They slept in the guest bedroom next to Therese’s old room. The day Laura woke to find the drawers emptied onto the floor, she had moved her things into the room next door. She wasn’t afraid, exactly. Or perhaps she was, a little. She had a horrible feeling that there was, if not a specter, then an uninvited guest at her feast. A soup spoon was missing; one of the table legs was too short; one of the champagne cocktails was flat; one of the second violins was sharp. A sliver of disharmony jangled Padua, and Laura had no idea what she should do to restore peace. Carrot would never go into Therese’s bedroom, but he was perfectly happy to abandon his place by the fire on Christmas night to nestle at their feet on the bed where Freddy and Laura slept.
When Sunshine found out about the “sleepover” she wanted to know all the details. Whose pajamas did Freddy wear; how did he clean his teeth without his toothbrush; did he snore? And did they kiss? Freddy told her that he had borrowed one of Laura’s nighties, cleaned his teeth with soap and a flannel, and no, he didn’t snore, but Laura did enough to rattle the windows. And yes. They had kissed. Sunshine wanted to know if Freddy was any better at kissing now and he told her that he’d been having lessons. Laura had never seen Sunshine laugh so hard, but how much of it she believed was difficult to guess. How much of it she would repeat when she got home wasn’t.
It was New Year’s Eve and still very early. The guest room also had a view of the rose garden, but this morning it was barely visible through the driving rain. Freddy would be here later. They were going out this evening to join the celebrations at the local pub. But in the meantime, Laura was drawn inexorably to the study. Armed with enough toast for both of them and a pot of tea, she went into the study followed by Carrot, and lit the fire. She took a small box down from its shelf and laid the contents on the table. Outside, it was raining harder than ever, and the sound of running water played counterpoint to the spit and crackle of the fire. For the first time, Laura held in her hand an object she could not name, and even after reading its label, she was no wiser as to its purpose or origin.
WOODEN HOUSE, PAINTED DOOR AND WINDOWS, NO. 32—
Found, skip outside no. 32 Marley Street, 23rd October . . .
Edna peered at the young man’s identity card. He said he was from the Water Board; come to check all the plumbing and the pipes. It was just a courtesy call. They were doing it for all their customers over seventy before the winter set in, he said. Edna was seventy-eight and she needed her reading glasses to see what was on the card. Her son, David, was always telling her to be extra careful about opening the door to strangers. “Always keep the chain on until you know who they are,” he warned. The trouble was that with the chain on she could only open the door a crack, and then she was too far away from it to read the card. Even with her reading glasses on. The young man smiled patiently. He looked right. He was wearing a smart pair of overalls with a badge on the right-hand chest pocket, and was carrying a black plastic toolbox. The identity card had a photo that looked like him, and she thought that she could just about make out the words “Thames” and “Water.” She let him in. She didn’t want him thinking that she was a foolish, helpless old woman.
“Would you like a cup of tea?” she asked.
He smiled gratefully.
“You’re a diamond and no mistake. I’m proper parched. The last brew I had was at seven o’clock this morning. Milk and two sugars and I’m a happy man.”
She directed him to the downstairs lavatory and then upstairs to the bathroom and airing cupboard on the landing which housed the water tank. In the kitchen, she put the kettle on, and as she waited for it to boil she looked out at the long strip of back garden. Edna had lived in her East London terrace for nearly sixty years. She and Ted had moved in when they got married. They had brought up their kids here, and by the time David and his sister, Diane, had grown up and left home, it was bought and paid for. Of course, they could never have afforded it now. Edna was the only one left from the old days. One by one, the houses had been bought up, tarted up, and their prices hiked up as high as a tom’s skirt, as her Ted would have said. These days, the street was full of young professionals with flash cars, fondue sets, and more money than they knew what to waste it on. Not like the old days, when kids played in the street and you knew all your neighbors and their business.
The young man found his way back into the kitchen just as Edna was pouring the tea.
“Just how I like it,” he said, gulping it down. He seemed to be in a hurry.
“Everything’s shipshape upstairs.”
He took a quick look under the sink in the kitchen and then rinsed his mug under the tap. Edna was impressed. He was a good boy like her David. His mum had obviously brought him up well.