Meet Me Under the Mistletoe (8 page)
Laurie walked through Kings Cross Station wheeling her suitcase along behind her, feeling like a reject from
The Apprentice
. It was Wednesday morning – just over a week since her life fell apart.
The 11.45 to Leeds was her first train, and she’d link up with a smaller train out to Skipley from there. Out of commuter hours, the carriage was half empty. A man with a ruddy face and a middle that pressed against the table in front of him looked at her with a welcoming smile. Two young children, presumably his, sat in the opposite seats. With a sinking feeling, she put her handbag down.
‘Hello, love,’ the man said. He stood up to help her heave her lead weight of a suitcase up on to the overhead shelf. ‘Where are you headed to?’
Laurie never talked to strangers on public transport, and she wasn’t ready to make an exception today. In that respect, while she might not have been born there, she was every bit a Londoner. ‘Skipley,’ she answered, hoping he would get back to the fishing magazine he had in his hand.
‘Skipley, eh – ah yes, I know it, well, I’ve heard of it at least. You’ll be going right up to Leeds then. Now we—’
The train pulled out of the station and as the man continued to talk, Laurie sank back into her chair with a deep sigh.
After a few minutes of fishing talk, Laurie got out her iPhone and cranked up a playlist, and the man finally went back to his magazine. Laurie looked out of the window at the passing scenery. London’s now-familiar landscape – the backs of terraced houses, the Emirates Stadium, Alexandra Palace up on the hill. Just seeing the urban skyline was enough to give her a buzz. Right then, as they picked up speed, she felt like grabbing the city with both hands and never letting go.
She flicked through to Twitter on her iPhone and posted a tweet on her account:
Leaving London and heading for the Yorkshire dales, wish me luck! #rubbishatrelaxing
She smiled at the one-line replies that flooded through almost immediately.
As she read one from her cousin Andrea, she was reminded of family. Her mum. She quickly sent her a text:
Mum, hi, how are things? Sorry I’ve not been in touch. How are you? I’m going out of London for a couple of weeks. Having a holiday. Love Lx
A message beeped through a moment later.
L, that’s great you’re going on holiday. Clara said she saw you. Everything is fine here, just the usual. Love and miss you, Mum x
An hour passed, and the Victorian terraces had been replaced by roughly ploughed fields, blue skies stretching out above. The further they’d come out of the city, the louder everyone seemed to talk – the carriage was full of shrieks and chatter. She tried to focus on her iPad edition of
Vogue
, but she was vying for space with both her seat partner and a bulky plastic dog kennel and a cuddly husky that the little girls opposite her were playing with.
‘Do you want to stroke him?’ One of the little girls offered up her fluffy dog. Laurie smiled and gave him an awkward pat, pulling away at the touch of a sticky, jelly cola bottle stuck in his fur.
After wiping her hand, being careful not to stain her cream silk top, Laurie went online. There was something wrong with her work account, she couldn’t get access to it. She sighed – she was sure there’d be messages needing an urgent response from her – and clicked into her personal one instead. She smiled to see that she had a message from her goddaughter, Milly.
From:
[email protected]
Hi Laurie,
I just got your postcard from Beijing and it’s really cool, thank you. I’ve added it to the collection on my pinboard.
Laurie wasn’t a brilliant godmother, she knew that – but postcards were a habit she’d kept up. She pictured her goddaughter in the photo she’d seen on Facebook – tall for her age, with dyed dark-red hair and her dad’s hazel eyes. In Milly, Laurie saw some of the spark she’d had when she was younger, a hunger to get ahead, to make a better life.
We are heading down to London and to your flat today – it’s all a bit mad, isn’t it? I’m really looking forward to it though, I can’t wait to see a bit of the city and stay at your place. Did you tell me you have a dressmaker’s dummy there? I have a textiles project I’m bringing down to finish.
I hope you find something to keep you entertained in Skipley, my God, it’s boring. Anyway the parentals are worried about Granny Bea, but she seems OK to me and is being all cheerful and Granny-like about having to go to hospital.
Have a good journey,
Lots of love
Milly xxx
P.S. I found an old photo of you and Mum. You are about my age and Mum has this trashy red lipstick on. The photo’s nice, though. I have one of me and my friend Kate that is almost the same.
