For the first time since I had come to work for the Gopniks, the weekend stretched out in front of me like an interminable journey over bleak terrain.
So I did what every girl does when she’s far from home and a little sad. I ate half a packet of chocolate Digestives and called my mother.
‘Lou! Is that you? Hold on, I’m in the middle of washing Granddad’s smalls. Let me turn the hot water off.’ I heard my mother walking to the other side of the kitchen, the radio, humming distantly in the background, abruptly silenced, and I was instantly transported to our little house in Renfrew Road.
‘Hello! I’m back! Is everything all right?’ She sounded breathless. I pictured her untying her apron. She always removed her apron for important calls.
‘Fine! I’ve barely had a minute to talk properly so I thought I’d give you a ring.’
‘Is it not fearful expensive? I thought you only wanted to send emails. You’re not going to be hit with one of those thousand-pound bills, are you? I saw a whole thing on the television about people getting caught out using their phones on holiday. You’d have to sell your house when you got home, just to get them off your back.’
‘I checked the rates. It’s good to hear your voice, Mum.’
Mum’s delight at speaking to me made me feel a little ashamed for not having called before. She rattled on, telling me about how she planned to start the poetry night classes when Granddad was feeling better, and the Syrian refugees who had moved in at the end of the street – she was giving them English lessons. ‘Of course I can’t understand a thing they’re saying half the time but we draw pictures, you know? And Zeinah – that’s the mother – she always cooks me a little something to say thank you. What she can do with flaky pastry you wouldn’t believe. Really, they’re awful nice, the bunch of them.’
She said that Dad had been told to lose weight by the new doctor; Granddad’s hearing was going and the television was on so loud that every time he turned it on she nearly did a little wee; and Dymphna from two doors down was having a baby and they could hear her retching morning, noon and night. I sat in my bed, and listened and felt oddly comforted that life continued, as normal, somewhere else in the world.
‘Have you spoken to your sister?’
‘Not for a couple of days, why?’
She lowered her voice, as if Treena were in the room instead of forty miles away. ‘She has a man.’
‘Oh, yeah, I know.’
‘You know? What’s he like? She won’t tell us a thing. She’s after going out with him two or three times a week now. She keeps humming and smiling when I talk about him. It’s very odd.’
‘Odd?’
‘To have your sister smiling so much. I’ve been quite unnerved. I mean, it’s lovely and all, but she’s not herself. Lou, I went down to London to spend the night with her and Thom so she could go out, and when she came back she was singing.’
‘Woah.’
‘I know. Almost in tune too. I told your dad and he accused me of being unromantic. Unromantic! I told him only someone who truly believed in romance could stay married after washing his undercrackers for thirty years.’
‘Mum!’
‘Oh, Lord. I forgot. You wouldn’t have had your breakfast yet. Well. Anyway. If you speak to her try and get some information out of her. How’s your fella, by the way?’
‘Sam? Oh, he’s … fine.’
‘That’s grand. He came to your flat a couple of times after you’d gone. I think he just wanted to feel close to you, bless him. Treena said he was awful sad. Kept looking for jobs to do around the place. Came up here for a roast dinner with us too. But he hasn’t been by for a while now.’
‘He’s really busy, Mum.’
‘I’m sure he is. That’s a job and a half, isn’t it? Right, well, I must let you go before this call bankrupts the both of us. Did I tell you I’m seeing Maria this week? The toilet attendant from that lovely hotel we went to back in August? I’m going to London to see Treena and Thom on Friday, and I’m going to pop in and have lunch with Maria first.’
‘In the toilets?’
‘Don’t be ridiculous. There’s a two-for-one pasta deal at that Italian chain near Leicester Square. I can’t remember the name. She’s very fussy about where she goes – she says you should judge a restaurant kitchen by the cleanliness of the Ladies. This one has a very good maintenance schedule, apparently. Every hour on the hour. Is everything good with you? How’s the glamorous life of Fifth Street?’
‘Avenue. Fifth Avenue, Mum. It’s great. It’s all … amazing.’
‘Don’t forget to send me some more pictures. I showed Mrs Edwards that one of you at the Yellow Ball and she said you looked like a film star. Didn’t say which one, but I know she meant well. I was telling Daddy we should come and visit you before you’re too important to know us!’
‘Like that’s going to happen.’
‘We’re awful proud, sweetheart. I can’t believe I have a daughter in New York high society, riding in limousines and hobnobbing with the flash Harrys.’
I looked around my little room, with the 1980s wallpaper and the dead cockroach under the basin. ‘Yeah.’ I said. ‘I’m really lucky.’
Trying not to think about the significance of Sam no longer stopping by my flat just to feel close to me, I got dressed, drank a coffee and went downstairs. I would head back to the Vintage Clothes Emporium. I had the feeling Lydia wouldn’t mind if I just hung out.
I had picked my clothes carefully – this time I wore a Chinese mandarin-style blouse in turquoise with black wool culottes and a pair of red ballet slippers. Just the act of creating a look that didn’t involve a polo shirt and nylon slacks made me feel more like myself. I tied my hair into two plaits, joined at the back with a little red bow, then added the sunglasses Lydia had given me and some earrings in the shape of the Statue of Liberty that had been irresistible, despite coming from a stall of tourist tat.
I heard the commotion as I headed down the stairs. I wondered briefly what Mrs De Witt was up to now, but when I turned the corner I saw that the raised voice was coming from a young Asian woman, who appeared to be thrusting a small child at Ashok. ‘You said this was my day. You promised. I have to go on the march!’
‘I can’t do it, baby. Vincent is off. They got nobody to mind the lobby.’
‘Then your kids can sit here while you do it. I’m going on this march, Ashok. They need me.’
‘I can’t mind the kids here!’
‘The library is going to close, baby. You understand that? You know that is the one place with air-con I can go in the summer! And it is the one place I can feel sane. You tell me where else in the Heights I’m supposed to take these kids when I’m alone eighteen hours a day.’
Ashok looked up as I stood there. ‘Oh, hi, Miss Louisa.’
She turned. I’m not sure what I had expected of Ashok’s wife, but it was not this fierce-looking woman in jeans and a bandanna, her curly hair tumbling down her back.
‘Morning.’
‘Good morning.’ She turned away. ‘I’m not discussing this any further, baby. You told me Saturday was mine. I am going on the march to protect a valuable public resource. That is it.’
‘There’s another march next week.’
‘We have to keep up the pressure! This is the time when the city councillors decide funding! If we’re not out there now, the local news doesn’t report it, and then they think nobody cares. You know how PR works, baby? You know how the world works?’
‘I will lose my job if my boss comes down here and sees three kids. Yes, I love you, Nadia. I do love you. Don’t cry, sweetheart.’ He turned to the toddler in his arms and kissed her wet cheek. ‘Daddy just has to do his job today.’
‘I’m going now, baby. I’ll be back early afternoon.’
‘Don’t you go. Don’t you dare – hey!’
She walked away, her palm up, as if to ward off further protest and swung out of the building, stooping to pick up a placard she’d left by the door. As if perfectly choreographed, all three small children began to cry. Ashok swore softly. ‘What the Sam Hill am I supposed to do now?’
‘I’ll do it.’ I’d said it before I knew what I was doing.