Live to Tell (28 page)

I should have resented his interference but deep down I knew he was right and since the start of the week before, when I spent time pondering Princess Diana’s death, I had been thinking along similar lines. The neon lights now shining above us seemed to agree. Despite this, I felt mentally tired and it must have showed on my face. I knew it would be some time before I felt strong enough to search for somewhere permanent to live.

I sat at my desk one morning writing a report when Stephen came in. He smiled ingratiatingly, a smile which always made me smell a rat.

“Ah, yes, I see you’ve got some estate agent details.” He started flicking through the stacks of adverts. “Hmm, don’t get much for your money, do you? Well maybe I can help you there. My wife’s cousin, younger than we are, well she’s just going through a terrible divorce, poor girl. And Carol, that is, her house is being re-possessed by her lender. She’d be in a much better position if she could sell it herself; and, of course, if she could do it privately, she wouldn’t have to pay any agency fees.” He paused, as if waiting for me to speak but I decided to find out what he was after before commenting. “Well,” he continued, “I remembered that Alan mentioned you used to live in Maida Vale. And that’s where it is, the house.”

“Oh, I couldn’t afford anything there,” I said.

“To be honest, she’ll be grateful for anything reasonable she can get. If the bank sells it, she’ll probably come away with nothing. Anyway, would you at least have a look at it? You might be surprised at how nice it is. It’s quite small, just a mews cottage, but very well placed for the station and got its own parking bay. Shall I speak to her then? Give her your number?”

A mews cottage? Was he mad? That type of up-market town house would be way outside my budget. Originally built as horse stabling around an open courtyard, they were now converted into highly desirable and highly expensive homes.

I smiled at him, thinking that if I didn’t like the house or the price, I would be under no obligation.

Nervously I returned to the well laid out, middle class district where first Aidan and I, and then Danny and I lived. Largely built in the nineteenth century with some nineteen twenties and thirties property as well, it was an eclectic mix of different styles. It was nice to be where, strangely, I still felt I belonged. I decided not to venture onto the main road where I was sure that “our” block of apartments was still resplendent in all its Art Deco glory. Instead, I drove the back way to the mews where Stephen’s wife’s cousin was living in dire straits.

I parked around the corner from the cobbled entrance to the small road. The area was clean and quiet. Old houses with steps leading to their doors, some divided into apartments were interspersed with more contemporary homes. Nervously, I left my car and peered into the courtyard. The cobble stones on the roadway, the ornamental trees, and old-fashioned lamp columns outside each terraced property all enchanted me. Oh wow, I thought. It’s perfect. And yet another form of architecture to add to my collection.

I looked at each front door, painted a different colour from its neighbour. The small house already seemed much better than any I’d already viewed and with a feeling that was an odd mix of excitement and trepidation, I knocked at the door.

After my inspection, I walked back around the corner to a health food cafe that I already knew, and ordered a cappuccino and a granola bar. Sitting at a side table, I weighed the pros and cons. Even allowing for Carol’s distressed condition, the property was going to cost the most I could possibly raise, but I knew from the moment I set foot inside, I really wanted to live there.

After much deliberation and heart-searching I moved in on July 6
th
, 1999.

I kept to a frugal routine, spending as little as possible. I worked away from home whenever I could in order to increase my funds, but I found balancing my personal books a lot harder than my clients’. I still went to exercise classes and work-outs to fill up my spare time cheaply, but I knew that I went mostly because being there made me feel closer to Danny. In the last few months of his life, he exercised a lot and I imagined him doing some of the same things I did. As an added bonus, I was amazed how quickly my body improved. Mum even gave me my own set of dumb bells to practise with at home. I smiled to myself. If she’s not careful, I thought, she’ll end up with
Wonder
Woman
for a daughter.

