extracting maximum pleasure from an awkward moment.
‘Oh well,’ said Izzy, remarkably unperturbed. ‘It’s nice to have a visitor, anyway, even if it is an anonymous one.’ Reaching with difficulty for a half-empty box of chocolates in her locker drawer, she offered them to Gina. ‘Would you like a rum truffle?’
‘I’m Gina Lawrence,’ Gina blurted out, because someone had to say it and the woman clearly wasn’t about to oblige.
The expressive eyebrows remained perplexed. Izzy shook her head and Gina caught a waft of expensive scent. Thorntons truffles and Diorella, she thought darkly; so much for the homeless, impoverished, six-feet-below-the-breadline sob story spun to her by the daughter.
‘I was driving the car that collided with your motor bike,’ she said, enunciating the words with care. Although the accident had undoubtedly been her fault, her solicitor had cautioned her most sternly against admitting anything at all.
‘Oh, right!’ exclaimed Izzy, through a mouthful of truffle. Then, to Gina’s amazement, she stuck out her hand. ‘Gosh, no wonder you were so twitchy when you came in. And how nice of you to come and see me. I’m sorry, I really should have recognised you, but I was in a bit of a state that night. Apart from your legs, I didn’t take much in at all. God, sorry - I didn’t realise my nails were still wet . . . look, are you quite sure you won’t have a chocolate?’
Bemused, Gina shook her head. ‘Your . . . daughter,’ she said falteringly, ‘came to see me yesterday morning.’
‘She did?’ Now it was Izzy’s turn to look stunned. ‘Why on earth should she have done that? She didn’t even mention it last night.’
‘Mrs Van Asch,’ began Gina. ‘She—’
‘Miss. I’m not married. But please call me Izzy,’ said Izzy, chucking the box of truffles back on to her locker. ‘But how strange.What did she want, anyway?’
‘My husband left me,’ said Gina hurriedly. There, another hurdle cleared. If she said it fast enough, it didn’t make her cry. ‘And your daughter told me that I was a selfish bitch. She said that as a result of the accident you’d lost two . . . er . . . boyfriends. I don’t really know why I’m here, but I suppose I thought I ought to come to see you and apologise. And something else I don’t understand,’ she added with a burst of honest to goodness curiosity, ‘is how you can lose two boyfriends at the same time.What happened?’
‘So, she made you feel guilty,’ mused Izzy, a wry smile lifting the corners of her mouth. ‘My God, that girl has a positive talent for digging at consciences. She does exactly the same to me when I haven’t hung my clothes up for a week. Still,’ she added sternly, ‘she shouldn’t have called you a selfish bitch. That’s going too far. Don’t worry, I’ll have a word with her about that. And you really mustn’t worry,’ she added, leaning forward impulsively and resting her hand upon Gina’s. ‘She can be a bit self-righteous at times but she doesn’t really mean it. You know what teenagers are like.’
Gina shook her head, sadly. ‘No, I don’t.’
‘Well!’ Izzy rolled her eyes. ‘Let me tell you that they can be the living end! Kat’s an absolute angel but sometimes I almost wish I could disown her - like now. She might have twelve GCSEs, but she can still make an idiot of herself when she wants to. I really am sorry she upset you, Mrs Lawrence. And when I see her tonight I promise you I’ll give her a good slapping.’
‘Oh, but you mustn’t—’ Gina broke off, realizing a couple of milliseconds too late that the other woman was joking. Colour rose in her pale cheeks. ‘Please,’ she amended hastily. ‘My name’s Gina.’
She hadn’t fooled Izzy, however, and they both knew it.
‘Tell me about the boyfriends,’ said Gina, changing the subject, and Izzy pulled a face.
‘It has its funny side, I suppose, although I was too out of it at the time to appreciate the humour, and when I did realise what I’d done I was pretty pissed off. Maybe it’ll be funny in a few weeks’ time.’ She shrugged, pausing to admire her painted nails, then briefly outlined the details of the mix-up, culminating in the prompt departure of both Mike and Ralph from her life.
