by Clare Ashton
‘It’s much cleaner and safer than when we lived here,’ Cate said, as they stepped into the lift. ‘There’s quite a premium on the top flats. It wasn’t good at all when I was young.’ Cate wrinkled her nose as if detecting the bad smell of the past. ‘It was built as a mixed tenure building, but it was always unpopular and went downhill very quickly.’
Cate led Pia through a narrow, windowed corridor along the outside of the tower. It was quiet given the number of people that must have been within a stone’s throw. The thought was unnerving: not being able to see your neighbours or for them to hear you. It felt lonely.
Cate stopped at a blue door that was long overdue attention and a new coat of paint.
‘This was Mum’s flat. She lived here from a week after I was born to the day she died. She passed away in her bed. Breast cancer.’ Cate faltered.
She searched through her shoulder bag and, to Pia’s surprise, took out a key and opened the door.
It was dark and stale inside. The windows were drawn over with thick curtains.
‘It’s the same as the day she died, save a few of my belongings. I was living at university at the time and had my essentials in Cambridge.’
Cate switched on the light to illuminate a small living room. A large brown sofa filled half the room and faced a television, one like Pia’s mother used to have with wooden sides.
‘You don’t know how many hours she spent on that sofa,’ Cate laughed.
She led Pia through to a small kitchen with a couple of old units, a stained sink and an electric cooker with furred and greased-up rings.
‘That’s where she spent most of her time though.’ Cate opened the doors to a balcony where a worn armchair faced the railings.
‘Wow,’ Pia said when she saw the view. Miles and miles of capillary terraces, swathes of parks, railway line arteries and the heart of the city erupting into the skyline.
‘You can see Kent on a clear day, but that’s where my mother used to stare.’ Cate thrust out her slim arm and elegant fingers in front of her. ‘If you look down the line between Hyde and Holland Park, can you see a small green area with trees, beyond some tennis courts?’
Pia squinted along the line of Cate’s finger. ‘With the large red-brick mansion?’
‘That’s where my mother grew up and where my grandparents still live.’
Pia stared at Cate’s distant ancestral home. Its revelation hadn’t been what she expected from the visit to the block of flats.
‘Mum was a bit of rebel.’ Cate continued. ‘She left boarding school at sixteen against my grandfather’s wishes.’ She nodded towards the mansion. ‘When he found her in bed with a woman twice her age he kicked her out.’
‘What’s wrong with older women?’ Pia quipped.
‘It was the just the woman part.’ Cate smiled. ‘Mum was also one of the first Greenham Common women in the early eighties. She was part of the peace camp protesting against nuclear missiles at the RAF base.’ Cate’s eyes twinkled with pride and amusement. ‘When you consider my grandfather comes from a proud family of military officers, that was quite a radical thing to do.’
Pia found so many questions popping into her head, but Cate seemed such a mix of emotions that she held her tongue.
‘I imagine if she’d towed the line after that he may have come round with my grandmother’s encouragement, but she fell for another woman in the camp. They swore their love for each other. Wanted children together. They came to some agreement. I don’t know whether it was one of those drunken conversations, I could never tell from Mum. But they agreed that if either had the chance to sleep with a man they would try to get pregnant and have a family together. My mum did. I think the reality was too much for her partner, and she left. This is where Mum ended up, alone with me.’
Cate turned to Pia, her face heavy with fatigue and her smile flat.
‘And your grandparents never forgave her?’ Pia was incredulous. ‘Never helped?’
‘My grandmother did, in secret. They developed this building, among others in London. My grandmother signed up this flat in someone else’s name. It was one of the few things she managed to do behind my grandfather’s back. He’d disowned my mother entirely and made sure she wouldn’t inherit anything from him.’
‘But what about you? Didn’t he want his granddaughter to grow up somewhere nicer?’
Cate gave a slight shrug. ‘My grandfather wouldn’t see me until I was a teenager. He didn’t acknowledge I existed.’
‘But why?’ Pia said in disbelief. ‘It wasn’t your fault, any of the arguments between them.’
