‘How was your night?’
‘Fine,’ said Betty. ‘Fine. Astrid woke up at three for a bottle, Acacia woke up at four for a cuddle and Donovan was standing in my doorway at quarter to six, ready to start the day.’
‘Oh God, poor you.’
Betty shrugged. ‘It’s fine. I thought it would be worse to be honest.’
Amy popped two pills from the strip and knocked them back with a gulp of coffee. ‘You’re a star,’ she said. ‘A total star. I’m taking the kids to Kate’s for lunch today, so you can go home then, say about twelve thirty?’
Betty smiled again. ‘Great.’
‘Great,’ echoed Amy.
And then she was gone.
53
1921
Dear Lilian,
Well, to say that I miss you all would be a statement of extraordinary inadequacy. I miss all of you, every moment of every day (except, perhaps, your younger brothers!). I miss London, I miss the buses and the motorcars, the noise and the smell. I miss parties with Minu, and the music. I really do miss the music. How are you all? How are the building works going? I suppose it will be a long time before the house is ready for you all to move back in. But then, an apartment in Hyde Park is likely a fine compensation for you all in the meantime.
I am sorry that I left so suddenly and without proper farewells. And now that I am away from everything, I feel I can share with you the exact reasons for my disappearance. I overheard Godfrey having a conversation with a young girl about their unborn baby. She gave him back a sum of money that he had given her to deal with the situation and told him that she ‘couldn’t do it’. Now I, more than most, can understand that, as you know. It is no one’s fault. I left Godfrey without explanation, he owed me
nothing
. And this poor girl is just doing what she feels is right. There is no one to blame, no one to be angry with, but Godfrey has to be free to do the right thing with regard to this girl and he won’t be able to do that easily with me in the picture.
So, here I am, back where I started. My mother is so happy to have me back. Already my time in London feels like a dream. Travel really is just a momentary pause in the ongoing rhythm of real life. Nothing changes. Not really. But, Lilian, I need you to do something for me. Please would you stay in touch with Godfrey? I want to know that he is well and happy, that his baby comes without any drama, that he finds a way through this. Please? As far as I know he will be in London for the whole of the summer. I still love him so very much, and I know I always will.
Love and best wishes to you all,
Your friend,
Arlette.
Dearest Arlette,
How shocking! Your dilemma is clear and I hate to say it but I think you have done the right thing. Poor Godfrey. Poor you. Poor little baby. It should all have been so very different, I feel.
I did see Godfrey last week. Minu and I went to a Love Brothers show at the Blue Butterfly. He looked very sad, his eyes like the eyes of an orphaned Spaniel. I can’t tell you.
Anyway, I did talk to him after the show. I told him that you’d written, that you were well. He did not mention a baby, but I did see a young girl sitting in the wings, knitting something in white wool. I took her to be the young lady in question. But I was not introduced. The whole affair seems very much steeped in sadness and consolation.
We are all well. The house is very far from being
repaired
. I cannot bear to look at it when I return on occasion to visit Philip.
Fondest love to you, my friend,
Lilian
Dearest Lilian,
Thank you so much for your report and I’m sorry I have not written for so long. Mother was taken ill, a bout of terrible bronchitis, and I have spent these last weeks going back and forth to the sanatorium. Thank goodness I was here. I feel more than ever I made the right decision. Although, if I can share with you a terrible truth, every time I think of Godfrey I feel so angry at the world, at my mother, at the unfairness of everything.
Please send more news, of you, the family, and of course Godfrey, whenever you get a minute.
Yours,
Arlette
Dearest Arlette,
Well, I start with joyful news. Philip has asked me to marry him and I have accepted! I will become Mrs Philip Love. Is that not the most charming name, worth marrying for that alone! I will be having a joint twentieth birthday party and engagement party in September. If your mother is feeling better and you can face the journey back to London, it would be so super if you were to be there. It will be a really happy, splendid night. One I feel we could all do with after the many sadnesses of the last year.
As for Godfrey, I have not seen him, but I hear he is off on tour again. And Minu saw him a couple of weeks ago and apparently he mentioned that he has a new girl and a baby on the way. He said it is due in November. But more than that, Minu did not ask and I do not know. He asked
after
you. She said he still has the sad eyes. And that his music is more piquant than ever.