The unorthodox arrangement - not to mention Izzy’s pragmatic attitude towards it - was something quite outside Gina’s experience. She’d never met anyone like her in her life.
‘Aren’t you devastated?’ she said finally.
Izzy looked thoughtful. ‘I suppose so, but wailing and weeping isn’t going to do me much good, is it? Besides, Kat says it would only give me wrinkles.’
‘Mmm.’ Gina, who had spent the majority of the past few days weeping and wailing, experienced a twinge of guilt. At this rate, she supposed she was lucky not to look a hundred and fifty years old. ‘Your daughter also told me that you were about to be thrown out of your flat. What will you do when that happens?’
‘Well,’ said Izzy in a confidential whisper, as a nurse strode briskly past, ‘since I’m between men, as they say, I thought I might as well seduce my landlord. See if I can’t persuade him to change his mercenary old mind . . .’
‘Are you joking?’ asked Katerina, two days later. She didn’t know whether to laugh and the expression on her mother’s face was making her feel decidedly uneasy.
‘Of course not,’ Izzy replied with enthusiasm. ‘Would I joke about something as serious as our imminent vagrancy? It’s perfect, darling. The answer to a desperate mother’s prayer.’
‘But she’s an old witch!’
‘She is not.’ Seeing the mutinous glitter in Katerina’s eyes, Izzy knew she had to be firm. ‘She’s just going through a rough time at the moment. I thought it was amazingly kind of her to make the offer - and it isn’t as if we have much of an alternative, anyway,’ she reminded her daughter briskly. ‘I was going to ask Rachel and Jake if we could stay with them for a while, but they really don’t have the room, whereas Gina’s rattling around on her own in that big house of hers and she needs some company at the moment . . .’
‘What about money?’ Katerina demanded. The idea of having to keep that woman company was positively chilling; she’d rather share a hot bath with Freddie Kruger.
‘Rent free for the first month,’ Izzy replied with an air of triumph. ‘And then the same as we’ve been paying Markham. Now isn’t that a great deal?’ she exclaimed. ‘Be honest, where would you prefer to live, Clapham or Kensington? Or was a plastic bench on Tottenham Court Road tube station what you’d really set your heart on?’
Since there wasn’t really any satisfactory answer to that, Kat said nothing.
‘There you are then,’ concluded Izzy, glad that it was sorted.
‘I still don’t like her.’
‘We’re renting a couple of rooms in her house, we don’t have to marry her.’ She flashed a flawless smile at the dentist as he zipped past in his wheelchair with his smashed-and-plastered leg stuck out at right angles before him. ‘And since we don’t have any choice, we may as well make the most of it. Sweetheart, who knows? It might even be fun!’
Chapter 6
Gina didn’t know what she’d got herself into. She was suffering from a severe attack of doubt which erupted from time to time into near panic. Never one to act upon impulse, she couldn’t understand why she should have done so now, when her entire life was in the process of being turned on its head anyway and the last thing she needed was more trauma. And although she had tried to shift the blame on to Andrew, she was uncomfortably aware that from now on she wasn’t going to be able to do that. As from last week, she had become unwillingly responsible for her own life and already she was making a diabolical mess of it.
Visiting Isabel Van Asch in the hospital had succeeded in taking her mind off Andrew for an hour, which was miraculous in itself. She had gone in order to salve her vag
uely pricking conscience, and had come away impressed. She’d never met anyone like Isabel - Izzy - before and the novelty of the woman had been a revelation. Imagining what it must be like to live so carelessly, to be so unworried, had occupied her thoughts for the rest of the afternoon. But since she wasn’t Izzy, and because she was quite incapable of casting off her own worries, as darkness had fallen so she had sunk back into depression. Women like Izzy simply didn’t understand what it was like, not being able to stop thinking about disaster, Gina had realised miserably, whereas she was constantly haunted by reminders of Andrew.