She tapped back a quick reply.
From:
[email protected]
Millypede! Hello.
Great to hear from you. I hope you enjoy the flat. There’s a stack of fabrics in my spare room, where you’ll be sleeping, I think, so help yourself to anything you like for your project. And do use Matilda (my resident dummy). She gets very lonely without a bit of attention. Zak might like her as a dance partner.
I hope Bea gets much better soon.
Sending you all hugs,
Laurie xxx
P.S. Wow, I bet I had dreadful hair in the photo. They hadn’t invented GHD straighteners back then. I KNOW.
Milly’s reply came back in an instant – ‘Your hair’s pink, actually.’
‘Well,’ Laurie tapped back, ‘I’ve got no excuses for that. Safe journey, Milly – Lx.’
‘We will shortly be arriving in Leeds,’ the announcement came. ‘Our next station with this train will be Leeds. Please take all your personal belongings with you.’
Laurie got to her feet, stretching out after the two hours she had been seated, and walked out into the station with her suitcase. She found Platform 6 and transferred on to a cramped, smaller train. When it set off it rattled through the landscape, past fields of sheep, stopping at Giggleswick, Long Preston and other places Laurie had never heard of. Apart from a granny doing her crossword, the carriage was empty, so Laurie read
Vogue
in peace, checked out what Alexa Chung was going to be wearing to Christmas gigs and what Chloe Sevigny was doing her gift-shopping in. After less than an hour she heard the announcement for Skipley.
She looked out of the window as she got her bags. There was nobody – nobody – on the platform. She glanced around at the vast, empty fields and hills. Welcome to Skipley, she thought. Was it too late to swap back?
CHAPTER
8
Wednesday 29th November
‘So, kids. Here we are,’ Rachel said, putting on her best smile as they emerged from the tube station. ‘Brixton.’
Zak and Milly looked around, eyes wide, taking in the busy high street. It was the middle of the day, on a Wednesday and the pavements were full of people. Market stalls bustled, police sirens wailed and a bornagain Christian preached through a loud-hailer. Incense sticks burning on a nearby stall immersed them in a thick patchouli fog.
‘It’s noisier here than at home, isn’t it, Mum?’ Zak said, looking up and holding on to his rucksack straps tightly.
They’d come down by train that morning, and their first stop had been the central London hospital where they’d dropped Bea off. ‘She’ll be in safe hands here,’ Dr Patel, a calm woman in her forties, told Rachel. ‘I’ll be looking after her and overseeing the tests.’ Rachel and Milly helped Bea unpack and get settled, and Zak gave Bea one of his books, a ‘Choose your own adventure’ one promising dragons and fiery volcanoes. She’d politely added it to the stack of travel memoirs by her bedside. ‘Thank you, Zak,’ she said, ‘I’ll look forward to that one.’ Milly leaned in to give her grandma a gentle hug. ‘I hope you feel much better soon, Granny.’
‘Oh, I’ll be just fine,’ Bea said, shrugging off the concern, ‘don’t you worry about me.’
The tube had been bewildering – Zak had to be rescued when the ticket barriers shut on his rucksack – but finally they’d arrived in Brixton, and according to Laurie’s directions they were just a short walk away from her flat. They’d left their larger bags with Aiden to bring down in the car, but each carried a small overnight bag.
‘Right, kids,’ Rachel said. They walked together on to the zebra crossing, but as they stepped out to cross it a cyclist whizzed across their path, forcing them back. When they stepped forward again a moment later a white van beeped at them and the driver shouted something unintelligible out of the window. Zak looked at Rachel, cowed and uncertain. Milly’s face mirrored his. ‘Perhaps let’s cross at the lights,’ Rachel said, walking towards them and hoping she’d got the right direction.
‘I’ve got the route,’ Milly said, showing Rachel her iPhone – Rachel glanced over curiously at the little blue dot moving as they did. ‘Here we are in London town,’ Milly said, affecting the tone of a posh tourist guide, ‘and, to your left, please take note of the local highlights – TopShop, H&M and New Look.’ Rachel couldn’t help smiling as her daughter continued: ‘And beyond the famous Brixton Academy, you’ll see Windermere Road, home to the eminent fashion designer Laurie Greenaway and holiday home of the rich, famous – and the Murray family.’