Sweet dreams, my lovely friend, and best wishes to your dear mother from my dear mother,
Lilian
Dearest Lilian,
Oh, my dear friend! I have been dancing with joy at your news! Philip seems such a good man and you will be the loveliest, sweetest little wife. You already have so much practice in running a home. Where will you live? Oh, I’m sure it will be somewhere utterly divine. You two lucky people, I could not be happier. Whether or not I will be able to make it across for your engagement party remains to be seen. I will most definitely do everything I can, be assured of that much.
I wish that I could write and say that my heart is healing, that I am missing Godfrey less, but that would not be true. My mother and her family are forever introducing me to nice chaps, really, perfectly nice chaps. But I see them, and their bland faces and their small lives – some have never left the island, you know – and I cannot bear for that to be the end of it. There has to be more, don’t you think? Well, for me at least. And as long as I shall live, I will always know, deep in my heart, that the best has passed me by, in a terrible chaos of tragedy and bad luck. Nothing will ever compare, I shall live out my life in a state of pitiful resignation.
Best regards, my dear girl,
Arlette
54
1995
‘ARE YOU DECENT?’
Betty stood outside the front door of her flat and waited for a response.
‘I am fully clothed,’ John shouted out.
She turned her key in the lock and walked in. John was on the sofa in a white polo shirt and jeans, his hair freshly washed and messed up, his feet bare, watching a TV presenter, who’d been at Amy’s party the night before, lasciviously interviewing Louise Wener from Sleeper on the television.
Betty laughed. ‘Met him last night,’ she said drily.
John raised a minutely interested eyebrow at her. He pointed at Louise Wener. ‘Did you meet
her
?’
Betty shook her head and John sighed dramatically. ‘Shame.’
Betty smiled again and headed for the kettle. ‘Tea?’
‘Let me,’ said John, leaping to his feet.
‘No,’ said Betty. ‘You sit. You’re ill.’
‘I am not ill,’ he said. ‘I am recovering.’
‘Well, all the more reason to take it easy,’ she said, filling the kettle with water.
John sighed and sat down again. ‘Listen,’ he said, ‘I was thinking. It’s a beautiful day. And I’m so grateful to you for everything you’ve done. I’d really like to repay you. I’d really like to take you out to lunch. In fact …’ he blushed slightly, ‘I’ve taken the liberty of packing a picnic.’ He stood up and opened the fridge. ‘I got sushi, do you like sushi?’
She shrugged and said, ‘I’ve never tried it.’
‘Oh, well, I also got some champagne.’
‘But you can’t drink.’
He grimaced. ‘Champagne,’ he said, ‘is not drink. Well, not where I come from, anyway. So, smoked salmon and cream cheese bagels, and look …’ he pulled out a tiny glass jar, ‘some caviar.’
Betty blinked. ‘Wow,’ she said.
‘Yeah,’ he said, scratching his chin, ‘I know. I went a bit OTT, but you know, I never get a day off. This is my first free Sunday in over a year, so I just thought … well …’ He closed the fridge door and looked slightly embarrassed.
‘Thank you,’ said Betty. ‘Seriously. That is amazing.’ She was about to say, ‘No one has ever bought champagne for me before,’ but stopped herself as she remembered that someone had. Dom had. At the Groucho. That awful night when he’d cried those big crocodile tears, squeezed her bum and called her ‘the nanny’. She shook the memory from her thoughts and said, ‘Where are you taking me?’
‘Green Park?’
‘Lovely,’ she said, ‘I’ll have a shower and put on a nice dress.’
‘And listen,’ John called out to her retreating back, ‘I want you to know, I’ve already lined up some places to view tomorrow. I won’t be hanging around. OK? In case you were worried?’
Betty turned and smiled at him. ‘I wasn’t worried,’ she said.
*
If there had ever been a more beautiful Sunday afternoon in the entire history of Sunday afternoons, Betty would have been very surprised indeed.
The sky was an electric blue and scattered with puffy clouds that passed across the sun at convenient intervals as though it was their job to stop sunbathers from overheating. After they’d eaten their picnic on a bath towel and drunk champagne from mugs, Betty and John rented deck chairs, which they turned at angles to face the sun.
‘Now, this is the life,’ said John, stretching out his legs and smiling into the sun.
‘Not secretly wishing you were at a record fair, then?’