And then at eight-thirty that evening, quite unexpectedly, Andrew had arrived at the house and she didn’t need to imagine him any more because he was there in the flesh, achingly familiar and even more achingly businesslike.
‘We have to discuss the financial aspects of all this,’ he told Gina, refusing with a shake of his head her offer of a drink and opening his briefcase with a brisk flick of his thumb. He wasn’t quite meeting her eyes and a fresh spasm of grief caught in her chest. Handle this with a shrug and a smile, Izzy Van Asch, she thought savagely. It was no good, it couldn’t be done. When it was the husband you loved in front of you it wasn’t humanly possible.
‘We don’t have to,’ she had wailed. ‘You could come back. I forgive you . . .’
Even as the words were spilling out she had been despising herself for her weakness. And they hadn’t worked anyway. Andrew had given her a pitying look and launched into a speech he had prepared earlier, the upshot being that Gina was going to have to realise that money didn’t grow on trees. The house was hers, inherited from her parents, and he naturally had no intention of staking any kind of claim upon it, but the credit cards were no longer going to be fair game, always there to allow herself such little treats as new furniture, holidays in the sun and the latest designer outfits.
‘I’ve spoken to my solicitor,’ Andrew had explained, more gently now. ‘And I’ll be as fair as possible, but I have to warn you, Gina, I won’t be able to give you much at all. That flat of mine is costing an arm and a leg just to rent. And my solicitor says that, basically, there’s no reason why you shouldn’t be able to get yourself a job—’
‘A job!’ shrieked Gina, horrified. ‘But I don’t work. My job is looking after my husband! Why should I have to suffer when I haven’t done anything wrong?’
Andrew shrugged. ‘The law is the law. You don’t need me to support you. You have this house . . . Marvin suggested that you might like to take in lodgers.’
The prospect was more than terrifying, it was unthinkable. When Andrew had - with undisguised relief - left the house thirty minutes later, Gina had made every effort not to think about it. By midnight she had come to the unhappy conclusion that pretending it wasn’t happening wasn’t going to make it go away. Andrew’s third suggestion, that she might sell the house, move into a small flat and live off the interest on the money saved, was out of the question. She had spent her entire life here and the future was going to be scary enough without having to uproot herself from the only home she had ever known.
A job . . . the mere thought of it sent a shiver of apprehension through her. Apart from two terrible years spent ricocheting from one office to another in search of a job that was even semi-bearable, she had never worked. Andrew had burst into her life and she had abandoned the tedium of nine to five, office politics and fifteen-minute tea breaks without so much as a backward glance. The relief had been immeasurable; looking after a husband and a home was all she’d ever wanted to do, for ever and ever, amen . . .
The very idea of allowing strangers into her house - lodgers, tenants, paying guests, call them what you will - was equally alarming. Pausing finally to consider this unpalatable option, Gina actually poured herself a vodka and tonic. Who hadn’t heard the horror stories, after all, of dubious, fraudulent, sinister and sometimes downright sex-crazed characters lulling their landladies into a false sense of security and then either making off with the entire contents of the house or finishing them off with machetes? Gina, only too easily able to envisage her remains bundled into the chest freezer alongside the sole bonne femme, took a hefty gulp of her drink. Then she realised that she was going to pieces. The tonic was flat.
‘I still don’t understand,’ said Katerina in challenging tones, ‘why you’re doing this. Why did you go back to see my mother and ask her - us - to come and live with you?’
It was a shame, Gina thought, that the daughter hadn’t inherited her mother’s happy-go-lucky nature. She thanked God that her house was a large one.
‘I didn’t ask her to come and live with me,’ she replied coolly. ‘I offered her a place to stay, and she accepted.’
Katerina dumped the assortment of cases and bags on to the narrow bed and gave the rest of the room a cursory glance. Magnolia walls, beige-and-white curtains, beige carpet; not awfully inspiring but exceptionally clean.