Cate glanced up recalling, ‘According to my grandfather I was “that bastard girl”.’
Pia flinched at the term. It was harsh for any child. ‘But you’re his flesh and blood, regardless of who your father was.’
Cate’s face was stiff with tension. ‘I don’t think he wanted to acknowledge that my mother was even his.’
Pia was shocked. ‘And now? Is he any better since your mother died?’
Cate nodded. ‘A little, because of Wynne, my grandmother’s, efforts. I’m still the bastard child though.’
‘But, but…’ Pia was lost for words. ‘You hadn’t done anything wrong.’
Cate shrugged. ‘They were very similar personalities despite their polar opposite lifestyles and politics. When they argued, Wynne said it was like a tornado. My grandmother and I were collateral damage.’
Pia couldn’t think of anything consoling to say. She found it hard enough to conceive of anyone doing such a thing. She stared out over the cityscape to the manor, wondering how the sight of it would have eaten away at Cate’s mother, a daily reminder of riches from the view of a brutalist concrete tower. And Cate’s craving for luxury struck home.
‘I never knew my father,’ Cate said. ‘My mother and grandparents were estranged and then I lost Mum. It made me feel very vulnerable.’ Cate didn’t meet her eyes, but Pia could see that fragility in her demeanour.
‘I dread being left alone,’ she continued. ‘I fear the loneliness or getting ill without enough money to pay for care. I watched Mum staring out from this balcony for too many years not to have that fear ingrained.’
Pia nodded. She did understand. She could see the fear gripping Cate at that moment. She reached out, wanting to close the gap between them and comfort her, to reassure her that she wasn’t alone.
But Cate stiffened and looked away. ‘Rafe was always very good to me. We were friends at college and his sister is also a good friend of mine. He was very supportive when Mum died. We made a good pair, I thought. It would have been Mum’s birthday today,’ Cate added, and they were silent again.
The mention of Rafe numbed Pia, but it was childish to indulge in jealousy in view of Cate’s confession. She forced herself to shake it off and tried to think of a lighter subject.
‘What were you like?’ Pia tilted her head. ‘What were you like when you were younger?’
Cate turned towards her smiling. ‘Oh, I was a good girl. Swotty. I loved reading and I was always curled up in the corner with a book at home. I did well at school. Of course, you can get away with murder once in a while if you behave the rest of the time.’
‘Oh really?’ Pia asked, interested.
‘I broke into the cricket pavilion at the boys’ school when I was fourteen. I wanted some private time with my first girlfriend.’ She grinned. ‘We didn’t mean to break in; the window we forced fell apart. We were all asked to stay behind after assembly. The headmistress was in a thunderous mood after reports of two suspicious girls running away from the boys’ grounds.’
‘What did you do?’
‘Owned up.’ Cate shrugged. ‘I went to the headmistress’ office. I told her I’d gone there with my girlfriend and that it had been an accident. She gave me detention for a week and that was that. Although I remember now.’ Cate frowned. ‘She advised that I not mention the girlfriend if I confessed to anyone else. You know, come to think of it sh
e must have been a lesbian.’
Pia laughed. ‘I bet she had a soft spot for you.’
‘Yes, she did; in no dubious way either. She helped me get into Cambridge when no-one else cared. She was very nice.’ Cate paused, a keen interest in her eye. ‘What about you? What were you like?’
‘Me? I was naughty.’ Pia giggled. ‘Not in a gone wild way. I just wouldn’t pay attention to subjects I didn’t like. It used to drive Mama crazy. She blamed Dad of course. He used to encourage me at things like art, but he had no heart for maths and sciences.’ Pia peeked back at the flat, curious. ‘Do you have any photos of you at school?’
Cate thought for a moment and nodded. She ducked back inside and returned with a framed photo: a black and white image of a group of girls on the verge of being women. ‘This was in the sixth form.’
‘I’ve spotted you.’ Pia grinned. Cate stood in the middle of the front row, a shy but at the same time confident smile on her lips. She was tall and athletic and already had that poise that the other girls lacked and perhaps would never have.