‘Look, a fox!’ Zak called out, squeezing Rachel’s hand and pointing to a mangy-looking specimen with a straggly tail who was sniffing around in a KFC wrapper just a few metres away.
The street wasn’t quite what Rachel had imagined. She double-checked the address in her phone, Windermere Road – yes, this was it. But this place didn’t seem very Laurie at all. It was an avenue of tall Victorian terraced houses, leafless, knobbled plane trees lined each side of the road and bin bags and recycling boxes overflowed on to the pavement. The houses were grand, but shabby, and cast in shade.
Rachel took a deep breath, then they all continued walking. Milly called out the house numbers as they went: ‘thirty-three, thirty-one … Zak, check out all those bikes,’ Milly said suddenly, giving her little brother a nudge as they passed a house with a handwritten chalkboard sign propped up outside it. Reggae boomed from a speaker by the open door. ‘Bill the Bikeman. All Repairs’, the sign read. A man with greying dreadlocks and a knitted rasta hat was kneeling down at the doorstep fixing a bicycle chain while customers waited on the pavement – a teenager with a battered BMX and a woman in a suit with her fold-away Brompton. Other bikes, old and rusty next to shiny and new, filled the front yard. ‘Cool,’ Zak said, staring over at Bill as he spun bike wheels. ‘Hi, there,’ Bill called out, with a nod.
Rachel smiled in reply, and checked Bill’s door number, then looked over at the block next to it. Twenty-three – OK, there it was. They had arrived. The building, like all the others on the street, seemed to loom over them. She led Zak and Milly to the intercom and ran her finger over the numbers. She buzzed Laurie’s neighbour in Flat 6.
‘Hi.’ A friendly male voice came from the speaker.
‘Hi,’ Rachel said back. ‘Is that Jay? It’s Rachel, Laurie’s friend …’
‘Rachel, hi,’ the voice said, ‘come up, I’m on the second floor.’ Rachel waited for the buzz, then pushed open the heavy front door. Zak hopskotched across the black and white tiles of the wide hallway, quickly making his way towards the stairs, his steps echoing. They went up the first flight of stairs together and when they all reached the second floor, the door to Jay’s flat was open. A tall, dark-haired man with a welcoming smile stepped forward and offered Rachel his hand to shake.
‘Hi, I’m Jay,’ he said, with the faintest trace of a London accent. His deep-brown eyes met Rachel’s.
As she smiled and shook his hand, Rachel felt acutely aware of her crumpled clothes and wind-whipped hair. Laurie’s brief description of her neighbour had missed out a few key details – tall, with warm brown skin and an easy manner, Jay was distractingly attractive. Rachel realised she was still gazing at him, and brought herself back to reality sharply. ‘And this is Milly,’ she said, smiling and flustered, ‘and Zak.’ She put a hand on each of her children’s arms. They said hello dutifully. Rachel noticed that her daughter was quieter than usual.
‘Hi. And these, I believe, are now yours,’ Jay said, handing over a jangling set of keys. Rachel took hold of them gratefully. ‘Welcome to Goldhawk Mansions,’ Jay said. ‘Not quite as grand as the name suggests, as you probably noticed,’ he laughed.
‘No,’ Rachel said in a hurry, concerned that her doubts might somehow be written all over her face, ‘I mean no, not at all, I don’t really know London well – but this building seems nice.’
‘I think it’s cool,’ Milly said, quietly.
‘Why, thank you,’ Jay said, giving Milly a wink. ‘Enjoy your stay. Sorry I can’t stop to chat, but I have to head out to rehearsals in a minute.’ He grabbed his guitar case and bag from inside the flat. ‘But if you need anything while you’re here just give me a shout.’
Rachel nodded dumbly. ‘Thanks,’ she said. She led her children up the final flight of stairs to the top.
‘Mum,’ Milly said as they reached the top floor. ‘Could you be any more embarrassing?’
Rachel peeked over the banister to check that Jay was out of earshot.