‘But why?’
Gina decided to play her at her own game. ‘If you must know, it was sheer desperation. If you really have to know,’ she continued, her tone even, ‘I need the money.’
‘Of course,’ murmured Katerina, not even bothering to sound scathing. Moving across to the window, she looked out over leafless treetops at the roofs of the elegant houses lining the street, and at the gleaming, top-of-the-range cars parked outside them. Gina’s claim to ‘need the money’ was so ridiculous it was almost laughable, but she wasn’t in a position to laugh. And Izzy had insisted that she behave herself.
‘Well thanks, anyway.’
‘That’s all right,’ said Gina awkwardly. ‘I hope you’ll both be happy here.’
‘We’ve always been happy,’ Katerina replied simply. ‘Wherever we’ve lived.’
Then, glancing out of the window once more, she spotted an ancient white van hiccuping down the road. ‘Great, here comes Jake with the rest of our things. I’d better go down and guide him into the drive.’
‘Into the drive,’ echoed Gina, paling at the sight of the disreputable vehicle being driven by a man whose hair was longer than her own. Marjorie Hurlingham was cutting back her forsythia next door. She prayed that Jake and the van wouldn’t stay long.
‘I can’t get over it, this is fabulous!’ declared Izzy later that afternoon. Seeing her new home for the first time, and observing with some relief that relations between her daughter and their new landlady weren’t as bad as she had feared, a smile spread over her face. Katerina had obviously decided to behave, the house was wonderful and there was real central heating that actually worked . . . It was eight-thirty in the evening. Izzy, her plastered leg flung comfortably across Jake’s lap, was still regaling everyone with tales of her stay in hospital. Rachel, Jake’s wife, had opened another bottle of wine and was singing happily along to the music playing on the stereo - which appeared to be the only electrical appliance Izzy possessed. Katerina, lying on her side on the floor, was eating raisins and looking through an old photograph album, pausing from time to time to show off the more embarrassing snaps of Izzy during her flower-power days.
Gina perched unhappily on the edge of a chair. She felt rather like a hostess no longer in control of her own party. Not having had time to think about Andrew - and the ritual of brooding over her past life with him had become comforting, even necessary - she was also feeling somewhat dispossessed. And Izzy, Katerina and their friends were so utterly relaxed in each other’s company, laughing and teasing and giving the impression of being entirely at home in Izzy’s bedroom, that she felt even more of an outsider than ever. This was her own home, she reminded herself, yet already her immaculate guest room was unrecognizable.
Despite his long hair and gold earring, Jake had seemed remarkably normal; nevertheless, Gina was glad when he and Rachel finally made a move. He might be a lecturer in history at one of London’s largest polytechnics, but she couldn’t help wondering what the neighbours would be saying about his terrible van. And now that they were leaving, she cou
ld do likewise and retire to the sanctuary of her own room. To sit in peace and think about what Andrew might be doing, thinking and saying at this moment . . .
‘Don’t go,’ Izzy urged, rolling on to her side and stretching out for the half-empty bottle of wine. ‘Sod it, can’t reach. Kat, do the honours will you, darling? Fill Gina’s glass to the brim. Gina, don’t look so nervous! Come on now, relax.’
Relaxing didn’t come easily to Gina, particularly when she was instructed to do so. Her legs were knotted together and she didn’t know what to do with her hands. Glancing at her watch, she said, ‘I really should be—’
‘No, you shouldn’t,’ said Katerina unexpectedly. Handing Gina her drink, she added, ‘You’re looking a lot better than you were when I last saw you, but you’re still twitchy. Why don’t you tell Mum what’s been happening with your ex-husband? She’s awfully good at cheering people up.’
Katerina still hadn’t forgiven Gina for her selfishness the previous week, but she was also slightly ashamed of her own behaviour that day. This was her way of making amends.