‘I bet you were head girl,’ Pia said.
Cate laughed and nodded.
-
A key in the door startled them. Cate stepped into the flat and Pia lingered, watching through the window. A small elderly lady entered, her eyes cast on the floor, not expecting company. She was smartly dressed in a blue blazer. When she spotted Cate her face rippled with grief.
‘Oh darling, I had no idea you still came here.’ She reached up towards Cate and kissed her on the cheek.
‘I didn’t realise you did,’ Cate replied.
The woman raised her hand to dismiss her concern. ‘Just on her birthday. Charles won’t do a thing. He leaves the house and refuses to visit the cemetery. I prefer to come here and sit with her instead. If you understand.’
‘Yes of course.’ Cate leaned down and held the woman. ‘I brought a friend. I should introduce you.’
The two women came out onto the balcony, Cate’s arm entwined with the older woman’s.
‘This is Pia,’ Cate said. Pia straightened her shoulders and put out a hand to greet the visitor. ‘This is my grandmother, Lady Wynne.’
The old woman clasped Pia’s hand as a reflex, but when she met her gaze she was startled. Pia was puzzled for a moment, but then realised that her boyish looks might be controversial.
‘I work with Cate,’ she stuttered, trying to diffuse any concern that her granddaughter might be following in her daughter’s footsteps.
‘It’s a pleasure to meet you,’ Lady Wynne said, appearing to wish no further conversation.
When Cate drew Lady Wynne inside to make herbal tea Pia stayed on the balcony, not wanting to intrude. It was no hardship, spending some time surveying the city she adored. It was like looking at a graphic map from her vantage point.
From time to time she heard their voices, muffled from inside the flat: Lady Wynne retelling Cate stories of her mother in her youth, catching Cate’s profile in the light that was so like her mother’s.
‘I don’t know how much longer I can hold on to the flat,’ Lady Wynne said. ‘Charles is belly aching about refurbishing. He seems to think everyone wants to live in the sky these days. “Look at the Shard,” he says.’
‘I’m not sure the Tower of Terror can be rebranded to appeal like the Shard,’ Cate replied, being politic.
‘Tell that to the silly old coot,’ Lady Wynne replied. ‘He wants to start kicking out the tenants and knock through flats to convert them into luxury apartments.’
Outside, Pia tutted to herself. ‘Just what London needs: more bloody luxury flats.’
She stared over the expanse of London below, watching and listening to the traffic, birds and trains. It took a few seconds for her to register the silence from within.
‘Well.’ Lady Wynne’s voice was loud and clear behind her. ‘We have a fiery one here.’
Pia spun round. ‘I’m sorry. I was just being…rude.’ She deflated.
‘You were being honest, and it’s not an opinion that is foreign to me. So what would you do with it?’ Wynne raised an eyebrow.
Pia’s irritation was roused again. ‘I’d keep it affordable. For people who need to live and work here. People everyone needs like nurses, cleaners, teachers, people in shops. You know, ordinary people. There are an awful lot of them.’
‘Indeed,’ said Lady Wynne. ‘We have to keep the servants somewhere. In the good old days, we used to build quaint little houses for them out the back.’
Pia opened her mouth, shocked at the change in perspective.
Lady Wynne tapped her under the chin. ‘I’m joking my dear.’
‘Oh.’ Pia closed her mouth.
‘I think these flats are fine as they are. Some are large enough for families. Greater numbers of small flats don’t give us a vastly reduced income in any case. But, it lacks prestige on our property portfolio. That’s the problem.’ She shrugged and looked at Pia. ‘Tell me, where do you live?’
‘Brixton.’ Pia hesitated. ‘With my mum. And when she gets sick of the sight of me I have no idea where I’ll be able to afford to live. I’ll probably have to commute from Birmingham.’
‘Oh my dear.’ Lady Wynne reached out in sympathy. ‘I do hope it doesn’t come to that.’
‘I don’t think Birmingham’s as bad as…You’re joking.’
‘That’s right.’