I hardly saw any of my neighbours, but from what little I did see, they seemed pleasant enough. On one side lived Mrs Jeffery, an extremely elderly lady who came and went like a little mouse. On the other was Mr Bonneville, a middle aged man who didn’t go out to work and seemed to me to resemble a large baby. He had a round pink face and a permanently worried look and kept offering to take in my deliveries. I sometimes saw him loitering when I returned home from work or the gym, but he seemed fairly harmless. A young Dutch couple lived opposite, but I hardly ever saw them.

My front door opened directly onto the mews. Under the covenant that controlled the area, I was allowed to display outdoor plants there if I wanted, assuming I had any. My father had donated a large white tub. Although it was August, he planted it with winter flowering pansies and ivy, but sometimes I noticed the soil in the pot was disturbed and this confused me until I realised a nosy neighbourhood cat was responsible. She was both brave and bold, and often marched into my house while I was preoccupied unpacking the car. Secretly I enjoyed her easy familiarity and because she had a coquettish air, I decided to call her Clothilde.

The thing I liked best was her aversion to the cobble stones. To reach either Mrs Jeffery or myself, she had to cross several metres of them. She dithered about before picking her route, then scampered across at breakneck speed. I just hoped she wouldn’t spoil the pansies otherwise Dad would swear I hadn’t looked after them properly.

If anyone asks me, I would say yes, I think I’m going to be happy here.

In Paris, the August night was hot. Ben leaned against a riverside parapet next to
Notre
Dame
Cathedral, watching the swirling waters of the River Seine. I’m in what’s considered to be one of the most beautiful cities in the world, he thought, yet just look at me. He received the decree absolute for his divorce a few hours earlier and felt abandoned and lost. It wasn’t losing Julia that depressed him. It was the loss of his home and a feeling of utter failure.

A
Baton
Mouche
river boat drifted by. Its floodlights illuminated the concealed stone corners of the old revetment where Ben stood. As it passed, plunging him back into darkness, he realised he was not alone. Couples, their arms entwined, strolled around him and young women hovered nearby. Must be prostitutes, he thought. Don’t seem to be doing much trade; probably too hot. Think I’ll just go for a beer. He turned and started to climb the worn set of steps back to the roadway. He knew a Moroccan bar a short walk away in
Rue
des
Grandes
Degres.
He always felt welcome there and decided to call in. He stopped to look once more at the spectacular church reflected in the water, then suddenly on a whim changed his mind. What the hell? What have I got to lose, he thought and headed back down to the girls waiting below.

CHAPTER TEN
 

My life drifted on and by now it was nearly December. Where had the year gone? I lay in bed, early one Sunday morning, watching raindrops falling outside the window, thinking about my life. As I didn’t have much furniture and what I had came mostly from a second hand shop on Kilburn High Road, the interior of my new house was depressingly scruffy. Where Carol’s furniture had been, ghostly shadows remained, marks on the carpets, empty patches on the walls. Also, there were no curtains. Luckily for me, Carol had left behind her blinds and I made do with those. I never had spare money and was struggling not to descend into total penury. It’s a bit like living with Aiden, I thought, endless austerity. And I need to stop creeping about as if I’m a trespasser—relax more. I wished that Danny were here. Despite everything though, I feel peaceful.

Would he approve of all this, I wondered. Yes, I think he would. I stretched under the bedclothes, pleased that for once I didn’t have to get up early for work. Today Aunt Jess was coming for lunch. I often saw her at my parents’ house but this time she was visiting me.

A few hours later she sat in the middle of my old sofa while I made some coffee. Despite it being winter, the room was filled with light from the large un-curtained sash windows facing out onto the mews. As hardly anyone walked past, privacy was not an issue and I managed to conceal the interior from casual view with just blinds and an enormous, strategically placed “Mother-in-Law’s Tongue”. Growing in a red and blue Majolica pot, its spiky leaves were already three feet high and new shoots poked through the soil.

“Look at you,” I said, smiling at Jess as I offered her a biscuit, “so trim in those jeans. Most people your age wouldn’t be able to wear them at all, let alone look so good.”