‘Oh, well, yeah. Obviously I’d rather be in a big dusty hall in the suburbs with a load of lonely guys in stale T-shirts …’
‘… buying Ultravox picture discs …’
‘Buying Ultravox picture discs. But this will do. This will very much do.’
He pulled a Discman from his jacket pocket and plugged in some headphones. ‘Wanna share?’ he said, offering her an earpiece.
‘Depends what you’re listening to,’ she said.
‘Ultravox, of course.’
She raised an eyebrow at him and he smiled.
He returned her smile. ‘What do you want to listen to?’
He passed her a small leather case full of CDs out of their boxes and she looked at him curiously. ‘You thought of everything,’ she said.
‘I certainly did,’ he said, watching her leaf through the pages of discs.
‘Here,’ she said, ‘let’s listen to this one.’
It was an album by the Chemical Brothers. She chose it because she liked the title,
Exit Planet Dust
.
‘Good choice,’ he said, looking at her with respect. ‘Their first album. Only just came out yesterday.’
Betty nodded seriously, as if of course she knew that, as if she was a big fat muso, just like him.
He put the disc in the player and passed her an earpiece, then he turned up the volume and for the next hour they sat just like that, side by side, their arms hanging at their sides, the sun playing on their skin, the breathtaking, mind-blowing sound of Chemical Brothers, whoever the hell they were, taking them both to another place entirely.
As the album came to a close, Betty opened her eyes and saw John smiling at her.
‘Why are you smiling at me?’ she teased. ‘You’re freaking me out. I can see your teeth and everything.’
John pulled his lips down over his teeth. ‘I’ll never do it again,’ he promised.
‘Good,’ said Betty, folding her arms across her chest.
‘So, what did you think?’
‘Amazing,’ she said. ‘Totally.’
‘Good,’ he said, with some kind of unspoken satisfaction. ‘That’s good. What sort of music do you normally listen to? I have to confess, I’ve had a look around your place, not a scrap of vinyl or a CD to be found.’
She shrugged. ‘I left it all at home,’ she said. ‘Didn’t think I’d need it.’
‘Jesus,’ he said, ‘different strokes. The first thing I’d pack if I was leaving home would be my music. It would be my “what would you rescue first in a fire” thing. What would yours be?’
She paused and considered the question. ‘Right now,’ she said, ‘it would be Arlette’s stuff. Her photos. The book. The flyers. Apart from that, nothing really. It’s all just stuff, isn’t it? None of it really means anything.’
He nodded. And then he smiled and said, ‘One more treat.’ He leaned down and pulled a small paper box from the picnic bag. It was tied up with pale blue ribbon and had the words ‘Patisserie Valerie’ printed on it. He opened the lid and offered
it
to Betty. The box was filled with pastries, some topped with strawberries, others oozing whipped cream and confectioners’ custard.
‘Good God,’ she said, her mouth hanging ajar. ‘Those look amazing. But I mustn’t.’
He looked at her blankly. ‘What?’
‘Oh God, I just can’t. I put on so much weight when I was at Wendy’s, and now I’m constantly eating with the children and look …’ She grabbed her spare tyre and showed it to him.
He laughed. ‘You weirdo,’ he said.
‘I am not a weirdo.’
‘You are, Betty Dean. I mean, look at you. Just look at you. How can you even begin to think you’re overweight? If anything …’ he stopped.
‘What?’
‘If anything you were too thin, when I first saw you, in that stupid coat. Like a little shrimp, all bug-eyed and skinny. Now you’re …’
‘What?’ she said again, narrowing her eyes.
‘Well, you’re just about perfect.’
She stared at him.
‘
Just about
, I said,
just about
. Don’t go getting any ideas about yourself.’
‘Oh, it’s too late for that, John Brightly, way too late for that.’
He smiled at her and waved the box under her nose again. ‘Go on,’ he said, ‘you know you want one.’
‘No,’ she laughed, pushing the box away, ‘I don’t!’
‘Go on, get stuck in.’ As he said it, she saw a little flash of unadulterated mischief pass across his face. Before she could lever herself from her deck chair he’d picked a cream puff from the box and pushed it into her face.
She looked at him in stunned silence, unsure whether she was amused or deeply offended. She decided she was both, and after wiping most of a cream bun from her face with her fingers and
then
licking it off, she smiled at John sweetly, lifted another cake out of the box and rubbed it into his cheeks.