Pia grinned, seeing a little of Cate in the older woman.
Chapter 16.
Lady Wynne’s chauffeur followed Holland Park Avenue and turned up through Notting Hill. The colourful terraces changed to taller mansion flats and the road became leafier and more exclusive. At the top of the hill, the driver stopped at gates to a large green area enclosed by a brick perimeter wall. The gates opened without a sound or visible human assistance and the driver pulled around the generous turning circle in front of the mansion.
It was larger than Pia had thought from a distance. A central buttress of red brick rose above the wide steps and was flanked by two wings. Attic rooms peeped out of the sloping slate roof. Pia felt naïve. She hadn’t thought houses like this existed in London, or at least ones that weren’t owned by royalty or a charitable trust.
Pia slipped off the leather seat from the back of the car and waited, feeling a little self-conscious, while the driver aided Cate and Lady Wynne.
‘It’s a beautiful day.’ Lady Wynne gazed at the cloudless sky. ‘I think we should have lemonade on the east lawn.’
Pia nodded, unwilling and unable to object to anything.
‘I’ll get Wilkins on it,’ Lady Wynne continued. ‘Cate, I’d like a quick word with you inside. Pia, please make yourself at home.’
Cate smiled back at Pia before she was whisked up the grand steps and into the house. Pia turned to the gardens and wondered how one should go about making oneself at home in several acres.
She ambled down steps onto a narrow lawn with exuberant long borders on either side. Waves of flowers, golds, reds and whites, rippled in the gentle breeze. The fragrance was uplifting. A hint of honeysuckle washed over her and the powerful smell of jasmine filled her head.
She ducked under a yew archway and the lawn opened out into a broad expanse of grass in perfect stripes. Not a blade seemed out of place and it was unimaginable that a dandelion or daisy might blight the uniform green.
Pia stared at it in disbelief. She laughed and removed her shoes and socks. She meandered around, squeezing her toes into the cool dense grass. The sensation of soft padded lawn beneath the soles of her feet was sensual, and it was a perverse pleasure on such an uptight lawn.
The grass gave way to imperfections where a small wood began. Pia sat down, more relaxed among the clover and cushioning moss with the odd daisy for company. She lay down and peeped through the branches of a beech tree at the sky. The sun winked through the leaves. She closed her eyes, enjoying the intermittent warmth followed by a cooler kiss as the dappled shade flickered across her f
ace.
‘This is my favourite part of the garden.’ Cate’s soothing voice roused her. Pia blinked to and saw her tall silhouette above.
‘Don’t get up,’ she whispered. ‘I’ll join you.’
Cate curled up beside her, and Pia noticed her feet were also bare. It was difficult not to admire Cate’s body. Pia gazed along the exquisite shape of her legs that fell into inviting shadows under her dress. She admired the curve of her hip and fall of her belly. She knew her breasts by heart now, the way they lay in clothes. She couldn’t help but linger there, remembering how they felt against her own.
She admired Cate’s shoulders, neither weak nor athletic. They were left bare by the dress and a dusting of light freckles invited Pia’s mental touch. Pia smiled in a haze, filled with the heady warmth from the sunshine and Cate’s scent.
Cate’s expression drew her attention. A question seemed to hover on her lips and Pia thought she knew what she wanted to ask.
‘I do understand now,’ Pia said. ‘At least a little.’
Cate gave her a sad smile.
‘Although.’ Pia frowned. ‘I don’t understand why you left The Times.’
‘A favour to Rafe.’ Cate sighed and rolled onto her back. ‘He wanted some credible journalists to kick off the magazine. I was a natural choice for him.’ Cate shrugged. ‘The timing was unfortunate though. I had an offer of a twelve-month secondment to the New York Times. Delaying the wedding and backing out of the magazine would have been too much to ask. But it is one of the things I regretted immediately.’
‘You married a man instead of going to New York,’ Pia said with exaggerated consternation. ‘I can forgive you everything, but passing up an opportunity to live in New York, crazy.’
Cate laughed. ‘Is that somewhere you’d like to visit?’
