“Vampire rapists, I expect.” Judith scowled as if Marion’s stupidity were giving her a headache, then began clearing up the cups and putting them into the sink, in a way that let Marion know it was time for her to leave. Suddenly remembering her dream about Lydia in the cellar, Marion was filled with panic.
“But a young woman traveling abroad like that on her own, don’t you think you ought to find out more about them?”
“Oh, for God’s sake, if you had kids yourself, you would realize you can’t mollycoddle them, or they’ll end up too frightened to go out the front door in case they catch a cold. I mean, do you want her to end up like you?”
“What do you mean?”
“Living in the same house you’ve lived in all your life, never taking risks, never finding a job or getting married?”
A flash of guilt crossed Judith’s face as if she realized she had pinched too hard this time.
“Though I’m sure your life has been rich in other ways,” she said apologetically. “Perhaps ones that aren’t immediately obvious to the outsider.”
Her conciliatory smile wasn’t enough to push down Marion’s rising anger.
“You think I am this sad, plain little woman, but you don’t know anything about me, Judith. You have no idea what I am capable of.”
Then she picked up a little red espresso cup and threw it on the floor. It did not break but went rolling towards the huge fridge as if for protection.
Judith said nothing, but her look of shock could not have been greater if the cup had hurled itself across the kitchen.
Marion went back home, her heart still pounding from the outburst. The ringing of the telephone in the hallway multiplied her feeling of alarm. She picked it up fearfully, a small, silly part of her imagining Judith had called the police.
“Hello, is that Marion?”
She didn’t recognize the male voice on the line. Surely shouting at a neighbor wasn’t against the law, was it? The cup hadn’t even broken.
“Who is this?”
“This is Simon, from Tyler and Co. Have I caught you at a bad time? You came in to visit the flat on Northport Beach last summer?” Of course, Simon the estate agent, she remembered liking how his sentences bounced up at the end in a way that sounded hopeful and cheery.
“Oh yes, yes—the flat.” She must have given him her telephone number the last time they spoke.
“Are you all right? You sound like you’re a bit out of puff,” he said sympathetically. “Should I call back at another time?”
Marion forced herself to breathe steadily.
“No, it’s all right, I just ran downstairs.”
“We did find a buyer for the flat, but unfortunately the purchase fell through, and now the sellers have lowered the price by ten thousand. I know how much you liked it, and I thought you might want to take another look.”
? ? ?
AS SHE MADE her way along the seafront towards Ocean Vista Court, Marion passed dozens of the benches and little brick shelters where rows of old people in gray and beige raincoats perched like pigeons. She felt they must be staring at her and thinking how ridiculous she looked in the pink wool two-piece of Mother’s she had put on to meet the estate agent.
“Look at the state of her,” they were probably thinking. “Who does she think she is, all dressed up like a dog’s dinner? And running around with no coat in February.”
The pink skirt rode up her thighs as she walked, and she had to keep stopping to pull it back down again. She had put on a pair of Mother’s American Tan tights, but her shoes, a pair of badly scuffed brogues, one tied with a blue lace and the other with black, were Marion’s own, as Mother’s feet had been several sizes smaller. The tights itched like hell. Marion scratched her leg, then cursed herself when she realized she made a ladder all the way down her right shin. A strong wind came from the sea, blowing sand into her eyes and upsetting her carefully arranged hair.
And to think she had gotten herself ready with some vague idea of looking pretty for Simon. It embarrassed her to think of the five other outfits that lay on Mother’s bed, having been tried on, then rejected. Did she really imagine it was going to matter to him if she wore the powder-blue trouser suit or the tangerine day dress? And why was she going back to that flat? It was unfair to let him think that she would really buy it, when of course this was entirely impossible. But he had sounded so polite and hopeful on the phone that she hadn’t had the heart to refuse a second viewing. If only she wasn’t such a coward, then she would have told him the truth and this nice young man wouldn’t be wasting his time on a fool’s errand.
She arrived ten minutes early for her appointment. While she was waiting by the entrance, a silver-haired man wearing a navy blazer and neatly pressed cream slacks came out of the building. Though his face was deeply lined, Marion thought him handsome and intelligent looking, like someone who might read the news on TV.
The man had a small dog with him. It trotted over to Marion and then looked up at her with its head cocked on one side, as if expecting a treat. She wondered if she should pat its head. She was rather nervous of animals—Mother thought dogs were dangerous and filthy things, and, apart from poor Bunty, Marion had had little contact with them, but there was a bright, friendly look in the eyes of this dog that appealed to her.
“I’m sorry. He’s very sociable, you see. He always likes to say hello to people.” The man spoke in a nice middle-class voice, no smear of the muddy Northport accent. Though he was smiling at her, Marion felt anxious that he might be wondering what she was doing waiting outside the entrance. Should she offer some explanation as to why she was there?
He wore a gold band on his wedding finger, but then of course at his stage in life it was possible he might be widowed. She suspected that Ocean Vista Court was the sort of place where well-to-do “senior” persons moved following the death of a spouse.
“It must be pleasant to have him for company,” she said, cringing with shame as the dog nuzzled her laddered American Tan ankle. Those shoes with the mismatched laces were like two oddball relations, and it embarrassed her to be seen out in public wearing them.
“Well, yes, he is good company, but I only wish he could laugh at my jokes,” said the man.
Perhaps this meant he was lonely. His wife must be dead or at least someone with no sense of humor.
“Come along, Treacle,” he said to the dog. Making a clucking sound with his tongue, he pulled on the dog’s lead and the two of them went off along the path that ran by the beach.